The Boy from Berlin Read online

  ‘Please believe me, Lieutenant. If I hear anything, anything,’ she repeated, ‘I will let you know. I promise.’

  Amos wanted to believe her, to trust her, but he knew and understood that her husband was about to become the most powerful man in the world, and she might value that above everything else; even his daughter’s life.

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her his card. She took it from him, studied it briefly and folded her hands around it.

  ‘You can reach me on those numbers any time, day or night. Thank you for seeing me.’ He turned and walked to the apartment door, opened it and walked out without another word.

  Babs watched him go; a dejected man. She heard the lift doors open and close, and the whirr of the winding motor as the lift descended with Amos in it. Then she realized she was still staring at the open door. She closed the door and saw she was still holding the card Amos had handed to her. She looked at the card and knew it was a cry for help.

  She walked over to the desk for her purse. And as she tucked the card away she knew that if she heard anything at all that could lead the lieutenant to his daughter, she would tell him.

  Come what may.

  Holly woke up in darkness. She moved her head from side to side, searching through the blackness for something, anything that would tell her where she was. Her mouth was still bound by the duct tape that her captors had put there after her last meal. She had no idea how long she had been there, all she knew was that she was still scared.

  She had no recollection of the kidnap because she had been knocked out with some kind of gag over her mouth. She recovered briefly in the big car in which her captors had her, but as soon as she made a sound, the gag was placed over her nose and mouth and she passed out again.

  When she had regained consciousness completely, she found herself strapped to a bed with her mouth taped up. A hood had been placed over her head so she couldn’t see anything. She began crying when she realized her predicament, but the gag restricted her breathing so much she thought she was going to suffocate. She panicked then and began kicking out, but the straps held her fast. As she was struggling she heard a door open and somebody came into the room. A hand was placed on her chest. She stopped struggling and waited. Then the hood came off and she could see someone leaning over her. He had a hood over his face.

  ‘Stop struggling, Holly,’ the voice said. ‘We’re going to give you something to eat and drink now, then you can go to the bathroom. Couple of days, honey, and it will be over. Just be a good girl and you’ll be fine.’

  She remembered they had given her some food and then taken her to a bathroom. She had no idea what kind of house she was in because they covered her face when they led her out. All she could remember of the bathroom was that it didn’t smell as pleasant as her bathroom at home. Her mother always kept it clean and fresh. That memory had come flooding back and she wept solidly until she was taken back to her room.

  All that had transpired some time ago. She had no idea how many days had passed; all she knew was that her routine had repeated itself with trips to the bathroom, meals and total boredom.

  Holly’s fear, so natural for a child in her position, had mellowed as time went by. She was still frightened, but now boredom was beginning to fill in the moments when she was able to think straight. Her captors had not been rough with her, and had treated her with reasonable kindness. This helped to give Holly the impression that she would soon be home with her parents, and all this will have been just a horrible nightmare.

  She thought about her father a lot, him being a policeman and all, and the kind of questions he would ask her when he came for her, because she knew it wouldn’t be long before he came. She remembered her father explaining to her mother what a kidnap victim should look for when being held. The kind of accent the kidnapper has. Any distinguishing features about the person’s hands or face. Do they walk with a limp. Are they tall, short, fat, slim. Listen for sounds that filter through from the outside world. Any traffic noises. What kind of ring tones they have on their cell phones. Oh so many things. Too much for a little girl to think about, but Holly was determined to make her father proud, so she would make a mental note of all the clues she could muster.

  But there was nothing Holly could think of that might help her father when he asked her about these things. Except one; there was a smell of horses.

  It was a fine morning in Phoenix, Arizona when Hiram J. Wyatt stepped out of the municipal court house on the corner of Washington Street and Third Avenue. He had a good reason to be cheerful because he had just escaped prosecution for an alleged attack on a young, coloured girl. Wyatt was a lawyer by profession and had defended himself, knowing that the evidence procured by the prosecution was circumstantial and riddled with holes. Wyatt’s other interest in life was a devotion to the Ku Klux Klan and the Republican Party, now on the verge of victory in the presidential election. He was also the Imperial Wizard of the Phoenix Chapter of the Klan. He was married and had three grown up children. He was also a personal friend of Judge Henry Lawrence. None of this was on his mind, though, when a nondescript car pulled up alongside him. He turned towards it as the rear passenger window was lowered. He didn’t even notice the barrel of the gun or the shots that were fired at him. Hiram J. Wyatt fell to the ground as the car roared away down Third Avenue and left him bleeding to death on the pavement.

  In the small town of State Line, in the Green and Wayne Counties, Mississippi, Bale Courtney walked into the State Line drug store for his weekly prescription of pills that would keep his blood pressure down. Courtney was the editor of the local newspaper, State Line Voice. His newspaper was a vociferous supporter of all things that Gus Mason’s political party stood for. Some would have said that Courtney was an extremist, while he would argue that he was exercising his democratic right to express his views, providing they were not libellous, because of the freedoms that great Americans had fought and died for. He was also an admirer of George Lincoln Rockwell, the founder of the American national socialist movement, otherwise known as the Neo Nazis. Bale was married. He had a daughter and two grandchildren. He was thinking of them when he clambered into his pick-up truck and pulled away from the drug store. He was still thinking of them when the truck erupted in a massive explosion and ripped him apart.

  The Democratic Party in Portland had set up a campaign office in Delsy Road opposite the Hillsboro School District, Harefield. There was plenty of movement around the area, what with the football stadium, baseball and soccer pitches drawing many youngsters in and around the area. It was a prize location for just one of the several offices that the Democrats had installed in the city.

  The office was within site of the platform Gus Mason’s party had set up in Harefield for a massive rally. Mason had even been condescending enough to offer a wave to the faces in the window as he drove past to meet the thousands waiting to hear from the man who was fast becoming a modern day messiah to millions of Americans.

  It was about 4.30 in the morning when the call came in to the fire department, and the dispatcher sent the teams on their way to Delsy Road. But they were too late. When they arrived there was little left of the Democrat Party office but a burnt out shell, and all that remained was the need for a damping down operation before the investigation could begin into who or what caused the fire.

  Edwin van Groenou, chief executive officer of Amalco, the American Aluminium Company, had good reason to feel pleased with himself having just tied up a massive deal with the representatives of EuroArm, the German owned arms manufacturer. The two companies were now involved in building hi-tech weaponry for the growing markets in Central Asia and the Far East. High on EuroArm’s list of high demand items were their latest, short range missile, the super lightweight army personnel machine gun and the Cougar stealth tank. Groenou had received a lot of support from General Mort Tyler, a personal friend, during the negotiations with EuroArm. Several doors had been opened to help the
delicate negotiations, including the very helpful promise of support should Gus Mason be elected President. Tyler had even produced Mason at a very private dinner with representatives of Amalco and EuroArm to endorse that promise.

  Groenou had little else on his mind when he stepped into the lift of the luxury Olympus hotel on Fifth Street and took the lift to the nineteenth floor. He knew there would be a woman waiting for him in his room. This had been arranged by Mort Tyler; a free gift for Groenou’s titillation and a thank you for the expectation of future cooperation once Gus Mason was president.

  An hour after the time that the young woman had expected Groenou to show up, she was still alone. She phoned the only number she had been given and complained of being stood up. She never did see her client, and Groenou was never seen again.

  The union man, Levi, faced Zeek across his desk at the Black Jack Casino in Reno, one of several gambling hotels in which Zeek was involved in Nevada.

  ‘What the fuck did you hit the Democrats for?’ he asked.

  Zeek blew out a cloud of cigar smoke and waved it away with his hand. ‘Give them something to think about.’

  The two men were looking at ways of bringing the retribution that Jack Demski had ordered to an end. They both knew that a prolonged confrontation with Mort Tyler would achieve very little other than a lot of dead bodies on both sides. Jack Demski had gone into hiding, although that wasn’t a word he would have used, because he knew he would be the prime target in a continuing battle. But it had been considered to be in the family’s interest if Demski was out of the way. Consequently Zeek and Levi had been given the task of organizing strikes against key men in the Republican movement. That was why Levi had asked the obvious question: why the Democrats?

  ‘I look at it this way,’ Zeek went on. ‘The guys we hit will not make national news.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, maybe briefly. But Mason will know he has lost some heavy support from those guys we wasted.’

  ‘But the Democrats?’

  Zeek put a hand up. ‘Let me finish. They will think that some hotheads from Mason’s party will have fire-bombed their offices. The Republicans will deny it, but then they’ll think they may have some renegades in their party who think the Democrats hit the guys that we wasted. It will sow confusion.’

  Levi grimaced and shifted his bulk in the chair. He reached for the drink Zeek had poured him and emptied the glass in one swallow.

  ‘So how far we going to take this?’

  Zeek shrugged. ‘We wait for Jack. He told us to unleash the dogs, so that’s what we’re doing.’

  ‘We got less than one week to the election,’ Levi reminded him. ‘Maybe we should take Mort Tyler out.’

  Zeek shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t get near him while the feds and the secret service are watching every fucking move Mason makes. Tyler’s an icon; everybody loves him.’ He snorted as he said this. ‘But Jack has suggested something spectacular.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Zeek shuffled his weight forward, leaning closer to the desk. ‘Remember Gus Mason being asked about Camp David, and would he use it if he became president?’

  Levi nodded. It was a news item that grabbed people’s attention for a while. Gus Mason had been asked during a live, television broadcast about the presidential retreat at Camp David in Maryland, and whether he would use it as other presidents had done before him. Mason said that he would prefer to use the ranch his father owned out at Hutton. It was a massive spread, easily guarded and more like home than the impersonal, dull place that Camp David was reputed to be.

  ‘Yeah, so what about it?’ Levi asked.

  ‘Like I said; it was something Jack came up with. When the world and its dog are concentrating on the election, we’re gonna burn the fucking place down.’

  Holly sat up as soon as she heard the door go. Her kidnappers were giving her more licence now; she was no longer tied to the bed, but had been told she must remain on the bed at all times. Failure to do this and she would be strapped down again.

  The man who came into the room was hooded as usual. Holly studied him as carefully as she could; remembering the words her father had spoken to her mother. Look for clues, he had told her. Holly tried to figure out the man’s height and weight, but she wasn’t too good at that. She had figured something out about her room though, and that was the sun always came up on the far side. She had noticed the early morning light behind the black curtain that had been fastened securely to the window. It was opposite her bed which was up against a blank wall.

  The kidnapper told her to stand up. This meant she was going to be taken to the bathroom before they brought her breakfast through. She stood and waited for the customary hood to be placed over her head. Then she felt the guy’s hands on her and she allowed herself to be taken out of the room.

  Holly now knew she was walking in a southerly direction. Whether this was going to help her father once he had rescued her, she had no idea. If the kidnappers took her away somewhere else, she might be able to tell him where she had been. She had grand schemes about writing a note and dropping it on the floor somewhere, hoping someone would pick it up and get help. But although her child’s mind was considering clues that were in truth quite useless, one thing Holly did give a lot of thought to was that all pervading smell of horses. And it was as she was being guided to the bathroom that she realized she was being taken through some stables. She guessed this because of the fairly long walk she had before reaching a door through which she was taken before being led across a courtyard and into a building that contained the bathroom. So now she knew she was in some place that kept horses. Or used to because she couldn’t hear any as she made that long walk. But at least she knew that she was being held on a ranch.

  Gus Mason yawned and leaned back on the long sofa. His tie was loosened and his jacket had been tossed casually over the back of a chair. His empty glass resided on the coffee table by the sofa. Mort Tyler was just ushering the few remaining staff members out of the room as Judge Lawrence poured fresh drinks for the three of them. Mason lifted his glass and made a silent toast towards his two friends.

  Tyler picked up his drink and acknowledged Mason. ‘Two days, and that’s it.’

  ‘You figured out why some of our key men have been murdered?’ Mason asked him.

  Tyler just shrugged. He had given it a great deal of thought and had only loosely connected it with the attack on Isaac Demski. At the moment he couldn’t see a firm link, and he had received no word from Demski, or any other organization for that matter, claiming responsibility for the attack. He decided to work on the old adage of revenge being a dish best served cold. Once Gus Mason was in power, he, Mort Tyler, would have almost unlimited control over the nation’s security services and would put them to good use seeking out the perpetrators.

  ‘We can cope without them,’ he told Mason. ‘Sad loss, but we have a lot of powerful backers in place, Gus. I’ll deal with whoever was responsible when the time is right.’

  Mason nodded. ‘Good. Seemed a bit stupid to spring this on us so close to the election,’ he observed. ‘What do they expect us to do, call off the campaign?’

  He laughed at the thought of people believing they could knock the Mason bandwagon off course.

  ‘No changes to your schedule at the last minute then, Gus?’ This was from Lawrence.

  Mason grinned and shook his head softly. ‘I need to be back in New Jersey. Babs will roast me if I don’t show my face before the election.’

  They all laughed. The absence of Mason’s wife during his campaign had been the talk of the small press, but it had all been speculation and unnecessary editorial licence that most of the public chose to ignore anyway. The truth was that Tyler and Lawrence did not want Babs on the campaign trail with her husband because of the various key people they would be meeting along the way and Babs would be an unnecessary distraction for all of them. Babs had been quite happy about the arrangement. At least, that is what they all believed.

 
; The truth was that Babs was not happy with the arrangement. Not now. She had been seeing her husband in a different light as he ventured further towards his political goal. His character had been changing, imperceptibly at first, and Babs had wondered if it had been her imagination. But she knew she had been guilty of the same offence, if that was what it was. Her feelings for Gus’s father had been reignited by that fateful visit to the ranch, and had simply proved that her feelings had been lying dormant for some years, just waiting to be awakened.

  It was the policeman’s visit that had proved to be a catalyst in Babs’s change of heart. She had the uneasy feeling that Gus had been behind the kidnap, or at least had sanctioned it. It had nagged away at her to such an extent that she needed to confront him. Trouble was, there was no way in which Babs could talk to her husband privately about Amos’s daughter. Not now that Gus Mason was virtually public property.

  She reached for the phone.

  ‘Is the room bugged?’ Mason asked.

  They laughed. ‘In a few days’ time, Gus, you won’t have to worry yourself about details like that,’ Tyler told him.

  ‘So we can talk about the Bill of Rights, can we?’

  Lawrence chuckled. ‘Once we’ve got the Supreme Court eating out of our hands,’ he said over the top of his glass, ‘it will be like taking candy from a baby.’

  ‘You’ll be my first appointment, Henry,’ Gus promised. ‘I need you to work on the First Amendment.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure, Gus,’ Lawrence replied sincerely. ‘A tribute to my father and everything he stood for.’

  The three men stood up and snapped their heels together. Then they raised their arms in a Nazi salute. ‘Seig Heil!’ they shouted and collapsed about laughing as the phone rang.