was supposed to be Muller. Which might leave Muller still alive. Naturally the War Crimes people are anxious to get hold of Muller at any price. Which leaves you firmly on the spot I’m afraid, at least for the moment.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if it was firmly. But the particular spot they have in mind has hinges on it. Do you mind explaining what this means exactly?’
‘It means they’re not prepared to do anything that might scare Muller out of Vienna.’
‘Assuming he’s here.’
‘That’s right. Because this is an intelligence operation, they’re not prepared to let the military police in on it. If the charges against you were to be dropped now, it might persuade the Org that the case was about to be reopened.’
‘So where does that leave me, for Christ’s sake?’
‘This American agent I’m working with has promised to let you go if we can put Muller in your place. We’re going to try and draw him out into the open.’
‘Until then they’re just going to let the trial go ahead, maybe even the sentence too?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘And you’re asking me to keep my mouth shut in the meantime.’
‘What can you say? That Linden was possibly murdered by a man who’s been dead for three years?’
‘It’s just so – ’ Becker flung his cigarette into the corner of the room ‘ – so damned callous.’
‘Do you want to take that biretta off your head? Look, they know about what you did in Minsk. Playing a game with your life isn’t something they feel squeamish about. To be honest, they don’t much care whether you swing or not. This is your only chance, and you know it.’
Becker nodded sullenly. ‘All right,’ he said.
I stood up to leave, but a sudden thought stopped me from walking to the door.
‘As a matter of interest,’ I said, ‘why did they release you from the Soviet POW camp?’
‘You were a prisoner. You know what it was like. Always scared they were going to find out you were in the SS.’
‘That’s why I’m asking.’
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said: ‘There was a man who was due to be released. He was very sick, and would have died soon enough. What was the point in repatriating him?’ He shrugged, and looked me square in the eye. ‘So I strangled him. Ate some camphor to make myself sick – damn near killed myself- and took his place.’ He stared me out. ‘I was desperate, Bernie. You remember what it was like.’
‘Yes, I remember.’ I tried to conceal my distaste, and failed. ‘All the same, if you’d told me that before today I’d have let them hang you.’ I reached for the door handle.
‘There’s still time. Why don’t you?’
If I’d told him the truth Becker wouldn’t have understood what I was talking about. He probably thought that metaphysics was something you used to manufacture cheap penicillin for the black market. So instead I shook my head, and said, ‘Let’s just say that I made a deal with someone.’
30
I met Konig at the Cafe Sperl in Gumpendorfer Strasse, which was in the French sector but close to the Ring. It was a big, gloomy place which the many art-nouveau-style mirrors on the walls did nothing to brighten, and was home to several half-size billiard tables. Each one of these was illuminated by a light which was fixed to the yellowing ceiling above with a brass fitting that looked like something out of an old U-boat.
Konig’s terrier sat a short way off from its master like the dog on the record label, watching him play a solitary but thoughtful game. I ordered a coffee and approached the table.
He judged his shot at a careful cue’s length, and then applied a screw of chalk to the tip, silently acknowledging my presence with a short nod of his head.
‘Our own Mozart was particularly fond of this game,’ he said, lowering his eyes to the felt. ‘Doubtless he found it a very congenial facsimile of the very precise dynamism of his intellect.’ He fixed his eye on the cue-ball like a sniper taking aim, and after a long, painstaking moment, rifled the white on to one red and then the other. This second red coasted down the length of the table, teetered on the lip of the pocket and, enticing a small murmur of satisfaction from its translator – for there exists no more graceful manifestation of the laws of gravity and motion – slipped noiselessly out of sight.
‘I, on the other hand, enjoy the game for rather more sensuous reasons. I love the sound of the balls hitting each other, and the way they run so smoothly.’ He retrieved the red from the pocket and replaced it to his own satisfaction. ‘But most of all I love the colour green. Did you know that among Celtic peoples the colour green is considered unlucky? No? They believe green is followed by black. Probably because the English used to hang Irishmen for wearing green. Or was it the Scots?’ For a moment Konig stared almost insanely at the surface of the billiard table, as if he could have licked it with his tongue.
‘Just look at it,’ he breathed. ‘Green is the colour of ambition, and of youth. It’s the colour of life, and of eternal rest.
I handed him Belinsky’s envelope. ‘Sorry it’s not in green ink,’ I said, watching him take out the papers. ‘Do you read Cyrillic?’
Konig shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it might as well be in Gaelic.’ But he went ahead and spread the papers out on the billiard table and then lit his cigar. When the dog barked he ordered it to be quiet. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to explain exactly what I am looking at?’
‘These are details of MVD dispositions and methods in Hungary and Lower Austria.’ I smiled coolly and sat down at an adjacent table where the waiter had just laid my coffee.
Konig nodded slowly, stared uncomprehendingly at the papers for another few seconds, then scooped them up, replaced them in their envelope and slipped the papers inside his jacket pocket.
‘Very interesting,’ he said, sitting down at my table. ‘Assuming for a moment that they’re genuine -’
‘Oh, they’re genuine all right,’ I said quickly.
He smiled patiently, as if I could have had no idea of the lengthy process whereby such information was properly verified. ‘Assuming they’re genuine,’ he repeated firmly, ‘how exactly did you come by them?’
A couple of men came over to the billiard table and started a game. Konig drew his chair away and jerked his head at me to follow him. ‘It’s all right,’ said one of the players. ‘There’s plenty of room to get by.’ But we moved our chairs anyway. And when we were at a more discreet distance from the table I started to give him the story I had rehearsed with Belinsky.
Only now Konig shook his head firmly and picked up his dog, which licked his ear playfully.
‘This isn’t the right time or place,’ he said. ‘But I’m impressed at how busy you have been.’ He raised his eyebrows and watched the two men at the billiard table with an air of distraction. ‘I learned this morning that you had been successful in procuring some petrol coupons for that medical friend of mine. The one at the General Hospital.’ I realized that he was talking about Traudl’s murder. ‘And so soon after we had discussed the matter too. It really was most efficient of you, I’m sure.’ He puffed smoke at the dog on his lap which sniffed and then sneezed. ‘It’s so difficult to obtain reliable supplies of anything in Vienna these days.’
I shrugged. ‘You just have to know the right people, that’s all.’
‘As you clearly do, my friend.’ He patted the breast pocket of his green tweed suit, where he had put Belinsky’s documents. ‘In these special circumstances I feel I ought to introduce you to someone in the company who will be better able than I to judge the quality of your source. Someone who, as it happens, is keen to meet you, and decide how best a man of your skills and resourcefulness may be used. We had thought to wait a few weeks before making the introduction, but this new information changes everything. However, first I must make a telephone call. I shall be a few minutes.’ He looked down the cafe and pointed to one of the other free billiard tables. ‘Why don’t you try a few shots while I’m away?’
‘I’ve not much use for games of skill,’ I said. ‘I distrust a game that relies on anything but luck. That way I needn’t blame myself if I lose. I have a tremendous capacity for self-recrimination.’
