the square.
“So you haven’t been there?”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
“Don’t race your motor,” Liz said to him, handing back the Leica. “Jake’s always asking questions. It’s what he does.”
“Yeah? Well, go ask them somewhere else. You ready?” he said to Liz.
“Hey, the babe with the camera.” Two American soldiers, running over to them. “Remember us? Hitler’s office?”
“Like it was yesterday,” Liz said. “How you boys doing?”
“We got our orders,” one of the soldiers said. “End of the week.”
“Just my luck,” Liz said, grinning. “Want a shot for the road?” She held up the camera.
“Hey, great. Get the obelisk in, can you?”
Jake followed the camera’s eye to the GIs, the market swirling behind them. He wondered for a second how they’d explain it at home, Russians holding wristwatches to their ears to check the ticking, tired German ladies with tureens. At the church, two Russians were holding up a carpet, a general with medals hovering off to one side. As a tram pulled in, dividing the crowd, the Russian turned his face toward the colonnade. Sikorsky, holding a carton of cigarettes. Jake smiled to himself. Even the brass came to market day for a little something on the side. Or was it payday for informants?
The GI was scribbling on a piece of paper. “You can send it there.”
“Hey, St. Louis,” Liz said.
“You too?”
“Webster Groves.”
“No shit. Long way from home, huh?” he said, looking toward the bombed-out schloss.
“Say hi to the folks,” Liz said as they moved off, then turned to Shaeffer. “How do you like that?”
“Let’s go,” he said, bored.
“One more question?” Jake said.
But Shaeffer had begun to walk away.
“Why are you looking for Emil Brandt?”
Shaeffer stopped and turned. For a second he stood still, staring, his face a question.
“What makes you think I’m looking for anybody?”
“Because I saw Frau Dzuris too.”
“Who?”
“The neighbor. From Pariserstrasse.”
Another hard stare. “What do you want?”
“I’m an old friend of the family. When I tried to look him up, I found your foot sticking in the door. Now why is that?”
“An old friend of the family,” Shaeffer said.
“Before the war. I worked with his wife. So let me ask you againwhy are you looking for him? ”
Shaeffer kept his eyes on Jake, trying to read his face. “Because he’s missing,” he said finally.
“From Kransberg, I know.”
Shaeffer blinked, surprised. “Then what’s your question?”
“My question is, so what? Who is he to you?”
“If you know Kransberg, you know that too. He’s a guest of the U.S. government.”
“On an extended stay.”
“That’s right. We’re not finished talking to him.”
“And when you do, he’s free to go?”
“I don’t know about that. That’s not my department.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“None of your fucking business. What do you want, anyway?”
“I want to find him, too. Just like you.” He glanced up. “Any luck? ”
Shaeffer looked sharply at him again, then eased off, taking a breath. “No. And it’s been a while. We could use a break. Maybe you’re the break. A friend of the family. We don’t know anything personal about him, just what’s in his head.”
“What is?”
Shaeffer looked down. “A lot. He’s a fucking walking bomb, if he talks to the wrong people.”
“Meaning Russians.”
Shaeffer nodded. “You say you knew his wife? Know where she is now? ”
“No,” Jake said, avoiding Liz’s eye. “Why?”
“We figure he’s with her. He kept talking about her. Lena.”
“Lena?” Liz said.
“It’s a common name,” Jake said to her, a signal that worked, because she looked away, quiet. He turned again to Shaeffer. “What if he doesn’t want to be found?”
“That’s not an option,” Shaeffer said stiffly. He looked down at his watch. “We can’t talk here. Come to headquarters at two.”
“Is that an order?”
“It will be if you don’t show up. You going to help or not?”
“If I knew where he was, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“His background-you can brief us on that. There must be someone he’d see. Maybe you’re the break,” he repeated, then shook his head. “Christ, you never know, do you?”
“It’s been a long time. I don’t know who his friends are-I can tell you that now. I didn’t even know he’d been a Nazi.”
“So? Everyone was a Nazi.” Shaeffer looked over at Jake, suspicious again. “You one of those?”
“Those what?”
“Guys still fighting the war, looking for Nazis. Don’t waste my time with that. I don’t care if he was Hitler’s best friend. We just want to know what’s up here,” he said, putting a finger to his temple.
An echo from another conversation, at a dinner table.
“One more question,” Jake said. “First time I saw you, you were picking Breimer up. Gelferstrasse, July sixteenth. Ring a bell? Where’d you go?”
Shaeffer stared again, his mouth drawn thin. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s the night Tully was killed. I see you know the name.”
“I know the name,” Shaeffer said slowly. “PSD at Kransberg. So what?”
“So he’s dead.”
“I heard. Good riddance, if you ask me.”
“And you don’t want to know who did it?”
“Why? To give him a medal? He just saved somebody else from having to do it. The guy was no good.”
“And he drove Emil Brandt out of Kransberg. And that doesn’t interest you.”
“Tully?” Liz said. “The man we found?”
Jake glanced at her, surprised at the interruption, then at Shaeffer, a jarring moment, because it occurred to him for the first time that it might have been Shaeffer’s interest all along, a flirtation to see what she knew. Who was anybody?
“That’s right,” he said, then turned to Shaeffer. “But that doesn’t interest you. And you don’t remember where you took Breimer.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re getting at, but go get it somewhere else. Before I paste you one.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Liz said. “Save it for the ring. I came here to get a camera, not to watch you two square off. Kids.” She glared at Jake. “You take some chances. Now how about giving me a nice smile-I want to finish off this roll-and then you run along like a good boy. That means you too,” she said to Shaeffer.
Surprisingly, he obeyed, turning to face the camera with Jake. “Two o’clock. Don’t forget,” he said out of the side of his mouth.
“Quiet,” Liz said, crouching a little to frame the picture. “Come on, smile.”
