As they made it through the first group, Jack and Carl both saw that a second line of neo-Nazis had formed a cordon at the front entrance. They stood with arms crossed, as though they were guarding the building.
“Did I ever tell you I hate these guys, Jack?” Everett said. They came to a stop ten feet in front of the group of thirty men. Everett reached behind and under his leather jacket and made sure the Beretta nine-millimeter was secured, in case he was jostled on the way in.
“I don’t particularly care for them myself, Mr. Everett, and they do seem to be blocking the exact area we need to go.” Jack started making his way to the man who looked like he was in charge.
Collins had to reach around a large man with a bandanna across his forehead to get to the first set of door handles, but the man attempted to block him. Jack’s hand remained where it was.
“Mochten Sie lhre Kugeln wo sie sind?” he asked the young German, just loud enough that only the man blocking his hand could hear. At the same time Jack allowed his jacket to part enough so that the man could see the gun tucked in his waistband.
Everett watched the man blocking Jack lick his lips and then was amazed when the black-jacketed youth stepped away from the door. He followed Jack inside as the group of Nazis crowded around wondering why their leader relented so easily.
“What in the hell did you say to that guy?” Carl asked as they went for the large staircase.
“I just asked him if he liked his balls where they were.”
Everett smiled as they started up to the next floor, taking the stairs three at a time.
“Evidently he did.”
As they went up the stairs Jack had the distinct feeling that they were being observed. He slowed to take the stairs one at a time, swiveling his head to look for security cameras. The dilapidated building didn’t seem like the type of operation that could afford much security, so he figured it must be a human element watching them. As they gained the second floor and stepped onto the scratched marble that was once a glory to behold, Jack saw the apartment they were seeking-Number 236.
Jack pulled Everett aside. He looked up and down the long hallway, then reached into his jacket and pulled out the nine-millimeter. “We have company,” he said as Everett also pulled his weapon out.
“Inside or out?” he asked, going to Jack’s left.
“Don’t know,” he answered. He knocked on the door.
Everett looked in both directions but the hallway was empty. The only sounds were the yells and chants coming from the street below.
“Ja?” a female voice answered from the other side of the door.
The voice was that of an older woman. It sounded strange, out of the norm, as if whoever answered was frightened.
“Wir sind hier, um zu sehen, Herr Zinsser,” Jack said in German.
There was no immediate answer.
“Sind Sie die Tochter von Herrn Zinsser?” he continued, asking if he was speaking to Zinsser’s daughter.
“Ja,” the voice answered.
Jack heard a shuffling from behind the door.
“La?t uns in Ruhe, geh weg!” the deep voice of a man said loudly.
“What was that?’ Everett whispered.
“He said leave them alone and go away.”
“Friendly,” Everett said. “But that doesn’t sound like a ninety-one-year-old man.”
Jack leaned closer to the door. He heard a woman softly sobbing. He shook his head as he stood back and examined the door.
“Well, there’s no sense in standing on ceremony,” Jack said. He raised his right foot and kicked as hard as he could. The door caved in and Jack saw a large man with a shaved head go flying backward with the door covering most of his frame. He entered with his gun held high. Everett, watching Jack’s every move, quickly followed through the empty door frame.
The man tried to push the door off himself, but before he could Jack raised his right foot again and brought the heel of his black shoe down into the man’s nose, instantly sending the German to dreamland. The man’s right hand stuck out from under the smashed door. Jack reached down and retrieved the gun, tossing it to one side without looking. Carl deftly caught it and went to the left of the entranceway. Jack slid by the unconscious man. The old woman had collapsed and was holding her hands over her face.
“Do you speak English?” Jack asked. He bent over and assisted the elderly woman to her feet.
“Ja,” she said, slowly wiping away her tears. “Yes,” she repeated.
“Your father, is he here?” Jack asked.
The woman started crying and pointed toward the back of the small apartment. Jack handed the woman off to Carl and slowly crept toward one of the two bedrooms. The door on the left was ajar and Collins eased it open with the barrel of the nine-millimeter. As the door opened he went to one knee as quickly as he could and scanned the room with the gun. After a moment he spotted the man they had come to question. Zinsser was lying across his bed still clad in pajamas, with only one slipper on. Jack closed his eyes and rose to his feet.
“Clear,” he called out, without much enthusiasm. With his gun still out and pointed at the closet door, he stepped forward. He eased the closet door open. It was empty of everything except the clothing of an old man in retirement. He looked down and saw that Zinsser’s throat had been cut deeply, nearly to the back of his spine. Shaking his head, Jack looked deeply into the old man’s glazed eyes, then turned and left the bedroom. He checked the daughter’s room and found it empty. He returned to the small living room where Carl had just eased the old woman into a large chair.
“She said he was alone. He got in by claiming he was a house handyman. She says he didn’t ask for anything, just took Zinsser into the bedroom and killed him. He was about to do the same to Ms. Zinsser here, when we showed up.”
Jack stepped forward and grabbed the killer by the collar, lifting him off the floor.
“Okay, wake-up time,” Collins said as he shook the man. “Come on. Time to answer a couple of questions.”
The man moaned and his eyes fluttered open. His hands came up and went to his shattered nose, where blood was still flowing.
“Come on, let me see,” Jack said, as if he were trying to help the man. The young German warily lowered his hands. That was when Jack noticed the freshness of the man’s haircut. The tan ended far lower than it would have if he had always had a shaved head.
Everett had to smile when Jack’s gun hand came up and smashed into the German’s broken nose, sending his bald head backward with a scream of agony. Even the older woman had stopped crying long enough to smile as she saw her father’s killer in pain.
“Now,” Jack said, shaking the moaning man in black. “That was to get your attention. Who sent you?”
“Fuck off,” the man managed to say in English, as blood started flowing at a significant rate, soaking Jack’s hand. The gun hand flew again, striking the man in a part of the nose that was still intact, breaking a new section.
“We can do this all day long, Fritz, it’s up to you.”
“We work for no one. We-”
Again Jack’s hand flew up, as though it was his automatic reaction to a lie. The gun butt struck the man right across the bridge of the nose, crushing the bone and gashing the skin to the cartilage. This time the kid’s weight was too much for Collins and he let the boy fall backward onto the floor.
Everett, who had just given the daughter his handkerchief, saw something on the wall that made him walk over and take a closer look. As Jack leaned over the phony, reeling neo-Nazi, Carl turned and looked at the daughter.
“Ma’am, who’s this man with your father?” he asked, his question drawing Jack’s attention away from the gagging man on the floor.
“That is Albert Speer,” she said, with sad eyes. “I’m afraid he and my father spent many years together inside Spandau.”
“Yes, but that’s not who I mean.” Carl touched the image of a blond-haired man dressed in the uniform of an American lieutenant colonel. “Who is this?”
