She took the money and counted it.
“Five hundred dollars a day,” she said, confirming the arrangement.
“Yes,” I said, “but please don't touch the camcorder. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll see if we need your balcony for additional days.”
I looked at my watch; it was 2: 30 P.M. I decided to return to the bank before picking up Mina Bernstein. Fortunately the same assistant manager was still on duty.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “The bank's lawyer was unavailable, so you'll have to return tomorrow. Please tell Mrs. Bernstein that her key is ready.”
I left the bank and called Mina.
“There's been a change of plans,” I said, neglecting to mention my visit to the bank. “I'll be at the pension before six tonight. I want to be there when you call the pay phone again.”
I decided to defy Mina's wishes. The police had to be in on this matter. I went to the American Consulate and looked for Ron Lovejoy. I found him getting ready to leave for the day.
“Ron, things are getting complicated. I need help.” I told him briefly about Ariel's kidnapping, the safe- deposit box, and the ransom note. I didn't mention that the Mossad had contacted Mina. I didn't know if it was relevant and it might have complicated things even more.
Ron listened to me and asked, “These women are Israeli citizens who encountered a problem on German soil; what's the U.S. government interest in this matter?”
“Ninety million dollars,” I said flatly. “The documents in the safe-deposit box could be connected to that money.”
“Your assumptions may or may not be correct. This thing may blow up in your face, and ours too, if you stick your hand too deep in this shit.”
“I know that,” I said. I wasn't about to argue with him now. “That's why I came to you for help. You'd have a lot more leverage with the police than I would. And we need action.”
Ron said, “Let's go into my office. I'll call my contact.” Ron made the call and thirty minutes later we both were sitting in police headquarters in Arnulfstrasse.
“You'll have to let us handle this matter our way,” said Polizeidirektor Karlheinz Blecher, head of KRIPO, the criminal investigations department. He didn't leave me with any choice, but I still had options of my own. I decided to hold on to them.
“That's fine; you do what you have to do. But bear in mind that Mina Bernstein may refuse to cooperate with you; she's desperately worried about her daughter. That's her only concern. She doesn't care about anything else. I'm actually a bit surprised that she trusts me, and it's a slender trust at best.”
The chief turned a shrewd eye on me. “Mr. Ron Lovejoy tells me you work for the American government. Does this matter concern the United States government?”
“In a way it does,” I said, “But our main interest is in Raymond DeLouise, aka Dov Peled.”
“You mean the man who died in Munich the other day?”
“You mean ‘was murdered’ the other day?” I corrected him. “Yes. You see, Ariel Peled is his daughter and Mina Bernstein was his first wife.”
Blecher leaned back in his chair. He kept his cool – just. I could see how astounded he was by my statement.
“I see,” he finally said. He turned to one of his three telephones and snapped a few orders in German.
“I'm getting the hostage rescue team ready and we put our intelligence unit on the alert. You can come with me to the pension. If you want to, of course.”
I wanted to. I climbed into an unmarked police car and drove with Blecher to the pension. Ron went back to the consulate.
“I'm out of here and out of this,” Ron told me, essentially washing his hands of the whole business.
I followed Blecher and his four plainclothes detectives into the pension. I expected Mina to be angry, but I could no longer obey her wish to keep the police out of the situation. Blecher went straight to the reception desk. As I approached, Blecher turned to me and said, “The woman has checked out!”
“Are you sure there's no mistake? I spoke with her earlier today and we agreed to meet here at 6:00 P.M. Did she leave a message?”
“No. The receptionist just told us that an hour ago two young men came to see Mrs. Bernstein. She was waiting for them in the hallway with her bags packed. They helped her to their car where a third man was waiting with his engine running, and then they drove off. Obviously she was not forcibly taken.”
“It just doesn't make sense,” I said. “Would you ask the receptionist if Mrs. Bernstein made or received any phone calls within the past three hours?”
Blecher looked at me. “Herr Gordon, we know our work.” He was unsympathetic.
“Of course. I know that,” I said quickly. Alienating him was not wise. While we were talking, two detectives went up to Mina's room. They returned to report that the room was clean. The occupant had left no belongings, suspicious or otherwise.
Something was happening. “What's going on?” I asked Blecher as I moved toward him.
I was sure the two men who took Mina away were Mossad operatives. Mina wouldn't have left the pension without telling me or leaving a note behind, unless she thought I was part of the operation, or Ariel had been found.
“How did she settle her bill?” I asked Blecher.
He went to the front desk and returned with the answer. “In cash. American dollars. She apologized for not having enough German marks.”
“This is more proof that her departure was sudden and unplanned,” I said. Blecher nodded in agreement. I looked at my watch; it was 6:15 P.M.
“I've got to leave now, but I'll call you later? I'm still with you on this case.”
Blecher looked at me, thought for a second, and said, “Fine. You can go, but if I need to talk to you, where do I find you?”
“You can contact me through Lovejoy or at the Omni Hotel.”
I drove back to my hotel, parked my car, and went up to my room to check for messages. Nothing new. Down again quickly, I hailed a cab to go to Bayerstrasse. I got out one block from my favorite corner, on the sidewalk opposite the pay phone. There was no one in sight. I looked at my watch: 7:18 P.M. I crossed the street to the pay phone. I took up the receiver to fake a call as my other hand searched for my tape recorder under the box. It was still there. I quickly replaced the tape and put the used one in my pocket. I hung up the receiver, crossed the street again, again went up and knocked on Mrs. Landau's door.
“I came to pick up the equipment,” I said, and walked directly to her balcony. I disconnected the camcorder from the wall outlet and folded the tripod.
“Our experts will analyze the material and then a decision will be made if we need to use your balcony for additional days,” I said. “May I call you again tomorrow morning if we need more footage?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, apparently liking the idea of making another easy five hundred. I gave her a paper and asked her to confirm that she received $500.00 from Peter Wooten. I still had to satisfy the penny- pinchers back at the office.
Back in my hotel room I slid the videocassette into the VCR on the TV set and waited for the action to start.
Each time someone used the pay phone I froze the frame. I watched tensely. A woman in her seventies who walked her dog made a short call; two giggling teenage girls were on the phone for approximately thirty minutes. A man dressed in painters’ overalls stopped his van near the curb, jumped out, and made a two- to three-minute call and drove away. Then two men in their late twenties walked up. I held my breath. The clock on the camcorder showed 6:58 P.M.
I tried to look closely at their faces, but the damn dome over the pay phone blocked my view. They were on the phone for six or seven minutes. I saw one of them take a coin and give it to the other. A few minutes later they left.
I didn't lock myself on the two guys, at least not until I'd listened to the audiotape.
I pressed the “play” button on the tape recorder and listened. Each call started with a set of touch-tone signals created by the dialer. The sound quality was good and identifying the numbers would probably not be too
