documents for you. There is enough there to compensate you for my not being a father to you all these years. Although I have seen so little of you, I love you with all my heart. Remember the nickname I started calling you when you were five years old? Be sure to tell it to Mr. Bart, the pension's owner. He'll laugh hearing it.
The letter was signed All my love, Your Father, Dov Peled
The name was written at the bottom of the last sheet in those round Hebrew letters. I felt as if I had invaded his privacy. It was too much for one day. “The son of a bitch,” I said loudly, not knowing whether I meant Benny or DeLouise. Benny had hidden the most important part of the story from me. DeLouise, Dov, or the devil knows what other names he used, wasn't just a scientific researcher at the Mossad; they had planted him in France to spy. Mina wasn't exaggerating or bluffing. So did DeLouise blackmail the Mossad to provide him with protection when his blackmail attempt on the Colombians backfired? If that was the case, how did the Mossad react? Was he telling Ariel the whole truth? It seemed as if, to preserve his daughter's memories of him as an honorable man, he was not being entirely forthcoming in this letter to her; that he'd fudged some facts. Did DeLouise let the Mossad in on his hidden assets to smooth his way out of his problems, with their help? Is that why Benny had kept me in the dark?
The most important thing was that DeLouise had told Ariel to see Guttmacher. He was the money keeper. Finally – a breakthrough in my own chase. I felt satisfied; I forgot the pain in my head. I was only tired, very tired. I called housekeeping and left my clothes outside my door to be washed and dry-cleaned. I lay back on the bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I woke up suddenly. My head was numb with pain. I went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror. I looked like a second-rate boxer. There was an ugly slash on my forehead, covered with clotted blood, and a potato-sized lump on my cheek.
There was a scratch at the door. I opened it warily and was relieved to see my dry-cleaned clothes hanging on the knob, wrapped in rustling plastic. I shaved with the help of the hotel kit in the bathroom, dressed, and went to eat breakfast. I had no appetite, but I had to kill time until Lovejoy arrived at the consulate.
At eight thirty I decided to head over without advance warning. I called through to Ron's office from the guard station and got a quick OK. Ron looked me over and asked, chuckling, “Are you sure it wasn't some jealous husband that knocked you down?”
I was in no mood for jokes, and I still had a headache.
“Listen,” I said, “I did some investigating and I think I have a lead on Ariel's kidnappers.”
“Do you know something that the German police don't?”
“I don't know what they know. But now I know plenty. Remember, this guy Blecher isn't too generous with information. He has his duties and I have mine.”
Ron didn't even ask me what I knew. He called Blecher.
“Polizeidirektor Blecher,” said Ron, “Gordon is in my office now.”
Ron handed me the receiver.
“Hello, Mr. Gordon,” said Blecher in a slightly friendlier voice, perhaps feeling that I deserved better treatment after his city had caused me the mother of all headaches. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, I'm fine. What I really need to do is find out who attacked me and why.”
“Do you have any ideas of your own?” asked Blecher.
“I don't know, I could simply have been the victim of a smash-and-grabber looking for cash.”
“Or could it be that he was after you personally or after something he thought you had?”
“I don't know, I was hoping you'd find out.”
I decided not to tell Blecher about the safe-deposit box or the envelope I had retrieved.
“Mr. Gordon,” said Blecher, “I'm sorry that you received the wrong kind of hospitality in Munich. We will continue with our investigation. Do you remember any witnesses?”
“No,” I said. “I left the bank but while still inside the building was hit on the head with a dull object, a club or something. That's all I know. There were people who saw me on the floor and tried to help, but I don't know who they are or whether they saw who did it.”
“Can you come to the station so that we can take your complaint?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but not just now.” I had more important things to do.
“Yes, I understand you need some rest. Call me when you feel better.”
“Polizeidirektor Blecher, I thank you for your concern, but I also must tell you that I have information that can't wait. Ariel Peled was taken because her kidnappers thought she had something they badly want. I can give you some help in your investigation.”
“Go on,” he said.
“You know that Mina Bernstein received a ransom note at her pension, with a number to call for further instructions. It's a pay phone. I have the men who took the call on videotape, though from a distance. I also have another telephone number called by the two people, probably Latinos, after they thought they had spoken with Bernstein.”
“Thought they had?” he repeated, wanting to make sure.
“Yes, I recorded the conversation, and it was not Mina. It was some other woman. There are at least three suspects you should look for: the two persons who spoke with the woman who said she was Mina and their boss. I suspect that the boss is in a separate location from ‘the apartment’ they mentioned as the place where Ariel is being held.”
I decided not to tell him about the envelope Guttmacher was holding for Ariel. I wanted to get it first.
But I did tell him how I had recorded the conversations and gotten them on videotape. “I'm leaving the tapes here in this office. Please arrange for a pickup,” I said, and I also gave Blecher the telephone number they called. I thought he'd be appreciative.
“This is all very nice, but why didn't you seek the assistance of the police?”
“Because Mina was adamant that the police be kept out of it. Her only concern was her daughter, and her captors demanded in the note that she not call the police. I notified you about the kidnapping against Mina's instructions.”
I hung up and turned to Lovejoy “You can handle this, can't you?” He looked almost too cool.
“Of course,” he said, but it was clear that he was trying to stay as far away as possible from the whole affair.
I left the consulate and decided that my next move would be to visit Herr Guttmacher. Blecher could wait with my complaint. I had to see Guttmacher before the police finally found out about DeLouise's letter to Ariel. I went to the bank and asked the receptionist to connect me with the gentleman. I gave her my name and Guttmacher was on the line like a shot.
“Mr. Guttmacher, I'm sorry to come unannounced, but I have just spoken to my clients and I need to see you immediately.”
“I'll be happy to meet with you,” he said. “How about tomorrow at ten?”
“No, I mean today. Now.”
There was a pause. “Let me check my calendar,” he said. I thought he was pretending some reluctance. “I can see you in thirty minutes.”
I sat down next to the annoyed receptionist. I couldn't have cared less. Twenty minutes later I went upstairs to Guttmacher's office. His secretary showed me in. Whoever invented whiskey sour did so after seeing her face.
“Hello, Mr. Wooten,” said Guttmacher, getting up to shake hands.
“I'm pleased to see you again,” I said. “Thanks for finding time for me on such short notice.”
I got straight to the point. “My American partners just told me that a leading member of our group is missing in Munich and that you were his local contact.”
His smile froze. “Who is he?”
“Raymond DeLouise. They told me that he made some arrangements with you.” I emphasized the word arrangements.
That was it. I'd put my best cards on the table. If Guttmacher had a better hand, he would win. If DeLouise had introduced himself under any other name, I was finished with this guy. I couldn't do here what I did in the Grand Excelsior, when I had managed to get three bites of the apple until I discovered that DeLouise had used the name Peled.
