“You’re right,” said Harris. “I’ve heard those rumors and they are a little far-fetched.”
“You are aware, aren’t you, that Jews are being imprisoned, beaten, tortured, and denied a right to earn a living?” Klaas asked.
“Yes,” Harris said.
“Well, Agent Harris, my mother was Jewish, which in the eyes of the Nazis, makes me Jewish as well, even though I know only a little of it and have never practiced the faith. My mother’s family was what was referred to assimilated Jews. We considered ourselves Germans, not Jews. Many even volunteered to fight for the Kaiser in the past war. It doesn’t matter to the Nazis. If I was to go back to Germany, I’m reasonably confident I’d be thrown into a concentration camp. You can see that I am not a strong man, so it would be a death sentence. The fact that my son was in the army might have helped me, but he is now dead. Two men on the embassy staff were Gestapo and they told me they looked forward to getting my Jewish ass back to the Reich so they could take care of me.”
Klaas shuddered. “I was a Jew who handled the Reich’s money; therefore, I was doubly cursed in their eyes.”
Dane was surprised—no, stunned. This was all new to him. What the hell was going on in the world, he asked himself. He had been concentrating on Japan and not enough on the Nazis.
Harris put down his notebook. “You’ve made a good case for letting you stay, but there’s no way I can prove anything you’ve said and it still sounds like you’re just trying to save your own skin.”
Klaas was unperturbed. “I understand your position fully, and yes, I am trying to save myself. So let me offer you a quid pro quo. If I tell you something important, will you be willing to let me live in the United States at least until the war ends and I can get to my daughter in Brazil?”
Dane could see that Harris’s eyes were lighting up. “It sure as hell would help.”
Klaas sat back in his government-issue folding chair. “I can give you the man who is wrecking your trains.”
Harris and Dane moved Klaas to a more comfortable conference room. It was furnished with a polished wooden table and very comfortable chairs. Coffee and rolls were provided. Klaas seemed quite relieved and more comfortable with his improved status.
He set down his coffee. “A short while before Mexico declared war on Germany, I was informed by one of the resident SS officers, who was an extremely fanatic Nazi, that English-speaking Germans on the staff were going to support Japan by entering the U.S. and engaging in acts of sabotage. That these acts would also support Germany was obvious.”
“Who was the SS man?” Harris asked.
“His name is Wilhelm Braun. He’s very murderous and I’ve heard that he killed Mexicans for amusement while with the embassy. That, of course, cannot be proven. Braun required money to set up a station in Mexico City and another in Monterrey. He took just about all the cash we had on hand and drained some other bank accounts. The ambassador went along with this. He had no choice. Along with Braun, a total of six men were involved and I have no idea which of them is at what city and what their addresses are. I also have no idea who crossed into the United States, although Braun most certainly did, and I rather doubt that he’s alone.”
Harris refilled Braun’s coffee. “How is he communicating?”
“At first by mail and telephone. When that became dangerous, he began using a shortwave radio. He broadcasts pretty much in the clear since he does not have one of our encoding machines.”
Encoding machines? Dane and Harris looked at each other and wondered the same thing. Who knows about them, and could they get their hands on one?
Klaas laughed. “I can read your minds. The machine at the embassy was destroyed and they are so complex that no one will be able to replicate one or break the code. If we Germans do anything correctly, it’s devising codes.”
We’ll see, thought Dane. “So this Braun character sends messages in the clear?”
“Pretty much,” Harris said. “Although he will generally say vague things like ‘our objective is near,’ or ‘Plan A is being implemented.’ He must know that any radio message might be overheard so he might be saying things that are truly innocuous on the surface. I can give you his radio frequencies and broadcast timing schedules, and you can decide that for yourself.”
“Outstanding,” said Harris, rubbing his hands. “Now, any idea what is objective is, other than derailing trains?”
“Yes. Some of my colleagues are quite chatty when talking among themselves; ourselves, since they considered me one of them. Tokyo has pressured Berlin, who is urging Braun to find the location of the
“What do you think?” Dane asked.
Klaas sniffed. “I think the idiots in Tokyo are as insane as Hitler and his friends.”
“Can you describe Braun for us?” Harris inquired.
Klaas reached down and put the worn briefcase on the table. “It was a gift from my daughter,” he explained wistfully as he opened it. He pulled out a file folder and a number of photographs spilled out. He picked one from the pile. “Here is Wilhelm Braun.”
The man in the picture was clean-shaven and looked perfectly ordinary. He had no distinguishing characteristics. Harris took the photo and said it would be copied and circulated. He added that Braun could easily disguise himself by changing his hair, growing a beard, or stuffing his cheeks with cotton when he went out. Klaas gave him other pictures which he said were the rest of Braun’s crew. He followed that with Braun’s radio frequencies and schedules.
“How did you get all this?” Harris asked, suspicion evident in his voice.
Klaas smiled. “When we were interned in a Mexico City hotel awaiting transportation to Germany, a number of the staffers had nothing else to do except gossip and brag. I copied down what they said, and stole the pictures from the trash. They were to be shredded and thrown out, of course.”
“Can you give us any possible aliases he might use?” Dane asked.
“No. I don’t think anyone on the staff gave him phony papers. I believe that would have been someone hired from the outside. Perhaps the Mexican police could help you.”
Harris snorted. He had a very low opinion of Mexico’s police forces. Far too many of them thought that accepting bribes was part of their job description.
Harris appeared to think about Klaas’s future, but Dane thought he’d reached a decision a long time ago. “We will grant you asylum, Herr Klaas, but with conditions.”
“Of course.”
“You will remain in San Diego with us to help in the search for this Braun person, and you will help monitor transmissions between him and his associates in Mexico. You will also assist in translating since few of my staff speak anything other than minimal German.”
“Again, of course. And when my job is done, then what?”
Harris answered. “You’ll get a new name and a place to live, unless you truly want to go to Brazil.”
Klaas’s eyes misted over. He was clearly thinking of his daughter. “Brazil. Please.”
Although Amanda loved spending as much of her spare time as she could with Tim, she and the other two nurses had bonded thanks to shared experiences and looked forward to seeing each other socially. Even though they worked and bunked together, it was pleasant to just get away and talk.
Also, there was the intriguing matter of Mack’s will. In response to a message from their local attorney, Morton Zuckerman, they met at Zuckerman’s office. It turned out that Zuckerman, a heavy-set jovial man in his late forties, was related to Richard Goldman by marriage and had insisted on telling them all about it in previous meetings.
Zuckerman’s secretary, a very pleasant and attractive lady named Judith, also in her forties, told them he had a client, a tenant, and the meeting was running late. No problem, they said, and chatted in the reception area. After the meeting they would go out to dinner. Amanda would see Tim later that evening. Finally, the door opened and a solid-looking middle-aged man came out. He glared angrily around the room. He looked over the three women with
