Read The Eye of the Abyss Online
Authors: Marshall Browne
The Eye of the Abyss (16 page)
A
T 7.30 am the next day the doorbell shattered the bachelor-silence. At the breakfast table, Schmidt froze. Who � Maria went into the hall. The auditor waited, breathing suspended, coffee cup held in mid-air. He thought:
Gestapo.
He heard muffled voices.
T 7.30 am the next day the doorbell shattered the bachelor-silence. At the breakfast table, Schmidt froze. Who � Maria went into the hall. The auditor waited, breathing suspended, coffee cup held in mid-air. He thought:
Gestapo.
He heard muffled voices.
Maria returned, and gave him a curious look. âA gentleman to see you, Herr Schmidt.'
Schmidt got up, feeling he might be going to meet his fate. Though, one man â¦
An obese man waited in the hall, exuding an air of reluctance to be there. He had faded blue eyes as clear as glass; many chins. He wore a provincial-looking overcoat, and the ringed fingers of his left hand clutched a homburg. He bowed minimally, and held out an envelope. Up close this visitor smelled of cigars. He stared at the auditor with a kind of alarm.
âHerr Schmidt? Herr Fischer. From Dresden. A neighbour of your mother-in-law. As I was coming here, your wife asked me to bring this letter to you.' Schmidt took the letter. âThank you, mein herr. Some coffee?'
âI'm afraid I'm late for an appointment.'The stranger's chins vibrated. He edged towards the door. Schmidt moved to hold it open, and somehow they shook hands.
âOf course, again our thanks.'
The man from Dresden left. Schmidt was sure of a sigh
of relief from the stairwell. An appointment at 7.30 am.? He returned to the breakfast table. The messenger had impressed as a fortunate survivor of the Inflation; one who'd bought assets as others had sold.
of relief from the stairwell. An appointment at 7.30 am.? He returned to the breakfast table. The messenger had impressed as a fortunate survivor of the Inflation; one who'd bought assets as others had sold.
He read Helga's letter quickly, then reread it. When he'd finished he sat with the pages in his hand, and felt loneliness creep from the corners of the flat into his heart. Abruptly, he went into his study and burnt the letter â as she'd requested.
âHugs and kisses from Trudi.'
The phrase stood in his mind after the pages were ashes. Dear Helga, pragmatic in the face of disaster.
âIn the interests of Trudi, my family, myself
â¦' Always, totally honest. His vision blurred with tears. He stared blindly across the room. The Gestapo were still in the picture. Dietrich might have less influence than he believed. Or was working with them, watching him for a false move. Maybe they'd observed his meetings with Dressler. His mouth had gone dry, and his hands were sweating. He got up and paced the room. He and Wagner could already be finished. He steadied himself.
That is not the message I'm getting from Dietrich.
The phrase stood in his mind after the pages were ashes. Dear Helga, pragmatic in the face of disaster.
âIn the interests of Trudi, my family, myself
â¦' Always, totally honest. His vision blurred with tears. He stared blindly across the room. The Gestapo were still in the picture. Dietrich might have less influence than he believed. Or was working with them, watching him for a false move. Maybe they'd observed his meetings with Dressler. His mouth had gone dry, and his hands were sweating. He got up and paced the room. He and Wagner could already be finished. He steadied himself.
That is not the message I'm getting from Dietrich.
âGod willing we will come through this, be together again, my dearest one,'
she'd written as she moved to her separate planet. They could no longer trust the phone, the post, or meet. She'd made an appointment with her mother's lawyer, to begin divorce proceedings.
she'd written as she moved to her separate planet. They could no longer trust the phone, the post, or meet. She'd made an appointment with her mother's lawyer, to begin divorce proceedings.
Schmidt stared at Dürer's knight on his wary ride past the unattainable castle. He went to the window, and looked down into the street. Wintry sunlight. An illusion of easy normality, lulling the unwary spirit into lowering its guard.
Fervently, he prayed that the Gestapo had finished with his family.
He heard them coming, despite the double-glazing. Twenty Brownshirts marched into view, singing, jackboots stamping, each holding aloft a red-and-black swastika on a brass-tipped pole â identical to the one which had hoicked out his eye.
Had the Dresden messenger, with super-sensitive hearing, heard them?
Had the Dresden messenger, with super-sensitive hearing, heard them?
With a sense of urgency, he turned away.
Â
An hour later, at the bank, he considered more tangible matters. Lilli had vanished into âprotective custody'. He speculated on the channels Rubinstein would be following. It would be a highwire walk, dealing with corrupt Nazis. How long would they have to wait for news?
He drank coffee, and gazed at his safe as though he'd X-ray vision and could see the remaining 9,500,000 marks worth of bonds. He felt keyed-up, but no fear. âMy phlegmatic colleague,' Wagner had called him. The possibility of torture chambers, broken bones, bloodied faces, assaulted genitals â as whispered by the knowledgeable â seemed to be circulating around him. The world of von Streck and Dietrich â now his world. It was true, he felt no fear for himself ⦠instead, a strong sense of predestination. He smiled thinly. It seemed Wagner's Calvinism had shifted subtly into his bloodstream.
Wagner? The deputy foreign manager shouldn't come to his flat tonight; he'd use his mother's. Anxiously he settled down to reconsider the vital unresolved second stage of his plan. The internal phone on his desk rang.
âHerr Auditor? Come to my office, please.'
The corridors are a degree or so colder each day, he thought. âHealthy' Herr Wertheim reportedly told the directors. âComing out of overheated rooms into fresh air stimulates the brain.' And, âBetter higher salaries than higher heating costs.' This slogan amused the general-director, and irritated his codirectors, as salaries were fixed by the government. Had the G-D calculated the point when the water pipes would freeze up?
Deliberately he carried these routine thoughts to Dietrich's door.
Dietrich had nothing on his desk but his coffee cup â and the auditor's latest report. The ice-blue eyes transfixed Schmidt. âThere you are! Just a moment of your valuable time, Schmidt.' Grinning, the Nazi gestured towards a chair. âBy the way, have you looked out of the window lately, and observed the wonderful progress the Fuehrer is making in the Czechoslovakia negotiations?'
Dietrich's tone was ironic. A gibe against the introverted Wertheim world. âNever mind. The auditing sphere may be boring to my more mercurial mind, but it's a valid function. Please feel relaxed about that.'
The Nazi's window faced the street, but Schmidt had never seen
him
look out. His dealings with the world were by phone. He appeared to spend much of each day with that instrument glued to his ear. Now he assumed seriousness. âI reemphasise something, Schmidt. Don't make another mistake in your personal relations. You will keep clear of Deputy Foreign Manager Wagner. That man is
not
of the right calibre. Are you listening, Herr Schmidt?'
him
look out. His dealings with the world were by phone. He appeared to spend much of each day with that instrument glued to his ear. Now he assumed seriousness. âI reemphasise something, Schmidt. Don't make another mistake in your personal relations. You will keep clear of Deputy Foreign Manager Wagner. That man is
not
of the right calibre. Are you listening, Herr Schmidt?'
Schmidt gazed at the Nazi, thinking:
Listening? I'm listening and watching you with the kind of attention you'd hardly credit.
Listening? I'm listening and watching you with the kind of attention you'd hardly credit.
Another warning about Wagner. He felt the worry turn over in him. What did Dietrich know about Wagner's future? Did he have him in the same sights he'd brought to bear on Lilli? Wagner was so careless with his slanders of the Party â a criminal offence. But, what else? His own doubts about his colleague surfaced again.
âHerr Director, I do have duties to discuss with Herr Wagner on a regular basis.'
Dietrich raised his hands. âI said
personal
relations. I could hardly have missed that you're a walking repository of discretion. Use it.'
personal
relations. I could hardly have missed that you're a walking repository of discretion. Use it.'
The auditor nodded.
âAnother matter. How much unused safe-custody space
do we have in the vault?'
do we have in the vault?'
âFor what purpose, Herr Director?'
Dietrich worked his lips over his teeth. âFor gold bullion. Let us say, for thirty or forty millions.'
Schmidt blinked. âSpace can be made.'
âGood. I'm looking ahead, my friend. I mentioned Czechoslovakia. Now I'm mentioning the Czechoslovak National Bank â and its gold reserves. Need I say more? Of course, your lips are strictly sealed.'
Schmidt did not show surprise, though it had given him a solid jolt. The idea seemed ridiculous. The Nazi was smiling again.
âDoes it worry you, my dear Franz â your eye?'
âI'm used to it.'
âGood! Now, our little dinner.'
His voice had dropped. He leaned forward intimately, suddenly at his most personable. âTomorrow night, my apartment. Seven o'clock. Here's the address. You're going to enjoy this, my friend. Have no doubt.'
Politely, Schmidt indicated pleasurable anticipation.
The phone rang; reluctantly the Nazi withdrew from further preview of the golden occasion, and gave an airy wave of dismissal.
Schmidt returned to his office. In terms of what he had on his plate, tomorrow night seemed an age away.
Â
Â
Otto Wertheim passed through the general-director's anteroom with a feeling of acute discomfort. Under the appraising eyes of Else Blum, his usual self-important swagger deteriorated to a hasty waddle. It made him angry, but he felt powerless. By a laborious mental process, he'd decided that her innocent demeanour was a mask for a huntress type. How else
to explain it? Her cunt was made of Krupp steel! He was still sore, and rigorously avoided eye contact.
to explain it? Her cunt was made of Krupp steel! He was still sore, and rigorously avoided eye contact.
âHerr Director, please advise when you again need special assistance in the archives,' she said earnestly.
He nodded tersely, eyes rigidly ahead, missing the gleam in her eye. His face was hot. Last night he'd visited his favourite club to soothe his bruised ego with a woman who'd cooed and melted beneath him like butter. With indignant relief, he closed the door of his uncle's room behind him.
âYes, Otto?'
âOur recent talk ⦠I've done some research. The Dortmund's pipe and blast furnace company is to be Aryanised. I think we could get it for a million. Its net worth is six, at least. We can easily fund it from the Party's balance of Reich bonds. Would you agree to me working on it with Herr Dietrich? '
He stopped, out of breath, apprehensive for this opportunity. That Blum pig had shaken his confidence.
Herr Wertheim stared at the soul-searching Eye. Otto had really been burning the midnight oil, though what else had he been up to? He'd that uneasy air which had accompanied several of his past escapades. Well, no doubt he'd find out about it. Heinrich Dortmund's sober face appeared in his mind's eye. He'd known the Jewish capitalist for thirty years, served alongside him on several committees. He could hear his slow, thick, kindly voice laying down the building blocks of civic life.
His mind seemed to blink â the image vanished like baggage thrown off a train; he was seeing the Eye again. The die was cast for the Dortmunds, and some banker was going to be involved in the end of their business empire. If it were Wertheims, perhaps he could temper the ill wind. Yesterday, the bank had approved the loan for the Ruhr industrialist and his Aryanisation project.
Was he, or was he not, in control of Wertheims, its destiny?
Â
What stimulation he felt from the danger which lurked in such a fundamental doubt! How revitalised â if not always clear â he felt in his mind!
He switched his gaze to his nephew and smiled. âWhy not, Otto? Keep me advised.'
Â
Â
Meet me 5.00 pm usual place. D.
The note had been put on Schmidt's desk, mid-afternoon, during his brief absence. So Dressler had someone inside Wertheims. Schmidt stared at the printed words. How many secret cabals existed in this rabbit-warren of a building? Where was the Nazi cell lurking? They were supposed to be springing up like black fungi in all institutions. Six months ago he'd have found the notion ludicrous; today it merely moved through his mind as another grim current.
Â
The stone embrasure was empty, and freezing. However, on past experience the municipal detective would turn up. But what news would he bring? Fervently, Schmidt hoped that it'd be positive. Above his head, a crowd of carved stone figures, amazingly entwined, struggled ever upwards into the gloom. He stamped his feet, and commenced a solo watch on the café-life as though warmth, illumination â even hope â might be gleaned from there. He'd no expectation it would be found behind him. A few pedestrians passed, ten metres distant. None glanced towards the freezing repository of a myriad sung masses.
The detective came out of the darkness, and his great white hand flashed near his waist, and swallowed Schmidt's. His breath whistled eerily into the auditor's face, smelt of cabbage and pickles; a meal and digestion on the run.
The policeman moved into the embrasure. He was still
holding the auditor's hand, as though he'd forgotten to release it. He seemed bereft of words. Schmidt felt the giant frame shaking.
âHerr Dressler?'
holding the auditor's hand, as though he'd forgotten to release it. He seemed bereft of words. Schmidt felt the giant frame shaking.
âHerr Dressler?'
A long, fierce sigh.
âYes, Herr Schmidt. Please, allow me a moment.' He released the auditor's hand. His shoulders shook in a frightening spasm. Schmidt was alarmed. 'My dear Lilli died on the 16th ⦠Herr Rubinstein found out ⦠pneumonia.' His voice choked.
Schmidt's brain and body swooped away as the vertigo gripped him. It lasted for a few seconds. He tried to speak. Tried again. âMy deepest condolences,' he heard himself say, then his throat closed up.
The detective's great head was moving back and forth. His massive shoulders shook violently. He whispered: âMy dearest only child. I'm to receive her ashes.'
Schmidt put his hand on the giant arm. He still couldn't speak but his mind was clearing. He stared at the detective's face. The café lights laid gleams on the tears in the eyes above the moustache. Schmidt thought:
It's over. She was
a
strong, healthy woman.
In his memory he looked into the considering eyes, caught the sad, puzzled defeat of a woman who'd specialised in solving problems, who'd always got things done with her small stabs of humour, saw her walking away in the Wertheim corridor. His heart beat in rythmic thumps, as it walked with her.
It's over. She was
a
strong, healthy woman.
In his memory he looked into the considering eyes, caught the sad, puzzled defeat of a woman who'd specialised in solving problems, who'd always got things done with her small stabs of humour, saw her walking away in the Wertheim corridor. His heart beat in rythmic thumps, as it walked with her.
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