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wear. On the other bunk lay a pile of ropes, snaplinks, pitons, am other
unidentifiable metal devices in assorted shapes and sizes "Make anything of
it?"
he asked, looking back at Poehner
Poehner shook his head~ "I've never seen anything like soim of this stuff. I
don't know if they were planning to join the fin brigade or climb the Eiger
And do you want to know somethinj else, Helmut? There's enough explosive in
those sacks over then to sink the Bismarck. This is going to have to go a lot
higher up.
And that, Stolpe told himself, groaning beneath his breath would mean spending
the rest of the day writing up a report am filling in forms about it.
CHAPTER
37
THE ADDRESS TURNED OUT to be a rowhouse in a shabby workingclass district east
of the city center. It was sparsely furnished, and the sole occupant a thin,
bespectacled, baldheaded man, who said his name was Dr Mueller He effused a
dismal cheerlessness that reminded Ferracini of the farmer depicted in
American Gothic. He spoke little, and when he did speak, he sounded tense and
nervous. Before they started asking questions, no, he didn't know who they
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were or where they were from, and neither did he want to; all he knew was that
they would be picked up the next morning.
What happened afterward was none of his business, and why he was doing what he
was doing was none of theirs.
Along with, inevitably, new sets of papers, Mueller provided some clothes
appropriate to their new roles-a crumpled suit with vest, necktie, felt hat,
and overcoat for Ferracini, and for
Cassidy a workman's leather jacket, shirt, sweater, and corduroy pants.
Together they ate a funereal supper of black bread, sauerkraut, and a morsel
of sausage and dry cheese apiece. Then, tired from their journey, Ferracini
and Cassidy retired to spend the night sharing a straw mattress on the floor
in a damp and drafty Upstairs room. The place was clearly a "human drop-
box," a tranSitory link in the chain. "Mueller" would evaporate as soon as
281
they had left, and whatever attempts might be made to trace them to their
origins, the trail would end right there.
The next day had dragged through to lunchtime before a man in a belted
raincoat at last appeared at the front door to collect them, introducing
himself as Gustav Knacke. He was short and stocky, with a brisk, chirpy
attitude that inspired confidence; he had black curly hair, a tight mouth
upturned at the corners, and dark eyes that seemed to be darting constantly
everywhere and missing nothing. His breezy, uninhibited chattiness came as a
welcome relief after the austere, silent presence of Dr Mueller.
Knacke worked at the Weissenberg plant, he told them as they drove out of
Leipzig in a noisy, smoky Fiat that had seen better days. He was a chemist
involved in the development of I
firefighting and safety equipment. His wife worked as a clerk at I
the same plant. They would be putting up "Ferdinand" and "Jug- .
gler" -- Knacke knew Ferracini and Cassidy only by their Amper- -~
sand code-names-until the time was ready. There would be more clothes at the
house to replace the-things they had left in I
their bags.
"Gasoline is practically impossible to obtain as a private citizen, but I use
the car on company business," he told them as he drove "Take these in case
we're stopped They're worker's passes for Weissenberg. You're a plant
maintenance supervisor and an electrician. If anyone asks, we've been to
Leipzig this morning to get parts for a critical repair job. Yes, the parts
are in the trunk. Here are the receipts. Read them so you'll know what we've
bought."
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"Is that how you're planning to get us into the plant later?" Ferracini asked.
"So you must be where the six of us come together," Cassidy said.
"That's right."
Each of the pairs coming into Germany would have its own contact like the
shoemender, who would know nothing of where they were bound. Also, no doubt, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]