Chapter Eight.

Doctor Meisener, the city pathologist glanced up from the autopsy table as she entered the morgue. He had just opened the abdominal cavity and was extracting the pancreas as she walked in. The pretty, young detective, Petra Friedjung was standing in the corner away from the table looking pale and queasy. Maxine gave her an encouraging smile.

'First autopsy, Officer Friedjung?'

The girl nodded.

Dr Meisener smiled at the young detective.

'No shame in that, Petra. It's just like dissecting frogs in your biology classes at school… only, on the grand scale. You're actually doing really well. Most first-timers would have thrown up in the sluice long before this stage.'

Maxine Bergmann walked over to the table and gazed impassively at the corpse.

'Have you fingerprinted him yet, Doctor?'

Meisener shrugged.

'No point in doing that, Maxine. The epidermal ridges of his fingertips have been surgically peeled. There are no fingerprints from which I can take impressions.'

She stared at the old Doctor.

'Why would anyone do that?... unless they had something really important to hide?'

The old Doctor smiled.

'Absolutely correct; but this one really did have something important to hide. Look at this…'

He lifted the corpse's left arm and pointed to a small, black ink, Gothic-style letter "A" tattooed roughly twenty centimetres above the elbow, on the underside of the arm near the armpit. He nodded.

'That's his "Blutgruppentätowierung"... his SS blood groups tattoo. This bastard was Waffen-SS. They obviously missed him when they were rounding them up after the surrender of Nazi Germany.'

Maxine sighed.

'Did you find anything on him to give us some form of identification?'

Meisener nodded and motioned towards a table by the sluice.

'Petra; could you bring that passport over?'

The girl nodded and carefully picked up a red passport embossed with a white Swiss cross. She handed it to Maxine who flipped it open and read the first page. It named the bearer as Tobias Amsler. The information page gave his place of birth as Lucerne, and his occupation as Banker. The foreign visas and official stamps pages gave entry and exit stamps solely for Germany and Austria.

Maxine closed the passport and raised an eyebrow to the old Doctor.

'Well, that's the biggest load of crap I've ever seen! There was nothing else?'

He shook his head.

'There is only one place that you might try, Maxine; the Jewish Documentation Centre down at Rudolfsplatz 7. If there is any record of this bastard's alias, they will have it in their extensive records.'

She nodded.

'Yes; I was thinking the same thing. Thank you Doctor. Get the autopsy report up to me as soon as possible if you would, please.'

Dr Meisener grinned.

'Cause of death? Not really necessary for a report. I've yet to reconstruct that jigsaw…'

He pointed to a polythene bag of what appeared to be offal.

'That's what they scraped up from the pavement and picked out of the car. From initial observations I can say categorically that the main explosive force impacted a precise area of both the Parietal and Occipital bones and shattered his skull like an eggshell. The last time I saw anything approaching this was twenty-five years ago, when the blade in the guillotine of the Gestapo execution chamber in the Vienna Regional Court was being replaced, and, as a temporary solution they decided to execute their victims with head shots using explosive bullets.'

Maxine winced. Petra Friedjung turned even paler and looked as though she was about to throw up. Dr Meisener turned back to his corpse.

'I'll have a suitably worded report on your desk by the end of the day, Maxine. Now. If you will excuse me…'

Maxine Bergmann left the mortuary and hurried towards the elevator. The Jewish Documentation Centre would have to be her next stop. It was a shot in the dark; but she really had nothing else to go on.

In the time it took Maxine Bergmann to drive from Police Headquarters on Stubenring to Rudolfsplatz; a distance of little more than one kilometre; Rani and Chana had shadowed and executed their next target. Former SS-Standartenführer Günther Voigt; entered the foyer of his company headquarters on Josef-Fritsch Weg in the Stadionbad business district situated on the east bank of the Danube. He didn't bother to even glance at the young couple waiting by the staff elevator. Pressing the call-button on his private elevator a few metres farther along; he impatiently glanced at the expensive gold Rolex on his wrist. His lunch meeting with the new suppliers had taken longer than he anticipated, and the outcome had been far from satisfactory. The young couple were laughing at something the man had said to the girl. Günther Voigt gave them a dirty look. They were there to work; not to socialise.

His private elevator arrived with a soft hiss and a ding. The doors opened and he stepped inside. He'd have his manager carpet those two youngsters when he reached his office on the fifth floor. He pressed the button on the control panel; and as the doors began to close… suddenly the girl's arm was shoved through the gap and her finger jabbed down on what looked like a small aerosol spray for perfume that she was holding. The hand and arm were quickly withdrawn as the doors closed.

Chana had just targeted Voigt with a large aerosol dose of a particularly fast-acting and potent, modified version of the synthetic opioid analgesic drug - Fentanyl. It had been developed at the Nes Tziona biological institute to give the symptoms of respiratory failure due to a devastating stroke. It was packaged in what appeared to be a perfume atomiser of the typical design that many women carried in their purses. This particular atomiser was, however constructed from machined titanium and pressurised by carbon dioxide. The spray that Chana had delivered would ensure that, in the confined space of the elevator, Voigt would be dead by the time he reached the top floor; and any residual trace of the substance would have dissipated. Rani and Chana could just stroll out of the building secure in the knowledge that Voigt's demise would be seen as being a tragic natural occurrence.

As Rani and Chana strolled back down Wehlistrasse hand in hand as though they were two young lovers, towards where they had unobtrusively parked their car; Maxine Bergmann arrived at the Jewish Documentation Centre at Rudolfsplatz 7. On the third floor of the building, she entered a nondescript, sparsely furnished three-room office; the walls of which were lined with document files and books, and was met by a pretty blonde girl with bright blue eyes. The girl gave Maxine a warm smile.

'Shalom; how may we be of assistance?'

Maxine hesitated momentarily.

The girl smiled again.

'Ah; you see, Jews can be blonde and blue-eyed!'

Maxine shook her head.

'No; it's not that. I had imagined that your Documentation Centre would have been much larger than this.'

The girl shrugged; and made a sweeping motion around the room with her arm.

'Regrettably not. This is all run by volunteers and public donations.'

Maxine nodded.

'I am Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann from Vienna Central. I would like to establish if you have any record of an individual with what we believe is a false identity.'

The girl nodded.

'You have some suspicion that he is a former Nazi?'

Maxine gave a slight shrug.

'It is entirely possible. He has a letter tattooed on the underside of his left arm, near his armpit.'

The girl gave a thin smile.

'Ah; the Waffen-SS blood groups tattoo. What name is he using?'

Maxine consulted her small black pocketbook.

'The Swiss passport in his possession gave his name as being Tobias Amsler; place of birth: Lucerne. Date of birth: 20-04-10. Occupation: Banker.'

The girl raised an eyebrow.

'Well. That's suspicious for a start. It's true that thousands of Swiss Nationals fought for Nazi Germany, but mainly, they enlisted in the Wehrmacht rather than the Waffen-SS. The number of those enlisted in the Waffen-SS was very small; and we hold detailed files on most of them.'

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She walked across to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a file. Sitting back at her desk, she opened the file and began tracing a beautifully-manicured fingernail down the list of close-typed names. Eventually, she reached the end of the lists and looked up.

'There is no Amsler listed here. He may have been missed; but it's doubtful. This file came from the bombed-out rubble of the SS-Führungshauptamt... the operational headquarters of the SS in Kaiserallee, Berlin… so they will be accurate. If you could leave your telephone number, I can conduct a detailed search of our known aliases; and, if I uncover anything I shall call you.'

Maxine gave her the number, thanked her, and left the office. As she drove back to Police Headquarters on Stubenring, she was wondering just how many more bodies would turn up.

The third target on the primary list; Lothar Hänsch; former Vienna Gestapo Regierungs-und-Kriminaldirektor; had been located in Breitenfeld suburb; about two kilometres to the north-west of the team's safe house; and had been watched for several days. A pattern of habit was emerging. Each evening, he would stroll down to the Hernalser Gürtel… the district boundary road that ran along the eastern edge of the subway viaduct; walk under the bridge over Kindelspittalgasse; and turn into the little road that ran parallel to the viaduct. Half-way along the service road was a small café-cum-coffee shop frequented by Vienna's youngsters. He invariably picked up a young girl here… always a blonde; and took her to one of the cheap, pay-by-the-hour hotels that infested the back streets of the seedy Gürtel area. The once-feared Lothar Hänsch, it seemed, was now just another dirty old pervert who liked them young and blonde… the younger the better.

Yarin, who had been carrying out the surveillance, would have liked to have executed him there and then, but there were too many witnesses. He returned to the safe house and relayed his intelligence; and the planning began. Stacey suggested that she be the bait. With suitably clever make-up and the correct fashions; enhanced by her slender build and height, she could easily pass as a girl several years younger than she actually was. Alex immediately objected. Knowing Hänsch's background as Gestapo; it was just too dangerous. Chana spoke up.

'Alex; just stop and think. You know that all men, when they start thinking with their dicks rather than their brains… then, it's game over!'

Alex eventually agreed; provided that one of the team kept watch as Stacey ensnared Hänsch. She would let him pick her up and take her to one of the cheap hotels; then she would retire him. That evening, Rani drove her to Breitenfeld suburb. She looked the part; Black leather jacket, low-cut T-shirt; push-up bra, mini skirt, black knee boots, and slutty make-up; complete with her hair tied back into a cheeky ponytail that set off her big hoop earrings. In a special inside pocket of her leather jacket, she carried Chana's stubby Russian Makarov PB silenced pistol.

Rani dropped her at Ottakringer Strasse by the viaduct bridge and drove away as she turned into the service road and walked down between the viaduct and the trees towards the café. She had only been there for five minutes sipping an espresso and listening to the Rock and Roll music blasting out of the jukebox, when the door opened, and Lothar Hänsch walked in. He scanned the café and walked to the counter to order a coffee. She could feel his eyes on her as he lounged against the counter. She smiled to herself. OK; just wiggle in the chair as though she was making herself more comfortable and let her tiny skirt ride up her thighs a little more. Hänsch collected his coffee and sauntered back down the café. He stopped and smiled.

'Can I join you?'

She nodded.

He sat down and studied her minutely. She leaned slightly forward to pick up her espresso, imperceptibly squeezing her arms into her sides so that her cleavage would deepen. Hänsch's face was a mask. The tip of his tongue unconsciously flicked out and brushed the thin lower lip of his cruel mouth. He looked into her eyes and smiled; a predatory smile.

'Would you like to go and have some fun?'

She smiled; the age-old, knowing smile; and nodded.

Leaving their coffees, he stood up and, taking her hand, led her out of the café and back along the service road to Alser Strasse. Crossing the road, he took her into Blindengasse and paused outside one of the cheap hotels. He looked down at her and smiled.

'How much?'

She stared at him

'I'm not a whore!'

He smiled again.

'Just checking! How old are you?'

Huffily, she replied,

'Sixteen.'

He smiled again.

'OK, let's go and get acquainted.'

In the room he left her for a few moments to go to the lavatory. She slipped the Makarov under the pillow; took off her jacket and lay down on the shabby bed. She was startled by his sudden appearance in the doorway. He was wearing a black, SS officer's peaked cap; a long black leather trenchcoat; jackboots… and nothing else. The trenchcoat was hanging open; exposing his hairy torso and a black leather strap fastened around his jutting, rapidly stiffening erection and scrotum causing his genitals to to project out from his groin. Ominously, he carried a whippy, leather-covered riding crop.

He snapped,

'Get undressed!'

Obediently, she pulled the T shirt over her head exposing her pert breasts, and hiked up her skirt to reveal a pair of sheer panties. She reached for the waistband to pull them off; but he snapped,

'Leave them! I'll do that…'

And cracked the riding crop against the leather of the trenchcoat. She lay back, raising her arms above her head, and slipping her hand under the pillow feeling for the Makarov, as he licked his lips and advanced towards her; his large, engorged erection now rigid and throbbing. Standing over her, as his hand reached for her panties to rip them away; the Makarov appeared in her hand and she fired twice… two dull thuds. The first sintered slug bored into his belly, disintegrating in his gut; and as his scream formed and welled up; it was silenced as the second slug punched into his throat; exploding into iron dust upon impact with his spine and bursting out from both sides of his neck severing both carotid arteries. His body fell across the bed as she jumped clear. Quickly she adjusted her clothing, and slipped the Makarov back into her jacket. Hänsch's corpse lay on its back where it had fallen as the blood spurted and soaked into the shabby bed. Strangely, his thick penis remained rigid and erect, fettered as it was, by the leather strap.

She searched for the ejected shell casings but could find only one. She would have to leave the second spent casing and hope that the police would indeed be misled by the fact that it was of Czech origin. Slipping out of the hotel, she hurried back up across Alser Strasse to the viaduct bridge where Rani would be waiting. She had just made her first assassination; but she didn't feel any different. She sighed to herself. Perhaps she was like Chana after all… a natural-born killer.

Maxine Bergmann was following the Donaukanal along Franz-Josefs-Kai and had almost reached the turn into Stubenring when she received a call on the police radio in her Opel Commodore. There had been a shooting in a seedy hotel up in the Gürtel. The local Wachtmeister had requested that she urgently attended. She acknowledged, swung the Opel around in a squealing, handbrake turn, and floored the gas pedal. As the Opel picked up speed she wound down the driver's window; switched on the car's alarm siren, and slapped the magnetic blue Polizei beacon on the car's roof. She wound up the window, flicked a switch, and the beacon began sweeping its icy blue glare across the buildings and the waterfront of the Donaukanal as the evening traffic darted out of her path.

As she drove, Maxine was puzzled. The Gürtel area was notorious as being one of Vienna's seedier Red Light districts; and violence was commonplace. This must be something quite out of the ordinary… perhaps even one of the rare cases of "Mordlust"… some sort of perverted sex murder. Tight- lipped, Maxine powered the Commodore through the traffic, heading back along Franz-Josefs-Kai as far as Maria-Theresien Strasse which would take her down past the University Library of Vienna, into the northern suburbs of Josefstadt. The location of the crime scene was off Alser Strasse in the suburb of Breitenfeld... at Blindengasse 5… a distance of about three-and-a-half kilometres through evening traffic. With the traffic as it was; she estimated the drive would take something like ten minutes.

Wachtmeister Willi Schmollinger of the Schottenring station which was responsible for policing Breitenfeld heard Maxine's alarm siren approaching and stepped out onto the pavement outside the shabby hotel at Blindengasse 5, as she slewed the Opel into the narrow street and braked with a squeal of tyres. Jumping out, she hurried to him and spoke swiftly.

'Hello, Willi; What have you got here?'

He shook his head and shrugged helplessly;

'This is a really weird one, Kriminalobermeister. I've seen a lot of perverts on this patch, but this one…'

She nodded. She had known Willi Schmollinger for years. Quietly, she said,

'You can drop the Kriminalobermeister when there's no one listening Willi; I'm still the same Max that you were with at the Academy.'

He nodded to her.

'OK. Max; but I'm not joking… this one is really fucking weird.'

She grinned.

'It really must be, for you to look so shocked. Let's go and take a look.'

The Forensics guys were already there when she and Willi looked into the room. The body was still sprawled on the blood-soaked bed, still exhibiting a rigid, erect penis; and still dressed in the Nazi SS clothing. The leather riding crop was lying on the floor. She glanced at Willi.

'Some sort of Nazi-themed consensual sadomasochistic bondage that went wrong?'

He shook his head.

'No, I don't think so. I think it was far more perverted than even that. According to the owner, this one was a regular here. He always brought young blonde girls up here… he did the same tonight. Where it gets really warped is what we found in the lavatory…'

He motioned to one of the forensic guys who held up a plastic evidence bag containing a loaded syringe and a small bag of white powder.

'They need to run tests; but, according to our forensics guys, it looks like a solution of some sort of methamphetamine... probably crushed Pervitin tablets in the syringe… probably the same sort of stuff that the Nazis fed to their combat troops to keep them awake and alert. The bag contains pure cocaine. This perv obviously intended to inject the girl so that she would be so high that she would be able to engage in prolonged sado-sexual activity whilst he got off on the cocaine.'

He shook his head;

'Just think about it for a minute. Nazi freak pervert with tasty young blonde… the classic, Master-Race superman… young, blonde, "Bund Deutscher Mädel" sex-slave fetish. The really odd thing is, that the owner said that the girl he brought here tonight only looked to be about sixteen… and sixteen year old girls… even sluts, aren't usually known to carry a Russian Makarov. We found one spent shell casing in here and the headstamp confirms that it is definitely a Czech Makarov round. Where it starts to get fucking weird is that the forensic guys say that the mess that the victim is in points towards him being shot with sintered slugs… they're…'

Maxine stopped him.

'I know what sintered slugs are, Willi. This is the second incident in the city this week, where they've been used.'

He nodded.

'That's worrying. At first, I thought that this was a girl who didn't want to play out this weird bastard's idea of nookie… but now; considering the weapon and the ammunition; I'm beginning to wonder if this killing is the result of some kind of Honeytrap, for whatever reason.'

She stared at him.

'A Honeytrap? I always thought those things were carried out by Soviet spies.'

Willi Schmollinger shrugged.

'Yeah, they usually are. I can't see why the KGB would be bothering to do this sort of thing these days. We haven't had a Honeytrap case in the city since the Russian Occupation Forces withdrew in October '55. Maybe it's the Russian Mafia trying to get a foothold; and then, there's the gun. There aren't that many Makarovs in Vienna. I think you'd better get the Stapo boys involved in this.'

Maxine Bergmann nodded. Willi was making sense. The Stapo was the informal name for the Staatspolizeilicher Dienst... the domestic secret service branch of the Austrian police. If she followed Willi's advice; considering the ultimatum that she had received from the Generalinspektor; at least the opening of this can of worms would be deflected away from her detectives. She gave the crime scene a last look and turned to the door.

'OK. Willi; usual procedure. Get the reports to me as soon as possible, please. The Boss is going to be all over this like a cheap suit.'

Driving back to headquarters; Maxine was pondering the implications of these events. The victim of the first killing … Kupelwieser; was a known right-wing agitator with suspected links to Neo-Nazi factions. The so-far, unidentified bomb victim had a had a Nazi-SS tattoo; and this third victim… who had been shot with the same type of ammunition used in the first killing… but had yet to be identified; was wearing genuine Nazi SS clothing. She was convinced that there was a pattern emerging here. Someone was systematically executing people who bore evidence of being old Nazis, or had Nazi links; so; was she dealing with home-grown Nazi-hunters?... or… was this indeed the hand of Mossad? She decided to postpone calling in the Stapo until identification of the two unknown victims was confirmed.