Chapter Nine.

Meanwhile; Stacey and Rani had returned to the safe house. In their absence, Benny had destroyed the original Plumbat file, had visited the Israeli Embassy in Anton-Frank-Gasse, and reported to Malachi Spelling; officially the Embassy Chief Cultural Attaché ... but actually the Mossad Station Chief; Vienna; that the original file had been destroyed by shredding and incineration, and that no known copies now existed. He also reported that the team was tidying up the remaining individuals involved in the collation of the original file in accordance with the State Death warrant which authorised the assassination of all individuals involved; albeit directly or indirectly.

He asked that the information be transmitted to both Tel Aviv, and Washington. Spelling confirmed that he would do this, and asked Benny if there was any support that the team needed. Benny shook his head. All that they would need from Vienna Station would be for Spelling's guys to arrange a secure extraction point when the operation was completed. Nothing of their ordnance and equipment would be left for the authorities to find. An effective plan of disposal had already been made. It would be as though the team had never been anywhere near Vienna. Malachi Spelling nodded.

'Yes; I can do that. How many more targets do you have?'

Benny grinned.

'That; I can't tell you Chief. Just work on the principle that we will wind this up by the end of the week.'

Malachi Spelling smiled.

'OK. I get the picture. Shalom, Officer…?'

Benny merely grinned and shrugged.

'Shalom, Chief.'

The files that Rani and Chana had removed from Kupelwieser's apartment in Nussberggasse made fascinating reading. Besides giving full details of their fourth target… his assumed name, address; place of business and banking details; Alex had discovered a scribbled reference to the new Neo-Nazi faction in Vienna… the Aktionsbüro Siegfrid. It stated that their meeting place was in a disused warehouse just off Lechnerstrasse in the Landstrasse District. All that the team needed to do was to keep Lechnerstrasse under observation and see who turned up, and when. The fourth target… the KZ Mauthausen killer, SS-Hauptsturmführer Aldric Köhler was now a respected solicitor… but it seemed he was also retained as legal advisor to the Wuppertal-based Kameradschaft Kaltenbrunner who had been instrumental in assembling the details of the Plumbat Affair Dossier. He also had advised the old Aktionsbüro Babenberg; and now, apparently was providing the same service to the new Aktionsbüro Siegfrid. Rani smiled; a chilling, mirthless smile.

'Old sins cast long shadows, my friends. SS-Hauptsturmführer Köhler is beginning to look as though he is in double jeopardy! No New Order and no place in Valhalla! What do we have on him?'

Chana looked up from the folder.

'He is posing as a respectable lawyer in chambers on Schwarzenbergplatz in the Landstrasse District. He is living under the assumed name of Dr. Johannes Sporn; and has an apartment at Prinz-Eugen-Strasse 44, overlooking the Belvederegarten.'

Rani smiled again… the same chilling smile.

'OK. We take him tonight. Then, we'll deal with these Aktionsbüro Siegfrid pigs.'

Maxine Bergmann was sitting at the desk in her office writing up her report on the Blindengasse 5 incident when her telephone rang. Picking up the receiver, she said,

'Bergmann.'

A female voice on the other end hesitated.

'Kriminalobermeister Bergmann?'

Maxine replied,

'Yes; how may I help you?'

'Hi; it's Abbi Kirchmann of The Jewish Documentation Centre. I've found the information that you asked for. In our aliases files, there is a red-tabbed document on one Tobias Amsler; place of birth: Lucerne. Date of birth: 20-04-10. Occupation: Banker. It is believed that he is actually Former SS-Obersturmführer der Waffen-SS Joachim Hamann; former Kommandant of Rollkommando Hamann; a small mobile unit that committed mass murders of Lithuanian Jews during July and October 1941, and effectively accomplished the destruction of Lithuanian Jewry. He is red-tagged as a fugitive War Criminal.'

Maxine nodded to herself.

'Thank you so much for taking the trouble, Fraulein Kirchmann. You can close that particular document. Hamann was killed yesterday by a car bomb.'

The girl gave an audible gasp.

'The Hotel König von Ungarn bombing that was on the news? That was Hamann?'

Maxine replied quietly,

'Yes, it was. That's one less that you have to worry about.'

The line was silent for a few moments; then…

'Thank you, Kriminalobermeister; Goodbye.'

The line clicked as Abbi Kirchmann replaced the handset into its cradle in her pokey little office that was known and respected world-wide, as The Vienna Jewish Documentation Centre. Maxine's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her office door. The pretty, young detective, Petra Friedjung entered, carrying a thin file. She smiled, timidly.

Doctor Meisener's autopsy report on the victim of the Blindengasse 5 incident, Kriminalobermeister.'

Maxine accepted the file and thanked her. As Petra left the office, and closed the door, Maxine opened the file and scanned the document. The subject was initially identified as Günther Becker; an administrator with the Wiener Hafen Port Authority. However; there were inconsistencies in the identification documentation. Further investigation was recommended. The actual autopsy report was pretty well what Maxine expected; in view of her initial observations at the crime scene. The subject had sustained severe, penetrating ballistic trauma to the abdomen and to the neck and throat. The abdominal trauma was extensive.

The initial point of impact of the projectile had been approximately two centimetres below, and to the left of the subject's navel. The projectile had penetrated both the external oblique, and internal oblique layers of the abdominal wall, and disintegrated upon impact with the third transverse abdominus layer. The resultant dissipation of kinetic energy had severed the Mesocolonic attachments; imposed devastating damage upon both the transverse and descending colons; and macerated the central sector of the small intestine. Such inflicted trauma would unquestionably have proved fatal; but was not the prime cause of death.

The prime cause of death was the postliminary gunshot trauma to the throat. The projectile had dissected both the trachea and larynx; and chipped the anterior surfaces of the fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae; during which time, it had disintegrated in the same manner as the abdominal projectile, and the fragments had exited through the Sternocleidomastic muscle and the anterior Scalene Muscle on both sides of the subject's neck; severing both common carotid arteries as they did so; thereby terminating the blood supply to the brain. Neither projectile was present in the body; nor were there projectile exit wounds. A small trace of ferric powder was retrieved from tissue surrounding the trauma sites. This had been forwarded for testing to the Maxingstrasse forensic laboratory for analysis; but Doctor Meisener's opinion was that it was the same type of sintered projectile as was used in the Nussberggasse case.

Maxine Bergmann closed the autopsy report file and lifted the telephone handset from its cradle. She dialled for an outside line and called Willi Schmollinger at the Schottenring police station. She explained the inconsistency in the identification documentation of the Blindengasse 5 victim, and asked that he conduct a search of the victim's Breitenfeld address that was on file. Willi Schmollinger replied that he would leave right away to do just that for her. She thanked him; replaced the handset, and turned again to the incident report that she was writing.

Ten minutes later, her telephone rang again. Putting down her pen, she picked up the handset and said,

'Bergmann.'

The male voice on the other end of the line spoke softly, yet authoritatively;

'Lailah? The Olive Groves are whispering.'

Maxine Bergmann felt an involuntary shiver and instantly became alert. She had always known that one day this message would come. This was the recall code.

Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann was, in fact, a Mossad deep cover agent. She had been placed in the Vienna Police Academy almost six years previously, as a Graduate Cadet who would be automatically fast-tracked to an elevated position in the Vienna Police department upon completion of her training. Her mission would be to establish whether high-level Viennese officials were covertly supporting Syrian militants.

The line clicked as the contact broke the connection. Maxine sat for a moment; then closed the file; picked up her jacket and left her office. Several of her detectives glanced up from their desks as she crossed the department. Her senior detective, Dietmar Schega stood up from his desk.

She motioned him to sit down again, and said.

'Dietmar; you're in charge for a while. I have to get over to Breitenfeld to make a few more enquiries. I'm expecting a call from Wachtmeister Schmollinger at Schottenring. Could you see to it for me?'

Dietmar Schega nodded.

'Certainly, Kriminalobermeister. Anything you particularly want me to ask him?'

She shook her head.

'No, it's just a suspect identification check.'

He nodded and returned to his desk as she left the office.

Maxine Bergmann drove swiftly across Vienna; heading towards the pre-arranged location in the Schönbrunn Palace gardens where she would meet a contact who would pass on the information as to why the recall code had been issued. The Schönbrunn Palace was six kilometres west, in the Heitzing Ost District of the city. Traffic was reasonably light; she would get to the meeting place in ten minutes without the need to use lights and siren.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She parked up the Commodore in Am Platz beneath the shadow of the spire of Hietzinger's Roman Catholic parish church; walked back around the corner to the entrance at Hietzinger Tor, and entered the Schönbrunn Palace gardens. Turning right, she walked to the Palm House; a spectacular iron and glass conservatory that contained thousands of Mediterranean, tropical, and subtropical plants. Maxine entered the North pavilion… the "Cold" end, and made her way towards the tunnel-like passage which led into the largest central pavilion… the "Temperate" zone. She was supposed to be contacted here. She sat on a bench in the steamy interior and waited. Five minutes later; a young man came and sat beside her. He turned to her and smiled.

'Good afternoon, Lailah. I am James Hirschell from the Embassy. We have received a signal from the Office to recall you. We are in the process of arranging a disappearance for Kriminalobermeister Bergmann under suspicious circumstances. Please be ready to be extracted by the end of the week. You will be contacted by the American girl, Mckenna.'

Maxine stared at him.

'Why now? What has changed?'

Hirschell shrugged.

'The chief didn't make me privy to that information… but, rest assured, it must be important. The signal came with a black tab.'

Maxine nodded. That meant that it came from the top floor; perhaps, even the Director General himself. Driving back to headquarters at Stubenring, Maxine was a little perturbed at Hirschell's cryptic "Disappearance under suspicious circumstances." Whatever method her Agency would employ; she knew that it would be completely plausible. They were the best; but even the best sometimes screwed it up. She returned to her car in Am Platz; started the engine and pulled out to head back towards headquarters.

She sighed and stepped on the gas pedal to overtake a lumbering truck towing a box trailer. She would just have to wait and see.

A cold east wind was blowing in across the Danube from the Hungarian mountains as Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann arrived at Police Headquarters in Stubering. Wachtmeister Willi Schmollinger from the Schottenring police station was waiting for her in her office. He gave her a wry smile and handed a slim file to her.

'It seems that your suspicions concerning the identity of the Blindengasse 5 victim were well-founded, Max. When we turned his place over we found a cigar box hidden in a false panel at the back of his wardrobe. Its contents prove that "Günther Becker" was, in fact, one Lothar Hänsch.'

Maxine opened the file. It contained several documents and a Geheime Staatspolizei Durchlassschein… a Gestapo Identity card; complete with the original photograph of the young Hänsch still mounted with its two punched-through metal eyelets. The Identity card was a single piece of white, medium weight card stock printed on both sides with a red background pattern consisting of tightly interlocking circles producing a ''chain-mail'' effect; completely covering both sides of the card except for two small spaces on the front. The left half of the front bore a photograph of a young, arrogant-looking Hänsch; resplendent in his mouse-grey Gestapo uniform; above which was a white circle overlapping the top left-hand corner; containing a purple ink stamp impression of the Hoheitszeichen National Insignia Eagle and Hakenkreuz circled with the words: "Der ReichsFührer-SS und Chef der Deutschen Polizei 1." Inside this outer circle were the circled words: "Im Reichsministerium des Innern." Across the rubber stamp impression was scrawled, in green ink; the sharp, almost italic signature of Heinrich Himmler... ReichsFührer-SS. Below the space for the photo was a white box containing the signature of the bearer… Lothar Hänsch. The photograph bore a striking resemblance to the Blindengasse 5 victim… Günther Becker. Willi Schmollinger smiled.

'Nice job, Max. They've been hunting this bastard for years; and here he was… under our noses all the time. He was the Vienna Gestapo Regierungs-und-Kriminaldirektor; the Colonel who had succeeded, and continued the work of the former chief of the Viennese Gestapo, Franz Josef Huber; commander of the Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Vienna, an organisation in charge of the expulsion, looting, and deportation of Austria's Jewish population. God only knows how many he sent to their deaths; and how much in the way of property and valuables he appropriated. Then. Of course, there's no knowing how many young girls' lives he's permanently scarred with his perverted appetites.'

She nodded.

'Yeah, that's one less; but that now makes four in less than a week.'

Willi Schmollinger frowned.

'Four? I thought it was only three. Kupelwieser, the Hotel König von Ungarn bomb victim; and this bastard.'

She shook her head.

'No. Willi' I think there's another one. Günther Voigt the industrialist was found dead in his private elevator at his Company Headquarters. They decided that it was the result of a devastating stroke. I've been doing some digging around and it turns out that he was an SS-Standartenführer with the Inspectorate of Security Police and SD in Vienna; and had been involved in the deportation of Viennese Jews to Minsk in the occupied Soviet Union where locally-stationed SS and police officials then murdered them in mass shootings. He took over a confiscated Jewish-owned factory and used Hungarian Jewish slave labour to increase his wealth and standing. He has always been accepted as being a respectable businessman in the city. He was even a member of the Chamber of Commerce. He has never exhibited any medical history which might explain the onset of a sudden, catastrophic stroke. We'll never be able to prove it; but I think he fits into the pattern.'

She was interrupted by the young detective, Petra Friedjung knocking on her door, and entering with a slim file. Petra apologised for disturbing them, but she had the ballistics report on the remains of the slugs used in both the Blindengasse and Nussberggasse killings. She handed the file to Maxine and smiled shyly at Willi Schmollinger before leaving the office. Maxine opened the file and scanned the report. There wasn't much. As Doctor Meisener, the city pathologist has surmised; there were only trace elements of metal in the tissue samples from the victims. Metallurgical analysis confirmed that these traces were iron powder, and tin… which had possibly been used as a binder during the manufacturing process.

Trace elements found suggested that the original ore had been mined in the Karlovy Vary Region of Czechoslovakia. The conclusion was that the projectiles used had indeed been sintered iron, and, most likely, Soviet Makarov rounds; but this was purely suppositional as to their origin. Maxine closed the file and looked up at Willi.

'It seems from this, that you could be correct in your suggestion that I should get the Stapo boys in on this, Willi. The report suggests that the rounds used might well have been of Russian origin.'

Less than two kilometres south of Maxine Bergmann's office; opposite the elegant, Baroque Belvederegarten; a telephone engineer arrived at Prinz-Eugen-Strasse 44, and reported to the concierge that a complaint had been received from a Herr Doktor Sporn that there was an intermittent fault on his telephone line. If it was at all possible, he would like to check the receiver unit and the domestic cabling in the complainant's apartment before he began what could be a disruptive investigation of the complete system. The concierge didn't ask any questions; he merely gave the engineer his pass key and directed him to apartment eight on the second floor.

The telephone engineer was, in fact, Benny; who was fully aware that, upon his return to the apartment that evening; Sporn would immediately be suspicious when the concierge informed him of the visit. He hadn't made a complaint about his telephone. He would check the place thoroughly. Even if he found the device he would not have the knowledge of how to disarm it. He would call in the bomb squad; so, Benny would give them a dummy.

Just to make them think a bit, he would give them a puzzle. The old Red, Yellow, Blue, wire myth was still the first thought of all bomb squad guys... which colour did what, and so on. OK, he would use yellow wires throughout to make it look less professional. Most bomb makers used whatever wire they could get their hands on. The bomb squad guys would be methodical and cautious. They all knew that bomb making was a really good way to commit suicide so this device had obviously been stable when it was assembled... but did that still apply now that it was armed? They would need to do some lateral thinking. Benny had designed the device so that there was no way of actually disarming it. If they had the balls, in their minds, the only way of preventing it from detonating would be to remove the main charge... and leave the igniter untouched.

Not wanting to harm the disposal guys, Benny had fitted a dummy main charge; although it was attached to a live igniter. Working on the fundamental bomb disposal principle that the problem was not to keep something from going off; but to contain the amount of damage it did in the process; Benny had employed a small igniter charge. When it blew, all they would get would be a sharp bang... possibly enough to require a change of underclothes, but nothing else. The effect on Sporn however would be enough to panic him, filling him with trepidation as to who had planted the device; which, combined with the relief that it had been dealt with; would lower his guard and set him up for the main event.

In the apartment, Benny set to work. From his engineer's bag he removed an old-fashioned pocket watch from which the crystal protecting the face had been removed, together with the minute hand. A small screw had been fitted into the watch face in the one o'clock position, and tightened until its head was just high enough to make contact with the hour hand. One length of contact wire had been soldered to the screw head, and the other to the winding stem; which was in permanent contact with the hour hand through the watch frame and escapement. The principle was, that when the hour hand touched the screw, the circuit would be completed. The wire attached to the winding stem led to the igniter, and the wire attached to the screw-head was attached to the positive terminal of the battery. The negative terminal of the battery was attached to the other igniter wire. The watch was then secured to the lid of a coffee tin he had prepared earlier which contained the dummy charge with the igniter pushed into it.

Benny glanced at his wristwatch. 3.45pm. Sporn would probably arrive home between seven, and eight in the evening. OK; he would set the pocket watch for a five-hour delay. He wound the hour hand back to the eight o'clock position and put the dummy to one side. He then set the real device. This was a three-hundred-grammes block of Semtex, a blasting cap; a battery, and a pressure pad. This device was fitted into Sporn's armchair in front of his television. Benny rearranged the armchair in its correct position and slipped the dummy into the drinks cabinet. He wound the watch and smiled. The tick of the escapement was amplified by the coffee tin. Sporn couldn't fail to notice it, especially as Benny had "carelessly" left two tiny off-cuts of yellow wire on the carpet. One quick glance to check that the wristwatch had settled down to a monotonous, repetitive tick; and he stepped out of the apartment and went down to report to the concierge that the telephone line fault had been rectified.

Rani was waiting impatiently at the safe house for Benny. When he arrived, Rani was brusque and businesslike.

'Well? Is Köhler dealt with?'

Benny smiled and glanced at his wristwatch.

'He will be… in about four-and-a-half-hour's time. I set a dummy for him to find; then shit himself, and call in the bomb squad. When they've sorted that one out, he'll be so relieved that he will flop into his favourite armchair… and, BOOM! No more Köhler!'

Rani nodded.

'OK. Now, we've located the warehouse where that Neo-Nazi scum meet… and according to our information they meet tonight. I want to take them all out… best thoughts?'

Benny shrugged,

'I really need to see the place before I can tell you that.'

Rani nodded.

'OK; fair enough. Yarin will whizz you over there on the bike. You've got two hours before we need to be in and out of there. These pigs meet at eight sharp.'

The trip on the bike across to the Landstrasse District took Yarin and Benny a little under ten minutes. Lechnerstrasse was a dingy, industrialised street - wide open and deserted. It was not a good place to park up a motorcycle as conspicuous as the Honda and then to go snooping around the dilapidated buildings. Yarin went around the block and parked up at the end of a narrow, shabby alley enclosed on both sides by sheer brick cliffs towering over the ancient, worn cobbles that paved the thoroughfare. According to their information, the building they were seeking was directly across the next street at the far end of the alley. Cautiously, they crossed the deserted street and found the side door of the building down a short, dead-end alley. Everything was semi-derelict around here. It wouldn't take much to bring the whole squalid place down. The side door was locked. Yarin pulled out his lock picks and went to work.

Within two minutes they were inside. The raw, lath-and-plaster walls smelled of mildew and decay; and across the squalid dusty and rubbish-strewn bare floorboards was another door. Pulling a silenced Beretta from his jacket, Yarin tried the door. It was not locked. Opening it they stared around the room adorned with all the hated Nazi regalia. Benny was studying the ceiling. It looked like a solid concrete slab. He grinned, and went out to into the first room to find a staircase or some means of getting upstairs. Yarin closed the door to the Nazi chamber and looked around. Benny had disappeared; so he stepped back into the shadows and chambered a round in the Beretta in case anyone arrived unexpectedly. Ten minutes later, Benny reappeared. He was grinning broadly.

'That should fix the bastards!'

Yarin raised an eyebrow.

'OK; is this some sort of guessing game?'

Benny laughed.

'No. I've just rigged the ceiling with the remainder of our Semtex supply... just under seven pounds with interlinked igniters; all fired by a timer... and just to make things interesting when that lot comes down on their heads; I've rigged all our remaining frag grenades so that the pins will pull when the ceiling drops, and they will join the fun below. That little lot should make our friendly Sieg-Heil buddies look as though they've been fed through a chopped-liver mincer!'

He grinned again.

'And just to make it interesting for our friendly boys in blue; I set the timer on the Prinz-Eugen-Strasse dummy to put the shits up Sporn at about the same time; so they'll have two major incidents to deal with.'