Butcher of Belgrade Read online

  At eleven-thirty I drove across the Pont Besseres on Rue de la Caroline to the Gasthaus Lucerne. When I entered, I was sorry to see that there were a half dozen customers in the place.

  I had no way of knowing what Klaus Pfaff looked like. I could only hope that I had beaten him there and that when he arrived, he would recognize my pseudo-Depeu face.

  Twelve o'clock came, the time of the appointment, and nothing happened. A young student couple had come in and taken a table at the front, I had asked for one near the back of the room, facing the door. Five after came, and then ten after. I was beginning to think that Pfaff was not going to show or that he was already there. There was only one man alone, and he was a barrel-bellied German type. I did not think he could be Pfaff. A whole new group of customers came in, and the place was humming. I did not have the slightest idea how I would handle Pfaff under these circumstances. Quarter after twelve arrived, and I was forced to order a sandwich and beer. Just after the waiter had brought my order, the door opened, and a short, thin man entered. There appeared to be a bulge under his suit jacket. He stopped just inside the door and looked around. When his eyes found me, he started right for my table. This had to be Klaus Pfaff.

  He stopped at my table and looked around the room again before seating himself. He was a nervous man, with slicked-down blondish hair and a thin scar across his left ear. "Bonjour, Klaus," I said to him.

  He seated himself across from me. "Sorry to be late," he said. "And please speak English. You know the rules."

  He had not really looked squarely at me yet, and I was grateful. The waiter returned and took an order of knockwurst and sauerkraut from Pfaff. While that was going on, I eased Wilhelmina out of my jacket pocket and trained the Luger on Pfaff. Nobody had seen the gun yet.

  The waiter was gone. Pfaff glanced at me and then peered over his shoulder. "All right. What happened in Paris?"

  The idea had occurred to me when I was preparing for this meeting that Pfaff might just be the head of Topcon, the one who was to carry the stolen goods. But now that I saw him before me, I knew that he could not be the leader.

  "Quite a lot happened in Paris," I said.

  My voice startled him. He focused on my face for the first time, and his eyes narrowed. I saw them size me up. Then his face changed as he gazed at my face again.

  "No, I am not Henri Depeu," I said.

  Anger and fear showed plainly on his narrow face. "What is this?" he asked in a low voice.

  "Where I come from, we call it truth or consequences."

  "Who are you? Where is Henri?"

  "Henri is dead," I said. "And I killed him."

  His eyes slitted down even further and his mouth twitched slightly at the corner. "I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not. I am leaving. My meeting was with Depeu."

  He started to rise, but I stopped him.

  "I wouldn't do that," I warned.

  He hesitated, still in his chair. His eyes flicked to my right arm, which held the Luger under the table.

  "Yes," I said quietly. "I am holding a gun on you. And I intend to use it if you get up from that chair."

  Pfaff swallowed and studied my face. I could see his mind working, trying to figure out who I was and trying to assess my purpose. "You would not dare shoot a gun in here," he said.

  "I can be through the back entrance within fifteen seconds of your hitting the floor." I hoped he would accept the bluff. "And I have friends waiting outside. Do you want to try me?"

  The anger in his face was gone now; fear had taken control of it. He was not a brave man — which was good for me.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "Information."

  He laughed nervously. "The Tourist Bureau is down the street."

  I sighed. "Be coy with me, and I'll blow your head off."

  His grin faded. "What kind of information do you want?"

  "I think we'd better discuss it in private," I said. I reached into my jacket pocket with my free hand and threw a wad of Swiss francs to pay for our orders on the table. "The meal is on me," I said with a small smile. "Now, I want you to get up and walk very slowly to the front entrance. I'll be right behind you, and this gun will be aimed at your back. When we get on the street, I'll give you further instructions."

  "Do you think you can get away with this stupid thing?" he demanded.

  "You'd better hope I do."

  I stuck Wilhelmina into my pocket, and we went outside. I walked him to the Mercedes and told him to get into the driver's seat. I got in beside him, flipped him the keys, and told him to start driving toward the edge of town.

  Pfaff was getting very frightened now. But he drove the car into the green hills as I had ordered. I directed him onto a dirt road that ran off to the right into some trees and ordered him to stop when we were out of sight of the main road. When the motor was off, I turned and leveled the Luger at his head.

  "You are committing suicide with this farce," he said loudly.

  "Because your Topcon hoods will get me?"

  His lips worked together. That was the first time I had mentioned the organization. "That is correct," he said flatly.

  "We'll see, but in the meantime, you're going to cooperate with me, aren't you?"

  "What do you want to know?"

  "I want to know who is boarding the Orient Express tomorrow morning."

  "Many people."

  "I know already that Topcon's chief is going to carry the stolen device on the train personally," I said. "But you can tell me who he is, and give me a description of him."

  "You must be insane." He looked incredulous.

  I was not in the mood for insults. I swung the Luger down across the side of his face. He grunted and fell away from the blow as blood ran down his cheek. His breath became shallow as he grabbed at the wound.

  "I don't want any more talk like that," I growled at him. "I want answers to the questions I ask you. And you'd better start talking fast."

  "All right," he finally agreed. "May I smoke a cigarette?"

  I hesitated. "Go ahead." I watched closely as he took one out and lighted it. He opened the ashtray on the dash and put the match in it.

  "Will you guarantee my safety if I cooperate with you?" he asked, his hand still at the ashtray.

  "That's right."

  "Then I'll give you the name you want. It is…"

  But Pfaff had no intention of telling me anything. His hand had released the catch on the ashtray and pulled it free of the dashboard. He flung the load of ashes into my face.

  While my eyes were full of ashes, he hit my right arm and knocked it violently aside. He had a lot of strength for a small man. Then the car door was open, and Pfaff was out and running.

  I swore aloud as I cleared my burning eyes. I still held the Luger. I stumbled out of the car. By now my eyes were clear enough to see Pfaff running headlong toward the main road.

  "Stop!" I yelled, but he kept moving. I aimed a shot at his legs. The Luger roared, and the bullet kicked up at Pfaff's feet. I had missed.

  Pfaff turned and ducked into the trees to the left of the dirt road. I ran after him.

  I had removed Pfaff's shoulder gun when he had gotten into the Mercedes, so I figured I had an advantage, but I was wrong. As I moved into a small clearing, a shot rang out from Pfaff's direction and whistled past my ear. He must have had a small gun hidden on him somewhere.

  As I ducked behind a thick pine tree, I heard Pfaff moving just a few feet ahead. I started out more cautiously. I slipped the Luger into its holster, for we were very near the main road, and I did not want to add my gunfire to the noise. Besides, I wanted Pfaff alive.

  After another twenty yards, just when I thought I might have lost him, Pfaff broke cover not far from me and started running off across a clearing. I decided to be less cautious. I sprinted after him, hoping he wouldn't hear me until it was too late. As I got to within twenty feet of him, he turned and saw me. He had just raised the small automatic to aim
when I hit him in a diving tackle around the waist.

  The gun went off twice, missing me both times as we plummeted to the ground. We rolled around a couple of times. Then I got hold of his gun hand, and we both struggled to our feet. I rammed a fist into Pfaff's face and twisted at the gun arm. The automatic fell from his grasp.

  But Pfaff was not finished. He raised his knee savagely into my groin. While I was recovering from the blow, he broke loose, turned, and ran again.

  I fought the pain in my gut and started after him. We slashed through underbrush and tree branches. I gained on him every second. Then I was hurtling myself at him again. We both went down, my hands grabbing at him and his fists pummeling my face and head. We crashed into a dead tree, which crumbled under our impact. I had a good hold on the man now, but he was still flailing with his hands. Then I smashed a fist into his face, and he fell back to the ground.

  "Now, damn you, tell me the name," I demanded breathlessly.

  Pfaff reached into a pocket. I wondered what weapon he would come up with this time. I moved my forearm and let the stiletto drop into my palm as Pfaff's hand came out of his pocket and went to his mouth.

  It took me a split-second to realize what was happening. Pfaff, knowing he was a goner, had popped a cyanide capsule into his mouth. He was biting down on it.

  I threw the stiletto to the ground and dropped to my knees beside him. I grabbed at his jaw and tried to pry it open, but my attempt was unsuccessful.

  Then it was over. Pfaff's eyes widened, and I felt his body go rigid in my grasp. I let go of his jaw, and it fell open. There was an unpleasant odor Then I saw the tiny rivulet of blood at the corner of his mouth and the broken glass on his tongue. Slowly, his face was turning a darker color.

  Klaus Pfaff was dead.

  Four

  The diesel engine of the Orient Express slid almost silently into the Lausanne station as the sun was just coming up beyond a distant hill. There were few people waiting on the platform. I watched as the train rumbled to a stop and read the lettering on the side of the cars: PARIS LAUSANNE MILANO TRIESTE BELGRADE SOFIA ISTANBUL. They were exotic names, and they revived memories of many of my past assignments.

  The train had stopped, and a few passengers were disembarking. By now a larger crowd had gathered on the platform to board. I scanned the faces casually. One of them might be the man with the monitor, unless Klaus Pfaff's disappearance had made Topcon think twice about moving the device on this train. But I did not think so. Apparently, plans had already been made to meet and do business with the KGB on this train. Those plans could not be changed so easily.

  After another look at the faces around me, I picked up my luggage and started to board the train. Then I heard the voice behind me.

  "Good morning, Nick."

  I turned and saw Ursula Bergman. "Guten morgen, Ursula," I said.

  "Did you enjoy your evening in Lausanne?"

  "It was pleasantly quiet," I lied. I noticed that despite the smile, Ursula had a new look on her face today. There was a tension there that had not been noticeable before. "Say, I hear we have a dining car until Milan. Can I buy you breakfast aboard?"

  She hesitated only a moment, and then gave me a big smile. "I would like that."

  While I was boarding, I tried to get a look at most of the passengers who got on, but it was very difficult. A half hour later we slid quietly into the Swiss countryside, and soon we were running along at a good speed through the green hills. Ursula and I met in the dining car at eight-thirty and had no trouble getting a table.

  "The Swiss scenery is fantastic, isn't it?" I was making small talk.

  Ursula seemed preoccupied. "Oh yes," she responded with false enthusiasm.

  "It looks a great deal like Bavaria here," I continued.

  She had not heard me for a moment. "Oh. There is a similarity. I see it now."

  I smiled gently at her. "Ursula, something is wrong, isn't it?"

  She looked quickly at me with serious blue eyes. "I don't know if I want to get you involved in my problems, Nick. After all, you have your own case to worry about."

  I placed my hand on hers. "Listen, if you're in trouble, maybe I can help somehow. My soul belongs to AXE, but they can spare a half hour or so of my time."

  She looked up and smiled at the small joke. "I was supposed to meet a man last night. Another agent with our organization. He was to board the train at Lausanne with me, and we were to — carry out an assignment together."

  "And he didn't board?"

  Her voice became tight with anger. "He… I found him in his hotel room…"

  So that was it. Ursula and her fellow agent were apparently after another of their many ex-Nazis, and the companion had gotten too close to their prey and become the victim himself. "Was it one of your Third Reich friends?" I asked.

  She glanced up, and her eyes told me yes. "I am not frightened, Nick. My fellow agent was assigned to the case just to back me up. Unfortunately, he must have been recognized. I don't think they know who I am yet."

  "I don't want to pry into things you shouldn't be telling me. But we can relax the rules a little bit, I think. You're after a war criminal and you expect him to be aboard this train. Am I right?"

  "An informant told us he would be here."

  "Can you get other help if you need it?"

  "No chance. Not on such short notice. But I have been telling myself that perhaps I could count on you for some assistance should the situation arise."

  "You can count on it," I assured her.

  Ursula nodded. She was a tough cookie. She'd had much experience with the "wet affairs" — as the Russians so nicely described them — that went with intelligence work.

  A waiter brought out toast and coffee and left. I glanced down the aisle and saw an Oriental, apparently a Chinese, seated alone. He looked back at me and then quickly turned his attention to his breakfast.

  Wondering if the Chinese could be a professional, I searched my memory for a name that might match his pudgy face. My boss Hawk was very insistent on certain precautions that he called the fundamentals of our trade, one of them being a requirement that agents of my rank periodically study files on the other side's active operatives. Consequently I carried quite a memory bank around with me.

  In this case, I failed to come up with a name. I couldn't identify the Chinese. That didn't rule him out as an adversary. He could be a recent recruit to the intelligence ranks, someone who had become active since I last did my homework. For all I knew, he might even be connected with Topcon.

  Another man, an Occidental, came in and joined the Chinese. I watched them with interest, wondering what they were talking about. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it never harmed anyone in my business. It was a lack of curiosity that sometimes proved fatal.

  I took a sip of coffee and watched a new couple enter the dining car. They came down the aisle and took a table near the one where I sat with Ursula. The woman was about thirty, with dark brown hair and a good figure. The man was of medium height with brown hair and a strong chin under a prominent nose.

  "What is it, Nick?" asked Ursula.

  I shook my head. "Nothing." My memory bank had just produced something on the man with the prominent nose. His name was Ivan Lubyanka and he was a KGB agent.

  For the moment, I pushed the Chinese and his companion out of my mind. The appearance of Lubyanka meant something. He was high in the KGB ranks, the type of man the Russians would send to negotiate an important deal with an organization like Topcon.

  Lubyanka and the woman with him appeared to be going through the formal amenities exchanged by strangers. His behavior, and hers, indicated they had just met.

  I was carrying a small limpet microphone in my pocket. I wished I had it stuck to the table where Lubyanka and the woman sat, and that I was back in my compartment listening to their conversation. I was sure it would be extremely interesting.

  "Do you know that man, Nick?" Ursula asked me.

 
; "He looks a little familiar." I put her off. She had enough to worry about.

  "Maybe it's the woman who interests you," she suggested, showing me the trace of a smile.

  "Hardly," I assured her. "She can't hold a candle to you."

  That, at least, was true. One of my pleasant memories of my past acquaintance with Ursula included a brief interlude in the bedroom.

  Apparently the same thought had occurred to the German girl. She laughed softly and reached across the table and touched my hand. "Too bad this is a business trip, Nick."

  "Maybe it won't be all business. I may get your clothes off yet," I said.

  While we talked, I was still watching Lubyanka and the woman. Their conversation appeared to be growing more intense. I had already decided that Lubyanka was the Russian agent assigned to buy the monitoring device from Topcon. But what about the woman? I didn't think Lubyanka had picked her up on the train for fun and games. AXE's report on him said he was strictly business, with no discernible weaknesses except possibly the belief that communism was the wave of the future. I would have bet my trusty Wilhelmina that the lady was also a spy.

  As I gave that some thought, the woman happened to glance in my direction. Her eyes were cool and shrewd, and her gaze was very direct. Then she pulled her attention back to the KGB man and they plunged into discussion again.

  I weighed the possibility that the woman was Topcon's representative, that she had the monitoring device I was assigned to recover. But I had been told that Topcon's boss was bringing the device aboard the train in order to handle the bargaining. Could it be that this woman was the brains behind a super-tough organization like Topcon?

  If that happened to be the case, I thought, she might be an intriguing lady to meet.

  "Nick, I've decided to tell you about the man I'm after. I can't ask your help if I don't level with you," Ursula broke in on my thoughts. "We have been looking for him for twenty-five years. He was a killer of the worst kind. When he was in charge of a prison camp in Poland, those who died quickly at his hands were considered lucky."