Page 122

“Stauffer, Luther. Sturmführer, 4848329.”

“Let’s return to something that doesn’t pose a question you feel uncomfortable answering. Were you married in a Roman Catholic church? Since my mother was raised as a Roman Catholic, I’m presuming you and Ingebord were.”

“We were married in a civil ceremony.”

“In Berlin?”

“No. Not in Berlin.”

“In Castle Wewelsburg?”

“Stauffer, Luther. Sturmführer, 4848329.”

“I must confess I’m impressed. I didn’t think you were important enough to be honored by getting hitched in Castle Wewelsburg. Or was letting you get married there sort of a pat on the head? ‘We have plans for you, Stauffer. And to prove it we’re going to let you get married by a senior SS officer in the SS Vatican, a.k.a. Wewelsburg Castle.’”

Stauffer didn’t say anything.

“Do you remember the name of the SS officer who presided over your nuptials? Was it maybe SS-Obersturmbannführer Günther Kuhn?”

Stauffer didn’t reply.

“I just met him. Lousy shot.”

“Wie, bitte?”

“He had a Schmeisser. All I had was my pistol. But guess, since I’m sitting here and he’s in a hospital bed in the Munich prison, who won?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. I think you got word somehow to Odessa that I was asking questions about the Organisation der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen that were getting dangerous. That I had connected you with von Dietelburg, for example. And they were already annoyed with me because I was responsible for you getting caught trying to get Heimstadter and Müller across the Franco–German border. So they told Kuhn to take me out.

“He wasn’t at all good at that. He’s lying in a hospital bed with three bullet holes in him. His daughter is dead. And he and his wife are charged with murder because she was shot while involved in the assassination attempt and that makes them liable.”

“Who shot the daughter?”

“Did you know Fräulein Elfriede, Luther? Good-looking nineteen-year-old blonde?”

“Who shot her?”

“So you did know her?”

“Stauffer, Luther. Sturmführer, 4848329.”

“Interview interrupted at 1435 hours by Supervisory Agent Cronley. Did you get it all, Zielinski?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I shot Elfriede, Luther,” Cronley said. “In the forehead.” He pointed with his index finger.

“You sonofabitch!”

“When I get back to Nuremberg, I’m going to tell the Kuhns that you confessed all, including where I can find von Dietelburg, and as a result have been turned over to the people that deal with unimportant Nazis, instead of being hung as a war criminal. I’m going to offer them the same deal, as I feel bad about taking their only child from them. Give me von Dietelburg or spend the rest of your life in jail.

“And, last chance, Cousin Luther, I’m offering you the same deal. ‘Give me von Dietelburg or go to the gallows.’”

“Stauffer, Luther. Sturmführer, 4848329.”

“Wrap him up, Cezar. Give him five minutes to say goodbye to his wife, and then put him in the truck. With a bag over his head.”