Page 27 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm (An Isaac Bell Adventure #15)

S ergeant Jurgen Schmidt removed his cap at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Ratskeller in the little village down the hill from the castle.

This particular tavern wasn’t in the basement of the town hall, as was typical, but in a building next door.

The atmosphere was smoky and loud. Having such a large military presence in such a small town had made the villagers rather prosperous over the past year, and with no other entertainment for miles around, the pub was usually busy.

He scanned the room for his contact and saw him sitting at a corner table with the woman who accompanied him at times. A half-full pitcher of beer and two glasses sat on the tabletop. Karl Rath saw him, but didn’t acknowledge him.

Schmidt grabbed an empty glass from the bar near the taps and went to the table.

There were no extra seats, so he hunkered down next to the leader of their anarchist cell.

Despite the burns on one cheek and half his forehead, and the eye patch, Karl Rath remained a rather striking person.

Not handsome, but masculine and forceful, a natural leader others gravitated toward without understanding why.

The woman was pretty, in that French willowy way.

Though he had seen Rath in the tavern every three days for the past two weeks, as had been prearranged, this was the first time they’d spoken.

“Who is she?” Schmidt asked bluntly as he filled his glass from the pitcher.

“A woman of no consequence,” Karl Rath said.

The sergeant looked at her and saw she obviously understood German because his words had stung.

Her pouty lower lip quivered and tears welled up in her lovely eyes.

Rath added, “She’s just cover I brought from Belgium.

Locals here leave me alone if she’s with me. ”

“She not part of the cell, then?”

“No. But she knows the consequences if she were to ever betray me.”

“As long as you deem it safe to share the news.”

“What news?”

Schmidt said, “Another pilot arrived today. We now have the three you said we’ll need. But there is a problem.”

“Tell me,” the anarchist said.

“It is likely he will be shot tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why?”

“He claims to be a reporter from Canada, but I have my doubts. So does Kreisberg. He said he was a passenger in a British observation plane when the pilot crossed the line to shoot down one of our balloons.”

“You said he’s a pilot,” Rath protested, his remaining eye glaring.

“He is. They then got jumped by von Richthofen’s Jasta 11 and the British pilot was killed.

This so-called journalist said he dumped the body and took the controls himself.

He claims that von Richthofen forced him to land the plane so it could be examined by our people.

The Red Baron himself is coming to headquarters tomorrow to give his account of the events.

Kreisberg knows the two stories won’t corroborate and that the man’s a spy. ”

Rath sat back to consider his next move.

Schmidt knew his place within the cell was precarious.

He’d been recruited because of where he worked and because he was infinitely corruptible.

He wasn’t a true ideologue like Rath and his band of cutthroats.

Still, he dared to give a little pushback.

“Karl, it’s not worth it. The real mission is with the admiral.

Your plan with the plane is brilliant, but it’s a sideshow, a distraction we don’t need.

Why take the risk? We can leave now, tonight. ”

The woman’s eyes shot to Rath’s face. It was clear she didn’t know he was planning on leaving. He pinned her back with an angry stare, as if defying her to speak. She couldn’t meet the glare for even a second before her gaze dropped to her lap.

“You just want to save yourself, Schmidt,” Karl Rath said, turning back to the sergeant.

“You want us to take you to America so that when this war is over, you are not tried for torturing and even murdering captive Allied airmen. A chance for freedom and a little money to help start a new life is a fine motivation for a man like you.”

Schmidt didn’t exactly like how Rath said that so dismissively, but he wasn’t wrong. That was all he wanted.

“Do you know what I want, Jurgen? I want to tear it all down, all of the European monarchies and royal families and anyone else who lived like a parasite off the rest of the people for hundreds and in some cases a thousand years. Kaisers, tsars, queens, and kings. All of them need to be swept aside, abolished, and abandoned.”

“Why?” Schmidt asked, not grasping the scope of Rath’s ambition. “I mean what’s it to you?”

“You understand that there is no opportunity here, no place for a man to better his station in life beyond maybe owning one more suit than his father ever had, or buy an extra hectare or two for the family farm. That’s what I want to create.”

Schmidt was clearly confused. “A farm?”

“No,” Rath said, hiding his annoyance. “Opportunity. Out of the ashes of the old Europe will rise a new one, one where people can achieve anything provided they are willing to work for it.”

“You’re doing this for the people?”

“Don’t be naive. I’m doing it for myself and a group of like-minded men from all over the world who will pull the levers behind the scenes when peace is finally declared, and will mold the world as we see fit.”

“So your cell…”

Rath didn’t respond, believing he’d said too much, though a dullard like Schmidt wouldn’t understand. He looked to his female companion, Magdalena. She was a tavern keeper’s daughter, not particularly bright and easily controlled. He needn’t worry about her, either.

“Enough,” Rath said to get the conversation back on track.

“I will send her back to her father in Belgium and we will proceed as planned, only we will bump up the time frame.” Rath got to his feet and pulled Magdalena from her chair.

“Be ready to come with us, Jurgen, and start your journey to America.”