Garden Of Beasts

What happened to Schuma

A simple plan.

But there had been setbacks from the begi

Reggie Morgan had had only the old pass phrase – not the lines about the tram to Alexanderplatz – so when he’d met Schuma

Schuma

Now, Taggert and the black-uniformed troops arrived at the shed. He could just see the barrel of the Mauser protruding, as Paul Schuma

Closer now, closer.

Schuma

As the SS men circled the shed, cutting off any chance of Schuma

When the young soldiers were in position around the shed, Taggert whispered, “I will go speak to him in Russian and get him to surrender.” The SS commander nodded. The American took his pistol from his pocket. He was in no danger, of course, because of the Mauser’s plugged barrel. Still, he moved slowly, pretending to be cautious and uneasy.

“Keep back,” he whispered. “I’ll go in first.”

The SS nodded, eyebrows raised, impressed at the American’s courage.

Taggert lifted his pistol and stepped toward the doorway. The rifle muzzle still eased back and forth. Schuma

In a swift motion, Taggert flung one of the doors open and lifted his pistol, applying pressure on the trigger.

He stepped inside.

Robert Taggert gasped. A chill ran through him.

The Mauser continued its scan of the stadium, moving back and forth slowly. The deadly rifle, though, was gripped not by a would-be assassin’s hands but by lengths of twine torn from packing cartons and tethered to a roof beam.

Paul Schuma

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ru

Not his favorite form of exercise by any means, though Paul often ran laps or jogged in place, to get the legs in shape and to work the tobacco and beer and corn whisky out of his system. And now he was ru

Ru

Unlike poor Max, gu

He was surprised that Reggie Morgan – if it was Morgan – had made a careless mistake after going to such elaborate efforts to set him up. There were certainly button men who didn’t look over their tools every time they were going on a job. But that was nuts. When you were up against ruthless men, always armed, you made sure that your own weapons were in perfect shape, that nothing was out of kilter.

In the baking-hot shed Paul had mounted the telescopic sight and made sure the calibrations were set to the same numbers as at the pawnshop shooting range. Then, as a final check he’d slipped the bolt out of the Mauser and sighted up the bore. It was blocked. He thought at first this was some dirt or creosote from the fiberboard carrying case. But Paul had found a length of wire and dug inside. He looked closely at what he scraped off. Somebody had poured molten lead down the muzzle. If he’d fired, the barrel might have exploded or the bolt shot backward through Paul’s cheek.

The gun had been in Morgan’s possession overnight and was the same weapon; Paul had noted a unique configuration in the grain when he was sighting it in yesterday. So Morgan, or whoever he might be, had clearly sabotaged the gun.

Moving fast, he’d ripped twine from the cartons in the shed and hung the rifle from the ceiling to make it appear he was still there then slipped outside, joining a group of other troopers walking north. He’d split off from them at the swimming complex, found a change of clothing and shoes, thrown away the SS uniform and torn up and flushed the Russian passport down a toilet.

Now, a half hour from the stadium, ru

Sweating fiercely through the thick cloth, Paul turned off the highway and trotted into a small village center. He found a fountain made from an old horse trough and bent to the spigot, drinking a quart of the hot, rusty water. Then he bathed his face.

How far from the city was he? Probably four miles or so, he guessed. He saw two officers in green uniforms and tall green-and-black hats stopping a large man, demanding his papers.

He turned casually away from them and walked down side streets, deciding it was too risky to continue into Berlin on foot. He noticed a parking lot – rows of cars around a train station. Paul found an open-air DKW and, making sure he was out of sight, used a rock and a broken branch to knock the key lock into the dashboard. He fished underneath for the wires. Using his teeth, he cut through the cloth insulation and twined the copper strands together. He pushed the starter button. The engine ground for a moment but didn’t catch. Grimacing, he realized he’d forgotten to set the choke. He adjusted it to rich and tried again. The engine fired to life and sputtered and he adjusted the knob until it was ru