The Second Son

Mila was back at his head with the rag, and Hoffner gently pushed her hand away. She tossed the rag onto the table and sat next to him. He took her hand and said, “Any chance I might find out why you’re here?”

Wilson took a sip. “Saving your life, I think.”

“I thought they weren’t going to shoot me.”

“Then saving the doctor’s.” Wilson took the bottle and pulled over a chair. He sat. “They found her yesterday morning, in a church of all places. Hell of a time convincing them to let her go. God it’s hot.” He drank.

Hoffner wanted to ask her, but not with Wilson in the room. He felt her thumb across his hand, and he drank.

Hoffner set the glass down. “I didn’t know the English and the fascists were on such good terms.”

“The Admiralty’s on good terms with everyone.” Wilson tossed back his glass. “We’re even quite chummy with the anarchists in Barcelona, although the Communists are proving a bit much. I imagine they always do.”

Wilson refilled the glasses, and Hoffner said, “And Captain Doval was happy to hand me over to you?”

The sweat on Wilson’s head had beaded at the brow. A single drop began to make its way down to the cheek. “Did he look happy?”

“No. He looked drunk.”

“Good. He might have shot you a few days ago. We had to get General Mola himself to put in a call to save you. God, I would have loved to have seen Doval’s face during that conversation.” Wilson drank again and smiled.

“And why would General Mola have cared one way or the other about me?”

“Because we told him to.”

“And the fascists are inclined to take orders from the English these days?”

“If they want us to keep quiet about what’s going on here, yes.”

Hoffner didn’t follow. “I thought you wanted to expose the Nazis.”

Wilson lapped at the last drops in his glass. “Then you thought wrong.”

Before Hoffner could answer, there was a knock at the door. Wilson put up his hand and turned to listen. The knock repeated. It came a third time, and Wilson stood. He moved to the door and opened it. Karl Vollman stepped into the room.

Vollman was dressed in peasant clothes, loose pants and a shirt smeared in oil and grit. He smelled of pine oil and manure. He had gotten some sun in the last week, making the white hair seem whiter still.

Wilson closed the door, and Vollman set a package on the desk. Vollman then turned to Hoffner.

“Hello, Inspector. Shithole attics and used-up men. Quite a life, isn’t it?”

Vollman, as it turned out, had been the first German to reach Teruel after Georg. That was over a week ago. He had met with Alfassi. He had seen Major Sanz. He had bypassed Tarancon and Toledo. Why, he said, was unimportant. What was clear was that he and Wilson were on very friendly terms.

Hoffner said, “Nice to see the English and Russian intelligence services working so closely with each other.”

“Soviet Intelligence,” Vollman corrected.

Hoffner’s hand was stiff from holding the glass. He felt it begin to slip, and Mila took it from him. She then took his hand.

Hoffner said, “It still doesn’t explain why General Mola would have been happy to keep an old German cop alive. Any chance you can answer that one, Vollman? Wilson here seems less than willing.”

Wilson’s bald knees had grown pinker in the heat. They stared up at Hoffner even as the man himself remained perfectly still. Finally Wilson said, “A great deal can change in twelve days.”

“A straight answer,” Hoffner said. “I think you owe me that.”

Wilson continued to stare. He glanced at Vollman before saying, “Georg was meant to get the information about the weapons and then come home. Where they were being shipped. How the Germans were pla

“You mean he wasn’t meant to stop them,” said Hoffner.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“And yet he decided to do that.”

“Nobility’s a dangerous thing in naive hands.”

“So you’re keen to let the Nazis destroy Spain.”

“If that’s what they want, yes.”

Hoffner felt Mila’s grip tighten, and he said, “I’m not sure I like it that you’re on my side. Either of you.”

“Actually, you do,” said Wilson. “You just don’t understand why. Twelve days ago Georg was missing, Franco was losing precious time in Morocco, and the anarchists were on the verge of beating back the rebellion. The rest of us were agreeing not to get involved.”

“I’m aware of all that.”

“Good. Then you’ll know it wasn’t true. The Germans were looking to find a way to get their guns and tanks in. The Americans at Texaco were working out how they could supply oil for the fascists and make their money. The Russians were shipping over what they could to keep the Reds afloat. And the French were doing what they always do-slipping into their turtle shell and hoping no one noticed that they lie directly on the road between Berlin and Madrid.”

“So much for a straight answer,” said Hoffner. “You’ve left out your English, by the way.”

“Yes,” said Wilson, “I have. There has to be someone who steps back and sees what’s really happening.”

“And that is?”

Wilson blinked several times. The sweat had caught in his eyelashes. He wiped it away, and said, “Can’t you see it, Inspector? We’re simply not ready to call the Nazis’ bluff. We’re not all that eager to see if they’ll pull back. It’s not Franco and Mola we have to worry about. If they destroy Spain-unsavory a choice as that might be-so be it. We can debate ethics another time. But if we start exposing gun routes and secret companies and drop-off points, we humiliate our German friends and everyone starts posturing. Then it’s Europe that hangs in the balance.”

Hoffner was tasting the bile in his throat. “And it’s only in the last twelve days that you’ve realized you have this ethical dilemma?”

Wilson’s jaw momentarily tightened. “I wouldn’t play that card, Inspector. You’re the ones who elected these people three years ago. I think we’re well beyond questions of ethics. You want me to admit it, fine. Our fighter bombers aren’t up to par just yet. We haven’t the stomach to dive back into full-on war quite so soon. So it’s the practical dilemmas we worry about. Twelve days ago the word came down from the Admiralty to step back. Do nothing to embarrass our German friends. The Admiralty knew Georg was in. They knew he’d taken a camera, and they were very insistent that nothing on that film find the light of day. So they needed someone to bring him back.”

This last bit seemed laughable. “And I just happened to walk into your office?”

For the first time Wilson showed confusion. Just as quickly his expression turned to muted amusement.

“You?” he said. “You think we would have crossed our fingers and hoped you knew what you were doing? I think Herr Vollman here was a slightly better candidate, don’t you?”

It took Hoffner a moment to let this sink in. He looked at Vollman. The man was crushing his cigarette against the leg of the table. He dropped it and brushed off his hands.

Hoffner said, “You really are working nicely together, aren’t you?”

Vollman said, “Our aeroplanes and tanks aren’t quite up to standard yet, either. The anarchists are going to find that out very soon.”

Hoffner tried to forget that Mila was hearing every word of this.

Wilson said, “We knew the Russians had sent Vollman in. We knew he was looking for the same things we had sent Georg to find-German guns. And we knew the two of them had made contact in Barcelona. So we approached the Russians and told them it would be best if their man found Georg and pulled him out. And while we were waiting for their response, you walked into my office.”

Hoffner would have liked to have had some booze in his glass. “And yet you sent me in after him anyway.”

“Yes,” said Wilson. “I did.”