D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

arrived back at the College of Geopolitics at five minutes till one. Michael checked the street finding no blue Citroens in sight. It did little to relieve his anxiety.

Inside the building, the hallways were choked with students headed for classes.

Erika stopped a militant-looking girl and asked for directions. She rattled them off in rapid German and took off running, no doubt late for a lecture.

They found Jarmann’s office on the fourth floor, a small plastic nameplate affixed to the door the only indication. Michael looked at Erika, his pulse beating a tattoo in his ears. She smiled and nodded. He raised his arm and knocked.

“Ja, herein,” came the reply. The voice was low and guttural.

Michael pushed open the door and entered a twenty-foot square room that could best be described as organized chaos. Papers and books stacked on top of each other covered every available surface. Michael cleared his throat.

“Professor? Professor Jarmann?”

Jarmann’s eyebrows arched at the unfamiliar sound of English, but his attention remained fixed on the term paper in front of him.

“Yes, young man. You wish a copy of the syllabus for next semester?”

Michael shot an unsure glance at Erika, who encouraged him with a curt nod toward the older man.

“No, Professor, just a message.... The Eagle Flies....”

The effect on Jarmann was immediate. His head snapped up from the paper, eyes ablaze with suspicion, and perhaps a touch of fear.

“Who are you?”

“I’m sorry to upset you, sir, but we’ve come about an important matter.”

“You have not answered my question. Who are you?”

“Forgive me,” Michael said, moving toward the desk where the old man sat. “My name is Michael Thorley, Jr. My father was an acquaintance of Friedrich Rainer. This is his daughter, Erika.”

Jarmann eyed Erika, the hint of a smile on his lips. “What took you so long?”

“Pardon?”

Jarmann stood and crossed the cluttered office to a credenza, pushing a stack of papers aside to reveal a battered coffeemaker. He opened the top, put in a filter and began filling it from an open can of ground Turkish coffee.

“Just what I said, young man,” Jarmann said, picking right up where he left off. “What kept you? It seems my erstwhile associates have been dropping like flies, as of late. Do you like cream and sugar?”

Michael couldn’t believe the old man’s blasé manner.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he asked, his anger overcoming his decorum. “Aren’t you afraid? By our reckoning, you’re the last living member of Der Weisse Adler left. If they kill you, it will all have been for nothing.”

Jarmann paused in his task and stared off into space, his expression saddening. “My God.... I haven’t heard that name spoken for over forty years. I’d almost forgotten it.”

“The Russians haven’t,” Erika said, speaking for the first time.

The old man shot her a troubled glance, then resumed making the coffee.

“In answer to your question, young man.... No, I am not afraid. I am too old to worry about such things.”

“But surely what you know is important?” Michael said.

“Is it? Would you like to know why they have not killed me, why they won’t kill me?”

“Yes, I would.”

The coffeemaker gurgled, the office filling with the odor of brewing coffee. Jarmann stared at Michael, seeming to take his measure. A moment later he spoke.

“They have not killed me because I am regarded as a crackpot within the academic community, and in the world at large—a drunken lunatic with tenure. Nothing I say is ever taken seriously. Were I to come forward and speak the truth, the world would laugh.... I will doubtless remain in these ‘hallowed halls’ until I ossify.... Then again, perhaps my colleagues are planning my demise. They’ve the most to gain, at this point.”

The old man roared with laughter, pleased with his gallows humor. He began pouring the steaming coffee into three cracked and dusty mugs. Michael glanced at Erika, who nodded sadly.

“He’s right,” she said. “No one would believe him.”

“Then why the bloody hell did we come here?”

“Because, young man, your pretty Fräulein knows something you do not.”

“What?” Michael asked, his patience near its end.

“That my reputation for eccentricity is by design. Friedrich entrusted me with the final proof should this day ever arise. Proof that will forever silence the Russian Bear....”

Karl sat behind the wheel of the midnight-blue Citroen, watching the fourth-floor window of Jarmann’s office through a compact pair of Zeiss binoculars from his vantage point across the now busy street. He snatched up the compact cellular phone, punched in a long series of numbers, pressed it to his ear and waited.

It was answered on the first ring. “Ja. What is your report?”

“They are inside at this very moment, Comrade General.”

“Excellent,” Mueller replied. “Make sure no one interferes. The Russian swine may still try to take the old man out, just to play it safe. After Thorley leaves the building, you know what to do?”

Karl’s bulldog face creased into a smile. “Ja, Comrade General, I know...exactly.”

Michael stared at the old man’s wizened face, trying to discern the slightest hint of guile, but the ancient bloodshot eyes were determined—resolute.

Proof!

The eccentric old bastard had proof!

A look to Erika confirmed the measure of his own excitement. Her eyes glittered with a fierce, almost greedy light. Michael watched, breathless, while Jarmann opened a section of his bookshelves, revealing an expensive state-of-the-art fireproof safe. He then raised a gnarled finger toward the digital keypad and entered a series of numbers, so fast that Michael could only discern the first three. The safe beeped, and a second later the door swung open as if propelled by invisible hands. Jarmann wasted no time reaching in and pulling out a yellowed envelope.