The Ghost Read online

  “Okay, I am knowing only vone ting. Dis papers having namens und platzes in dis vorld on dis list. Dat ist all I knowing.”

  “I said be specific. What names and what places?”

  “I also don’t know names—but many names are in papers,” the Argentinean blurted out. “But I hear names of places. I hear President Peron say: ‘Buenos Aires,’ and also ‘Sao Paulo’. Sao Paulo, of course, this is Brazil. He say this when he talk about package with papers. He say papers they come from Germany, his job to keep papers safe in Palace in Buenos Aires—in Palace. In Palace is place to be guarded. Two guards to guard room with papers. All guards in Argentina secret service. These guards, I know all them. President Peron say when I come back with package then I will be head of guards of this package.”

  “Okay,” Mac continued. “We all know that Peron was always with Hitler and Mussolini? You also know this, right?”

  “Yes, bueno,” Eduardo answered. “Peron was a Fascisti. Even when war and even when finished, many Nazis make trip to Buenos Aires. President Peron with wife, Evita, meet them. She too, loved Nazi. These people keep to come more to Buenos Aires before war finished. Start to come Buenos Aires 1943, 1944, 1945, 1946, even to now, 1958. In secret service, we always looking after them. Job is to make comfortable. This is what I can tell you.”

  At that point, this talkative Argentinean stopped and turned his gaze on Mac.

  “Okay, that’s good on specifics and details,” Mac said. Al piped in. He obviously couldn’t hold himself back.

  “Sorry, Mac. I gotta get to Willy.”

  “Hold it Al. I can feel it. Your getting itchy. Just hold it. I’ll do the talking.”

  After Mac said that, then Al calmed down, stopped talking, as Mac continued.

  “Okay Herr Ewald Krauss, why did you push the kid.”

  “No, I never push boy. He jumping.”

  “First major mother-fuckn’ lie,” I shouted. Like Al, I couldn’t keep it in.

  “That’s a lie because I saw you do it, mother-fucker. That’s right. I saw it.”

  “Nein, it vas dark. No vone could seeing! Boy jumping out on dis outside of building und he saying to jumping. He vould jumping. He saying to jumping.”

  “You lyin’ mother-fuckn’ rat-bastard. Yeah, he was on the outside of the building because either you put him there or he jumped out onto the ledge to get away from you. And he was too far away from the fire-escape so that I knew you were in the living room with him and not in the bedroom. I live there too. I know which window is for which room. That’s why he couldn’t get to the fire escape. So, he had no choice. Either he’d be badly beaten by you, you scumbag fuck, or the only other choice he had was to get out of the room. That’s when you pushed him. When he was standing on the ledge. I saw it from across the street. And you’d better tell us something important that you haven’t said yet or you might die a bad death right here and now and I mean it. I’ll say it in German: Toten!”

  When I said that last word none of us standing there even flinched. And even if not one of us understood German, we all knew that when I said “toten,” it was the German word for ‘dead.’ All nine of us were glaring at him. We could all see that as far as he was concerned, he was hearing the threat ringing in his ears. That was a moment of truth for him because I instantly had the thought that no matter how he believed his loyalty and fidelity to the Nazi cause was unshakable, at this moment, right now, he realized just how shakable it really was.

  It’s the old wisdom that nothing focuses the mind as much as an impending hanging, and there was no doubt that with Mac, Al, and especially me standing there—not even counting the rest of the guys—he would probably, at the moment, be quite focused.

  The Argentinean stepped in again. It was clear to me and likely everyone else, that whenever the Argentinean stepped in, things seemed to calm down.

  “Okay, okay. I think I tell you something more. You see, President Peron tell Evita, his wife and dos friends he trust that living in Vatican is Bishop. Bishop very important man to Nazis. This in Vatican, Rome. Yes, it is Bishop is important man. Bishop I hear President Peron say exact, setecientos pasaportes para setecientos Nazis en Germany who need safe place from Europa. This is meaning seven hundred para seven hundred. This is people need safe place in away to live for all years. This if the war they lose.

  “President Peron say more come later this setecientos pasaportes para to running no to be executed for thesa war crime. President Peron say many places for to be safe for these men. I remember Peron word exact. He told places: Argentina, Brazil, also Uruguay, Paraguay, Chile. For sure he say this countries. Ah, yes, y Syria, y Egypt. This I know. I hear. Also, I hear President Peron say el Bishop name by code—only people by code calling him ‘H.A.’ This man who people say is ‘Ghost of Rome,’ he is in Vatican. Si, he is called by name H.A. This Ghost, H.A., he control mission here, we come for it, Ewald and me. Like I say it, this Ghost has passports, pasaportes. He is knowing to have people to travel to the safe places.

  “I know when President Peron say this thing, papers in package for sure are their names y place now you want to know. Ewald and me we should bring package to Argentina to Palace of President Peron y names y places of these things would ever not to be discover. Para this they give ten thousand dollars to me and same to senor Krauss.”

  After that declaration, we all stared at him for a few moments. It was obvious we were all thinking the same thing. We were all convinced that whatever he said was true. We now felt we had the motive for it all and on top of that we had this twist of a ghost thing with the initials H.A. The whole thing was starting to look like a much bigger deal than we originally thought. In other words, they were coming to get the package even if it meant killing a few people—including a kid.

  Who the hell was this guy, this so-called Ghost, H.A.? Was he still operating this shipping department from Germany to South America and the Middle East? How many, if any of the seven hundred has he already placed? Of those he got out, assuming any did, who are they and where are they even now about a dozen years after the war?

  But before we could even begin a new phase of investigation, Mac told Lyle to call off the cemetery stakeout and to kill it in the morgue as well. When he said “kill it in the morgue as well,” Al looked at me with eyebrows lifted. Then Al said it:

  “We’ve gotta get that package, and we’ve gotta talk to someone I have in mind, who could be just the right person to understandmore about all of this.”

  “Like who, Al?” I asked.

  “To a guy who’s always interested in this business of escaped Nazi war criminals. His name’s Simon Wiesenthal.”

  Looking at Al, Mac kind of impatiently said: “Simon Wiesenthal? Do you know him? How do you know him? I mean is he a diplomat or a journalist, or maybe a cop? Or have you just heard about him? Better yet, if you know him or not, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is if you know how to contact him? Right?

  “Okay, Al, can we get him? Who’s Simon Wiesenthal?

  “He’s a guy who went through the concentration camps during the war and lost family members. He, himself, escaped getting shot or gassed by a hair, and probably on more than one occasion. He’s now known as a Nazi hunter. I’m going to call a friend of mine in London. He’s actually M-16. He’ll know how to contact Wiesenthal.

  . 5 .

  LICHTENFELD TO WIESENTHAL

  In the forward basement area of the Precinct where we interrogated both guys were three isolation cells. Mac and Lyle decided to put Ewald Krauss, ‘the pusher,’ into one of them. But first, he was finally booked. He would be guarded twenty-four/seven. The other one, the Argentinean who gave us that last piece of invaluable information was brought upstairs, booked, and placed in a cell on the second floor of the Precinct. He too, would be guarded twenty-four/seven. Under Mac’s orders, they were not to be touched.

  Nothing had been decided about how we were going to deal with ‘the pusher.’ Mac wouldn’t s
ay it when Al or I was present, but I kind of knew that his intent was of course to follow what he had to follow; ‘the pusher’ was going on trial.

  Mac was tough but every cop should be like him—a stand-up guy.

  But I had other ideas—especially about ‘the pusher.’ What I didn’t say out loud to Mac was that ‘the pusher’ might go to trial only if he was still breathing. I didn’t need to share that thought with Al because, in all likelihood, he probably had that same sentiment.

  The issue now was to get to this Wiesenthal guy. For that, Al needed to get in touch with our Krav Maga magician, Imi Lichtenfeld. In telling me about his experience with Lichtenfeld, Al mentioned that immediately after the war, Lichtenfeld, in addition to training Jews in the Krav Maga killing methods which Lichtenfeld, of course, called self-defense, he was especially interested in finding Nazis who were hiding from allied investigators or instead, were secluded and protected by governments. That’s plural. It’s plural because the governments of Germany, Austria, Argentina, Syria, and even the United States, plus some others, were keeping these individuals who were guilty of war crimes, safe. Various motives were in play. Some governments were keeping them safe because of: a) similar Nazi sentiments of the government; b) financial payoffs; c) for their scientific usefulness; or, d) simply not interested in devoting any money, time, or effort to return to that miserable time.

  Of course, these motives were not what was motivating Al or me, and certainly wouldn’t interest Lichtenfeld. And further, Al, assured us that such stuff would never interest or persuade Wiesenthal.

  I later got the story that in his pursuits, Lichtenfeld was introduced to Mr. Wiesenthal. Apparently, Wiesenthal had quickly developed a reputation for keeping diaries and records of Nazis who were responsible for horrible crimes against humanity—especially against Jews.

  Now, it was 1958 and Wiesenthal was already about fifty. He had survived about seven or eight concentration and extermination camps and made it his mission get them—each and every one of them. He wouldn’t rest until he did—if he could. One didn’t need to read Wiesenthal’s mind or try to imagine what his thoughts and fantasies were to see what he was up to; that is, apparently, it was known that Weisenthal would hold forth about wanting to get them all. But that’s still too general. To be specific, he wanted them all either dangling from ropes or burning in crematoria. However, practically speaking, he was realistically going to try and locate as many as he could, and in the end, put them all on trial.

  Al said that Wiesenthal shared this inspirational vendetta with Lichtenfeld. In turn, Lichtenfeld was a highly interested listener. Therefore, since Al knew Lichtenfeld personally, then the way to get to Wiesenthal was for Al to first contact Lichtenfeld. Ultimately, and not surprisingly, as it turned out, Wiesenthal was a big fan of Lichtenfeld’s.

  So now, Al was planning the contact with Lichtenfeld. Licthtenfeld was a few years older than Al; Al in his early forties, Lichtenfeld in his late forties. Lichtenfeld’s given name was Emrich from which came his shortened or nickname, Imi. Among other similarities between both men was one that underpinned the physical contact interest they both shared. For example, Al was a terrific boxer and Imi had the same interest in boxing and somewhere in Europe he even won some titles—Al says, as a middleweight.

  Importantly, they both hated the Nazis; Lichtenfeld escaped them in Europe and made his way to what was then the Palestine Mandate. Al escaped the Nazis because of the best possible reason: He was born in America! It was for many reasons, therefore, that Al and Imi became great friends. Simply stated, they were like-minded.

  Al had to get Imi to listen to this story regarding someone in the Vatican, maybe a Bishop whose code name was, H.A., and who is probably in charge of creating a pathway for Nazi war criminals to escape legal judgment and consequent punishment for crimes against humanity. Yet, when I say ‘Nazi war criminals,’ I begin to get the sense that I’m being redundant. I mean if you’re a Nazi, aren’t you a criminal?

  In any event, Mac, Lyle, and I, had a meeting with Al. I asked Al the first question.

  “Al, would it be possible that Wiesenthal himself might have heard about some ghost-guy with the initials H.A.? And the same for Lichtenfeld. Could they already know about all this stuff. So, what now?”

  Mac then said what already was in the air:

  “Now we’ve gotta get a budget from the department, then deputize Al here to travel to wherever Lichtenfeld lives—probably somewhere in Israel—and try to get some traction investigating this mess. You ready to travel, Al?”

  “Budget or not, absolutely I’m going to find Lichtenfeld.”

  “Me too,” I piped in. “Me too, even if I have to pay for it outta my own pocket.”

  “Listen Frankie, no good. You’ve gotta stay here. For Willy,” Al immediately answered.

  “No—Gloria for Willy,” I answered. “Right, Al? Gloria for Willy.”

  “Okay, good idea. It’s good. She’ll even insist on it,” Al said. “Frankie, but you too. You’ve gotta be with Willy. Don’t argue.”

  “Before the budget gets approved,” Mac interrupted, “and before arrangements are made to travel, we’ve gotta get back to the hospital and speak to Dr. Mehta. Also, we need to figure a way to talk to Willy.”

  “Could very well be the doctor has suggestions,” I piped in again. It was my fervent hope and maybe my optimism doing the talking—hoping the doctor will tell us that Willy’ll be okay.

  Mac then called the hospital and was informed that Dr. Mehta was having rounds later at the hospital. Of course, on Mac’s orders Willy was transferred back to Montefiore as soon as we caught those loose canons. He was still in the same condition and was comfortable and breathing normally although remaining unconscious.

  While Mac was beginning to make arrangements for money to fund Al’s trip and also to officially endow him with New York City official police ID, Al was beginning to figure how to locate Lichtenfeld.

  But all this was in the thinking phase. At the moment, our first and very immediate focus was the hospital and the meeting with Dr. Mehta, the brain specialist.

  * * *

  Al was the only one on the team absent. He was busy with doing who knows what, in order to plan his trip to meet with Imi Lichtenfeld. Now the team included Al’s representative—his Gloria. And she was good. Along with Gloria in the waiting room at Montefiore Hospital, we were eager to hear what Dr. Mehta had to say. And before we knew it, in he stepped.

  “Hello. I know who you all are. It’s for Willy Travali. I’m Dr. Sitaram Mehta. First, Willy’s okay. I want to tell you that first. Willy will, in my opinion recover. Let’s not waste time with introductions. I see you all as one strong unit and that tells me that Willy’s reference group makes him also strong.

  “Originally we thought he may have suffered what is known as Locked-In Syndrome. That kind of disorder is serious and involves a problem in the brainstem. There’s no need for me to explain the ins and outs of Locked-In. We’re sure he does not have it, and the same goes for MCA, meaning Minimal Conscious State. As an aside, Locked-In Syndrome was first described in the novel The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, where the victim suffered a stroke and learned to communicate by blinking his eyes. So, thankfully, that’s now out of the question.

  “Along with the series of broken bones and other problems that Dr. Fishman detailed to you, you should know that Willy is also suffering with a right pneumothorax which simply means he has a right lung collapse. That too, will heal itself and the lung will gradually reflate. He has fractures of the long bones of the arm and leg as well as a pelvic fracture—a single fracture, only one. These will also heal.

  “If you hear anything about a vegetative state, please disregard it. It does not apply at all to Willy. Further, there is no fracture of the skull. However, he is badly bruised all over the front of his body and he’s in some pain. Again, this will abate. Willy is now on pain medication which also accounts for his deep, relievi
ng sleep.

  “The only other diagnosis that occurred to me to investigate would have been what’s known as akinetic mutism. I thought of it originally when I saw him because he couldn’t talk and couldn’t move. This is usually caused by a frontal lobe injury that Willy does not exhibit. Therefore, I am ruling out akinetic mutism.

  “So that leaves us with a young boy who is badly beaten up with broken bones, a collapsed lung and a number of other things that will require surgery, but not neurosurgery. Having said all that, I must say with all that has happened to him, Willy is a lucky boy. He’ll will become quite familiar with Dr. Fishman for surgery on his knee and chin and he’s going to be seeing the hospital dental service to replace a few teeth. The Chief of Service of the pulmonary department will monitor the lung reflation process.

  “I believe it will be another day or two before Willy fully comes around so please do not worry if he’s not immediately responding. All in all, Willy will be the champion patient of the hospital and I can assure you all the nurses will adore him. But he will be here for a while. I think about at least two months. By the way, I have also heard about Miss Messer here.”

  For the first time, Dr. Mehta stopped his soliloquy and, bowing slightly to Gloria said:

  “How do you do. From what I’ve been told of your presence here, should you decide to become either a nurse or a doctor, please see me for the stellar reference I plan writing on your behalf.”

  At that, the mood lightened. We all laughed and hugged.

  Dr. Mehta asked if we had any questions? We all shook our heads ‘no,’ and after saying it was good to meet us and that we could consult with him at any time, he then bid us a gentle farewell and walked out past the officers who were on duty at the door of Willy’s room.

  We were all relieved but choked up at the same time. Gloria and I had tears running shamelessly down our cheeks. We were laughing as we were crying. Gloria said she would visit Willy every day after her school day was over and would keep the police and Willy company. The two cops stationed there smiled as they shook hands with me, Mac, and Lyle, and kissed Gloria.