Page 25 of Denied Access
“Greta,” Rapp said.
Ohlmeyer nodded.
Rapp processed that scene in his mind’s eye.
Hollywood had done its part to desensitize the average moviegoer to violence, but there was something horribly effective about presenting an adversary with a companion’s head. Perhaps that was because, setting the visceral nature of the act aside, it was the ultimate degradation of a person. A separation of their most recognizable feature—their head—from the body that had kept them alive. It forced a victim’s friends and family to associate a final image with pieces of a whole rather than the personage.
“Who was the victim?” Rapp said.
“Someone who began as an adversary before becoming a compatriot, and finally, a friend. The head in the box belonged to Felix Bauer. We first met on the Cold War’s battlefield.”
“He was Stasi?”
Ohlmeyer nodded, a slow, ponderous movement as if the weight of his head had suddenly grown too heavy for his neck to bear. “After a fashion. It’s more accurate to say that he was my counterpart for the Stasi. An East German banker who facilitated the East German intelligence service’s operations against the West. Over time, he became disenchanted with the communists and their Soviet puppet masters.”
“So he defected?”
Another nod. “He escaped to West Berlin and brought with him a treasure trove of information in the form of financial documents and other insights into how the Stasi and KGB were operating.”
“And you think Alexander Hughes had him killed? Why?”
Ohlmeyer shrugged. “As to your first question, most certainly. The series of numbers annotated to the stationery corresponded to an offshore bank account. Or to be more accurate, a former offshore bank account. The account that held the not-inconsiderable funds the Stasi and KGB had jointly deposited in exchange for the classified information Hughes passed to them.”
Rapp was beginning to understand where this was headed. “I take it Mr. Hughes was never able to access these funds?”
“Correct. Felix Bauer brought the account information with him when he defected, and I used it to drain his funds. To put it mildly, Hughes was not happy.”
A hiss originating from across the room became a gurgle as the steward added a final mug of steaming brew to the trio resting on the gilded, silver tray. Apparently, Ohlmeyer was expecting a quartet of visitors.
“How much did Hughes lose?” Rapp said.
“The current value of that account would be somewhere in the neighborhood of five million US dollars. Hughes was a shrewd investor.”
Rapp sucked in a breath. Five million dollars was certainly reason enough to carry a grudge, but something else about this entire affair didn’t make sense. “But that was what, ten years ago? Why would Hughes suddenly start settling old scores now?”
“I do not know. I was rather hoping you would put that question to him.”
“What about Greta?” Rapp said. “How does she play into this?”
Ohlmeyer shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea. She’s important to me; maybe that is reason enough for Hughes to target her. Either way, acredible threat has been made against her life, so I’ve taken steps to protect her. She’s being moved into hiding as we speak.”
Rapp didn’t respond, but judging by Ohlmeyer’s reaction, the set of his jaw still said plenty.
“Let me explain,” Ohlmeyer said, holding up a liver-spotted hand. “I did this not as leverage against you but as protection from you.”
Rapp leaned toward the banker. “If you think I’d ever—”
“I don’t. At least not intentionally. But you have been in this business long enough to know that the notion that someone can hold out indefinitely against torture is rubbish. Make no mistake, the task I’ve laid at your feet is not insignificant. The odds of you making it into Moscow, interrogating and killing Hughes, and then escaping undetected are not great. I’m asking you to do this because I believe the risks are worth the reward, but I didn’t live to old age by placing my fate in the hands of chance. I’m prepared to weather the storm if you’re captured and must give up what you know about me. My granddaughter is not.”
Rapp slowly leaned back in his chair. While he still thought what Ohlmeyer had done was underhanded, he understood the banker’s reasoning. He might have suggested something similar to insulate Greta had Ohlmeyer bothered to consult him. Then again, he hadn’t exactly consulted Ohlmeyer before he’d begun to date his granddaughter.
“You understand,” Ohlmeyer said.
The banker’s words were phrased as a statement rather than question. Rapp’s role as a clandestine operative necessitated subterfuge and he normally prided himself on his ability to mask his emotions.
Normally.
When the subject matter was Greta Ohlmeyer, the wordnormalno longer applied.
