difficulty imagining the diminutive man, two years his junior, running the behemoth that was Bach Industries. A little like Goebbels governing the Reich. “I hadn’t heard your father had retired.”
“He hasn’t—at least not officially. The Americans have him under house arrest. The past year he’s suffered a series of strokes that have left him soft. He’ll be dead before fall.”
Don’t smile, Egon, or I’ll cuff you,
thought Seyss. “And how is it that
you
escaped the Allies’ interest? They’re a thorough bunch.”
“Thorough but pragmatic,” answered Egon, sensing his anger and taking a wise step to the rear. “We’ve managed an arrangement. I’ve been declared necessary to the rebuilding of Germany.”
“Have you? Bravo.” Seyss raised an eyebrow, but decided not to delve any further into the subject. The Bachs had always brokered some type of arrangement going with whoever was in power. Monarchs, republicans, fascists. It came as no surprise that Egon had worked out something with the Americans. Approaching the window, Seyss peeked from the lace curtains. Fifty meters away, two American soldiers stood guard at the entry to Villa Ludwig’s driveway. “Where were they when I arrived last night?”
“On duty, of course. Otherwise I would have met you myself.”
An arrangement indeed. Enough to clear the Olympicstrasse of military police for an hour but not to rid himself of a permanent guard. Things were more complicated than Bach had let on. “And your family? How did your brothers make out?”
Egon removed his glasses and as he polished them with his tie, his defenseless eyes crossed. “Fritz was killed at Monte Cassino a year ago. Heinz was in your area, the Dnieper Bend in the Ukraine. Apparently his tank took a direct hit. It was one of ours: a Panzer IV from our Essen
metalwerke.
A shame.” The creep sounded more concerned about the failure of the equipment than the death of his brother. “You knew about Karl. Seven kills before he went down over the Channel.”
“I’d heard, yes.” The Bachs might be an arrogant bunch but they were brave. Three of four sons lost. The Führer could ask no more of any family. “My condolences.”
Replacing his glasses, Egon retrieved two beers from the cherrywood side bar. “To fallen comrades.”
“May their memories never be forgotten.”
The Hacker-Pschorr was warm, but still Seyss’s favorite, and its bitter aftertaste resuscitated memories of his time with the Bach family. In this room, he’d listened to Hans Frizsche, the voice of the German DNB, announce the Anschluss with Austria, and a year later the annexation of the Sudetenland. In this room, he’d received the orders canceling his leave in August of 1939. In this room, he’d lowered himself to one knee and asked the only woman he’d ever loved to marry him. For a moment, he allowed himself to drift with the tide of his bittersweet memories. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “And Ingrid?”
“At Sonnenbrücke taking care of Father.” The Bachs owned homes in every corner of Germany. Each had a name. Sonnenbrücke was their palatial hunting lodge in the Chiemgauer Alps. “She always wanted to be a doctor,” added Egon. “Now’s her chance.”
“And Wilimovsky?”
Egon shook his head brusquely. “Shot down in the East a year ago. Pity for a girl to be widowed so young, though it’s the boy I’m worried about. Just six.” Suddenly he froze, his voice ratcheting up a notch. “Not interested, are you?
Or have you been all along?”
Seyss met Egon’s salacious gaze, but his thoughts were with Ingrid and the time was a crisp fall day in 1938. They had been seeing each other for a year and he had arrived that morning to spend his weekend pass at Villa Ludwig before continuing on to an infantry training course at Brunswick. Against her father’s will, she had decided to study medicine. With the Jews forbidden to practice, there was a growing shortage of
“He hasn’t—at least not officially. The Americans have him under house arrest. The past year he’s suffered a series of strokes that have left him soft. He’ll be dead before fall.”
Don’t smile, Egon, or I’ll cuff you,
thought Seyss. “And how is it that
you
escaped the Allies’ interest? They’re a thorough bunch.”
“Thorough but pragmatic,” answered Egon, sensing his anger and taking a wise step to the rear. “We’ve managed an arrangement. I’ve been declared necessary to the rebuilding of Germany.”
“Have you? Bravo.” Seyss raised an eyebrow, but decided not to delve any further into the subject. The Bachs had always brokered some type of arrangement going with whoever was in power. Monarchs, republicans, fascists. It came as no surprise that Egon had worked out something with the Americans. Approaching the window, Seyss peeked from the lace curtains. Fifty meters away, two American soldiers stood guard at the entry to Villa Ludwig’s driveway. “Where were they when I arrived last night?”
“On duty, of course. Otherwise I would have met you myself.”
An arrangement indeed. Enough to clear the Olympicstrasse of military police for an hour but not to rid himself of a permanent guard. Things were more complicated than Bach had let on. “And your family? How did your brothers make out?”
Egon removed his glasses and as he polished them with his tie, his defenseless eyes crossed. “Fritz was killed at Monte Cassino a year ago. Heinz was in your area, the Dnieper Bend in the Ukraine. Apparently his tank took a direct hit. It was one of ours: a Panzer IV from our Essen
metalwerke.
A shame.” The creep sounded more concerned about the failure of the equipment than the death of his brother. “You knew about Karl. Seven kills before he went down over the Channel.”
“I’d heard, yes.” The Bachs might be an arrogant bunch but they were brave. Three of four sons lost. The Führer could ask no more of any family. “My condolences.”
Replacing his glasses, Egon retrieved two beers from the cherrywood side bar. “To fallen comrades.”
“May their memories never be forgotten.”
The Hacker-Pschorr was warm, but still Seyss’s favorite, and its bitter aftertaste resuscitated memories of his time with the Bach family. In this room, he’d listened to Hans Frizsche, the voice of the German DNB, announce the Anschluss with Austria, and a year later the annexation of the Sudetenland. In this room, he’d received the orders canceling his leave in August of 1939. In this room, he’d lowered himself to one knee and asked the only woman he’d ever loved to marry him. For a moment, he allowed himself to drift with the tide of his bittersweet memories. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “And Ingrid?”
“At Sonnenbrücke taking care of Father.” The Bachs owned homes in every corner of Germany. Each had a name. Sonnenbrücke was their palatial hunting lodge in the Chiemgauer Alps. “She always wanted to be a doctor,” added Egon. “Now’s her chance.”
“And Wilimovsky?”
Egon shook his head brusquely. “Shot down in the East a year ago. Pity for a girl to be widowed so young, though it’s the boy I’m worried about. Just six.” Suddenly he froze, his voice ratcheting up a notch. “Not interested, are you?
Or have you been all along?”
Seyss met Egon’s salacious gaze, but his thoughts were with Ingrid and the time was a crisp fall day in 1938. They had been seeing each other for a year and he had arrived that morning to spend his weekend pass at Villa Ludwig before continuing on to an infantry training course at Brunswick. Against her father’s will, she had decided to study medicine. With the Jews forbidden to practice, there was a growing shortage of
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