‘You don’t know about that. I forgot.’
Josef told Miller about the bomb in it, and the way it went off.
‘I told you they play rough. The car has been found gutted by fire in a ravine. The body in it is unidentified, but not yours. Your story is that you were flagged down by a hitch-hiker, he hit you with an iron bar and went off in it.
‘The hospital will confirm you were brought in by a passing motor-cyclist who called an ambulance when he saw you by the roadside. They won’t recognise me again, I was in a helmet and goggles at the time. That’s the official version and it will stay. To make sure, I rang the German Press Agency two hours ago, claiming to be the hospital, and gave them the same story. You were the victim of a hitchhiker who later crashed and killed himself.’
Josef stood up and prepared to leave. He looked down at Miller.
‘You’re a lucky bastard, though you don’t seem to realise it. I got the message your girl-friend passed me, presumably on your instructions, at midday yesterday, and by riding like a maniac I made it from Munich to the house on the hill in two and a half hours dead. Which was what you almost were – dead. They had a guy who was going to kill you. I managed to interrupt him in time.’
He turned, hand on the doorknob.
‘Take a word of advice. Claim the insurance on your car, get a Volkswagen, go back to Hamburg, marry Sigi, have kids and stick to reporting. Don’t tangle with professionals again.’
Half an hour after he had gone the nurse came back.
‘There’s a phone call for you,’ she said.
It was Sigi, crying and laughing down the line. She had received an anonymous call telling her Peter was in Frankfurt General.
‘I’m on my way down, right this minute,’ she said, and hung up. The phone rang again.
‘Miller? This is Hoffmann. I just saw a piece on the agency tapes. You got a bang on the head. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, Herr Hoffmann,’ said Miller.
‘Great. When are you going to be fit?’
‘In a few days. Why?’
‘I’ve got a story that’s right up your street. A lot of daughters of wealthy papas in Germany are going down to the ski slopes and getting screwed by these handsome young ski-instructors. There’s a clinic in Bavaria that gets them back out of trouble – for a fat fee and no word to Daddy about it. Seems some of the young studs take a rake-off from the clinic. A great little story. Sex amid the Snow, Orgies in Oberland. When can you start?’
Miller thought.
‘Next week.’
‘Excellent. By the way, that thing you were on. Nazi-hunting. Did you get the man? Is there a story at all?’
‘No, Herr Hoffmann,’ said Miller slowly. ‘No story.’
‘Didn’t think so. Hurry up and get well. See you in Hamburg.’
Josef’s plane from Frankfurt via London came into Lod Airport, Tel Aviv, as dusk was settling on Tuesday evening. He was met by two men in a car and taken to headquarters for debriefing by the colonel who had signed the cable from Cormorant. They talked until almost two in the morning, a stenographer noting it all down. When it was over the colonel leaned back, smiled and offered his agent a cigarette.
‘Well done,’ he said simply. ‘We’ve checked on the factory and tipped off the authorities – anonymously of course. The research section will be dismantled. We’ll see to that, even if the German authorities don’t. But they will. The scientists apparently didn’t know who they were working for. We’ll approach them all privately and most will agree to destroy their records. They know if the story broke, the weight of opinion in Germany today is pro-Israeli. They’ll get other jobs in industry and keep their mouths shut. So will Bonn, and so will we. What about Miller?’
‘He’ll do the same. What about those rockets?’
The colonel blew a column of smoke and gazed at the stars in the night sky outside.
‘I have a feeling they’ll never fly now. Nasser has to be ready by the summer of ’67 at the latest, and if the research work in that Vulkan factory is destroyed, they’ll never mount another operation in time to fit the guidance systems to the rockets before the summer of ’67.’
‘Then the danger’s over,’ said the agent. The colonel smiled.
‘The danger’s never over. It just changes shape. This particular danger may be over. The big one goes on. We’re going to have to fight again, and maybe after that, before it’s over. Anyway, you must be tired. You can go home now.’
He reached into a drawer and produced a polythene bag of personal effects, while the agent deposited on the desk his false German passport, money, wallet, keys and in a side room changed clothes, leaving the German clothes with his superior.