Blecher leaned back in his chair. He kept his cool – just. I could see how astounded he was by my statement.
“I see,” he finally said. He turned to one of his three telephones and snapped a few orders in German.
“I'm getting the hostage rescue team ready and we put our intelligence unit on the alert. You can come with me to the pension. If you want to, of course.”
I wanted to. I climbed into an unmarked police car and drove with Blecher to the pension. Ron went back to the consulate.
“I'm out of here and out of this,” Ron told me, essentially washing his hands of the whole business.
I followed Blecher and his four plainclothes detectives into the pension. I expected Mina to be angry, but I could no longer obey her wish to keep the police out of the situation. Blecher went straight to the reception desk. As I approached, Blecher turned to me and said, “The woman has checked out!”
“Are you sure there's no mistake? I spoke with her earlier today and we agreed to meet here at 6:00 P.M. Did she leave a message?”
“No. The receptionist just told us that an hour ago two young men came to see Mrs. Bernstein. She was waiting for them in the hallway with her bags packed. They helped her to their car where a third man was waiting with his engine running, and then they drove off. Obviously she was not forcibly taken.”
“It just doesn't make sense,” I said. “Would you ask the receptionist if Mrs. Bernstein made or received any phone calls within the past three hours?”
Blecher looked at me. “Herr Gordon, we know our work.” He was unsympathetic.
“Of course. I know that,” I said quickly. Alienating him was not wise. While we were talking, two detectives went up to Mina's room. They returned to report that the room was clean. The occupant had left no belongings, suspicious or otherwise.
Something was happening. “What's going on?” I asked Blecher as I moved toward him.
I was sure the two men who took Mina away were Mossad operatives. Mina wouldn't have left the pension without telling me or leaving a note behind, unless she thought I was part of the operation, or Ariel had been found.
“How did she settle her bill?” I asked Blecher.
He went to the front desk and returned with the answer. “In cash. American dollars. She apologized for not having enough German marks.”
“This is more proof that her departure was sudden and unplanned,” I said. Blecher nodded in agreement. I looked at my watch; it was 6:15 P.M.
“I've got to leave now, but I'll call you later? I'm still with you on this case.”
Blecher looked at me, thought for a second, and said, “Fine. You can go, but if I need to talk to you, where do I find you?”
“You can contact me through Lovejoy or at the Omni Hotel.”
I drove back to my hotel, parked my car, and went up to my room to check for messages. Nothing new. Down again quickly, I hailed a cab to go to Bayerstrasse. I got out one block from my favorite corner, on the sidewalk opposite the pay phone. There was no one in sight. I looked at my watch: 7:18 P.M. I crossed the street to the pay phone. I took up the receiver to fake a call as my other hand searched for my tape recorder under the box. It was still there. I quickly replaced the tape and put the used one in my pocket. I hung up the receiver, crossed the street again, again went up and knocked on Mrs. Landau's door.
“I came to pick up the equipment,” I said, and walked directly to her balcony. I disconnected the camcorder from the wall outlet and folded the tripod.
“Our experts will analyze the material and then a decision will be made if we need to use your balcony for additional days,” I said. “May I call you again tomorrow morning if we need more footage?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, apparently liking the idea of making another easy five hundred. I gave her a paper and asked her to confirm that she received $500.00 from Peter Wooten. I still had to satisfy the penny-pinchers back at the office.
Back in my hotel room I slid the videocassette into the VCR on the TV set and waited for the action to start.
Each time someone used the pay phone I froze the frame. I watched tensely. A woman in her seventies who walked her dog made a short call; two giggling teenage girls were on the phone for approximately thirty minutes. A man dressed in painters’ overalls stopped his van near the curb, jumped out, and made a two- to three-minute call and drove away. Then two men in their late twenties walked up. I held my breath. The clock on the camcorder showed 6:58 P.M.
I tried to look closely at their faces, but the damn dome over the pay phone blocked my view. They were on the phone for six or seven minutes. I saw one of them take a coin and give it to the other. A few minutes later they left.
I didn't lock myself on the two guys, at least not until I'd listened to the audiotape.
I pressed the “play” button on the tape recorder and listened. Each call started with a set of touch-tone signals created by the dialer. The sound quality was good and identifying the numbers would probably not be too difficult. The first four calls were in German and did not seem relevant. One guy was letting his friend know he was running late. My calculation showed that it was the man in the painters’ overalls. Then there was a ring for an incoming call.
“That's it,” I said to myself. After one ring the receiver was lifted and I heard the conversation.
“Hello,” said a woman's voice in English. “You left me a message?”
Strange, I thought, it didn't sound like Mina Bernstein. This woman had a deeper voice than Mina's and her tone was far more aggressive. It was definitely not Mrs. Bernstein. But who would be impersonating her, and why?
“Yes,” said a man with an accent I could not immediately identify. “Who are you?”
“I'm Mina Bernstein. Where is my daughter? I want to talk to her.”
“She's OK,” said the man, “but you must give me what I want first.”
I still couldn't place his accent.
“What do you want?” asked the woman.
“DeLouise gave Ariel an envelope. I want it,” he said firmly.
“But if he gave it to Ariel, how can I give it to you?” asked the woman. “Tell me what it is, or if you know where it is, I'll look for it.”
“Ariel says you have access to it.”
“I don't understand. Let me talk to Ariel. Maybe she could explain it to me. I haven't received anything from Ariel; I haven't even seen her in Germany. This must be a big mistake. Let me talk to her. If I have what you want, I'll give it to you. I promise.” With the same breath she added, “Where can I meet you?”
“You can't meet me. Call this number again tomorrow at the same time. And if you call the police, Ariel will die,” he said abruptly and hung up.
I waited a few seconds then heard his voice again as he spoke to the person next to him, and I finally placed his accent. It was Spanish.
“La putana! Ariel was lying to us. I'll kill her!”
“What did the woman say?” asked another voice.
“She said that she doesn't have any papers from Ariel. We'll have to go back and squeeze the little bitch.”
“Wait,” said the other voice. “Let me call the boss first. We can't call from the apartment.”
Then I heard another series of touch-tone beeps. A man's voice answered the phone, “Ja?”
“It's me,” said the voice in English. “The woman called. She says she has no papers but she wants to meet.”
A pause. “Are you sure she didn't contact the police?”