Jack Higgins - Bad Company

Book 11 in the Sean Dillon series, 2003

On the morning of 26 April 1945, two Junker 52s loaded with tank ammunition managed to land in the center of beleaguered Berlin on a makeshift runway constructed from a city road. Russian artillery was pounding the city hard, and within a few days it would be the end of the Third Reich and Hitler would be dead by his own hand.

The Junkers were not the only planes to land that way. That same day Luftwaffe General Ritter von Greim flew in to Berlin in a Fieseler Storch, accompanied by air ace Hannah Reitsch. Von Greim became badly wounded, however, and Reitsch took over and managed to land the plane on East West Avenue near the Brandenburger Tor. Von Greim, promoted to field marshal, left again the following day in an Arado piloted by Reitsch.

There are reports of many other light aircraft at that time leaving Berlin using streets as runways. Legend has it that Martin Bormann, himself the most powerful man in Germany next to Hitler, escaped to Norway that way to join a U-boat bound for South America.

And there is another legend, one even more extraordinary: the story of SS Sturmbahnfhrer Baron Max von Berger, who escaped in a Fieseler Storch, taking off from East West Avenue shortly after the Fhrers marriage to Eva Braun and carrying with him Hitlers most enduring legacy

IT WAS RAINING when they buried Kate Rashid, Countess of Loch Dhu, a rain that swept in across Dauncey Village like a solid curtain, sending people hurrying for the shelter of the church. They were all there, the great and the good, to say farewell, their cars blocking the High Street.

General Charles Fergusons Daimler had just arrived. He sat in the rear with Sean Dillon, who took a silver flask from his inside pocket, swallowed a little Bushmills whiskey and lit a cigarette.

Are we going in?

No, Ferguson said.

Then why are we here?

Its the civilized thing to do, Dillon. Its a great story, after all. The worlds richest woman crashing into the sea off the English coast at the controls of her own plane. Her cousin Rupert mysteriously disappeared. He leaned back. You couldnt improve on it if it was a made-for-television movie.

Dillon took another swig from his flask. Ive said it before, but its the cold-blooded bastard you are, General.

Really? I thought that was you, Dillon.

All right. But I repeat: If were not going in, what are we doing here?

Patience, Dillon. Im waiting for someone.

And who might that be?

Well, for starters, a good friend of yours. A Mercedes rolled in and braked behind them. And here he is.

Blake Johnson emerged, ran through the rain and scrambled into the back of the Daimler.

Great to see you, General. He took Dillons hand. And you, my fine Irish friend.

And where in the hell have you come from? Dillon demanded.

The White House, of course.

Blake was in his early fifties, his hair still black, and an ex-Marine. He was also director of the White Houses General Affairs Department, though everyone who knew it which wasnt many just called it the Basement. In actuality, it was the Presidents private hit squad, totally separate from the CIA, the FBI, the Secret Service or any other governmental organization.

Dillon was intrigued. But what are you here for?

Ferguson ignored him. Is it true? About the Baron?

Yep. Just announced. The President ordered me straight to you, General, and here I am.

And whos this Baron creature when hes at home? said Dillon.

Youre about to find out, Ferguson said.

A Rolls-Royce pulled in at the church gate. A uniformed chauffeur emerged, got an umbrella up and opened the rear door. A young man in his early thirties emerged, a trench coat over his shoulders, and hurried to the other door and waited.

The man who stepped out was very old, wore a black leather overcoat and slouch hat, and carried a silver-topped walking stick. The young man held the umbrella over him, offered his arm, and they went up the path to the church.

There he goes, Blake said.

Dillon frowned. Who is he?

Baron Max von Berger, Ferguson said. An exceedingly rich man. And as Blake has just confirmed none other than Kate Rashids silent partner.

Rashid? Dillon said. Just a minute. Are you saying Berger as in Berger International?

Thats right.

But theyre worth billions.

Exactly.

And they now have control of Rashid Investments?

Unfortunately so.

Well, Dillon said, and paused. That could be a problem.

The rain hammered on the roof, organ music swelled from the church. Blake said, Why does it always rain at funerals?

Its the way Hollywood does it, Dillon said. Its life imitating art. Who was the hard man?

The one escorting him? Blake nodded. Interesting you should call him that.

Its the broken nose, Blake. Id hate to see what was left of the man who did that to him.

Ferguson joined in. The name is Marco Rossi. He studied economics and business at Yale, then joined the Italian air force and flew a Tornado in Bosnia. Youd have a lot in common with him, Dillon. He was shot down and had a very energetic time behind Serb lines. Very unreasonable people, the Serbs, but then you know that. His mother once worked for the Baron. She was born in Palermo, and, yes, her uncle, one Tino Rossi, was Mafia in a very big way.

Dillon said, So whats young Marco up to now?

It was Blake who answered. Amongst other things, hes taking over all security operations for Rashid Investments worldwide. Dont kid yourself, Sean. This guy is good. Hes not to be screwed with, even on the pavement. He shrugged. Ive even met him on the social circuit in Washington. Hes charming and civilized, and the women love him.

Only dont push him the wrong way, Ferguson said. When he was on the run behind the Serb lines in Bosnia, he killed at least four men that we know of. He keeps an ivory Madonna in his pocket. When you press the button, the blade jumps out and shears right up under the chin. Ferguson smiled thinly. Your kind of man, Dillon.

So if hes taken over all the security operations at Rashid Investments, that means that he can access everything the Rashids ever had on us in their computers.

Exactly, Ferguson said. Including how you shot Kate Rashids three brothers and interfered rather harshly in their oil operations in Hazar. And I do think hes going to find it more than a remarkable coincidence that Kate Rashid subsequently went into the drink at the controls of her Black Eagle and her dear cousin Rupert vanished off the face of the earth.

So theyre going to be coming for us.

Oh yes, Dillon. I should very much think so.

He reached into his briefcase and extracted a large envelope.

Youll want to read all of that. Especially the bit about what von Berger did in World War Two. Thats especially enlightening.

He leaned back. Yes, Dillon, I think were in for a very, very interesting time of it.

IF THERE WAS a hell on earth, it was Berlin. It seemed to be on fire, a charnel house, black smoke drifting everywhere. The city was doomed, everyone knew that, and the Russians were already in control of the eastern half.

The people were on the move, refugees from their own city, carrying what they could, a few pitiful belongings, with the desperate hope that they might somehow get to the West and reach the advancing American army.