Chapter One Thousand Two Hundred Twenty-Five
6th May 1959
Mitte, Berlin
It was a very common story. A socially awkward boy interacts with a girl, develops a crush on her, confuses courtesy and kindness for interest, then proceeds make a complete ass of himself. In an effort to impress the girl, Jimmy had asked her to read a notebook of essays and poems that he had written over the previous months. Far from being impressed the girl had been repulsed and Jimmy had not taken her rebuffing him well. George pondered this as he contemplated how he was going to apologize for his son’s actions and hope that the man he was going to talk to. It would be yet one more diplomatic black eye for America if the Naval Attaché got booted out of the country, as a man with a daughter of his own, George could certainly understand why he would be steamed. Of all the girls that Jimmy could have done this with, why did he have to choose Marcella von Holz, the daughter of the Commander in Chief of the German High Command?
Jimmy had gotten pretty thoroughly worked over for acting like an idiot in a place where violence was always just under the surface and life was fairly cheap. It seemed that the seedy nightclub where teenaged Rock & Rollers rubbed shoulders with petty criminals and gangsters had a set of rules that were ruthlessly enforced. One of the big ones was that Marcella was under the protection of the owner, a man who had a lot of juice for someone in his position. Apparently, it had something to do with the friendship that the American expat had with the family of Admiral von Schmidt. Hopefully, they had managed to knock some sense into Jimmy, except George had hoped for that same thing in the past.
“Generalfeldmarschall Markgraf von Holz will see you now Captain Morrison” The Field Marshal’s aide, a tough looking Naval Officer said to George. He could see that he was wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant and realized that he was looking at a mustang Officer. If this was who von Holz chose to surround himself with then George was in more trouble than he thought.
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“Me getting involved with that project is out of the question” Sarah said.
“Afraid that Zöller will learn about the little secret that you’ve kept from him and the real reason that you arranged for him to go to England for a couple years” Elis said, “Or that his wife will learn of the tryst itself. I doubt she’ll be thrilled about the rest.”
“They weren’t married yet at the time” Sarah said as she placed her hands flat on the table. While she was outwardly calm, Elis could tell that she was seething. “Please do not make light of this situation.”
Elis didn’t reply to that. Sarah had been dreading the consequences of her past actions for the last six years. She had thought that she had dodged that bullet when Zöller had gone to Frankfurt after he returned from England. Now, he was back in Berlin and had invited Sarah to a part of a new project he was starting. If Sarah got involved it would only be a matter of time before someone said something about her son. If she declined, then he would want to know why.
On top of this Johann was getting old enough to start asking questions. He had started to notice that his life with his mother, her dear friend Clara and his Uncle John was out of the ordinary. The apartments in the same building as the V8 Club were a classically “Bohemian” community that was composed of artists, musicians and all manner of free thinkers. As the only child presently in the building, he had been a bit of a favorite of many of those in the building. None of his classmate’s lives were remotely comparable.
“I want this to just go away” Sarah said.
“It doesn’t work like that” Elis said, “Sooner or later you get to face the music.”
Sarah looked at Elis with narrowed eyes. “That’s rich coming from you” She said.
“I had it happen to me once” Elis said, “I didn’t like it, so I got the Hell out of there. I didn’t have any connections or a career to keep me in San Francisco, either.”
That was one way to put it. If the local police or FBI had caught up with him anywhere in America, then it was very likely that he could be sold for scrap by the time they were through with him. Elis had been aware that he had needed to keep ahead of the cordon that was going to spring up the instant he escaped Alcatraz Prison. He had not stopped running until he had landed in Berlin. The fact that he had steadfastly avoided anything related to his old life had led the FBI to eventually conclude that he had died in the escape, having drowned in San Francisco Bay.
“There are some days that I think you entrusted me with your biography because no one is going to believe a word of it” Sarah said.
Elis just shrugged. “It’s always a good thing to have one last trick up your sleeve” He said.
The biography was set to be published by Sarah after he was safely dead and buried would be one last “Fuck you” aimed directly at the authorities in the land of his birth, his puppet masters in Berlin as well. The great outlaw would get the last word, and Elis would have his ultimate victory.
