The Bormann Testament Read Online Free PDF Page B

man,” he said in an impeccable English accent.
    The train had finally come to a stop and there was shouting in the corridor outside. Chavasse listened keenly and managed to distinguish Steiner’s voice. He scrambled to his feet and the man said, “Steiner doesn’t sound very pleased. What did you do to him?”
    Chavasse shrugged. “Judo throat jab. A nasty trick, but I didn’t have time to observe the niceties.” He nodded toward the automatic. “You can put that thing away. No rough stuff. I promise you.”
    The man smiled and slipped the gun into his pocket. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react when I dragged you in here.” He extracted a leather-and-gold cigarette case from his inside pocket and flicked it open. Chavasse took a cigarette and leaned across for the proffered light.
    He hadn’t been working for the Chief for five years without being able to tell a professional when he saw one. People in his line of business carried a special aura around with them, indefinable and yet sensed at once by the trained agent. One could even work out the nationality by attitude, methods employed, and other trademarks. But in this case, he was puzzled.
    “Who are you?” he said.
    “Hardt’s the name, Mr. Chavasse,” the man told him. “Mark Hardt.”
    Chavasse frowned. “A German name and yet you’re not a German.”
    “Israeli.” Hardt grinned. “A slightly bastardized form by Winchester out of Emmanuel College.”
    The picture was beginning to take shape. “Israeli intelligence?” Chavasse asked.
    Hardt shook his head. “Once upon a time, but now nothing so official. Let’s say I’m a member of an organization which by the very nature of its ends is compelled to work underground.”
    “I see,” said Chavasse softly. “And what exactly are your aims at the moment?”
    “The same as yours,” Hardt said calmly. “I want that manuscript, but even more than that, I want Bormann.” Before Chavasse could reply, Hardt got to his feet and moved to the door. “I think I’d better go into the corridor and see what’s going on.”
    The door closed behind him and Chavasse sat on the edge of the bunk, a slight frown on his face, as he considered the implications of what Hardt had said. It was well known that there was at least one strong Jewish underground unit that had been working ceaselessly since the end of the war in all parts of the world, tracking down Nazi war criminals who had evaded the Allied net in 1945. He had heard that its members were fanatically devoted to their task, brave people who had dedicated their lives to bringing some of the inhuman monsters responsible for Belsen, Auschwitz, and other hellholes to justice.
    On several occasions during his career with the Bureau, he had found himself competing with the agents of other Powers toward the same end, but this was different—this was very different.
    The train started to move, the door opened, and Hardt slipped in. “I just saw Steiner. He’s been raging like a lion up and down the track. It was finally pointed out to him that you were probably several miles away by now and he was persuaded to come back on board. I don’t fancy your chances if he ever manages to get his hands on you.”
    “I’ll try to see that he doesn’t.” Chavasse nodded toward the American uniform. “A neat touch, your disguise. After the crime, the criminal simply ceases to exist, eh?”
    Hardt nodded. “It’s proved its worth on several occasions, although the spectacles can be a bit of a nuisance. I can’t see a damned thing in them.”
    He locked the door, pulled a stool from beneath the bunk, and sat on it, his shoulders resting comfortably against the wall. “Don’t you think it’s time we got down to business?”
    Chavasse nodded. “All right, but you first. How much do you know about this affair?”
    “Before I start, just tell me one thing,” Hardt said. “It is Muller who is dead, isn’t it? I heard one of the other passengers say