Three Tales From the World of Cotton Malone Read Online Free PDF

“He and I have a debt to settle.”
    â€œI can see that. You try hard to conceal your thoughts, but in your face, your eyes, your meaning is clear. The Brown Eminence was the same.”
    He did not understand.
    â€œIn France, centuries ago,” she said, “there was the Red Eminence. Cardinal Richelieu, the king’s chief minister. Richelieu’s assistant, Father Joseph, was known as the Gray Eminence. Like his superior, he was a shadowy figure, both adept at managing power. Red and gray referred to their robes.” She paused. “Brown was the color of Nazi uniforms. Martin Bormann was the Brown Eminence.”
    He thought about what he knew of Martin Bormann. Which wasn’t much. Hitler’s private secretary. The gatekeeper to the Führer. Second most powerful man in the Third Reich.
    â€œThe man in the photograph Herr Combs showed me. He was the Brown Eminence, though by then he called himself Luis.”
    â€œAnd the woman?”
    â€œShe called herself Rikka, though she was Hitler’s widow.”
    That name he knew. Eva Braun. She married Hitler in April 1945, shortly before they both committed suicide in the Führerbunker.
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    Her watery eyes conveyed a look of annoyance. “Herr Combs was not as surprised as you.”
    â€œWhat did he say about your information?”
    â€œDid he cheat you?”
    This old woman was good. A simple question, out of the blue, intended to elicit an emotional response.
    â€œHe’s a liar.”
    â€œI thought the same. He lied to me. But he wanted to know where the two in his photos had lived. His questions actually surprised me. There was a time when men searched for the Brown Eminence. No one cared about the widow, all thought she was dead. Few even knew her face or name. But him. That one many wanted. He was a quetrupillán.”
    He did not recognize the term and asked what it meant.
    â€œA local Chilean word,” she said. “Mute devil. A bit like yourself.”
    He ignored her jab. “What happened to Bormann and Braun?”
    â€œThey eventually went to live where no one could find them.”
    He realized that, decades ago, the world had been a different place. No satellites, television, global newspapers, or Internet. Hiding was much simpler, and many war criminals were successful at fading away.
    Especially two people most of the world thought dead.
    â€œWhere did they go?”
    She did not answer him.
    â€œDid you ever speak of this before Combs’ visit?”
    â€œNo one has ever asked these questions. Why would anyone? I am an old woman living quietly. Who would even know I exist?”
    â€œChris Combs.”
    â€œThen you must ask yourself. How was I found?”
    He had no idea.
    â€œYou do not believe me?” she asked. “I see it in your eyes. You come to my home and ask these questions. I have answered honestly, yet you do not believe.”
    What he believed mattered not. “What did Combs say to your answers?”
    â€œHe wanted corroboration. As I can see you do, too.” She slowly hinged herself up to her feet. “I’ll show you, as I did him.”
    The day of Combs’ appearance Wyatt had waited down the highway, in the woods, where he could watch the driveway. Combs had stayed a little over an hour, then had driven back to Santiago. Wyatt had no idea what had happened during the visit.
    Isabel shuffled toward the door. “Strange, though.”
    He fixed his eyes on her as she stopped.
    â€œYou don’t look like a Nazi hunter.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œBut you are a hunter. That much I do know.”

    He followed Isabel outside into a barn where farm equipment sat rusting in darkened shadows. Daws had chewed holes through the roof, and swallow nests occupied the crossbeams. From a rotting pile of cordwood a big gray cat greeted them with a long meow.
    She shuffled toward an enclosure at the