The Vengeance of Rome
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: Between The Wars #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Vengeance of Rome». Краткое содержание книги:
The man in the badly made suit came in, closing the door behind him. Now that we were in private, he shook my hand, rather limply, and glanced around the minuscule room, apologising for the one chair.
‘I hope this won’t take too long,’ I said, reassured by his handshake. ‘I understand that as well as the inquiry concerning a possible burglary, you wish to check my documents. I was told it would be a matter of minutes. I have a luncheon appointment.’
‘Aha,’ he said. ’Then let’s confirm a few particulars. You have been working in Germany?’
‘And paying my taxes,’ I said, thinking I understood where this was going.
He nodded. ‘You are Mr Max Peters, until recently employed by the UfA company as a film actor? You are an American citizen but until recently were in the service of the Italian Air Ministry?’
‘That’s correct. I then became an unofficial emissary at large. My main career, however, is as an engineer. I have some important blueprints, inventions of my own which I had hoped to show to Herr Hitler’s people. At present they are with Captain Göring’s department. It was for their safety that I most feared.’
‘Indeed. So you have something worth stealing, eh, Herr Peters?’
‘Very important documents. But they are still safe. Have you any idea who the burglars might have been?’
‘Yes.’ His pale eyes closed, and with a small, narrow hand he pinched at the bridge of his nose. ‘You are an admirer of Signor Mussolini.’
‘Rather more than a simple admirer, sir.’
The hand came down and went into a trouser pocket, re-emerging with a brown handkerchief. He folded it back to make a clean square and blew his nose, folding it again before replacing it. ‘So, Herr Peters, you are an unofficial emissary of the Italian government, but prefer to work as an actor?’ He turned his back on me and opened the file drawer in the middle of the cabinet from which he took out a slender, dark blue folder.
Surely this was not a file on me! Why should anyone wish to make one? I could read upside down, however, and my name was printed carefully at the top. I became alarmed. I did not know I had been subjected to any official attention. I wished that Röhm was with me to vouch for me, but he was still in Berlin dealing with recalcitrant SA.
‘I am proud to have known and to have served Il Duce, but I am a private citizen, an engineer. An inventor. I was fortunate enough to earn my living in the Hollywood cinema for some years, which was how I came to be working here in Munich with the UfA company. Agriculture Minister Hugenberg is a friend of mine. My real qualifications are in science. I originally came to Germany because I saw there was a new, young element here which embraced the future.’
I continued to feel anxious. All this talk of Mussolini seemed irrelevant. Had Il Duce passed on something to the German authorities? Very unlikely. Or had someone revealed my identity to Hitler? Again I thought of Prince Freddy and those films. They formed a link I had not considered before. Could I be recognised from them? I knew Hitler would not tolerate my freedom if I were identified as the person used in his ‘therapy’. I could easily suffer the fate of the Man in the Iron Mask and never see the outside world again. I might even die here.
I realised my left knee was beginning to shake a little, so I straightened to attention as the door opened. A police officer wearing the armband of the Bavarian Political Police stepped into the room, removed his cap, put it on the desk, murmured a word to the plainclothes man and took up the file, a reassuringly slim collection. At least that villain Brodmann was not behind this particular inconvenience. Any file Brodmann supplied would be bulging with his Bolshevik lies. The same was true of the ‘dossier’ the late Baroness had compiled. My equilibrium returned, and I became determined to answer in my most cultured German so the officer would know he was dealing with an educated man of substance. I should not have allowed the policemen to bring me here. Yet I had done nothing wrong. Perhaps the burglaries had been of a political nature. Perhaps they already knew who committed them.
Dismissing the civilian, my new interrogator smiled pleasantly. He was a round-faced Southerner with pale, pink skin and sharp grey eyes. His manner was regretful. ‘My dear Mr Peters. My men no doubt have explained this whole thing. Your life, sir, is in some danger, I fear. There are rogues abroad who are anxious to spill any alien blood they smell. We are, of course, doing everything to crack down on them. A secure homeland is what our Führer has sworn to give the German people, and it is our job to maintain that oath. But this does not mean we tolerate attacks on the property or persons of foreigners. Especially those who have shown us such generous support.’
‘I am anxious to offer the Reich every cooperation,’ I told him. ‘Do you mean that the man who burgled my apartment somehow had plans to take my life? Naturally, in those circumstances, I will answer any question you wish to put!’
He was grateful. ‘It’s so much easier for us, Herr Peters, when a gentleman is as cooperative as yourself. It saves everyone time and trouble and allows us to process matters more efficiently. Have you applied for residency papers?’
‘I am planning to return to Italy in a short while. And I have business in England. My acting jobs were merely a kind of holiday. I was helping out Reichsminister Hugenberg. I was unaware that I required special papers. I came here in order to make a statement to a stenographer.’
‘Of course. So much to absorb. Another good reason for keeping you with us in Schutzhaft, protective custody. I will set wheels in motion, and when you have the necessary papers, it will be easier for you to move about freely’
‘Custody? My dear Inspector, I have a luncheon meeting. I was told I was only going to be here for a few minutes. To answer a couple of questions. And now you plan to keep me here? For how long? I made no preparations to be here for hours, merely minutes.’
‘I do apologise. We are rather overworked these days. Our chaps aren’t always properly informed. They do their best, but it’s difficult . . .’An apologetic shrug. ’It might be possible for someone to telephone the person you are meeting and let them know you will not be able to make it.’
‘Are you telling me I have been arrested?’ I had to express my panic somehow. Every instinct told me that I had entered a trap.
‘Herr Peters!’ He raised his hands to show shock. ‘Certainly not. But you have seen what is happening on our streets, at least in the rougher quarters. Roving gangs of young men, many of them probably communists, pretending to support the new Germany by picking on any foreigner they come across. Breaking into their premises. Stealing their papers and property. Attacking them as Jews when they are frequently innocent . . .’