Read Online A Small Death in lisbon by Robert Wilson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Wilson
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Police Procedural, Lisbon (Portugal)
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that the SS gets the credit for the campaign
and
in return we'll take more of the munitions production. That is nothing to do with you. Your task is to get your hands on every kilo of uncontracted wolfram there is.'
'Uncontracted
wolfram? What's already under contract?'
'The biggest mine is British. Beralt—production 2000 tons per annum. The French own the Borralha mine—production 600 tons. The United Kingdom Commercial Corporation signed a contract with Borralha last year but we are being successful, through the Vichy government, in preventing it from working. We control a small mine called Silvicola, maximum production a few hundred tons. The rest is on the open market.'
'And how much do we need?'
'Three thousand tons for this year.'
A clock ticked behind Felsen's head. Snow shifted on the roof overhead and dropped in a flurry past the window.
'May I smoke now, sir?' asked Felsen, Lehrer nodded. 'Didn't you just say that the biggest mine produced two thousand tons a year?'
'I did. And that's not the least of your problems. The UKCC will institute pre-emptive buying offensives. You will have to manage vast quantities of "free" labour as well as your own men and any associated Portuguese agents. You will have to secure stockpiles, arrange shipments. You will have to be ... how shall I put it ... unconventional in your methods.'
'Smuggling?'
Lehrer stretched his fattening neck out of his collar.
'You will need information about your competitors' movements. You will need to stiffen your labour force's resolve, keep foreign agents in line.'
'And the Portuguese Führer—Dr Salazar—how does he...?'
'He has a tightrope to walk. He is ideologically sound but there's a long history of cooperation with the British which they are keen to invoke. He will find himself torn but we will prevail.'
'And when do I leave for Portugal?'
'You don't, not yet. Switzerland first. This afternoon.'
'This afternoon? And what about the factory? I haven't organized a damn thing. That's totally impossible, out of the question.'
'These are orders Herr Hauptsturmführer,' said Lehrer icily. 'No order is impossible. A car will pick you up at one o'clock this afternoon. You will not be late.'
Felsen stood outside his apartment building at exactly 1.00 p.m. He was in uniform but with one of his own coats over the top and
watching grimly as an overalled worker pasted a huge black and red poster on to the wall by the pharmacy opposite. It said 'Führer, we thank you'.
He'd phoned Eva all morning and got no reply. Finally, after he'd packed and finished talking things over with Wencdt, he'd run round to her apartment and banged and shouted outside her windows until the same man who'd told him to shut up the night before stuck his head out to do so again. He stopped short on seeing the uniform under the coat and became excessively polite. He told him in sticky sweet German that Eva Brücke had gone away, that he'd seen her getting into a taxi with suitcases yesterday morning, Herr Hauptsturmführer.
An old woman who'd been working her way up the frozen pavements of Nürnbergerstrasse drew level with the huddled Felsen and saw the poster and the sick look on his face. She gave the
Berliner Blick
up and down the street and pointed her cane across to the pharmacy.
'What have we got to thank
him
for?' she said, emphasizing her clouds of breath with her spare fur-cuffed gloved hand. 'The National Socialist coffee bean? How to bake cakes with no eggs? The only thing we've got to thank him for is that the
Völkischer Beobachter...
it's softer than the National Socialist toilet paper.'
She stopped as if she'd been knifed in the throat. Felsen's coat had fallen open and she'd seen the black uniform. She ran. Her feet suddenly as sure as a speed skater's on the sheet ice of the pavement.
Lehrer arrived in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. The driver loaded the cases into the boot. They drove past the skittering old lady who still hadn't made it to
and
in return we'll take more of the munitions production. That is nothing to do with you. Your task is to get your hands on every kilo of uncontracted wolfram there is.'
'Uncontracted
wolfram? What's already under contract?'
'The biggest mine is British. Beralt—production 2000 tons per annum. The French own the Borralha mine—production 600 tons. The United Kingdom Commercial Corporation signed a contract with Borralha last year but we are being successful, through the Vichy government, in preventing it from working. We control a small mine called Silvicola, maximum production a few hundred tons. The rest is on the open market.'
'And how much do we need?'
'Three thousand tons for this year.'
A clock ticked behind Felsen's head. Snow shifted on the roof overhead and dropped in a flurry past the window.
'May I smoke now, sir?' asked Felsen, Lehrer nodded. 'Didn't you just say that the biggest mine produced two thousand tons a year?'
'I did. And that's not the least of your problems. The UKCC will institute pre-emptive buying offensives. You will have to manage vast quantities of "free" labour as well as your own men and any associated Portuguese agents. You will have to secure stockpiles, arrange shipments. You will have to be ... how shall I put it ... unconventional in your methods.'
'Smuggling?'
Lehrer stretched his fattening neck out of his collar.
'You will need information about your competitors' movements. You will need to stiffen your labour force's resolve, keep foreign agents in line.'
'And the Portuguese Führer—Dr Salazar—how does he...?'
'He has a tightrope to walk. He is ideologically sound but there's a long history of cooperation with the British which they are keen to invoke. He will find himself torn but we will prevail.'
'And when do I leave for Portugal?'
'You don't, not yet. Switzerland first. This afternoon.'
'This afternoon? And what about the factory? I haven't organized a damn thing. That's totally impossible, out of the question.'
'These are orders Herr Hauptsturmführer,' said Lehrer icily. 'No order is impossible. A car will pick you up at one o'clock this afternoon. You will not be late.'
Felsen stood outside his apartment building at exactly 1.00 p.m. He was in uniform but with one of his own coats over the top and
watching grimly as an overalled worker pasted a huge black and red poster on to the wall by the pharmacy opposite. It said 'Führer, we thank you'.
He'd phoned Eva all morning and got no reply. Finally, after he'd packed and finished talking things over with Wencdt, he'd run round to her apartment and banged and shouted outside her windows until the same man who'd told him to shut up the night before stuck his head out to do so again. He stopped short on seeing the uniform under the coat and became excessively polite. He told him in sticky sweet German that Eva Brücke had gone away, that he'd seen her getting into a taxi with suitcases yesterday morning, Herr Hauptsturmführer.
An old woman who'd been working her way up the frozen pavements of Nürnbergerstrasse drew level with the huddled Felsen and saw the poster and the sick look on his face. She gave the
Berliner Blick
up and down the street and pointed her cane across to the pharmacy.
'What have we got to thank
him
for?' she said, emphasizing her clouds of breath with her spare fur-cuffed gloved hand. 'The National Socialist coffee bean? How to bake cakes with no eggs? The only thing we've got to thank him for is that the
Völkischer Beobachter...
it's softer than the National Socialist toilet paper.'
She stopped as if she'd been knifed in the throat. Felsen's coat had fallen open and she'd seen the black uniform. She ran. Her feet suddenly as sure as a speed skater's on the sheet ice of the pavement.
Lehrer arrived in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. The driver loaded the cases into the boot. They drove past the skittering old lady who still hadn't made it to
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