Read Online The Arms Maker of Berlin by Dan Fesperman - Free Book Online Page A

was. When I asked for his name, he hung up.”
    “Hmm. Could’ve been Sobelsky. His carrel’s next to mine, and he’s Polish. Maybe he was sleuthing on my behalf. I should call him.”
    “Better cancel your service before somebody runs up the bill.”
    “As if you’d know anything about that.”
    “No comment. When do you get back?”
    “Another day or two, probably. Meaning I won’t be there to help you move in. Can you get your stuff over from the dorm okay?”
    “Don’t worry. Dave said he’d help.”
    Dave, her campus boyfriend. Meaning they’d be alone in Nat’s house. Great.
    “I know what you’re thinking, Dad. I won’t be stupid.”
    “Just as long as Dave isn’t. Say hello to your mom for me. But I wouldn’t mention the moving arrangements if I were you.”
    “Like I said, I won’t be stupid.”
    He smiled as they hung up. But something about the news of the hang-up didn’t sit well, not with the skittish way Holland was acting—as if this really was some sort of big deal concerning national security. Nat would have dialed up his cell number to see who answered, but he was out of quarters.
    Instead, he scanned the diner for the mystery woman. No sign. He slid back into his booth to find that his coffee was going cold. Finally he could relax, and he felt the weariness of the long night settling into the backs of his eyes. It would have been quite easy to stretch out on the banquette for a nap, and he was on the verge of nodding off when someone sat down in the opposite seat.
    He opened his eyes to see the woman from the courthouse sitting directly across the table. Again he was struck by the intensity of her eyes, which gave him a jolt as potent as the coffee. Her blouse smelled like cigarettes. From that, and from the choppy hairstyle, he deduced that she was European. When she spoke, her accent confirmed it.
    “Hello, Dr. Turnbull. My name is Berta Heinkel.”
    “Heinkel? Same as the aircraft?”
    “Yes. No relation.”
    German name, German accent. He thought immediately of the hang-up call to Karen, but that had been a man.
    “So I guess you’re not one of the feds after all.”
    “Feds?”
    “The FBI.”
    “No.” She glanced behind her. “Will they be joining you?”
    “Not if I can help it. Who are you, then?”
    “A historian, like yourself. I have an interest in the materials.”
    She handed him a business card: Professor Doktor Berta Heinkel from the Free University of Berlin.
    “How do you even know about ‘the materials,’ Dr. Heinkel?”
    “Please, call me Berta. I was in College Park doing research. A friend at the archives told me. He said there had been an arrest and that they were bringing in an expert.”
    “The National Archives?”
    She nodded.
    “And you just dropped everything to come up here?”
    “The first available flight. I rented a car at the airport.”
    “Wow. That’s dedication.”
    “It’s my life’s work.”
    “Your life’s work,” he said, marveling at the phrase.
    “I knew right away they would choose you. As their expert, I mean.”
    “Did you, now?”
    Ingrid Bergman. That’s who her eyes reminded him of, especially up close. The question was whether they were more like Ingrid’s eyes in Casablanca —liquid and warm, brimming with promise—or in Notorious —burning with intent, a troubled soul who knew what she wanted and would soon have it.
    “Of course. You were the natural choice. The only choice.”
    Such flattery. He was leaning toward Notorious .
    “And what’s your particular interest in this discovery? Which, by the way, I’m not supposed to discuss.”
    “You are probably also not supposed to discuss that you have not yet found what you are looking for. Yet I am sure this is true.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because what you are looking for is not there. The materials have been sanitized. Or that is what I think.”
    “You sound like you’ve been talking to Gordon Wolfe. Or maybe you just overheard us in