Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [22]
He opened the suitcase and took out the Walther pistol and its silencer. Quickly he fitted them together. Then holding the gun in plain view, he opened the door and walked back into the other room.
The drug in the liqueur was a slow-acting one, not a knockout drug. It was designed to cripple the victim’s reflexes so that he would move and react very slowly. It was similar to the effect that too much alcohol has on a man’s physical coordination, throwing it out of balance, yet leaving him the illusion that he is performing better than ever. So the Freisling brothers were not yet aware of what was happening to their bodies. When they saw the gun in Rogan’s hands they both jumped up from their seats, but they moved in slow motion.
Rogan pushed them back onto their chairs. He sat down opposite them. From his jacket pocket he took a flattened bullet, tarnished with age, and threw it on the coffee table between them.
“You, Eric,” Rogan said. “You fired that bullet into the back of my skull ten years ago. In the Munich Palace of Justice. Do you remember me now? I’m the little play-mate you sneaked up on while I was changing my clothes—and while your brother Hans kept telling me that I was going to be freed. I’ve changed a lot. Your bullet changed the shape of my head. But look hard. Do you recognize me now?” He paused, then said grimly, “I’ve come back to finish our little game together.”
Mentally dulled by the drug, they both wore looks of blank incomprehension and stared at Rogan. It was Hans who first showed recognition, whose face first showed the natural shock, fear, and terrified surprise. Then they tried to flee, moving like men underwater. Rogan reached over and again gently pushed them back in their seats. He frisked them for weapons. They had none.
“Don’t be afraid,” Rogan said, deliberately imitating Hans’ voice. “I’m not going to harm you.” He paused. “Of course I’ll turn you in to the authorities, but all I want from you now is a little information. As a long time ago you wanted some from me. I cooperated then, didn’t I? I know you’ll be just as intelligent.”
Hans answered first, his voice thick with the drug but still sly. “Of course we’ll cooperate; we’ll tell you anything we know.”
“But first we’ll make a bargain,” Eric growled sullenly.
As long as they kept sitting still the brothers seemed to function normally. Now Hans leaned forward and said with ingratiating friendliness, “Yes. What do you wish to know, and what will you do for us if we cooperate?”
Rogan said quietly, “I want to know the names of the other men who were with you in the Munich Palace of Justice. I want to know the name of the torturer who killed my wife.”
Eric leaned over, parallel to his brother, and said slowly, contemptuously, “So you can kill us all like you killed Moltke and Pfann?”
“I killed them because they would not give me the other three names,” Rogan said. “I offered them a chance to live as I now give you a chance to live.” He signaled now to Rosalie. She brought over pads and pencils and handed them to the brothers.
Hans looked surprised, then grinned. “I will tell you right now. Their names are—” Before Hans could utter another word Rogan jumped up and smashed the German’s mouth with the butt of his pistol. Hans’ mouth became a dark hole out of which bloody pieces of gum bubbled, and bits of broken teeth. Eric tried to come to his brother’s defense, but Rogan pushed him back into the chair. He did not trust himself to hit Eric. He was afraid he wouldn’t stop until the man was dead.
“I don’t want to hear any lies,” Rogan said. “And to make sure you don’t lie to me, you’ll each—separately—write down the names of the other three men who were in the Munich Palace