The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

‘‘He has an American passport.’’

‘‘Legally?’’

‘‘His mother is American. He was born there, and we are being very careful with the Americans.’’

‘‘Does he also have a German passport?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Why not

?’’

‘‘He’s a very clever young man,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said, ‘‘who realized that accepting a German passport meant accepting German nationality, and that German nationals were expected to serve the fatherland in uniform.’’

‘‘Has he lived here?’’

‘‘Oh yes,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said, chuckling. ‘‘Oh yes. He spent four years at Philip’s University in Marburg as a candidate for a degree in electrical engineering. He’s perfectly fluent in German; and he is tall, blond, good-looking, and rather resembles the young man on the Waffen-SS recruiting posters.’’

Müller chuckled. ‘‘I see the problem,’’ he said. ‘‘And the solution. Arrest him for the currency violations, bring him to Germany, and put him in uniform.’’

‘‘It’s not so easy as that, unfortunately. No one seems to be able to prove that he is smuggling. And if he were arrested, it would be embarrassing to both his father and the party generally.’’

‘‘Uhhh,’’ Müller grunted in agreement.

‘‘But there’s more to the tale,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ‘‘He was in Paris in August with the son of the pasha of Ksar es Souk—and traveling on documents issued by the kingdom of Morocco.’’

‘‘How does he get Moroccan travel papers?’’

‘‘Through Sidi Hassan el Ferruch,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

‘‘That’s the son of the pasha?’’

Von Heurten-Mitnitz nodded. ‘‘They were at school together in Switzerland, and at Philip’s University.’’

‘‘Who’s the pasha? Somebody important?’’

‘‘There are two factions in Morocco,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ‘‘The king’s and the Pasha of Marrakech’s. The pasha’s loyalty to the king is questionable—’’

‘‘How powerful is a pasha?’’ Müller interrupted him.

‘‘That depends on the pasha,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ‘‘The pasha of Marrakech, Thami el Glaoui, is nearly as powerful as the king. He commands several hundred thousand tribesmen—armed tribesmen. Other pashas have only a handful.’’

‘‘And the smuggler’s father?’’ Müller asked.

‘‘The pasha of Ksar es Souk,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz explained, ‘‘commands nearly as many tribesmen as the pasha of Marrakech. Together, they have roughly as many as the king. And they are close allies.’’

‘‘And his son is a smuggler? Why?’’

‘‘The amount of money involved boggles the mind,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ‘‘In wartime, it seems that people with a lot of money—Americans, South Americans, and we Germans, Müller—are willing to pay extraordinary prices for works of art. So much money is really a matter of state, rather than a mere crime.’’

‘‘And you’re supposed to stop this, right?’’ Müller asked.

‘‘The Americans have an expression,’’ Max von Heurten-Mitnitz said, ‘‘ ‘fighting with one hand tied behind you.’ But in this case I have both of mine tied behind me. On one hand, I am not to embarrass the party because of Baron Fulmar’s son, and on the other, it is possible that the king of Morocco may have to be replaced if he continues to prove uncooperative. If that becomes necessary, it is intended to replace him with the pasha of Marrakech. How cooperative would he be if we threw the son of his ally in jail? Or executed him?’’

‘‘Then why don’t we just find some other suitable pasha? ’’ Müller said practically.

‘‘I don’t think you understand the Moroccans,’’ von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ‘‘They’d go berserk. It would be like a holy war.’’