A Death in Vienna

in good standing of the Social Democratic party, and he even served as a court forensic psychiatrist. Everyone in the Viennese medical community knew the source of the good doctor’s so-called brain library, and everyone knew what he had done during the war. A man like Ludwig Vogel, even if he were exposed as a liar, could expect the same treatment. The chances of him ever facing trial in Austria for his crimes would bezero. ”
    “Suppose he knew about Eli’s investigation? What would he have to fear?”
    “Nothing, other than the embarrassment of exposure.”
    “Do you know where he lives?”
    Renate Hoffmann pushed a few stray hairs beneath the band of her beret and looked at him carefully. “You’re not thinking about trying to meet with him, are you, Mr. Argov? Under the circumstances, that would be an incredibly foolish idea.”
    “I just want to know where he lives.”
    “He has a house in the First District, and another in the Vienna woods. According to real estate records, he also owns several hundred acres and a chalet in Upper Austria.”
    Gabriel, after taking a glance over his shoulder, asked Renate Hoffmann if he could have a copy of all the documents she’d collected. She looked down at her feet, as if she’d been expecting the question.
    “Tell me something, Mr. Argov. In all the years I worked with Eli, he never once mentioned the fact that Wartime Claims and Inquiries had a Jerusalem branch.”
    “It was opened recently.”
    “How convenient.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “I’m in possession of those documents illegally. If I give them to an agent of a foreign government, my position will be even more precarious. If I give them to you, am I giving them to an agent of a foreign government?”
    Renate Hoffmann, Gabriel decided, was a highly intelligent and street-smart woman. “You’re giving them to a friend, Miss Hoffmann, a friend who will do absolutely nothing to compromise your position.”
    “Do you know what will happen if you’re arrested by the Staatspolizei while in possession of confidential Staatsarchiv files? You’ll spend a long time behind bars.” She looked directly into his eyes. “And so will I, if they find out where you got them.”
    “I don’t intend to be arrested by the Staatspolizei.”
    “No one ever does, but this is Austria, Mr. Argov. Our police don’t play by the same rules as their European counterparts.”
    She reached into her handbag, withdrew a manila envelope, and handed it to Gabriel. It disappeared into the opening of his jacket and they kept walking.
    “I don’t believe you’re Gideon Argov from Jerusalem. That’s why I gave you the file. There’s nothing more I can do with it, not in this climate. Promise me you’ll tread carefully, though. I don’t want the Coalition and its staff to suffer the same fate as Wartime Claims.” She stopped walking and turned briefly to face him. “And one more thing, Mr. Argov. Please don’t call me again.”
    THE SURVEILLANCE VANwas parked on the edge of the Augarten, on the Wasnergasse. The photographer sat in the back, concealed behind one-way glass. He snapped one final shot as the subjects separated, then downloaded the pictures to a laptop computer and reviewed the images. The one that showed the envelope changing hands had been shot from behind. Nicely framed, well lit, a thing of beauty.
    7
    VIENNA
    ONE HOUR LATER,in an anonymous neo-Baroque building on the Ringstrasse, the photograph was delivered to the office of a man named Manfred Kruz. Contained in an unmarked manila envelope, it was handed to Kruz without comment by his attractive secretary. As usual he was dressed in a dark suit and white shirt. His placid face and sharp cheekbones, combined with his habitual somber dress, gave him a cadaverous air that unnerved underlings. His Mediterranean features—the nearly black hair, the olive skin, and coffee-colored eyes—had given rise to rumors within the service that a gypsy or perhaps even a Jew lurked in his lineage. It was a libel, advanced by his legion of enemies, and Kruz did not find it amusing. He was not popular among the troops, but then he didn’t much care. Kruz was well-connected: lunch with the minister once a week, friends among the wealthy and the political elite. Make an enemy of Kruz and you could find yourself writing parking tickets in the backwoods of Carinthia.
    His unit was known officially as Department Five, but among senior Staatspolizei officers