Hour of the Assassins Read Free Page A

from an infestation of lice. I want to thank this Jewess for bringing this medical problem to my attention and I’ve brought you all here to see that the New Order knows how to deal with lice. The barracks will be fumigated.’ And then he smiled. A few of the women cheered and his smile grew broader. You see, he was no ordinary sadist.
    â€œThen he marched the women, including Hanna, into the barracks. He ordered the doors sealed and then had the barracks fumigated—with mustard gas.… The women’s screams seemed to go on for hours.”
    Wasserman slumped down in his chair, then after a time he looked up at Caine, as though seeing him from far away, from long ago.
    â€œYou want me to waste Mengele?” Caine asked.
    â€œI’ll pay you half a million dollars, if you can locate and kill Mengele within six months,” said Wasserman.
    â€œThat’s a lot of money.”
    â€œI need you, Caine. Ordinary hit men don’t know how to work outside the country. Mercenaries don’t have the brains or the resources to track him down and, even if they could, probably couldn’t get close to him. Government agents and Israeli spies have tried and failed. I’ve gone over it from every angle. You’re the man for the job. And I’ll provide you with all the money and resources at my disposal to help you to do it.”
    Caine got up and walked over to the painting. He submitted himself to that pretty nineteenth-century scene as if to a baptism. Things were different then, he thought. They believed in things and fought for causes as if it mattered. The whole thing is crazy. Why had Wasserman waited thirty years for his revenge? Besides, he had come to Los Angeles to escape the past. He’d had enough of ghosts. Let the dead bury the dead, he decided, as he walked back to the chair and sat down.
    â€œIt won’t wash, Wasserman,” Caine said quietly. For a long moment the two men sat silently, then Wasserman shrugged helplessly.
    â€œI can think of a dozen reasons why your story won’t work,” Caine continued. “For instance, you want me to believe that you want to pay me half a million to waste some old Nazi. That’s all ancient history. Nobody cares about that crap anymore, including you. You go off and forget about this Mengele for thirty years, wake up one morning after a bad dream and say, My, my, I’ve waited long enough for my revenge, so I’ll find some Company type, looking for a quick buck, to do in six months what half-a-dozen governments have been unable to accomplish in thirty years. And why, all of a sudden, are you having nightmares about the bad old days, after thirty years of pimping and indifference? Tell you what, why don’t you wait a few years and the kraut bastard will drop dead from old age? And why me, Wasserman, why me?”
    Wasserman slumped back in his chair, his eyes bleak and defeated. Then he sniffed, straightened up, and took out a cigar and lit it. In a way his gesture touched Caine more than anything he had said. In spite of everything, he had never quite given up. He puffed a few times and, exhaling the smoke, played his trump.
    â€œAll right, Caine, if I give you a satisfactory explanation, will you agree to consider my offer? Come with me to my beach house in Malibu. I have a dossier in my safe there that I’ve compiled on Mengele. I want you to see it and think it over. In the morning, if you still don’t want the assignment, I’ll pay you another thousand dollars for your trouble. Agreed?”
    Despite himself, Caine was intrigued. Wasserman was no fool and he had clearly thought the whole thing out. Besides, it was an easy $1,000.
    â€œAgreed,” he replied.
    â€œFirst of all, as to why I chose you,” Wasserman began. “You know there’s an ancient Afghani saying, that the Afghan wolf is hunted with an Afghan hound. I’ve bribed a lot of people to find out about you.