The German Suitcase Read Online Free Page A

through clenched teeth. He glanced over his shoulder, nervously, at those in the cafe and added, “You have to warn them. You have to get them out of there!”
    “Now? My God, I—” Professor Gerhard paused, his eyes darting to the door in reaction to the sudden silence that came over the lobby below. The arrival of an SS staff car, always a black Mercedes sedan with the runic double-S insignia on pennants flying above the headlights, always had the same chilling effect. It was as if the students had been suddenly rendered mute and left to wonder who would be arrested for crimes against the Third Reich, this time. “I can’t. It’s too late,” the Professor concluded.
    “The SS is already there?” Max prompted, his voice breaking at the thought.
    “Any second now,” the Professor said, his eyes still on the door. “We’ll come by the house as soon as we can. They wouldn’t dare invade your family’s privacy.”
    “I wouldn’t be too sure of that after last night.”
    “We’ll have to take that chance.” The phone was still in the Professor’s hand when someone rapped on the glass. The door swung open before he could respond. Three uniformed SS men strode through it.

CHAPTER FIVE
    “Pretty damn good,” Sol Steinbach said, sounding like he meant it after Stacey Dutton and Bart Tannen presented the concept for the ad campaign. He had quick eyes, a wiry physique, and a crusty familiarity that went with his hands-on management style. “It’s classy and genuine. Good stuff. Real good. I like it a lot.”
    “Thought you might,” Tannen said covering his sigh of relief with professional swagger.
    Stacey’s book of Irving Penn’s photographs of cigarette butts was on the conference table next to the suitcase. It served as a prop during the presentation and, now, Steinbach was eagerly turning the pages of the exquisitely printed volume. “Amazing. I remember this show. I’ve belonged to MOMA for forty years. Haven’t smoked in twenty; but I’m dying for a cigarette now.” He laughed and closed the book with a thwack. “You think we could get Penn to do the print ads?”
    Tannen shrugged. “I don’t even know if he’s still working. He’s no kid. I can tell you that.”
    “Yeah,” Stacey chimed-in, her thumbs dancing over the keys of her Blackberry. “Here we go. Born 1917. Makes him…ninety-two.”
    “Hey, I’ll take twenty more years,” Steinbach said with an infectious cackle. “I’m going to have ’em too. Know why? Competitive cycling. Now, that’s a sport. Muscle tone. Cardio-vascular conditioning. Take it from me, Bart. Trade-in your golf cart for a racing saddle before it’s too late.”
    “Yeah, I hear they do wonders for your prostate,” Tannen said with a grin.
    “Don’t tell me,” Steinbach said his eyes aglow with mischief. “You guys just landed the Flo-Max account.”
    “Can we count on you for an endorsement?”
    “Lucky for you there’s a lady present,” Steinbach retorted with a wink to Stacey. “This little gal saved your ass, Bart. I should hire her and get rid of all this overhead,” he went on, gesturing to the posh office and astonishing view of the city.
    “The suitcase was just waiting there for me, Mr. Steinbach,” Stacey said, self-consciously. “I got lucky…”
    “Makes three of us,” Steinbach fired back. He stepped to the suitcase and examined it from different angles. “Dates to the thirties,” he went on, zeroing-in on the serial number on the nameplate. He ran his fingertips over the pebble-grained leather, then the sweat-stained handle before going on to the precisely machined latches, pressing his thumbs against them. “It’s locked. No keys, huh?”
    “How I wish,” Stacey replied.
    “Mark suggested we get a locksmith,” Tannen said.
    “For what? I’ll have one of my techs come over,” Steinbach said. He grasped the handle and stood the suitcase upright. The sound of the contents moving about, got his attention; but the