Armageddon by Leon Uris Page A

your lands and property are confiscated and all your known assets are frozen.”
    If Ludwig was annoyed he did nothing to show it. He did not so much as look at the document. “I should like to be informed of my legal recourses,” he said.
    “You have none,” Sean answered. “Baron,” he continued—the short fat one stepped forward and bowed—“you are to continue as mayor of Rombaden under my directions. Your principal function is to see to it that the civilian population carries out our orders speedily.”
    “Yes ... yes ... I shall be honored ...”
    “As for you, Count Von Romstein. The position of chancellor is suspended. I have made no final disposition of your case. In the meanwhile I would like your voluntary cooperation.”
    “I have placed myself at your service.”
    “Lieutenant Arosa will be conducting extensive interrogations.”
    “Of course. I have nothing to hide.”
    “You’ve got a lot to explain. I am putting you on your honor not to leave the environs of Rombaden. Do you have a residence in the city?”
    “The house of my late brother, Kurt, will be suitable.”
    “Clear out of Castle Romstein immediately with your family. Take only what personal possessions you can carry in two handbags. Report your address to the clerk outside. You are dismissed.”
    Graf Ludwig Von Romstein smiled thinly at the three men before him, conveying the obvious message that the inferior pigs who sat in judgment constituted a temporary situation. His fat brother bowed his way out of the door backwards.
    “Well,” Duquesne said, “how do you like the Germans now?”
    Dante Arosa blew a long breath and peeled the wrapper off a cigar he had bummed from Colonel Dundee. “You shouldn’t have let them go, Sean. Both of them are right on top of the Blacklist.”
    “They’re not going anywhere,” Sean said.
    “You don’t sit sixty miles from the border and not have an escape route mapped out. They’ve probably got half their holdings in Switzerland.”
    “No, Dante,” Duquesne said, “Sean is correct. The holdings that make them powerful are right here. The land ... the factory. If they had meant to leave the country they would have done so before now. It is a simple matter to escape to Switzerland. He has made his decision to stay here and gamble for his estate. He was prepared for all the consequences when he walked into this office.”
    “Lock him up,” Dante insisted.
    “We’ve got too much use for both of them to lock them up.”
    Maurice, having agreed with Sean, now turned on him. “Do not think you are able to play a cat and mouse game with this Count Von Romstein. Intrigue is a way of life centuries old. With all due respects, it is foreign to American comprehension. When Dante interrogates him he will have a web of stories woven to make him look like a maiden of pure driven snow.”
    Sean did not argue. He wondered if by letting Count Ludwig free he had not overmatched himself.
    Baron Sigmund Von Romstein, who by oversight or trickery was still mayor of Rombaden, plopped into an overstuffed chair, devoured by perspiration, heart palpitating.
    “Gone,” he lamented, “everything is gone. The villages, Castle Romstein, the Machine Works. Everything is gone.”
    “Shut up,” Count Ludwig commanded. Even at this dreadful time his sharp voice stopped his brother’s babbling. “Louts,” Ludwig continued.
    “What are they going to do with us?” Sigmund whined.
    “For the time being, nothing. They will prod us for information and use us as fronts to do their dirty laundry.”
    “We are clean! We have never been Nazi Party members!’’
    “No, poor Kurt joined the party for us.”
    “And now he is dead. You made him join the party. It was you, Ludwig!” he cried in a rare show of defiance.
    The count slapped his brother and hovered above him in rage, his dueling scar darkening to an ugly purple. “Kurt joined the party for the Von Romstein family! Remember that! And you will control