his father were on their way home from Kassel. The police estimated the car was traveling in excess of 220 kilometers per hour when it crashed through the guardrails of a bridge on the A7 Autobahn and fell ninety meters into the ravine below.
That meant that Frau Erika became just about the sole stockholder of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H. What shares she did not now own were in a trust fund the Old Man had set up for Karlchen, who was then twelve. As expected, Otto Göerner became the managing director of the firm. Frau Gertrud believed it was now simply a matter of waiting for an appropriate period of time of mourning—say, six months—to pass before Frau Erika married Otto.
That didn’t happen, either. Frau Erika was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. She turned to the U.S. Army to find Little Karlchen’s father. He was located in the National Cemetery in San Antonio, Texas, under a tombstone on which was carved a representation of the Medal of Honor.
His family was located, too, and to Frau Gertrud it seemed that the Gossinger empire was about to pass into the hands of a Texas family of Mexican extraction, and that Poor Little Karlchen was about to be moved from the family mansion—Haus im Wald—in Bad Hersfeld to an adobe shack on the Texas desert, where his newly found grandfather would doze in the sun with his sombrero over his eyes as flies buzzed around him.
That didn’t happen, either. Less than twenty-four hours after she learned that her son had left a love child behind him in Germany, Doña Alicia Castillo was at the door of the House in Woods, where she told Frau Erika she had come to take care of her and the boy. She was shortly followed by Don Fernando Castillo, her husband, Little Karlchen’s grandfather, and President and chief executive officer of Castillo Enterprises, Inc. When Gertrud turned to Standard & Poor’s to see exactly what that was, she learned that Castillo Enterprises, Inc., was a privately held corporation with estimated assets worth approximately 2.3 times those of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.
Two weeks before Frau Erika died, Don Fernando Castillo took Little Karlchen, now renamed Carlos Guillermo Castillo, to Texas, and left “for the time being, until I can get a handle on what’s what” Otto Göerner as managing director of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H.
“For the time being” lasted until C. G. Castillo came into his inheritance at twenty-one—shortly before he graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. One of his first official acts in his role as sole stockholder of Gossinger Beteiligungsgesellschaft, G.m.b.H., was to negotiate a lifelong contract with Otto Göerner to serve as managing director. It provided for an annual salary and a percentage of the profits.
“Guten morgen, Gertrud,” Otto Göerner said as he walked into his office. He was a tall, heavyset, ruddy-faced man who many people thought was a Bavarian.
“Karlchen just called,” Frau Schröeder said.
“Why didn’t you tell him to call me in the car?”
“He’s coming here. Him and Fernando and two others.”
“He say why?”
“He said he wants to show you—at the Haus im Wald—a new satellite phone he says you’ll probably want to buy for all our foreign correspondents.”
“Gott!”
“We got a charge for him and three others for last night at the Crillon,” Frau Schröeder announced.
It was Frau Schröeder’s custom, as her first or second order of business, to daily check the charges Karl W. Gossinger had made against his Tages Zeitung American Express card. It let the both of them know where he was.
“The one in Paris?”
She nodded. “And he still has rooms—maybe just one—in the Four Seasons in Buenos Aires.”
“I wonder what our Karlchen is up to?”
“You could ask him.”
“We’ve been over this before, Gertrud. If I ask him something, I’m likely to get an answer that I really don’t want to hear.”
Gertrud didn’t reply.
“A new satellite phone? What the hell is that all about?” Göerner asked.
“Since you’re not going to ask him, we’ll probably never know,” she said.
“Did he say when he’s—when they are coming?”
“Today.”
“He say what flight they’ll be on? And can I make it to Rhine-Main in time to meet it?”
“He said they have Fernando’s airplane, and are going to Leipzig-Halle.”
“They flew across the Atlantic in that little jet?”
“Is that one of those questions you really don’t want the answer to?”
“Another one is ‘why Leipzig?’ The last I heard, Frankfurt is much closer to Paris.”
“We never know what our Karlchen is up to, do we?”
“Really up to,” Göerner said.