A Spy in the Shadows (Spy Noir Series Book 1) (18 page)

Before it began Shepilov had explained to her how he had witnessed men suffer in this way, men who considered themselves very brave and quite capable of keeping their secrets to themselves.  Within an hour in this position they usually broke, confessing and begging, screaming from the pain.  The German, however, had proven to be very difficult and stubborn.  It had taken a brutal beating with a rubber hose around the neck and face before he began to talk.  Not a good death for a soldier of the Reich as he choked on his own blood.

Dobyrin’s flushed face shone with sweat as he rolled his shirtsleeves down to the wrist and buttoned them.  “He was tough one.”

Goli’s stomach burned.

Dobyrin asked, “What do I do with him?”

“Throw him in the river,” Shepilov said, “a brutal beating of a German agent, that and nothing more.”  Goli walked out into the hall and down the stairs and outside.  She was glad to be in the fresh air.

----

Upstairs, Goli stood at the window of Shepilov’s office and watched the lights of the city sparkling in the darkness.  She stood there for a long time imagining that she was actually at the end of the earth.  How else could she explain how she felt at being so close to the men who had betrayed her husband?  Then she went and sat in a chair.  A single floor lamp on a table glowed as yellow haze on the room.

“A single name,” she whispered.  “Will you take me to this man?”

Seated on the couch, Shepilov leaned forward into that light.  “It’s all being arranged.  What do you know about him?”

Goli walked to the table and found a package of cigarettes.  She lit one and walked back to the window.  “Aly Abbosi.  I’ve suspected him all along,” she whispered.  “The brother of Yousef Abbosi, the opposition leader against what my husband and Reza Shah were trying to accomplish with the Soviet alliance.  Don’t misunderstand, Josef, it had nothing to do with siding with your people or the Germans . . . it had everything to do with what was best for Iran.  But Abbosi and others wouldn’t listen.” 

She felt his eyes on her as she stared out the window for a long moment, then her told her, “I’ll secure a truck and pick you up before dawn.” 

She shrugged.  “I would suggest that you bring Dobyrin, Josef . . . he seems to be very good at getting people to discuss matters.”

-Seventeen-

Berlin.  On the Unter den Linden, opposite Brandenburg Gate.

The Hotel Adlon, one of the most famous hotels in Europe with its classic-conservative gray walls, was located in the heart of the government quarter only blocks from the Chancellery.  Built in 1907 by Lorenz Adlon, a successful wine merchant, it had played the role of significant host between the two world wars.  Before the second war the Adlon was known as ‘little Switzerland’ because so many diplomats conducted their business at the grand hotel.  Charlie Chapin and Josephine Baker had stayed at the Adlon.  Herbert Hoover, ex-president of the United States, insisted the hotel be his home during his visit in Berlin.  It was also where SS Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg handled his tryst with Reinhard Heydrich’s widow.  So, it was natural that if the Gestapo were following him, which was beginning to happen more often these days, if by chance Schellenberg appeared in his Audi on a rainy afternoon then the secret police would consider it nothing more than another rendezvous with the tall blonde.

At precisely three o’clock on the afternoon of 30 November, Theodor Richter knocked on the door of room 323.  He had arrived back at his apartment from the hunting trip in the forest the night before.  Shortly after he had received a phone call to make himself available for a meeting with the SS Brigadefuhrer.

“Enter.”

Richter opened the door finding Schellenberg sitting in an armchair in front of a writing desk by the window.  He was strangely absent his uniform, dressed in a dark blue Savile Row suit, white starched shirt, and an oyster blue tie.  In front of him was a glass-topped table with a chilled bottle and an assortment of glasses.  Behind him on a side table, sat an arrangement of yellow roses.  His legs were crossed at the knees and he was holding a glass of champagne.  “You were followed by the Gestapo; I thought I’d tell you that.  For reasons I won’t go into they won’t tie our arrivals to the hotel together, however.  If—you are ever asked—you and I never had any discussions today.  Understood?”

“Understood, General.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you.”

“Then, let’s get directly to the reason I’ve asked you here,” Schellenberg began, leaning over and handed him a piece of paper.  “This will explain everything.”  Richter walked to the window where the light was better.  Beyond the busy boulevard was the Brandenburg Gate.  He held the note up to the window.  It read: ‘WE ARE UNDER SURVEILLANCE.’

“Received at
Havelinstitu yesterday morning,” Schellenberg said, “transmitted from our men in Tehran to the SS radio center at Wannsee.”

“The operation is blown?” 

“The plan always contained a weakness,” he said.  “One of which you are aware.”

When Schellenberg hesitated, Richter asked, “And that would be?”

“Skorzeny.”

“A disadvantage?”

“While it’s obvious that he would be a good man to run an operation like this, I’ve simply never trusted Skorzeny.  The man is too hard to control.  And besides, the Luftwaffe trust him even less,” he told Richter.  “Think back on the rescue of Mussolini.  A glowing rescue, right?  Of the dozen glider pilots who landed on that peak in the Italian mountains, all had been killed or captured.  Of the 108 SS parachutists who went in with Skorzeny, just three men flew off that mountain.  Mussolini, Skorzeny, and his pilot.  Hitler awarded him the Knight’s Cross, but it would have been more of a success leaving Mussolini to his fate than to lose those brave men.”

Richter, while listening to Schellenberg express his dislike for the famed commando, tried to figure out exactly why this conversation was taking place.  “Then the operation will be terminated?”

The general managed an unusual smile.  “Of course not.  That will never happen because you must remember the Fuhrer personally approved this plan.  No, it will go on as planned, and you and I will attempt to use that to our advantage.  Hopefully—unlike the rescue at Abruzzi—we won’t get a lot of brave men killed for nothing

“
Which brings us really to the main point of our discussion.”  He looked up from his champagne glass and directly at Richter.  “It is up to you and I, Colonel, to remain focused in Tehran and to make some good result comes out of this.  Perhaps another purpose.”

“What purpose would that be
?
“Your original reason for placing Traveler in Tehran in the first place,” he said.  “I know you had important reasons to place your best spy there.”

“Use a failed operation to protect Traveler?”

‘Exactly, Colonel.  And don’t be concerned, your secret will remain between us,” he said. 

It was a dangerous game of chess German Intelligence was playing within its own ranks, and the man sitting in the room was one of the best.  And one of the most ruthless, Richter reminded himself.  He would have to be cautious moving forward, he reasoned, reviewing his options while the general patiently waited, slipping his champagne.  Finally it came to him.  For the time being, he would allow Schellenberg to believe he had checkmated him.  Let him believe that he knew everything going on in the shadows of Tehran. 
Which, of course, he didn’t. 

Richter came from the window and sat at the table with Schellenberg.  “I think I’ll have that drink now, General.”

----

Dustan Tappeh. 

The airfield was mostly abandoned except for one remaining building of children scheduled to depart by train in several days.  A line of canvas trucks faced the gate, the departing children were being loaded for the trip to Bandar Shahpour on the Persian Gulf.

Julia stood at the office barracks window, her arms crossed in front of her.  A dying sun brushed a scarlet hue across the sand as she watched the children being led onto the trucks.  She had been assured by the officers in charge that transporting the children in the night was the safest decision.

Julia noticed Goli paid a lot of attention to several of the children as they were being loaded onto the trucks. 

But, strangely, it was Leni Boland had spent the most time with Penina.  The little girl had gained some weight since arriving in the camp several months ago.  But she still looked so thin, her legs in white stockings, a checkered dress that hung on her frame, and the little pastel hat.  She stood in front of the bus a bag in one hand and a leather case in the other.  Everything she owned in her little hands.  It was enough to make Julia want to cry.

Leni knelt in front of her, giving her a long hug.

Julia made a mental note, and let out a deep sigh.

“Hate to see them go?”  The clerk said leaning over her typewriter at the desk behind her.

“The whole lot will be gone soon, won’t they?”  Julia turned from the window.  An electric fan swept hot air across the room.

“It’s better for them so they’ll be with their own kind.”

Their own kind.
  What did that mean?

“But you still hate to see them go, don’t you?” she asked Julia.

“In the worst way.”  But it wasn’t that at all that was bothering Julia.  Out by the gate the trucks were pulling away.  A group of people waved goodbye.  Goli and Leni stood among them.  Then something caught Julia’s eye . . .  

“Is there a phone in the other office?”  Julia asked.

“Sure is.  But you’re welcome to use the one here on my desk if you’d like.”

Julia was at the office door.  “It’s a private call, thanks just the same.”

-Eighteen-

“So, Salinger, you still believe your spy is a woman?”

The two men stood at the top of a rise in the sand as a dry wind moaned across the desert.  A red sun suspended in the midmorning sky casting a golden glow on the horrific sight below.  Mayfield stood at the edge, one hand on his hip staring at the narrow valley.  The bodies of three British soldiers lay where they had been discovered at sunrise.

“Massacred,” Mayfield said quietly.  “You haven’t answered me, Booth.  You still believe your so-called woman spy is capable of this . . . butchery?”

“It doesn’t change the facts, major,” Salinger said.  “It may go against everything I’ve concluded so far, but Fields trusted whoever he was with that night in Shahr-e Rey.  His taste was in women, so it was a woman—fairly high up in society.  What she learned from the notes taken from his briefcase eventually led her here—”

“With an accomplice, perhaps?”  Mayfield pointed down the hill.  “That could explain this, except the tracks in the sand tell us these trained military men were killed by one person.  So she came out here and killed three British soldiers.   A woman?”

Salinger didn’t answer, glaring down the hill.

Karim Chubok and two of his policemen stood nearby as a British military team began the gruesome task of loading the bodies in the back of a truck.  Over the last two hours, Chubok’s special Iranian police team, along with British military teams had swept over the surrounding area searching for any clue. 

“You think it’s a good idea that the Iranian authorities should be involved?”  Salinger asked.

“Not our decision.”

In the distance two British soldiers stared at them from the oasis of fir trees.  “I thought we were on a military base?” 

“Not exactly, this place officially doesn’t exist.”

“Then as part of my investigation, wh
at if I asked to go in there?”
“Wouldn’t do you a bit of good I’m afraid.”

Chubok walked up the hill to them.  The police chief wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. 
“A horrible scene, gentlemen.  Any idea on what they would be looking for out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Our communications centers are always a concern for German agents, Chief,” Mayfield said.  “Disabling such a center would be part of their operation ongoing in Tehran.”

The truck, now loaded with the bodies, started and pulled away to the main road.  One of Chubok’s men walked half way up the hill and waved at him.  Chubok said, “I’ll file my report and have a copy on your desk in the morning.”

Salinger and Mayfield walked down the hill toward the sedans parked on the road.  In the short time they had been out, the heat grew sweltering, dancing off the sand.

“Have you seen Julia since arriving in Tehran?”
“She was waiting for me at my hotel room the night I arrived.  But you know that.”