Berlin Encounter (13 page)

“If Berlin is abandoned, half of Europe will be in the Communist fold by next week.” General Clay was a pepper pot of a man with a voice like the bark of a bulldog. “Heard that from a journalist this morning, and for once I agree with the press one thousand percent.”

They sat around the general’s conference table, his Berlin-based staff assembled and augmented by several other generals brought in for the meeting. The confabulation was not on Jake’s account; it had been taking place almost continually since the Soviets closed off the city.

The assembled brass were clearly unsure what to think of Jake Burnes, dressed as he was in his dark trader’s outfit, not to mention dirt and a six-day scruff. Sally’s presence only added to the confusion.

“Tell me, ah, Colonel,” one of the generals said, a deskbound model with belly to match. “Just exactly what makes you so sure that the convoy you saw was not simply headed for some gathering point, from which the return journey to Moscow could be commenced?”

“To begin with,” Jake said, his voice grating with fatigue and growing impatience, “this was not just one convoy. More like a full army on the move. I personally saw several hundred troop carriers, half that number of tanks, the same of howitzers. And the line stretched out in both directions as far as I could see. Sir.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Phil,” General Clay barked. “The Russkies have done everything but camp on your doorstep and stick a tank barrel down your kazoo.” To Jake he went on, “You’re the only one among us who’s had a gander at the other side since this thing blew up in our faces, Colonel. I don’t need to tell you that the situation is more than serious. The city is virtually without resources. Our western sectors will begin to starve in less than a week.”

The thought of that was too much for the general to handle while seated. He popped to his feet and began pacing. “More than half my staff are pushing for us to assemble and force our way through. What do you think of that?”

Jake stared at the man. “By land?”

“That’s the idea.”

Jake recalled the massed force he had witnessed. “Sir, I guess there’s a chance that the Soviets would back down. But it would go directly against whatever plan is behind their buildup. And if they don’t give in—”

“Then we’ve got World War Three on our hands.” The general stopped his pacing long enough to rake the table with his gaze. “A chance we cannot take, especially knowing about the massed armaments which you have described.” He resumed his pacing, muttered to himself, “No, what we need is a show of force that is totally overwhelming, yet at the same time does not deliberately challenge them. Show them we mean business, but keep from having to fire the first shot.”

A voice from across the table started, “Washington—”

General Clay cut him off with an impatient wave. “Forget them. They’ll still be dithering when the city starts dining on shoe leather. No, what we need is a decision we can act on now, immediately, and then ask Washington’s permission later.” The sharp gaze returned to Jake. “Any ideas, Colonel?”

“Well,” Jake said, struggling to bring his mind up to speed. “Air power was always their weak spot, and I haven’t seen many planes at all the whole time I was over.”

The entire room came to full alert. A voice across the table said, “I can confirm that, sir. They’ve been on our back constantly for spare parts. Seems they can hardly keep a dozen planes in the air.”

General Clay wheeled about. “Phil, how many bombers can you get off the ground?”

“Oh,” the deskbound general shrugged. “Close to a hundred, I’d say.”

“I want twice that number in Wiesbaden tomorrow.” He stabbed his finger at another figure farther down the table. “Food, fuel, raw materials. Lots of them, George. Make up a list, but before you do, start organizing the first shipments. I want five hundred tons to arrive here tomorrow. Seven hundred by the day after. A thousand tons a day by the end of the week.”

“But that’s—”

“I’ll tell you what that is,” the general barked, and slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s an order!”

Jake walked over to where Pierre Servais stood on the garden’s broad top veranda, playing host and greeting late-arriving guests with the stiffness of an honor guard. He stood resplendent in his dress uniform and his momentary isolation. Jake asked him, “Are you nervous? Exhausted? In shock?”

Pierre scanned the crowd below him and replied somberly, “My friend, I am far too embarrassed for any of that.”

“Why, what’s the matter?”

Pierre’s features folded down like a stubborn bulldog. “You mean, besides the fact that more than half our guests could not even get into the church for the service, it was so full? Or the fact that my own wedding was taken from my hands, so that my mother could combine forces with my fiancée and turn what I thought would be a small chapel service for a few good friends into a new village fête? Or the fact that every woman within twenty kilometers has been cooking for a week? Or that there are people here today with whom my parents have not spoken since before I was born?”

“Yes,” Jake said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Besides that.”

“Then you are right, my friend,” Pierre replied. “I have no reason to complain about anything.”

Jake took a step back as another tidal wave of relatives and friends and villagers whooshed through the house’s back doors and enveloped his friend. Pierre composed his mobile features into proper lines, bowed, endured multiple lipstick stains, held his peace as he was crushed to one over-ample bosom after another. He nodded and murmured as the matrons in their ballooning dresses and unsteady hats and clinking jewelry fluttered about him like a flock of giant pigeons.

From the relative safety of the veranda’s far corner, Jake looked out over the vast back garden. Pierre’s entire family, down to the ninth cousin twice removed, had been enlisted into taming the former jungle. Now the acreage of grass was respectably cropped for the first time since the beginning of the war, and great trestle tables were spread out beneath the ancient fruit trees. From where Jake stood, it looked as though the region’s entire population, from the oldest living inhabitant to the youngest squalling newborn, had turned out for Pierre and Jasmyn’s wedding.

The house was decorated with flowers and plates of hors d’oeuvres. But the real action was there in the back garden. The tables literally groaned under their burden of food. Tiered trays loaded with steamed mussels and shrimp. Onion tarts big as tractor tires. Boat-sized tureens of bouillabaisse and potato casseroles that matched them in size. Mountains of home-baked bread. Garlic sausages thick as Jake’s thigh. And three lambs roasting on spits by the back wall. Not to mention two entire tables given over to desserts. And a bedroom stuffed with reserves, in case any of the guests began to feel peckish after the main dining was over and the dancing began.

Jake looked down to where Sally sat alongside Pierre’s twin brother Patrique and across from Pierre’s mother and father at the central table. Both of the old people looked bemused, tired, and glowing with unbelievable happiness. Two impossibles had come to life, two miracles blazed across the heavens, and everyone was here to share in their joy. One son, for whom the funeral service had long since been said, sat across from them, alive and smiling and growing stronger with each passing day. The other had returned from Africa with the woman both considered the daughter they had never had, the woman he had sworn was rejected from his life forever but today had taken as his wife.

Sally caught his eye, motioned toward the empty seat to her right. From her other side, Theo Travers gave a mighty grin as he toasted Jake with a brimming glass. Pierre’s parents remained vague on exactly why Jake and Sally had arrived with this stranger in tow, but had latched on to the single word, hero, and used that as the introduction to all who were brought around.

Jake nodded toward them, raised one finger. Strange that he could find this moment of calm and isolation in the midst of such a celebration. He looked down at his wife with love and thanksgiving, knowing he was here today in large part because of her bravery. But he was not ready to give up his moment of quiet just yet.

The five days since their return to Berlin had swept by in a flurry. As soon as the scientists had been safely stowed aboard one of the departing planes, Jake and Sally had hopped on another. Theo Travers had insisted on using his connections at Wiesbaden, their arrival point in the American sector, to round up travel passes and train tickets. Jake had shown his gratitude by inviting him to the wedding.

Jake had no intention of hurrying back to England. He had nothing waiting for him there except the job of packing. He had forwarded his own resignation by military courier. The last thing he wanted was to give somebody a chance to involve him in the inevitable enquiry over Sally’s actions. There was too great a risk that whoever tried to criticize her would find themselves dining on their own teeth.

“Jake.” Jasmyn passed through the great French doors and floated over. Her ballet-length white silk dress was unadorned, save for a white lace mantilla pinned with pearls to her dark hair and a matching string of pearls doubled about her neck. She glowed with the calm, self-possessed beauty of a princess. “What are my two favorite men doing up here away from the celebration?”

“Waiting for you,” Jake replied.

She smiled and shook her head. “This is one day when neither you nor Pierre will be permitted to remain apart and aloof and alone.”

Before he could object, she placed a hand on his arm and said, “There is a man inside who wishes to speak with you away from the guests.”

“Who is it?”

“He did not say. But whoever it is, you must promise not to remain away for too long. The place of the best man is beside the groom.” She dimpled. “Except, that is, when he is dancing with the bride.”

Jake walked through the wide-open doors and had to stop to adjust to the sudden lack of sunlight. Then he tensed as a stumpy figure separated itself from an alcove and came limping toward him. “I suppose I should be quite angry with you for disappearing like that.”

“Harry?”

“Having seen the bride, however,” Harry Grisholm went on, “not to mention the food, I suppose you can be forgiven.” He offered his hand. “How are you, Jake?”

“Surprised,” Jake said numbly. “How did you find me?”

“What good is twenty years experience in the spy business if I can’t track down a friend,” Harry replied, grasping Jake’s arm and leading him through an open doorway. “Let us see if we can find ourselves a relatively quiet corner. I have something I’d like to speak with you about.”

They walked through the kitchen and entered the back alcove which Pierre’s father used as his study. Before they were even seated, Jake warned, “If you’re here to get us back before some review, forget it. I’ve already resigned my commission.”

Harry tsk-tsked and replied, “That letter was unfortunately mislaid before anyone besides myself and Commander Randolf had an opportunity to read it.”

“Then I’ll send another,” Jake responded stubbornly.

“You may wish to wait until after you’ve heard what I have to say.” Harry gave Jake his patented smile, the one which did not need to descend from his eyes. “You have heard about the success of our operation in Berlin?”

Jake nodded. “I found a
Times
yesterday. Three days old, though.”

“The Berlin Airlift, they’re calling it,” Harry went on. “Four thousand tons of supplies each and every day. The Americans are flying from Wiesbaden into Templehof airport. The Brits are using the Gatow airfield. Even the French are managing to bring in a few supplies to Tegel and opening up their unused landing slots to us. All in all, a most satisfactory show of power and determination, all without firing a shot. The results are already evident, I am happy to say. Stalin has begun quietly pulling his troops back from the border.”

“Say, that’s good news.”

“Indeed it is. What makes it even better is that General Clay has seen fit to include your name in virtually every dispatch he has sent back to Washington.” The eyes twinkled merrily. “Which makes it most difficult for anyone else to condemn your actions.”

Jake felt the first ray of hope. “What about Sally?”

“Ah. Well, as it so happens, both of our scientists were fulsome in their praise of the two of you. Again, the powers that be have decided that given the chaotic state of our organization, Sally’s fast action might very well have saved our collective necks.”

“You caught the spy?”

“Indeed we did,” Harry proclaimed, the glint taking on a steely tone. “He happened to be Quentin Helmsley’s very own number two. This unfortunately has left Helmsley himself in a rather precarious position, and unable to criticize anyone’s actions at the moment.”

Jake found he did not mind that news in the least. “The passport, the travel documents,” he pressed. “Sally’s absence without leave, what about all that?”

“I beg your pardon,” came the merry reply. “What about all what?”

Jake studied the little man, observed, “You’re not finished.”

“With you? I should say not. I did not go to all this trouble, first to clear both your good names and then to track you down, just to enjoy a wedding feast.” Harry’s face grew somber. “Stalin’s threat has not been ended, Jake. It has merely been deflected. Churchill gave a speech the other day. He told the world that an iron curtain had descended, blocking all of Eastern Europe from view.”

An iron curtain. For some reason, the words brought a chill to Jake’s mind.

“What is more, Stalin has begun pressing forward with aggression farther south. He wants an empire which runs from the Arctic Circle to the Indian Ocean, and it is only with diligence and fortitude that we shall be able to halt his onslaught. Are you with us?”

“I’ll have to talk with Sally,” Jake replied. He did not need to think it over. All such future steps would be taken together, or not at all.

“Of course you will. This involves you both.” Harry leaned forward, his voice quieted. “I have been asked to take a field position, heading up a major new operation. I want you to come in as my number two. I will put you in as a senior diplomat, but your primary role will be to run operatives throughout the region and gather intelligence. This we will feed directly back to Washington, as well as to NATO headquarters. It may also interest you to know that Major Servais is going to be offered a similar position, so that if you accept, you two might be able to work together once more.”

Jake felt the prickle of excitement race through him. “Where will we be based?”

“Did I not say? Forgive me.” The merry twinkle returned. “My dear Colonel Burnes, I would very much like for you to be my man in Istanbul.”