Crossword (27 page)

She expected that she would see him inside and that perhaps
something about him —— his voice, his mannerisms, the way he moved ——
might trigger a spark of recognition or at least an association with some
person, time or place that would help her remember. When she entered the hotel
her eyes shot across the spacious lobby trying to home in on him, but he seemed
to be gone. The sound of an elevator door opening directed her gaze to an
alcove to the right of the reception desk, but her vision, initially dimmed as
she went from the bright morning sun into the subdued light of the
Schweizerhof, was now further compromised by the glare of a large window
adjacent to the elevator alcove, and she was unable to determine with any
degree of certainty whether the figure she she saw entering the lift was her
man. Mary stopped about three meters in front of the reception desk, annoyed
that she had lost him, and then curious why she had been so interested in the
first place. It was, she thought, no doubt due to her months working for an
organization whose work involved every kind of clandestine activity, gathering
all sorts of information and trying to correlate it to glean some useful
intelligence about the enemy. A trade where no observation could be ignored or
discarded off hand. It was a game where nothing was what it seemed to be. She
filed this piece of information for possible future reference, then walked the
remaining steps to the desk, acknowledging the clerk's greeting with a smile.

"Welcome back Mrs. Bancroft. Your usual room is
ready."

She was well known at the hotel, making the trip from Zurich
once each week for her liaison with Dulles. Business and pleasure; a bit more
of the former and less of the latter in recent months as Dulles became more and
more preoccupied, and Mary often felt that she was merely a vehicle to provide
a release from the tension that seemed to be increasing even as the outcome of
the war became obvious to all but the most deranged of Hitler's sycophants.
Still smiling, her inner emotions not mirrored in her face, she replied to the
ever solicitous desk clerk, "Thank you, Jonas."

"Let me get someone to help you with your
luggage." Without waiting for a reply —— he hadn't actually
asked a question —— he leaned forward and smacked his palm down on
the traditional bell to summon one of the bellhops. "I hope your journey
from Zurich was pleasant."

"It was. Thank you for asking." A young boy
appeared at her side, scooped up her single small suitcase and ushered her
toward the elevators. He said something to her as they entered the lift, but
she was lost in thought and didn't hear it, reinforcing the boy's belief that
all foreigners were naturally impolite. The clack of the elevator grate
snapping into place brought Mary back with a start and also brought a subtle
smile to the bellboy's lips. Bancroft watched the light of the elevator lobby
fade as the inner doors closed, drumming her nails on her purse as the slow
journey to the third floor began.

After freshening up from the train trip, and unpacking, the
latter entailing nothing more than opening her suitcase to let the few items
"breathe", she made her way to the OSS offices on Herrengasse to
review with Dulles her analysis of the information coming out of the third
Reich and to review with him the topics for the nightly communication with
Donovan in Washington. There would be the usual cocktails, dinner and, she
assumed, the usual sex afterwards. That was the problem with this part of their
relationship; it was too "usual", the sex perfunctory on her part and
almost medicinal for Allen. The OSS work, on the other hand, was never
completely routine. They worked well together, their differing points of view
often allowing for a more complete analysis of information, one seeing
something the other had missed, and they each appreciated and respected the
abilities of the other. The tradecraft honed by Dulles was increasing his
abilities and his stature within the government and would lead him to the
directorship of the CIA in the years following the war.

* *

General Waldman had been enjoying afternoon coffee and the
newspaper in his hotel room when there was a knock on the door followed by two
rather loud coughs. Recognizing the arrival of his contact, he put down the
paper, took a last sip of the thick dark coffee he found so pleasing, then
eased himself out of the chair and went to the door. He stood aside as
Templeton walked into the room, strode directly to the coffee service without
even acknowledging Gerhard's presence and picked up an uneaten croissant on the
plate, tearing off a piece and inserting it into his mouth before turning and
mumbling a garbled hello through a mouthful of the French pastry. Waldman
barely hid his distaste for this kind of behavior; he felt it to be boorish and
ungentlemanly, not to mention the fact that he did not share well. Julian knew
this and it was all part of the game, a show of contempt for the enemy to
demoralize him and perhaps goad him into making a mistake, perhaps, in his
anger, revealing something that could be of importance. They may be partners
but there was no love lost between them. Not that they hated each other or even
disliked each other; they were both far beyond the nationalistic and patriotic
fervor that led to such sentiments. For them it was merely business, two
companies in a joint venture that could prove profitable for both, but a
business transaction in which neither side wanted to miss an opportunity to
advance their position.

Gerhard nodded to Julian and motioned him to sit.

"Didn't have time to stop for lunch. These rolls are
really good."

"Please, help yourself. Would you like me to order
more; another pot of coffee?"

"No, this is fine." Getting right down to
business, Julian said, "I thought you were going to try to bullshit Kent
into believing Schroeder agreed to join us and that you had a plan to send the
agent back to us unharmed, thinking the plutonium was already gone? Did you
have to kill him?"

"Is he dead?"

"Maybe you did try to bullshit him, and now you're
trying to scam me! Please, I'm not stupid."

"No, of course not. I don't know what 'scam' is, but
you are correct, he is dead."

"Why?"

"He did not believe the story. I had to eliminate
him."

"Kent was so fucking stupid he'd believe you were his
long lost twin separated at birth." Julian stood and walked to the window,
glancing out at the plaza, now filled with people hurrying to and from the
railroad station. He turned back. "I don't care that you killed him, it's
just that you could have chosen a better time. His absence can't be hidden from
Dulles and now we're going to have people looking into this affair before we're
ready to hide our tracks. Kent will be considered compromised, and, by
extension, so will the whole operation."

"It was expedient to eliminate him. I'm sorry if it
makes your job more difficult, but it cannot be undone. The cards have changed
and we will just have to play what we have."

Yes, they have changed. He now has our agent and the
means to find the plutonium, all on his side of the table. The one loose canon
has been removed and I've been left with a new set of problems to distract me.
But does he have the hole cards to win the hand, to cut me out? An interesting
game.
Templeton maintained a poker face as he continued. "Well, I
guess I'll just have to play the game as it unfolds. Who knows what's liable to
turn up next?" He looked Gerhard in the eyes, an ever so slight smile
apparent, or maybe it was just a facial twitch. Waldman would have to figure
that one out.
Sometimes I love this game.
"By the way, General, has
our agent arrived at the apartment yet?"

The change in Waldman's features, however fleeting and
miniscule, was not lost on Templeton as the former replied, "I have not
yet heard from Eva; communication is difficult."

Shit. He hasn't made it there yet.
"When you
hear, please let me know by the usual channels. Oh, and I'll need some kind of
confirmation —— his name, some personal information or what the
tattoo on his arm reads." Julian had no idea if Larry even had a tattoo;
he'd let Gerhard wrestle with that one. He didn't want to make it easy for him
to bluff his way to a payoff as well as allied transportation and a get out of
jail card.

"Communication is difficult, as I said."

"I'll play my hand, you have to play yours."

Gerhard nodded. Julian ambled towards the door, confidence,
he hoped, in his casual, assured pace. Turning to face Waldman as he passed he
returned the nod as he said, "General," and exited the room, slowly
closing the door behind him.

Gerhard stood for some time, not especially pleased with the
way things had so far evolved. He was worried about the failure of the OSS
field agent to make it to Munich. There were a variety of possible
explanations, and most of them did not bode well for the plan. In addition,
every day they held Maria compounded the risks. She was not an unknown, and her
absence, even in the midst of the turmoil of a war gone bad, would soon be
noticed. It was true that he had more influence in the region than did
Schroeder, but the latter was not without friends and allies, people whose
voices would not be ignored when they made their inquiries. He sat down and
idly stared out the window at the approaching dusk. There was nothing further
he could do until he returned to his command in northern Italy and it would be
another hour or so before his transportation arrived. Gerhard picked up his cup
and tilted it back and forth on its side, watching the cold black liquid creep
up one side then the other, leaving behind a dark residue with even darker
flecks of coffee grinds as the fluid retreated.

Julian shared many traits with General Waldman despite the
fact that their countries were at war with each other, and at the moment they
were also united in their feelings of displeasure. When he left the room,
Julian's mind was racing. There were so many new contingencies to be considered
and he was not happy about this new tide of complications. When he left the
elevator he headed for the bar, hoping that a scotch and soda would ameliorate
at least the mental distractions born of fear and anxiety, leaving him free to
focus on the real issues.

As he sat in the dark paneled bar, reminiscent of an English
"gentleman's" club, he tried to free his mind of any thoughts related
to the operation and the impending crisis that he feared. Julian sat there,
sipping his drink, staring at the highly polished, well worn wood, letting his
eyes trace the carvings that adorned various pieces as he felt the alcohol
smooth the jagged edges of his disposition. After a while he was calm enough to
face the real issues, and in his usual methodical way he laid out the new
complications, mentally picturing each one, then drawing imaginary lines
linking each to specific aspects of the plan that it might impact. He then
thought of all the ways the new circumstance could alter how things played out.
Like all good chess players Julian had a great capacity for thinking ahead and
holding numerous possible scenarios in his head at the same time. Finally,
there was the most difficult part, figuring out how the play could be
manipulated in each permutation to achieve the outcome he wanted. The rest was
mostly sorting and arranging, a mental skill he had taught himself over the
years and honed in numerous chess competitions. It was, in effect, setting up
multiple new sets of operational plans. The scotch and soda that he ordered was
his first and last that day. There followed multiple cups of coffee as he sat
in the Schweizerhof bar and planned the most important chess game of his life.
Had Kent really been killed? Well, he was sure of that one at least. He could
see no use for Waldman to keep him alive. But what had happened to Larry, and
was the General involved in whatever it was? Could he extract the key that
Schroeder had provided to get the information from Maria? And most importantly,
was there another game and, if so, who were the players? Questions wrapped in
an enigma and sent into a spin by deception and trickery. Tradecraft at its
best. Nothing is what it seems.

By the time Templeton left the hotel it was dark and there
was a chill in the air. He was still preoccupied, and he almost bowled over
Mary Bancroft as he hurried down the front steps. "Excuse me miss, so
sorry ... oh, hello Mrs. Bancroft."

"Mr. Templeton, hello. Where are you running? Oh, I
guess I shouldn't be asking that question, not in this town and at this
time."

"Just a drink on my way home."

"Yes, I'm sure you could use one, or two or three. Mr.
Dulles has said things were getting a little dicey here."

"That's for sure. It's become quite chilly suddenly,
more than I would expect for this time of year, and I was in a hurry to get
home. Sorry I wasn't looking where I was going."

" 'A miss is as good as a mile,' as they say. You're
right about the cold. That's why I came back to get a sweater and scarf before
Mr. Dulles and I go to dinner. Anyway, I won't keep you. Nice seeing you."

"My pleasure."

Mary entered the lobby and went directly to her room,
putting on several layers against the frosty night, then retracing her steps to
the hotel entrance and on to the restaurant where she was meeting Allen.

* *

Later that night, she and Dulles were ensconced in comfortable
chairs at his apartment, enjoying an after dinner Schnapps when Mary remembered
her meeting with Julian earlier in the evening. "I saw Julian Templeton
coming out of the Schweizerhof when I went back to get my sweater. Does he live
over that way?"

"Actually his apartment is in the other direction from
the office."

"He said he stopped in for a drink on his way
home."

"Well, they have a nice bar, sort of like a private
club. That would suit his taste. Probably worth the walk for him."