Keeping Secrets (33 page)

He had invited me to a winter
dansant
at the St. Anthony's Hotel on the night after Christmas, and wound up spending most of the evening talking about being in the air. His interest was aroused a few years earlier when Lieutenant Honeywell housed his great air balloon the “Centennial” in a hangar at San Pedro Park, and used the park as a departure field on many of his flights. Keith was one of countless youths who hung around Honeywell as he tended to his balloon, badgering the poor guy with questions about what kind of gas he used, what materials he used to build his craft, and details on his famous flight in the Chicago International Race of 1907, when a forty-mile-per-hour gale blew him and his co-pilot through eight fences as well as various other obstacles. Yet in spite of it all, Honeywell had emerged with two cups and established American records for distance and endurance, flying twenty-three hours and over eight hundred and fifty miles.

Keith spoke of Honeywell's experiences as intently as though they were his own, and conceded his most prized memory was when Honeywell took him, along with several other boys, up over the park one windy Sunday afternoon.

“That was it,” he said. “I knew then someday I wanted to be like Honeywell, maybe go for the Lahm Long Distance Cup myself.”

“Maybe after the war you could pick up a German Zeppelin at a discount, and take people on world tours. I've heard they used to be pretty classy, with dining on board,” I told him in jest. He seemed insulted I could take his hopes so lightly and looked across at me seriously.

“That's all changed now,” he said. “As soon as I finish school and save up enough money, I'm going to take flying lessons. I want to be an aeroplane pilot.”

“Your parents are paying for you to become an engineer,” I reminded him.

“I know, but sending me to college was my mother's idea. She felt it only fair if Ken got a college education, I should have one too. Dad just wants a son to take over the store someday, and he gave up on Ken years ago when he swore he'd become a dentist.”

“I see … what do your folks think about your becoming a flyer?”

“They don't take me seriously. But they will, one day.”

I started to remark that I agreed with them, but it seemed ungrateful to hurt his feelings. He'd rescued me from the Christmas doldrums by asking me out that night. What if he was a bit boyish? At least he was an ordinary American, a refreshing departure from the type of people I was becoming involved with.…

I watched him finish loading the boxes into the truck and drive off, then went inside and closed the doors behind me. Keith was always after me for failing to eat right, and just the evening before had brought me a box of fresh vegetables from the store. I opened up the icebox and considered making a big salad for supper, but then lost interest and fixed a cheese sandwich instead.

Next day Edwin had some interesting news.

He was so late that I had almost run out of time. I'd been sitting on a bench wondering if the people who built the mighty stone courthouse intended for its main tower to look like a beehive when he finally drew up beside me. It occurred to me for the first of many times that we must have looked like two crows perched upon a fence, the way we looked straight ahead all the time.

That day he was reporting on the invoices, and explained, “Since the British blockade was set up the Germans have been in a tough spot. At the beginning of the war they thought they would outguess the Allies by tying up the American munitions factories with their own orders for weapons, but now with the blockade in effect they can't get the weapons they've ordered overseas where they need them. So they're consigning them to Mexico for sale down there. A lot of them went to Huerta before he got thrown out a few months ago, and exiled.

“Now from other things we've been able to learn, plus the information you found, we're putting together a few pieces and we think Tetzel may be working on a scheme to return Huerta to power.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

“If they buy and pay for the head of the government, they'll have all the clout they need if they go after Mexico's help for their own cause. You know, the British depend upon Tampico oil for their fuel supply, and if the Germans can get an embargo on that oil for the duration, they'll have an obvious advantage over the Allies.

“Also, it would be to the benefit of the Germans to keep Mexico tied up in fights with the United States, to keep America busy. If they throw Huerta into the sizzling brew down there, fireworks are going to go off, especially since the U.S. is breaking its back trying to mediate a peace so they can recognize one of the governments, then wash their hands of the whole mess.

“From the consignment of these invoices, it's possible we have a tie-in, but nothing is definite.”

“If not, there's nothing wrong with Tetzel selling weapons down there.”

“That's right, but if so, then that involves him in fomenting a revolution on U.S. soil and that's breaking a law.”

“Oh, those neutrality laws are on and off like a bee on a blossom.”

“Even so, we've got to watch and see what develops. We don't want to do anything hasty. This may be more extensive than we know. No use throwing a small fine on Tetzel now, when we could let him operate for a while, then get him by the neck.”

“I resent that. You have no proof against him yet.”

“That's right. What we have to have is more written evidence. Did you ask about the mail situation?”

“Yes, but he hasn't given me an answer yet. He may not let me do it.”

“Don't press him too hard; it might alert him. But don't miss a chance to take it on if you can. Oh yes, and one other thing. This list of accounts you got looks all right except for Stuttgart Printing. See if you can find out anything more about the owner.”

“Why?”

“Printing currency for use in Mexico. It's a long shot, but he is German, and revolutionary currency has been printed up here in the past.”

“I don't know what I can do about it. I don't have access to information on a day-to-day basis unless he borrows more money. I'd have to be checking his credit file all the time to see if anything showed up there, and that is unlikely anyhow. Oh, I'm getting to hate all of this.”

“I know, but you got to stick with it. Just pay attention to calls between Stuttgart and Tetzel, visits from him, one thing and another. Have you seen anything unusual lately? Any new people on the staff, or unusual breaks in Tetzel's routine?”

“No. He did go to lunch at the International Club the other day with a new customer named Cabot.”

“Hm … that club was under some fire during the Madero revolution in 1910, but I don't think anything is going on there now. I can check it out. Who's this Cabot?”

I told him what little I knew.

“All right, but watch for visits. We may have to wire Tetzel's office eventually, but I want to wait until we have more before we risk that. You might be checking around for possibilities of setting up equipment.”

“What sort of wire are you talking about?”

“To get recordings of his voice … you know, like they use for a Victrola.”

“Oh! I didn't know you could do that kind of thing.”

“It's a little tricky. We have one man on our team who's an electrical expert, and I learned what little I know from him. We put a wax cylinder recorder in one room, then wire to another room—in this case, Tetzel's office—and install a receiver. The recorder has a headset attached, so you can listen in while you're recording. I have a diagram you can see.”

“The idea seems pretty dangerous. The whole floor—plus the one above and below—are occupied by bank offices.”

“How about a storage room, or closet?”

“I'll look around. How big is the recorder?”

“About a foot and a half long, and maybe eight or ten inches deep.”

“All right.”

“Remember, the Germans have a habit of committing important words to paper. If you could just get at the mail—”

“I'll try.”

“And every now and then check again in the safe. He might keep memoranda in there. Also, make yourself useful. Offer to do odd jobs, deliver things, anything that will get you close to Tetzel or any of these other people. Shadow them whenever you can.”

“What do you expect me to do, hide behind the bushes?”

“It wouldn't hurt,” he said, and laughed. “I know it's dirty work, but remember, the end justifies the means.”

“Maybe I'm just not right for this. You might be better off hiring somebody professional. I feel awfully inadequate.”

“We don't have enough money to hire professionals. Besides, they often prove to be low types who buy and sell information to both sides, so there's a built-in risk right there.

“Also, your position makes it possible for you to see many things we could never have access to. We might work for months and never get anyone on Tetzel's staff, much less right inside his own office.”

“That's true,” I admitted and thought how relieved I'd be if all of this would end.

Yet, like a small twig working its way downstream, the complications went further. The day before Tetzel left for his overseas trip Cabot came by again, and this time as he left I overheard Tetzel say, “All right. I'll transfer five now. Let me know as you need more.”

Later in the afternoon, alone in the office, I called down to credit and said, “Mr. Tetzel wants to verify an amount transferred into the Cabot Enterprises account as a loan. Was it five thousand?”

“One moment.”

An eternity passed, with my eyes on the door, looking for Tetzel to appear. Finally came the answer. “That's right. Did you need that loan number?”

“No thanks. That's all.”

When Mr. Tetzel returned from a meeting, we worked together until around seven o'clock because his trip was to begin the following day. His wife phoned then to remind him they had dinner guests arriving in half an hour, and he handed me a bundle of mail and said, “You needn't bother with this tonight, but would you see that it goes first thing in the morning?”

“Of course, sir, have a safe journey.”

A cursory glance over the bundle seemed to prove it was innocuous, but I had an uneasy feeling future batches of mail might prove otherwise. Still I took it home like a good spy and steamed open the envelopes I couldn't readily identify. One was addressed to an R. M. Francke in New York. A brief memo, it stated, “I understand you will be out of the city during my stop in New York within the next few days, so I'll try and reach you upon my return back to the States a few weeks hence. I have a matter of urgency to discuss, so we need to talk before V.R. comes over. This may change the picture somewhat. Please wire M.K. at the German Foreign Office per usual.”

I called Edwin, who picked it up for copying and commented, “Aha, this is going to be our tie-in, you can bet on it.” Then he noticed my lack of enthusiasm and said, “I'll get in touch with you after I've done some checking. I think your attitude will change.”

7

Late in January, Mother came down for a brief visit. Just when I was feeling low over the recent—and still undigested—development with Tetzel, and equally disturbed by the fact he was to be away for the rest of the month so that my whole life seemed suspended, I could have used some of her good-sense talk. Yet she was more depressed than I had ever seen her. She'd returned from Washington where Vote for Women had suffered overwhelming defeats. The national suffrage constitutional amendment had been defeated in the House, denying its chance of going before the states for ratification. As an added disappointment, the President stood firm against suffrage on a national scale, although he was in favor of it himself.

“Sometimes I wish Taft were still in office,” she said bitterly. “His attitudes toward women trying to get ahead are a lot more advanced.”

“But Wilson isn't against you,” I told her.

“Nor will he get behind us. Would he wield his power our way, we could be years ahead. One national amendment would save all this traveling hither, thither, and yon. Each state is like another field to be plowed, and there are still fourteen left without even so much as limited suffrage for women. You're living in one, don't forget.”

I'd been giving a lot of thought over the past few weeks to human rights and the work of little provinces like Bohemia trying to keep from being gobbled up by the German empire, so I remarked, “I don't know, Mother. Maybe there's something good in Wilson's stubbornness about leaving this to the states.”

“That's a fine thing to say. Look what happened a few years ago when he stood up for California's anti-alien act. The Japanese have never gotten over the fact they lost their right to own property they'd worked, out there. That confounded, obdurate governor ought to have his head examined for doing them that way. It's silly to risk the friendship of another country over that, especially in this day and age, when countries are falling into line on one side or another,” she said, then stopped and knitted her brow. “That isn't what I meant to get off on. Are you at liberty to discuss your BNA work with me?”

“I suppose so. You got me into it.”

I told her briefly of the clues uncovered, and included my secret visits into the files and Mr. Tetzel's safe. After I finished she took a sip of hot tea and said, thoughtfully, “Hm … I really wouldn't think they would get you too involved if it gets rough. Probably bring someone down from higher up in their organization. To be honest, I didn't think it would go as far as it has.”

“Is that why you were so eager for me to stick my neck out in the beginning?”

“No. I truly believe in their cause, but not at the risk of—of—”

“My life?”

“Of course not, silly, your job.”