The Incidental Spy (5 page)

“A
mericans are suspicious of everything,’” Hans told Lena a week later. “But they must not be suspicious of you.”

They were walking down State Street in the Loop on a crisp Saturday morning in April. It was still early, and the sun slanted through the buildings and bounced off shop windows in a cheerful display of light. “You must always be aware of your surroundings, the environment, and the people. Be alert for someone or something that could compromise your security. It might be quite small and inconsequential, and it will probably be the one thing that doesn’t belong.” He stopped. “For example, what color was the dress of the woman who just passed us?”

Hans had a fast stride, and Lena was concentrating on keeping pace with him. She had no idea about the dress. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Turn around.”

She did. The dress was powder blue. She turned back.

“What about her shoes?”

Lena’s spirits sank. It was one thing to make sure she didn’t bump into people as they hurried down the street. It was quite another to remember what shoes they were wearing.

“They were black,” he said. “Was she wearing perfume?”

Lena shrugged.

As if reading her mind, he went on. “She was. But do not worry. It will come. The point is, you must not do anything to raise an alarm… to make people think their security is at stake. But
your
security is critical. If it seems too much of a risk, if you think someone is tailing you, abort the mission. Figure out how to accomplish it a different way.”

Hans had been training Lena for five days. Despite the fact it was hard to leave Max, she had worked with Hans every evening after work and now today. He had divided her education into subjects. Today was surveillance. He was teaching her how to tell if she was being followed, and if so, how to lose the tail. He was also showing her how to tail someone else, although he admitted she likely wouldn’t have much use for it. Her primary activity was simply to supply information about the research and development going on at Met Lab. Still, he said, she should be familiar with basic techniques.

They had already discussed communication. She would buy a flowerpot for her window-sill, he said, and move it from one side to the other to signal a meet or indicate something was in the dead drop. He also taught her to watch for signals from him. How to follow chalk marks, bottle caps, orange peels, or tacks affixed to telephone poles. He pointed out two dead drops both within a block of her apartment, where she would leave rolls of film and documents. She was surprised she’d never noticed them before; then again, that was the point. He taught her how to spot a classified ad in the newspaper that was really a coded message and how to decrypt it. Her brain was swimming.

“And those are just the simple methods,” he’d reminded her.

The next area they needed to discuss, he said, as they continued down State, were tools. “You will clearly need a camera so you can take pictures of the set up as well as documents.”

Lena frowned. “But how—”

He cut her off. “Of course we would prefer the actual documents, but we know in your case that will not be possible. Photos will suffice. You will leave a roll of film in the dead drop every time you have something.”

“What if I’m not able to take photos?”

“You will find a way. Work late. Come in early.”

“Everyone already does.”

“Then go in earlier. Stay later. Go in on a weekend.”

“And how am I supposed to get the film out of the office?”

He waved a hand. “Your purse. A briefcase. You will figure it out.”

“I don’t carry a briefcase. It would look pretentious if I began.”

“Improvise. A grocery bag. Your coat pockets. Here.” He stopped walking, pulled out his wallet, and peeled off a twenty. “Go into Marshall Fields and buy a new bag. A big one.”

Lena didn’t miss a beat. “And the camera?”
He laughed. “You learn quickly. We will supply it. Go into the store. I will wait.”

They were standing under the clock at State and Randolph. She headed towards the store entrance. Then she turned around and came back. “What about a gun?”

“A gun? For you?”

She nodded.

“No gun.”

She spun around and went into Fields.

M
uch to Lena’s chagrin, Agent Lanier came around twice after the incident. He claimed he couldn’t figure out who had taken and then returned Max with no questions asked.

Hans had told Lena what to say. “I have no idea,” she recited. “What do you think?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. I really thought it was a ransom case.”

“Agent Lanier,” she smiled. “Perhaps you did a better job than you thought. Perhaps the people who took him knew they couldn’t get away with it.” She barreled on. “I’m just grateful to have him back. I never want to go through that again. Especially so soon after my husband’s death.” She swallowed and bit her lip, as if she was trying to suppress tears.

He scratched his cheek. “Yeah, that is a factor. I can’t help but wonder whether the two incidents are related.”

Lena went pale.

“Oh come on, Mrs. Stern. Surely the same thought has crossed your mind.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “Of course it has. But how? For what purpose?”

He cocked his head. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“You must remember I lost my parents. My homeland. My husband. And then I almost lost my son.” She shook her head. “Agent Lanier, I cannot survive another loss.”

After a long moment, he nodded. “I understand. I’ll leave you in peace. But, I want to—”

“Yes?”

“I think we know each other well enough to use first names, don’t you? I’m Ted. But everyone calls me Terry.”

Lena smiled. “Lena.”

“Here’s my card. If you ever need anything, feel free to call.”

* * *

Hans fabricated a story to tell the people at Met Lab about Max. Lena was to say he had not been kidnapped after all. He had simply wandered off from Mrs. M and got lost. He’d been found by a good Samaritan and returned a few hours later. Everyone seemed to accept it, which made Lena feel guilty. Compton had gone out of his way to rehire her after Karl died. Adjusted her schedule so she could be with Max. Even kept on Sonia, the other secretary, to share the load. And the way she repaid him? Lies and duplicity.

Indeed, her stomach pitched every time she thought about what she was doing. But when the money arrived promptly each week in fifty dollar increments, it made a difference. She began to pay off the grocers’ bill. For the first time since Karl died, she could afford the rent, and she even had a little extra to lavish on Max. She came to depend on the money and started to see her job through a different lens. Everything she handled or saw could be measured by whether she could snap photos of it, and how much it paid.

It wasn’t difficult to monitor the goings-on at the Lab. Major events seemed to occur every day. Fermi was now working in Chicago along with Glenn Seaborg and Leo Szilard, and someone named Bush was the liaison between Compton and the President.

The first document she photographed was a letter from Bush to Compton about the Army Corps of Engineers, who had been tasked with building whatever weapon was created. Several officers were named as key contacts, and she knew Hans and his people would want to know who they were. Hans had given her a tiny camera called a Minox. About the size and shape of a small comb, it fit easily in her bag or pocket and was perfect for photographing documents. It had been designed by a German, he said.

A few days later, on a rain-soaked afternoon that made Lena glad she was inside, she told Sonia that she would stay until it stopped. She’d forgotten to bring her umbrella. “You know how unpredictable Chicago weather is.”

“Why don’t you take mine?” Sonia said. “My sister is coming to pick me up. I’ll share hers.”

Lena’s stomach clenched, and her pulse sped up. “Oh no. I have work to do, anyway.”

Sonia glanced over and smiled. “Well then, take it when you leave. I know you’ll bring it back.”

Lena bit her lip. “Thank you,” she managed. She hoped she sounded casual, but her insides were churning. Had she sounded ungrateful? Too dismissive? Would Sonia suspect something? Some spy, she thought. Her first assignment and she was already worried about exposure. Maybe she should just go to Compton and confess. How could she live with this kind of stress every time she chatted with a colleague? If she did confess, though, what would Hans and his people do to Max? As long as they were around, her son would never be free from their clutches, whoever “they” were. And she was sure “they” were Nazis. She kept her mouth shut.

It wasn’t until nine that evening that she was finally alone in the office. Everything was quiet, except for the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the trickle of rain on the windows. She waited another minute, then went to the filing cabinets which stood behind her and Sonia’s desk. They were locked, but she and Sonia had keys. She unlocked the nearest cabinet and pulled out the top drawer. The files were arranged chronologically, and the letter Bush had written to Compton was in front. She laid the paper on top of the cabinet, then thought better of it, and brought it back to her desk.

Slipping the Minox out of her bag, she paused, listening for any change in the ambient sound. Nothing. But she could smell the fear on herself, and her hands shook so much she had to take half a dozen photos of the letter. When she was finished, she dropped the camera into her bag, hurriedly put the letter back, and relocked the cabinet. She grabbed her bag and rushed out.

She was almost home, making record time despite the rain, when she realized she’d left Sonia’s umbrella at the office. An icicle of fear slid around her stomach. What should she do? She couldn’t lie and say the rain had stopped; it was still coming down at a steady rate. But if she didn’t bring it in tomorrow, Sonia might suspect something. Better to be safe. She trudged back to the department to fetch the umbrella, then retraced her way home.

Inside the front hall she shook out the umbrella and practically ran up the stairs to her apartment. Max was fast asleep, and Mrs. M was snoring in the living room. Lena tiptoed further into her son’s room and kissed him on the forehead. It took thirty minutes before her breathing returned to normal.

A
fter a month it was easier. There were even times when Lena felt justified in her behavior. She had found a way to strike back at the events that had defined her life. She was no longer at the whim of fate. She was taking action. In control. She enjoyed the money, too. In fact, taking money from the Nazis gave her a perverse sense of satisfaction. She bought new clothes for herself and Max, and put a new sofa and easy chair for the living room on layaway.

One morning she wore a new navy blue dress with white polka dots and a huge bow to work. When Sonia caught sight of her, she whistled. “Well hi-de-ho! Aren’t you the pretty picture!” She cocked her head. “You have a new boyfriend or something?”

Lena felt her cheeks get hot. “Of course not. It has only been six months since Karl died.”

Sonia looked her over. “Well then, I guess I’d better ask Compton for the same raise you got,” she said.

Lena made a mental note not to wear new clothes to the office again. And although part of her was secretly proud of her newfound ability to provide for herself and Max, part of her, too, was ashamed at the source of the money.

The worst times were when she ran into Compton. Her pulse would speed up, her cheeks grew hot. She was sure he could see straight through her, and was waiting to confront her. She imagined what Hester Prynne must have felt like wearing that scarlet letter across her chest. On those days she’d rush home from work, clasp Max in her arms, and cry.

* * *

Hans didn’t signal for a meeting until June. She was on her way to work, the morning bright and full of the promise of summer. June usually reminded Lena of her wedding day, but today, tears didn’t spring to her eyes. Indeed, this was new, this sense of satisfaction. Was this what it was like to feel like she belonged? To own a tiny piece of the American dream? Despite the war, despite what was happening in Europe, despite everything, she had resources. Perhaps she could look the other way, pretend the nefarious work she was doing didn’t exist.

She was so wrapped up in this new thought, turning it this way and that in her mind, that she almost missed the orange peel on the corner of 57th and Kimbark. As soon as she spotted it, she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t pretend. As much as she wanted to imagine, this wasn’t make-believe.

At lunch she told Sonia she was going out for a walk and headed towards the Museum of Science and Industry. She wandered around the main floor, admiring the high ceilings and massive columns of the former Palace of Fine Arts. Julius Rosenwald, the chairman of Sears, Roebuck and Company, got the idea for the museum after visiting a similar place in Munich thirty years earlier with his son. The Rosenwalds held a special place in Lena’s heart. Rosenwald’s son, William, organized an effort in the mid-1930s to help Jews in Nazi Germany emigrate to the US. Some people
did
do the right thing, she mused. Of course, they had the money and means.

She was thinking about how life could surprise you with its decency when Hans appeared at her side. He took her arm, as if they were lovers about to steal a precious hour together. They strolled to an area where workmen were building a miniature train and village that would fill an entire wing. The exhibit was to open at Christmas.

“You are well, Lena?” Hans asked.

“Very. And you?” She answered cautiously.

“I am fine.” A small smile crossed his face. “So. We have a new priority for you.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“We know that American scientists are trying to build chain-reacting ‘Piles’ to produce plutonium, and then extract it from the irradiated uranium so they can build an atomic bomb. We want you to focus on the Pile and the tests that are planned in it.”

She tried to hide her surprise. “How do you know this?”

“Come, Lena. You must realize you are not our only asset.” He laughed. “Although you are certainly the most attractive.”

Lena blew out a breath.

“We know that a group headed by Compton’s chief engineer, Thomas Moore, began designing the Pile under the west stands of Stagg Field.”

“Tell me, Hans, who is ‘we?’ Haven’t I proven myself enough to tell me about the others in your group?”

Hans raised a finger to his lips. “We need the plans for the Pile.”

She hesitated. Then, “I know I have made a pact with the devil, but I need more specifics. It will help me tailor what I give you.”

“Lena, let’s keep to the subject at hand. We need to find out how they are building the Pile.”

“But that is impossible. I am not allowed anywhere near it.”

“There must be a blueprint.”

“If there is, neither Sonia nor I have high enough clearances to see it.”

“Then you’ll have to think of a way to get the information.”

“How? I can’t break in. There are guards there all night.”

Hans clasped his free hand over hers. “You’re a resourceful woman. You will find a way.”