Crossword (18 page)

"I'll do what needs to be done. What else?"

Templeton knew what he was fishing for. He was so pitifully
easy to read and his concern for the OSS operative who would do the retrieval
was obvious. Giving Kent the assurance his conscience was looking for, Julian
explained that Gerhard's people would retrieve the plutonium before the agent
would be able to get there. They would leave sufficient contrived evidence to
make it apparent that someone had removed the material sometime in the past.
The operation would be only one more of the many failed plans, schemes and
plots that were generated during the war and no one would ever know what they
had done. The only really successful con was the one that the victim never
found out about. Once he was free of the obligation to collect the plutonium it
should not be overly difficult for the agent to make his way to one of the
extraction points and to safety. The girl might present a problem but that
would have to be dealt with by the agent. Fielder's choice.

During the explanation, Kent nodded his head from time to
time and generally seemed pleased with what he was hearing and probably with
what he considered to be his role in saving the life of a young American.
Because people are so willing to believe in something that provides hope, Kent
was oblivious to all the improbabilities of what he was being told, and simply
basked in the relief it provided for a guilty conscience. Julian realized that
in reality so many of their past successes had been even more implausible than
the scenario he was now proposing, but the fantasy he was telling Kent, which
Kent swallowed hook, line and sinker, had no chance of success for the simple
reason that it would never be set in motion; it was not the way he had
orchestrated the piece. No matter. He needed Mallory. For the moment.

"Buy a ticket for the day after tomorrow, that should
give you enough time. Pay for it yourself. Tell no one; we're at a critical
point."

"Consider it done."

"Your meeting there will not be at the usual café; it's
too risky to use the same place so often. When you leave the train just walk as
if you're going there and someone will contact you."

"OK."

The waiter, who had kept a respectful distance up until this
point, approached the table with the unerring knowledge of a true professional
that the delicate issues had been discussed and thoughts would now turn to food
and wine. A nice bottle of wine was suggested, purchased just the other day
along with several crates of vegetables from across the border in France, and
they both chose a platter of cheeses and thin slices of ham to accompany it
along with a generous portion of crusty bread for each of them. The
conversation, at least on Kent's part, became more animated because he felt that
a great weight had been lifted from him and words flowed from his mouth with an
easy abandon that he hadn't known for many months. He spoke of plans for after
the war, and although no mention was made of money or a pay off, a newfound
source of funds was implicit in what he said. Templeton listened, tight lipped,
occasionally mumbling some appropriate comment so it would seem that nothing
was amiss, a precaution that was, in fact, not necessary since Kent Mallory was
completely blinded by the light he saw at the end of his own personal tunnel.

The meal lasted longer than Julian would have liked, due in
part to the wine, but to a greater extent to the newfound ebullience of Kent.
Finally, as the last of the wine was consumed, he quickly called for the check,
refusing Mallory's offer to pay. The two walked to the front of the restaurant
and paused to enjoy a moment of sun, which shone brightly between the numerous
billowing clouds that filled the sky. Julian was off to the office again, but
for Kent it was to be a walk to the station to get his ticket, then the
afternoon to do, well, he didn't seem to know what, but he was looking forward
to it nonetheless.

LAKE CONSTANCE, SWISS-GERMAN BORDER. 13 April, 1945.

Larry stood at the shore of Lake Constance, the Bodensee,
coughing occasionally and staring out at the gunmetal water. Small wind waves
lapped at the shore, and the surface was rippled by the brisk breeze; no moon
illuminated the opaque surface and there was no sparkle to the spray that was
kicked up. The lake looked as morose as he felt. At forty some miles in length
and up to seven and a half miles in width, it was the second largest body of
water in Switzerland, Lake Geneva being a few miles longer. It was an impressive
lake, not only because of its size and beauty, but because of the geography; on
the other shore lay Germany. In the daylight on a clear day one could stare at
the homeland of the enemy. Larry had been here a few days before on a crystal
clear morning, the sun reflecting off the water, and looked across at Germany.
How odd, he had thought, staring at Germany, the jumping off point for the
armies of Hitler and all their atrocities and destruction, but yet, staring at
the north shore, even through binoculars, he saw only woodlands and meadows
running down to meet the placid waters.
Long after this war is over
the
lake and the land around it will be here, unaffected by the horrors committed
and the insanity of so many people. Long after I'm gone ...
Here his
thought had stopped abruptly for he realized how fleeting was the time that
remained for him, how quickly the specter galloped behind him. Larry envied the
land, the lake, the hills. He yearned for their detachment and indifference and
he envied the mountains their immortality. Larry was retreating to a place deep
within himself, his consciousness turning inward, and now, in the dark moonless
night, his very body seemed to shrink into itself. He felt invisible, and even
the gray haired man with the erect military posture who stood some twenty
meters back looking on, sucked in his breath and leaned slightly forward into
the dark, straining to see if he had actually observed a diminution in the
corporeal manifestation of the young man that he had been watching.

The ground upon which Larry stood was wet and his boots had
settled in slightly so that when he repositioned a foot there was resistance
followed by a sucking sound as if, so he thought, the earth were reluctant to
release him.
Yes, it would be nice to stay here. Not to move. Maybe, if I
just stood here I would be all right; I could become part of the land,
dispassionate and safe from all that went on around me.
He coughed again
and knew that it was simply the fantasy of a dying man. His reverie broken, he
heard the soft footfalls of the man approaching in the grass that bordered the
damp shore and he turned to face him.

General Heinrich Schroeder, wearing civilian clothes and
apparently unaffected by the chill and indifferent to the mud, walked slowly
but without hesitation to Larry and held out his hand. "I am Heinrich
Schroeder, I assume you have heard of me although we have not met." Larry
merely stared at him while Schroeder stood there, his arm extended, unwavering
and a sincere look of sympathy mixed with admiration on his face; a commander
who genuinely cared about his men. This was not lost on Larry and despite his
increasing feeling of isolation he reached out and grasped the general's hand.
Heinrich's handshake was not in the least perfunctory and he nodded as he shook
hands, looking directly at Larry, allowing him to read what was on his face,
open and unashamed. In spite of the fact that this man was the enemy, Larry had
an almost instant respect for him. "Can we walk a bit? Your commander tells
me we have a little time until your transportation arrives and there are some
things we should discuss."

"Yes, General, of course."

"I am told you know the particulars of this mission and
the dangers that face you."

"I do."

"Do you also know why?"

" 'Why' is something you get used to not asking when
you're in the Army."

Heinrich smiled and looked out at the lake.
German,
American, when you were part of the military it didn't matter much what country
you fought for. A soldier is a soldier
. His smile faded as his thoughts
continued.
Their lot was pretty much the same, following orders from far off
politicians or some insane dictator, never knowing the 'why' of what they were
asked to do, only that they had to kill the enemy, an enemy that is so often
defined by political expediency. For the Americans it must be easier, at least
in this war; Hitler made it easier for them by his maniacal aggression, we made
it easier by going along and implementing the hatred that festered inside that
deranged little man. Yes, for the Americans and the other allies it must have
been easy to justify going to war.
He turned back to Larry. "Perhaps
if all of us had asked 'why' years ago the world would not be at war now. But
that is in the past and for the historians to debate. You, however, deserve to
know why you are being asked to undertake such a task and why I am committing
what would be considered by most people to be an act of treason against my own
country."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Come. Let us walk." They moved ten meters back
from the water's edge to where a path of hard packed dirt paralleled the
shoreline and began heading east along the lakefront. "My father was in
the Army, a Colonel when he retired. After his family, it was the most
important thing to him and he was constantly talking to all of us about duty,
responsibility, respect and honor. For him it was everything to live a life
worthy of a military officer. Unfortunately, his first born, my brother, felt
quite the opposite, and although he did get an appointment as an officer, he
saw it only as a relatively easy way to earn a living. He was a handsome young
man, and the uniform, as well as the prospects of a successful military career,
made him very attractive to the young ladies, a situation of which he took full
advantage. Well, it wasn't long before he got himself into all sorts of
trouble, not only with the ladies and their irate fathers I might add, but with
his superiors and even his fellow officers. He was, as you can imagine, very
self centered. A hedonist at heart, caring little for anyone or anything.
Eventually, he was forced to resign his commission and move away, a situation
that was devastating for our father, who died within a year, but not before he
had to suffer the further tragedy of the death of this profligate son in a
drunken beer-hall brawl. Before he died, my father made me promise to get a
proper military education and to reclaim the family's good name by honorable
and exemplary service to God and country. It would not be easy, he told me,
since those who had helped my brother before felt betrayed, and were most
reluctant to risk their reputations any further. I would have to work twice as
hard as the others, excel in my classes as well as in athletics and, most
importantly, my character had to be above reproach. Being very different from
my older brother, the pledge I made to my father was sacrosanct and at the end
of my studies I graduated first in my class and was offered a commission. Over
the ensuing years I rose through the ranks to General, and if my service was
not always what others would call brilliant, it was most certainly always
honorable. But what I set in motion months ago and which you are now going to
help bring to a conclusion may mark me a traitor in the eyes of some. The world
can judge my actions but in my heart I know I have done the honorable thing and
my father, if he were alive, would agree." He walked in silence for some
time before resuming. "Did you ever wonder what kind of footsteps you
leave behind? Are they shallow, to be washed away by the first rains of spring
or by the quickening winds of autumn? Or are they, perhaps, of a quality that
is more substantial, more deeply embedded, to be looked upon by future
generations and seen as a path, the tracings of a life now gone, but one that
left its mark in good works. I am not proud of everything that I've done,
especially in the last eight years, but I would like to know that even at this
late juncture I can make a difference and make the world a bit safer. Perhaps I
am being egotistical or maybe just the cautious gambler trying to stack his
hand with good cards when he sees the end of the game approaching." The
General paused, his eyes far away for a moment, before continuing. "Hitler
is a madman. This plutonium that you are to bring back can be used to
manufacture a bomb unlike any the world has ever seen. Many thousands of
people, soldiers and civilians alike, can be killed by a single explosion. When
I found out the destruction that this bomb can cause I knew something had to be
done, that it's birth had to be aborted. The Führer portends only horror. He is
one of the horsemen of the apocalypse." Schroeder stopped again as he
thought back to bible studies of his long past youth, and in a voice both deep and
ominous, resurrected from that distant time, quoted a passage from Revelations,
almost forgotten but brought to consciousness by the association with Hitler,
" '...behold a pale horse; and on his back rides death and behind him
march the armies of hell.' What you are about to do will be a service to all of
mankind, and for that I have the greatest admiration and respect."

"Thank you. I know you're German, sir, but I also know
you're not my enemy. I was trained to do what I was told and not to ask
questions unless directly related to accomplishing my mission; but it's still
good to hear why and what it means, especially from someone who really
knows."

"There is still more that you are entitled to hear. I
have asked for something in return from your government; not money, not even
escape from the consequences of being on the losing side. There is a woman
involved, barely more than a girl, actually. Her name is Maria Müller. For her
sake, I requested safe passage to a neutral country for the two of us. My life
is over now, but I force myself to continue so I can insure her safety, help
her establish a new life somewhere. Once that has been done I will be at the
disposal of your government."