Crossword (39 page)

"How so?"

"Since September of '44, shortly after negotiations
with General Schroeder began, he's made three trips to Switzerland from Berlin
during the time he was a member of the general staff, and at least one of them
was to Bern. In addition, once he got to his own command in northern Italy we
have reports of several absences, all of them beginning with him traveling
north towards the Swiss border, then our sources lose track of him, and a day
or two later he shows up back in Italy."

"Can we definitely place him in Switzerland during any
of these junkets?"

"There's no mention in any of the reports I received of
his whereabouts during those times, and he's not even on the radar of anyone on
our own team so we have no information here, either."

"But you do have dates?"

"Yes, the Italian partisans logged all of that and
transmitted it to Caserta."

"And how do those dates correspond with the travels of
Templeton and Mallory?"

"One trip of Julian's occurred during a thirty six hour
period when Waldman was absent from his post in Berlin. It was to a little town
called 'Altstatten,' about five kilometers from the Austrian border. His log
book indicates it was a rendezvous with partisans."

Bill didn't know that there was a training base there, nor
did any of the staff with the exception of Dulles and two senior members, one
of whom was Julian. This information was certainly not damning, but for Dulles
it was one more link in a chain that seemed to be coming ever closer to
ensnaring one of his own. Hiding his surprise, he asked, "Was this the
only concordance?"

"Yes, but ... "

"What?" Impatience in his voice.

"I don't track Templeton's movements, or any of the
others for that matter, but it seems to me that he was away more than was
listed on the logs. I hesitated mentioning this because it was possible that he
just had business elsewhere in Bern and never came in to the office."

Possible, but not likely, thought Dulles, not for a man like
Templeton, someone who was very much at home in clandestine operations and was
smart enough to cover his tracks when necessary. Although he was not a field
agent, he had had some training, including two weeks at the camp near
Altstatten, and it was the knowledge acquired during this
"apprenticeship" that made him such a good handler of agents, spies
and partisans working behind enemy lines. "Well, we don't have the proof
we need, Bill, but I have to admit that he could have made undisclosed trips to
meet up with either of the generals on his own." Dulles thought the
location chosen for the rendezvous was genius for it gave Templeton a perfect
alibi if discovered, especially since the agent going into Germany would have
to train there. Moreover, there were two routes in and out, one overland
through Austria and one across Lake Constance to the north. "What about
Kent; do his outings coincide with either of the generals?"

"Three trips to Lugano, including the last un-logged
one, occurred when Waldman headed north to Switzerland, and one to the same
location when Schroeder was known to be here. The connection for Mallory is
stronger than for Templeton. And, of course, there's his disappearance."

Kent might be involved, possibly being used, but
certainly not the mind or the force behind this. He doesn't posses either in
sufficient quantity.
"Any more to tell me, Bill?"

"No, that's all that I have now. The financial
information has to come from stateside and I wouldn't expect anything for
another day, possibly two."

"OK, then. Thanks, and let me know as soon as you have
more." Bill left the papers for Dulles and returned to his desk just
outside the office.

Dulles sat on the edge of his desk for a minute, pondering
the situation. His suspicions and hunches were not enough to arrest Templeton,
but considering the stakes, they were more than sufficient to require that he
set up safeguards to protect not only the operation, but also his network. He
had no idea at this time how much may have been compromised and it sickened him
to think of all the men and women who could be in extreme jeopardy. What was
needed was some hard evidence so Julian could be brought in and interrogated, and
since it didn't seem that that would be forthcoming from a review of the
available information, he decided on a more proactive course. He picked up his
private line and placed a call to a friend living in the old quarter of the
town, a close friend, not in the intelligence community, and one whose family
was known to Dulles from his days as a partner in the law firm of Sullivan and
Cromwell, where he had honed his skills in international law and investment
banking.

Within the hour a short, balding, middle aged man wearing a
dark colored three-piece business suit was shown into the office. This was Hans
Mettler, entrepreneur, businessman and heir to his family's considerable
wealth. At barely five feet seven inches with a pencil thin mustache in the
French tradition, a cherubic smile on his face and a frame that, while not
exactly portly, indicated a fondness for food and the good life, Hans looked
more like a genial headwaiter than a captain of industry. He did, as a matter
of fact, once serve as a headwaiter in one of the family restaurants, his
father believing that one could not be captain of the ship if you didn't know
how to swab the decks. And so he had apprenticed in the various family
enterprises including restaurants, hotels, manufacturing and, more recently,
banking, showing above average intelligence, a memory that was like a bank
vault, and a keen adeptness in judging people, not to mention the extremely
useful ability to make others underestimate him, to see him merely as a
"headwaiter." Satisfied with his son's prowess, the senior Mettler
gracefully passed the baton and contented himself with the numerous pastimes
available to the wealthy, endeavors he hadn't had time to enjoy as he managed
and expanded the family enterprises.

Allen and Hans were close friends, the former seeing the
numerous assets and the sharp mind that others often missed, and the latter
appreciative of someone who shared many of his beliefs and with whom he could
be himself. Dulles didn't wait for Hans to cover the short distance to his
desk, but bounded out of his chair and greeted his friend with a warm
handshake. "Hans, it is so good to see you. I've been so busy I'm afraid
I've forgotten my manners and neglected old friends."

He waved dismissively. "No need to apologize. The work
you do is important, both for Switzerland and for the world. There will be time
to renew the pleasantries of good company, and I trust that time will soon be
upon us. Now, what can I do for my friend?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"Of course not. Nor am I some kind of diviner. An
unexpected summons from an old friend, a sense of urgency in your tone ——
what else might one think? Not that it makes it less of a pleasure to see you
once again. Besides, to be of assistance in what I believe is a just cause would
provide a satisfaction not to be had from my more mundane efforts. And so, I
ask once again, how may I be of service?"

Allen explained his plan while Hans sat in the easy chair
next to him and listened, the smile still on his face but his eyes alert and
unwavering. When Dulles finished, Mettler responded without hesitation,
"That will not be a problem at all. By tomorrow everything will be in
place."

"Good. Come to the table and I'll give you what you
need." Afterwards, Allen opened the small bar and poured two glasses of
cognac, offering one to his friend. "To old times and their speedy
return."

"Here, here." He took a long appreciative sip.
"This is very good cognac."

"It should be. It came from one of your restaurants, a
gift upon my arrival."

"Yes, I knew that. I was merely being polite in case
you had forgotten."

Allen laughed loudly and it felt good. It had been a while.
"My friend, I cannot wait until this business is over and we have time to
sit and reminisce and enjoy a long, utterly decadent meal."

They slowly ambled to the door, sipping their drinks and
exchanging brief bits of personal information, an ersatz "catching
up," both of them knowing this was not the time nor the place for any more
than that. Hans opened the door, not waiting for Allen to show him out, and
handed him his glass. "Tomorrow, by noon, all will be ready."

Dulles hadn't even made it back to his desk when Bill
knocked and stood at the entrance, a typed dispatch in hand. "This is a
dispatch from Caserta we just decoded; because of the inquiry I sent them, they
thought we might be interested."

"Read it."

"General Heinrich Schroeder, commander Wehrmacht forces
Northern Italy, dead. Initial reports indicate murder by partisans. The latter
not yet confirmed."

"Send them a reply. Our thanks and please keep us
appraised of any further developments." Bill nodded his assent and
retreated to the anteroom to encode the reply, while Dulles stood there
thinking.
Partisans. Another unanswered question. But one less player in the
game.

"Sveglia! E tempo o di alzarsi. Che cosa e la materia?"

Larry shot up in bed, supporting his torso on his elbows,
then, with a groan, settled back on the mattress.

"Lorenz, thank God you are awake." Maria crossed herself,
then fought back a tear as she stood up from the chair and went to the bedside,
gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

"My mother was calling me. I was late for school and
still in bed."

"It's OK. You don't have to go anywhere now and you
don't have to worry. You've had a couple of bad days."

"Only a couple?" He managed a weak grin, an
effort, but worth it, he thought, seeing the smile it elicited on Maria's face.

She wiped away tears with the palms of her hand before
continuing, "You spoke to your mother, your father and someone called
Giepo. That's short for Giuseppi, isn't it?"

"Damn. You speak Italian, don't you?"

"Some. My mother was Italian. I told you.
Remember?"

"Yes, so did General Schroeder." Larry paused to
adjust himself in bed, wincing slightly as he changed positions. "What did
I say?"

"It was snatches of conversation, a few words,
sometimes a sentence. Without context, it had no meaning for me."

"And to Giepo, what did I say?"

"Some of the words were unknown to me but you seemed to
be talking about women. I remember my father saying a few of those words, and
my mother yelling at him for using them." She suppressed a giggle as she
said this, then went on, "Who is Giepo?"

"He's a friend of mine from the neighborhood where I
grew up. God, I'm sorry Maria, I hope I didn't offend you."

"Nonsense. You were unconscious and who knows what a
man might say in that condition. A friend told me once that most of what's said
like that is not true anyway, like a dream. Now rest. I will get you some soup."

"Maria?"

"Yes?"

"How long have I been here and what are my injuries
like?"

"Two days; and you were very lucky. No more talking
now." She turned and walked out of the room, looking over her shoulder as
she reached the threshold, and saying softly, "Especially not to
Giepo." Larry groaned.

* *

Franz Schluter was a very inquisitive eleven-year old, a blond
haired mass of energy with dark blue eyes that always seemed to be darting
about the room. It was as if he quickly lost interest in wherever he was at the
moment and had to move on, to find someplace new and exciting, and where, he
hoped, there was an adventure to be had. Life on a farm was not for him and he
looked forward to the day when he was old enough to leave home and begin a life
of action, maybe even be a soldier like his father, although it didn't seem to
him that his dad had been particularly anxious to leave the farm.

When he noticed that there was some kind of activity at the
old deserted Reichmann barn, a scene that he was barely able to discern as he
peered out into the twilight from the hayloft of his family's barn down the
road, he decided it definitely warranted exploration. The next day, after he
helped his mother with the planting and completed his other chores, Franz set
off down the road to see what adventure might await him. Arriving at the old
barn he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. One of the dilapidated
doors was partly opened, sagging at the hinges and slumping onto the ground,
but he wasn't sure if it hadn't always been that way. He walked up the dirt
path and peered inside, the gloomy interior not inviting at all, and decided
that a circumnavigation of the exterior should be the first order of
exploration for him. As Franz rounded the back end of the barn, his eyes widened,
for before him was a military car, swastikas painted on the sides and a small
flag protruding from mounts on each of the front fenders. "Wow," he
said out loud, "This must belong to a general." Why, Franz wondered,
would a general leave his car parked behind the Reichmann's barn?
Maybe
they're having a secret meeting inside. I'll bet that's why the door's open.
Resisting an impulse to run back the way he had come, Franz cautiously
approached the car and looked inside, hoping he might see a machine gun or
something he would find exciting, but observed only an empty interior with a
thin layer of dust. He circled once around the car, then continued a slow
perambulation of the barn, pausing and looking in whenever a chink or
discontinuity presented itself, but unable to see anymore than when he first
glanced in at the main entrance.

Returning once again to the front of the barn, it was
apparent to him as an explorer and adventurer, that a more thorough examination
of the interior would be required, in spite of its dark and ominous appearance;
after all, he thought, "How can an adventurer be scared of an
adventure?" In spite of his mental bravado, it was with hesitant steps
that he walked into the gloom, blinked several times as his eyes accommodated
to the reduced light, and slowly began his inspection. After ten minutes he saw
nothing unusual or very exciting, just broken tools, bits of rope and moldering
bales of hay. As he traced his fingers over an old harness nailed to a post he
knocked over the long handle of some unknown broken implement, which landed on
the remains of an old metal basin, the loud clang it made reverberating through
the capacious interior. From force of habit he immediately picked up the
handle, useless though it was, and replaced it against the upright before
heading for the bright light of the entrance. Franz had taken no more than two
paces when he stopped in his tracks and froze at the sound of a knocking coming
from within the barn. After ten seconds mobility returned to his small body and
he spun around, trying to localize the continuing and repetitive sound, but it
seemed to be coming from everywhere and he saw nothing. He looked up at the
roof and the overhanging storage level. Nothing. He paced off an ever widening
spiral and it was soon obvious that the thumping was coming from one corner of
the barn, and after concentrating his efforts there he was rewarded by the
sound of a voice that seemed to be coming from beneath his feet. A close
inspection of the floor revealed the trap door and considerable effort on his
part got it open.