The Rhinemann Exchange: A Novel

by Robert Ludlum

Swanson reached for the tiny lever on his desk intercom and spoke: “Send Mr. Kendall in.” He stood up, remaining where he was, waiting for the door to open. He would not walk around his desk to greet the man; he would not offer his hand in even a symbol of welcome. He recalled that Walter Kendall had avoided shaking hands with Craft and Oliver at the Sheraton. The handshake would not be missed; his avoidance of it, however, might be noted.

  Kendall entered; the door closed. Swanson saw that the accountant’s appearance had changed little since the afternoon conference he had observed from the unseen room eleven days ago. Kendall wore the same suit, conceivably the same soiled shirt. God knew about his underwear; it wasn’t a pleasant thought to dwell on. There was the slightest curl on Kendall’s upper lip. It did not convey anger or even disdain. It was merely the way the man breathed: mouth and nostrils simultaneously. As an animal might breathe.

  “Come in, Mr. Kendall. Sit down.”

  Kendall did so without comment. His eyes locked briefly with Swanson’s but only briefly.

  “You’re listed on my appointment calendar as being called in to clarify a specific overrun on a Meridian contract,” said the general, sitting down promptly. “Not to justify, simply enumerate. As the … outside auditing firm you can do that.”

  “But that’s not why I’m here, is it?” Kendall reached into his pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He squeezed the end before lighting one. Swanson noted that the accountant’s fingernails were unkempt, ragged, soiled at the tips. The brigadier began to see—but would not ponder it—that there was a sickness about Walter Kendall, the surface appearance merely one manifestation.

  “No, that’s not why you’re here,” he answered curtly. “I want to set up ground rules so neither of us misunderstands.… So you don’t misunderstand, primarily.”

  “Ground rules mean a game. What’s the game we’re playing, general?”

  “Perhaps … ‘Clean Uniforms’ might be a good name for it. Or how to run some ‘Interference in Buenos Aires.’ That might strike you as more inclusive.”

  Kendall, who had been gazing at his cigarette, abruptly shifted his eyes to the general. “So Oliver and Craft couldn’t wait. They had to bring their teacher his big fat apple. I didn’t think you wanted it.”

  “Neither Craft nor Howard Oliver has been in touch with this office—or with me—in over a week. Since you left for Geneva.”

  Kendall paused before speaking. “Then your uniform’s pretty goddamned dirty now.… The Sheraton. I thought that was a little unritzy for Craft; he’s the Waldorf type.… So you had the place wired. You trapped those fuckers.” Kendall’s voice was hoarse, not angry, not loud. “Well, you just remember how I got to where I was going. How I got to Geneva. You got that on the wire, too.”

  “We accommodated a request of the War Production Board; relative to a business negotiation with a firm in Geneva. It’s done frequently. However, we often follow up if there’s reason to think anything prejudicial.…”

  “Horseshit!”

  Swanson exhaled an audible breath. “That reaction is pointless. I don’t want to argue with you. The point has been made. I have an … edited spool of wire that could send you straight to the hangman or the electric chair. Oliver, too.… Craft might get off with a life sentence. You ridiculed his doubts; you didn’t let him talk.… The point, however, has been made.”

  Kendall leaned forward and crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray on Swanson’s desk. His sudden fear made him look at the general; he was searching. “But you’re more interested in Buenos Aires than the electric chair. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “I’m forced to be. As distasteful as it may be to me. As loathsome.…”

  “Cut out the horseshit,” Kendall interrupted sharply; he was no amateur in such discussions. He knew when to assert himself and his contributions. “As you said, the point’s been made. I think you’re in the barnyard with the rest of us pigs.… So don’t play Jesus. Your halo smells.”

  “Fair enough. But don’t you forget, I’ve got a dozen different pigsties to run to. A great big War Department that could get me to Burma or Sicily in forty-eight hours. You don’t. You’re right out there … in the barnyard. For everyone to see. And I’ve got a spool of wire that would make you special. That’s the understanding I want you to have clear in your mind. I hope it is.”

  Kendall squeezed the tip of a second cigarette and lit the opposite end. The smoke drifted over his nostrils; he was about to speak, then stopped, staring at the general, his look a mixture of fear and hostility.

  Swanson found himself consciously avoiding Kendall’s eyes. To acknowledge the man at that moment was to acknowledge the pact. And then he realized what would make the pact bearable. It was the answer, his answer; at least a surface one. He was amazed it had not occurred to him before this moment.

  Walter Kendall would have to be eliminated.

  As Erich Rhinemann would be eliminated.

  When Buenos Aires was in reach of completion, Kendall’s death was mandatory.

  And then all specific traces to the government of the United States would be covered.

  He wondered briefly if the men in Berlin had the foresight for such abrupt decisions. He doubted it.

  He looked up at the filthy—sick—accountant and returned his stare in full measure. General Alan Swanson was no longer afraid. Or consumed with guilt.

  He was a soldier.

  “Shall we continue, Mr. Kendall?”

  The accountant’s projections for Buenos Aires were well thought out. Swanson found himself fascinated by Walter Kendall’s sense of maneuver and countermeasure. The man thought like a sewer rat: instinctively, probing sources of smell and light; his strength in his suspicions, in his constantly varying estimates of his adversaries. He was indeed an animal: predator and evader.

  The Germans’ prime concerns could be reduced to three: the quality of the bortz and carbonado diamonds; the quantity of the shipment; and finally the methods of safe transport to Germany. Unless these factors could be guaranteed, there would be no delivery of the gyroscopic designs—the guidance system.

  Kendall assumed that the shipment of diamonds would be inspected by a team of experts—not one man or even two.

  A team, then, three to five men, would be employed; the length of time required might extend to the better part of a week, depending upon the sophistication of the instruments used. This information he had learned from Koening in New York. During this period simultaneous arrangements would be agreed to that allowed an aerophysicist to evaluate the gyroscopic designs brought from Peenemünde. If the Nazis were as cautious as Kendall assumed they would be, the designs would be delivered in stages, timed to the schedule the inspection team considered adequate for its examination of the diamonds. The gyroscope scientist would no doubt be fed step-blueprints in isolation, with no chance of photostat or duplication until the diamond team had completed its work.

  Once both sides were satisfied with the deliveries, Kendall anticipated that an ultimate threat would be imposed that guaranteed safe transport to the respective destinations. And it was logical that this “weapon” be identical for each party: threat of exposure. Betrayal of cause and country.

  Penalties: death.

  The same “weapon” the general held on him, on Walter Kendall.

  What else was new?

  Did Kendall think it was possible to get the designs and subsequently sabotage or reclaim the diamond shipment?

  No. Not as long as it remained a civilian exchange. The threat of exposure was too complete; there was too much proof of contact. Neither crisis could be denied and names were known. The taint of collaboration could ruin men and corporations. “Authenticated” rumors could be circulated easily.

  And if the military moved in, the civilians would move out instantly—the responsibility of delivery no longer theirs.

  Swanson should know this; it was precisely the situation he had engineered.

  Swanson kn
ew it.

  Where would the diamonds be inspected? Where was the most advantageous location?

  Kendall’s reply was succinct: any location that seemed advantageous to one side would be rejected by the other. He thought the Germans foresaw this accurately and for that reason suggested Buenos Aires. It was on the spool of wire. Didn’t Swanson listen?

  Powerful men in Argentina were unquestionably, if quietly, pro-Axis, but the government’s dependency on Allied economics took precedence. The neutrality essentially was controlled by the economic factors. Each side, therefore, had something: the Germans would find a sympathetic environment, but the Americans were capable of exerting a strong enough influence to counteract that sympathy—without eliminating it.

  Kendall respected the men in Berlin who centered in on Buenos Aires. They understood the necessity of balancing the psychological elements, the need to give up, yet still retain spheres of influence. They were good.

  Each side would be extremely cautious; the environment demanded it. Timing would be everything.

  Swanson knew how the designs would be gotten out: a string of pursuit aircraft flying up the coastal bases under diplomatic cover. This cover would extend to the military. Only he would be aware of the operation; no one else in the services or, for that matter, in the government would be apprised. He would make the arrangements and give them to Kendall at the proper time.

  What transport would the Germans arrive at? asked the general.

  “They’ve got a bigger problem. They recognize it so they’ll probably make some kind of airtight demands. They could ask for a hostage, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Who’ve we got—that’s involved—that’s not expendable? Christ! If it was me, you’d be the first to say, ‘Shoot the son of a bitch!’ ” Kendall again locked his eyes briefly with Swanson’s. “Of course, you wouldn’t know what particular safeguards I took; a lot of uniforms would be dirty as hell.”

  Swanson recognized Kendall’s threat for what it was. He also knew he could handle it. It would take some thought, but such considerations could come later. It would be no insurmountable hurdle to prepare for Kendall’s dispatch. The isolation would come first; then an elaborate dossier.…

  “Let’s concentrate on how they expect to ship out the bortz and carbonado. There’s no point in going after each other,” said Swanson.

  “We’re beyond that, then?”

  “I think we are.”

  “Good. Just don’t forget it,” said Kendall.

  “The diamonds will be brought to Buenos Aires. Have those arrangements been made?”

  “They’re being made. Delivery date in three, three-and-a-half weeks. Unless there’s a fuck-up in the South Atlantic. We don’t expect any.”

  “The inspection team does its work in Buenos Aires. We send the physicist … who will it be? Spinelli?”

  “No. For both our sakes we ruled him out. But you know that.…”

  “Yes. Who, then?”

  “Man named Lyons. Eugene Lyons. I’ll get you a file on him. You’ll sweat bullets when you read it, but if there’s anyone better than Spinelli, it’s him. We wouldn’t take any chances. He’s in New York now.”

  Swanson made a note. “What about the German transport? Any ideas?”

  “A couple. Neutral cargo plane north to Recife in Brazil, across east to Palmas or someplace in Guinea on the African coast. Then straight up to Lisbon and out. That’s the fastest routing. But they may not want to chance the air corridors.”

  “You sound military.”

  “When I do a job, it’s thorough.”

  “What else?”

  “I think they’ll probably settle for a submarine. Maybe two, for diversion purposes. It’s slower but the safest.”

  “Subs can’t enter Argentine ports. Our southern patrols would blow them out of the water. If they put in, they’re impounded. We’re not going to change those rules.”

  “You may have to.”

  “Impossible. There has to be another way.”

  “You may have to find it. Don’t forget those clean uniforms.”

  Swanson looked away. “What about Rhinemann?”

  “What about him? He’s on his way back. With his kind of money, even Hitler can’t freeze him out.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “You’d be a goddamned fool if you did. But the worst he can do is hold out for market concessions—or money—from both sides. So what? He’ll deliver. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “I’m sure he’ll deliver; that’s the one thing I’m positive about.… Which brings me to the main point of this meeting. I want a man in Buenos Aires. At the embassy.”

  Kendall absorbed Swanson’s statement before replying. He reached for the ashtray and put it on the arm of his chair. “One of your men or one of ours? We need someone; we figured you’d have us supply him.”

  “You figured wrong. I’ve picked him.”

  “That could be dangerous. I tell you this with no charge … since I already said it.”

  “If we move in, the civilian contingent moves out?” A question.

  “It makes sense.…”

  “Only if the man I send knows about the diamonds. You’re to make sure he doesn’t.” A statement. “Make very sure, Kendall. Your life depends on it.”

  The accountant watched Swanson closely. “What’s the point?”

  “There are six thousand miles between Buenos Aires and the Meridian Aircraft plants. I want that trip made without any mishaps. I want those designs brought back by a professional.”

  “You’re taking a chance on dirtying up the uniforms, aren’t you, general?”

  “No. The man will be told that Rhinemann made a deal for the designs out of Peenemünde. We’ll say Rhinemann brought in the German underground. For escape routings.”

  “Full of holes! Since when does the underground work for a price? Why would they go three thousand miles out of their way? Or work with Rhinemann?”

  “Because they need him and he needs them. Rhinemann was exiled as a Jew; it was a mistake. He rivaled Krupp. There are many in German industry still loyal to him; and he maintains offices in Berne.… Our crisis in gyroscopics is no secret, we know that. Rhinemann would use that knowledge: make deals in Berne.”

  “Why even bring in the underground?”

  “I have my own reasons. They’re not your concern.” Swanson spoke curtly, clipping his words. It crossed his mind—fleetingly—that he was getting overtired again. He had to watch that; his strength was hollow when he was tired. And now he had to be convincing. He had to make Kendall obey without question. The important thing was to get Spaulding within reach of Erich Rhinemann. Rhinemann was the target.

  The brigadier watched the filthy man in front of him. It sickened him to think that such a human slug was so necessary to the moment. Or was it, he wondered, that he was reduced to using such a man? Using him and then ordering his execution. It made their worlds closer.

  “All right. Mr. Kendall, I’ll spell it out.… The man I’ve picked for Buenos Aires is one of the best Intelligence agents we’ve got. He’ll bring those designs back. But I don’t want to take the slightest chance that he could learn of the diamond transfer. Rhinemann operating alone is suspect; the inclusion of the German underground puts it above suspicion.”

  Swanson had done his homework; everyone spoke of the French and Balkan undergrounds, but the German underground had worked harder and more effectively, with greater sacrifice, than all the others combined. The former man in Lisbon would know that. It would make the Buenos Aires assignment palatable and legitimate.

  “Wait a minute.… Jesus Christ! Wait a minute.” Kendall’s disagreeable expression abruptly changed. It was as if suddenly—with reluctant enthusiasm—he had found merit in something Swanson said. “That could be a good device.”

  “What do you mean, device?”

  “Just that. You say you’re going to use it for this agent. The underg
round’s above suspicion and all that shit.… O.K., let’s go further. You just spelled out the guarantee we have to give.”

  “What guarantee?”

  “That the shipment of Koening diamonds can get out of Buenos Aires. It’s going to be the ball-breaker.… Let me ask you a couple of questions. And give me straight answers.”

  The sewer rat, thought Swanson, looking at the excited, disheveled figure-man. “Go ahead.”

  “This underground. They’ve gotten a lot of people out of Germany, very important people. I mean everybody knows that.”

  “They’ve—it’s—been very effective.”

  “Does it have any hooks into the German navy?”

  “I imagine so. Allied Central Intelligence would know specifically.…”

  “But you don’t want to go to them. Or do you?”

  “Out of the question.”

  “But it is possible?”

  “What?”

  “The German navy, goddamn it! The submarine fleet!” Kendall was leaning forward, his eyes now boring into Swanson’s.

  “I would think so. I’m not … not primarily an Intelligence man. The German underground has an extensive network. I assume it has contacts in the naval command.”

  “Then it is possible.”

  “Yes, anything’s possible.” Swanson lowered his voice, turning away from his own words. “This is possible.”

  Kendall leaned back in the chair and crushed out his cigarette. He grinned his unattractive grin and wagged his forefinger at Swanson. “Then there’s your story. Clean as a goddamned whistle and way above any goddamned suspicion.… While we’re buying those designs, it just so happens that a German submarine is floating around, ready to surface and bring out one—even two, if you like—very important defectors. Courtesy of the underground. What better reason for a submarine to surface in hostile waters? Protected from patrols.… Only nobody gets off. Instead, some fresh cargo gets put on board.”

  Swanson tried to assimilate Kendall’s rapidly delivered maneuvers. “There’d be complications.…”

  “Wrong! It’s isolated. One has nothing to do with the other! It’s just talk anyway.”

  Brigadier General Alan Swanson knew when he had met a man more capable in the field than himself. “It’s possible. Radio blackout; Allied Central instructions.”