The Cryptographer's Dilemma

by Johnnie Alexander

  The trip, around two hours by automobile, took at least another hour because of the bus’s low speed and the stops it had to make. Phillip paid attention to everyone who got on and off the bus, another tiring activity that made it impossible to relax. He couldn’t turn off his inner antennae, so he made his observations into a game. What if the young mother with the clinging toddler and oversized bag was a bank robber who’d stolen money to pay for her own mother’s lifesaving operation? What if the old man with the cane, probably a veteran of the last Great War, the one that was supposed to be the end of all wars, what if he was the secret head of a western crime syndicate specializing in counterfeit money?

  When that game got old, he changed it for a different version. Instead of what if, the question became what could. What could he accurately determine about someone from their appearance, their clothes, their posture, their demeanor?

  The problem with the game was that he never knew how accurate his observations were. He couldn’t very well tell the chosen subject about his deductions and ask for a yes or no. Sherlock Holmes could get away with that kind of assured commentary, but not an FBI agent who was supposed to be undercover when he used public transportation.

  When they finally reached the Denver bus station, Phillip hailed a cab. After he and Eloise were inside the vehicle, he gave the driver the address of a hotel about two blocks from the field office. They checked in to their rooms and freshened up then walked in the thin altitude toward the squat building.

  Either Richard or his assistant had alerted R. D. Brown, the special agent in charge, that they’d be arriving that afternoon. They were ushered into Brown’s office, where Phillip could make the call to his uncle. He hit the speaker button then dialed the number to Richard’s private line. The call was answered on the second ring.

  “All is well, I trust,” Richard said in his jovial tone.

  “Better than well,” Phillip responded. “Eloise is with me.”

  “Hello, sir,” she said.

  “Both of you can hear me?”

  “Us and only us,” Phillip assured his uncle. “Special Agent Brown has been extremely cooperative.”

  “I told him enough of your mission to dampen his curiosity. But we have much to discuss in a short amount of time.”

  “We’re ready.”

  “Our forensics team had a breakthrough,” Richard said. “The Clark letter was typed on a portable Underwood #621465. This same typewriter was used for a letter written to Mrs. Clark.”

  Phillip and Eloise stared at each other. Electricity seemed to spark between them at the news. “Who wrote the letter to Mrs. Clark?” Eloise asked. Her excitement was palpable, and Phillip couldn’t help being amused at her eagerness. She reminded him of himself when he was new on the job and the first important clues to an important case had been found. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost that eager excitement. Seemed like it faded away not long after Pearl Harbor.

  “Velvalee Dickinson. The woman you mentioned in your telegram.”

  “That’s more proof.” Eloise’s palpable excitement was catching. She seemed about to jump out of her skin. Phillip stifled a grin.

  “The woman we talked to in Colorado,” he said to Richard, “told us she met a doll collector in Seattle. She thought her name was Velvet but agreed it could have been Velvalee.”

  “We have agents watching her doll shop in New York. Plus, we’re looking for places where she stayed on her, what did you call it, her West Coast tour.”

  “I should be there,” Phillip said, itching to get a look at this doll collector who wrote strange letters to someone in South America.

  “Maybe you will be. But now that we have a name, I need you to retrace your steps. On your way back to DC, stop in Springfield, Ohio. Ask Barbara Clark about Mrs. Dickinson. A copy of the letter Mrs. Dickinson wrote to her will be waiting for you at the Cincinnati field office.”

  Phillip swallowed a groan. From the look in Eloise’s eyes, she wasn’t interested in the Ohio stopover either. But when Richard said jump…

  “Special Agent Brown has your travel arrangements.”

  “What is it this time?” Phillip asked. “Plane, train, horse-drawn carriage?”

  Richard good-naturedly chuckled. “Train. A sleeper-express, if that helps.”

  “It helps.”

  After the call ended, Phillip opened the office door. The anteroom was empty, so he opened the door that led to the hallway. Brown stood across from the door, leaning against the wall with ankles crossed and smoking a cigarette. He’d been serious when he said no one would disturb them while they were in his office. Phillip hadn’t realized he’d meant to stand guard himself.

  “All finished?” R.D. asked. No hint of curiosity was in his eyes, but he had to wonder what was going on. Phillip knew Richard would have been sparse with his information. But Phillip also knew R.D.’s apparent lack of curiosity was feigned. He had developed the important skill of hiding his thoughts, his interest, from even a trained observer like Phillip.

  “Thanks again for the use of your office.”

  “We’re here to serve.” He stepped toward the open door, and Phillip stood back so he could enter. “Your train leaves in less than an hour.” He picked up an envelope from the secretary’s desk and handed it to Phillip. “If you don’t mind, I’ll drive you to the station myself. Just to be sure you get there safe and sound.”

  “Appreciate that. Thank you.”

  Phillip’s concern that the offer to drive was a ruse to trap them in a confined space for a casual interrogation proved false. Instead, R.D. pointed out buildings of architectural interest and regaled them with historical anecdotes and tall tales. Eloise, whom Phillip had gallantly escorted to the front passenger seat, was wide-eyed with interest. Her curiosity encouraged R.D. to tell even more stories. By the time they reached the train station, Phillip was joining in the conversation too.

  Even so, he couldn’t escape the questions gnawing on his mind. Was this Velvalee Dickinson their traitor? Why would a doll collector and shop owner betray her own country? The answers could be found in New York City. That’s where he needed to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Eloise stood beside Phillip at the Denver train station ticket window and tried not to think about the logistics of the two of them sharing a sleeper cabin. Swarms of people crowded around them, many of the younger men wearing the uniforms of the various military branches. Besides the need for the military to move their troops efficiently, the rationing of gasoline meant more people traveled by train than automobile these days.

  “But I have reservations for two cabins,” Phillip said for at least the third time. “Don’t you have a duty to honor them?”

  “Duty?” The man spat the word as his eyes narrowed, and he gave Phillip the once-over. “Our duty is to be sure our fighting men get to where they need to go. As I already told you, one of the reservations was handed over to the army. Now you can take the other one or not. Or I can give it to someone more deserving. It’s your choice.”

  Eloise’s stomach lurched at the insult while Phillip’s jaw muscle flexed. The unspoken question behind the words obviously stung: Why aren’t you wearing a uniform? She longed to shout to everyone in the station that Phillip was one of the FBI agents who had caught the German saboteurs, but that would blow their “we’re siblings” cover without solving their immediate problem.

  She pasted on a huge smile and slipped between Phillip and the ticket window. “Please forgive my brother. We’ve been traveling from California, and it’s been such a long trip. We’re happy to hold on to the reservation we still have. Thank you for all you do for these soldiers and their families. I’m sure you’re an angel in disguise for many of them.”

  Phillip turned away, and Eloise didn’t dare glance at him. Was he embarrassed? Angry at her for intervening? Or proud of the way she stepped in? None of it mattered. Only that they got on the train.

  The ticket master scowled then handed
Eloise their tickets. She tried to thank him, but he was already looking past her to the next person in line. Phillip picked up both their suitcases, and she followed him to a less crowded area near a magazine rack.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” he said.

  The unexpected apology surprised her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But it is awkward. I don’t know what Richard will say.”

  “We don’t have to tell him,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  Phillip looked at her askance then burst out laughing. “We don’t,” he agreed. “But he has a way of finding out everything. He’ll know.”

  “Then he should also understand the circumstances. What choice did we have?” Eloise didn’t want them sharing a tiny cabin, but she’d rather have Phillip in the other berth than a stranger, even if that stranger was a woman.

  “Not much.” A corner of Phillip’s mouth turned up as he shrugged. “Maybe once we’re on the train, we can figure something out.”

  Before Eloise could object to his plan, he was on the move again, heading for the platform. The situation was awkward, unseemly, and definitely not proper. But she didn’t want Phillip in a different train car. They should stay together. Watch each other’s backs.

  After a short wait, they boarded. Eloise stood in the narrow corridor outside their sleeper cabin, a euphemistic term for a space not much larger than a monk’s cell, while Phillip stashed their luggage beneath the lower berth, which was made up as a sofa. A table sat in front of the window and between the berth and a chair.

  Phillip shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door. He rolled his shirt sleeves as he sprawled on the sofa. “You might as well come on in, Sis, and get comfortable.” He loosened his tie. “It’s hot as the dickens in here.”

  Eloise removed her hat and patted her hair as she sat across from Phillip. “Maybe it will cool down once we start moving.”

  “We can hope.” He folded his hands on the table. “You handled yourself well back there. Better than I did.”

  “He didn’t need to say what he did,” she said. “There could be a thousand reasons why you aren’t in uniform.”

  “Actually, only a handful. And only one that makes sense to most people.”

  Eloise resisted the urge to cover his hand with hers. During their travels, they’d become more at ease with a casual touch here and there. But in the intimate confines of the small sleeper cabin, the simple gesture might be misconstrued as a romantic one.

  The way her pulse sped up at the thought, perhaps there were no more “simple” gestures.

  “I wanted to tell him who you are,” she said. “What you’ve done so he would know you’re not a coward.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Eloise wanted to believe him, but his offhanded tone indicated it mattered very much. She placed her hands in her lap and stared out the window. Beyond the platforms, buildings rose into the sky, though not nearly as high as the mountains behind them. Perhaps it was time to change the subject. “Thank you for what you said.”

  “What did I say?”

  Uncomfortable at repeating his earlier compliment, she gave a pointed look. In response, he widened his eyes. He really didn’t know?

  She released an exasperated sigh. “About how I handled myself.”

  “I only said what was true.” Amusement danced in Phillip’s eyes as he held her gaze. “You reminded me of Nancy.”

  He’d done it again, naming a random woman as if Eloise should know her.

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Who? Nancy?” His look of disbelief would have been comical if Eloise’s heart didn’t feel like it was about to be crushed.

  “Yes. Nancy.”

  “Don’t you know who Nancy is?”

  “How would I?”

  “Uncle Richard gave you my dossier. Didn’t you read it?”

  “As much as I could.”

  “And you still don’t know who Nancy is?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What about Marcy?”

  “No.”

  “Debbie?”

  She shook her head.

  “Janie?”

  Eloise couldn’t even muster the energy to answer him. How many women did he have in his life? The edges of her heart crumbled.

  Phillip closed the cabin door then returned to his seat. “What did the dossier say about my family?”

  “Your family? Nothing.” A pinprick of fear traced along her spine. If he thought that his dossier included information about his family, did that mean…?

  Her voice rose. “What did my dossier say about mine?”

  Phillip hesitated a moment as if choosing his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “I’ve been blessed with four sisters. Marcy and Debbie are older than me. Both married. Nancy and Janie are younger.”

  “There was nothing about them in the file that Richard gave me.”

  “He did say he gave you a redacted version, though I don’t know why he omitted my family.”

  “I imagine he had a reason.” On one level, Eloise was relieved to learn the women weren’t old girlfriends. But her dread of what he might know about her family overshadowed that relief.

  “You’re trembling.” He leaned across the table and clasped both her arms. “Why?”

  She hadn’t realized she was shaking until his gentle touch steadied her, giving her strength. “I don’t know.”

  He ran his hands along her arms until he held her hands. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Eloise closed her eyes. He knew. Somehow, she’d always known he knew, but now she could no longer pretend that her grief was a secret she hid in her heart. An ache formed in the base of her throat, growing into a lump that threatened to choke her. Phillip ran his thumbs over her knuckles. Again she found strength in his touch. Enough strength to open her eyes and meet his gaze. To face the sympathy and compassion she found there.

  “I miss him.”

  Phillip gently squeezed her fingers. “He would be so proud of you.”

  A whistle blew and the train lurched. Phillip leaned back in his seat, and Eloise withdrew her hands from his. Once again, she stared out the window, her focus on a distant mountain peak. She sensed Phillip’s gaze upon her, but she needed a moment to compose her emotions. To come to terms with the for-sure knowledge that he’d known more about her than she did about him. She’d always suspected it, but the certainty was both reassuring and troubling.

  As the train picked up speed and the city was left behind, Eloise’s thoughts were as jumbled as a mass of dropped yarn. Phillip didn’t break the silence between them with awkward, uncomfortable words or platitudes. She admired that about him—how he allowed silence to breathe, to have its own space. It was one of so many qualities that she admired about him.

  “What do you know of my fath—” She stopped herself. “Of my parents?” She asked the question without looking at him, her gaze intent on the passing scenery though her mind processed nothing but swathes of green and blue.

  “Your mother returned to her hometown of Camden Falls, Massachusetts in December 1929, taking you and your brother with her. She was valedictorian of her high school class and works part-time in the hospital administration office. She owns the home where you were raised and drives an Oldsmobile that once belonged to her father.”

  “No wonder you never asked me about her.” She turned to him with a joyless smile. “You already know so much.”

  “I didn’t ask because you didn’t want me to.” His gentle tone almost—not quite but almost—tempted the pent-up tears into falling. “All I know are a few facts. And that she raised an incredible daughter.”

  “Two compliments in one day?” Though her insides, warmed by his words, were jangled nerves, she managed what she hoped was a coy smile. “Who are you and what have you done with Phillip?”

  He had the grace to chuckle at her lame attempt at humor but didn’t say anything. She returned her attention to th
e view outside the window and did her best to sort out her thoughts. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the notion, at first a nugget no larger than a mustard seed, occurred to her. Though it must have been after Richard told them to take the train from Denver to Ohio. A route that included a stop in St. Louis. The notion grew into an idea—an impossible, crazy idea.

  The Seattle Times article and her father’s photograph settled into her memory, as crisp and clear as if they were framed by the window instead of tucked inside her handbag. The idea sprouted into a plan but not one she could carry out on her own.

  “You didn’t mention my father,” she said quietly. “But since you know about Mother moving back to Camden Falls, then you must know he didn’t go with us.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Eloise leaned against the back of her seat as if pressed there by a giant hand. Why hadn’t she realized before now that Phillip might know more about her father’s whereabouts than she did? Her meager information came from a newspaper article. But Phillip had a dossier of facts and details about her life. About her family.

  “Do you know where he went? What he’s been doing all this time?”

  Phillip eyed her a moment, as if weighing his possible responses. But what was there to say except yes or no? Either he did or he didn’t.

  “It’s not that hard of a question,” she said. “What do you know?”

  “I know he left his wife and two small children shortly after the stock market crashed on Black Tuesday.”

  October 29, 1929. Events occurred on that infamous day that Eloise had been too young to understand. They were events that she still didn’t understand, except that everything in her small world went topsy-turvy and never had been fully righted again.

  “What else?” She pushed the question past the blockage in her throat. It sounded harsh. Guttural. Demanding.

  “He disappeared.” Phillip pressed his lips together and squirmed. “The police investigated. They found nothing conclusive. Unless you know something…” His voice rose at the end, turning the statement into a question.