Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  With some reluctance, the fat cook stepped inside, then turned around to face him.

  Frank moved over and put his free hand on the door.

  ‘Don’t come out, no matter what you hear, okay?’

  Panic showed on Carlo’s face.

  ‘But… what do I…?’ he stammered. ‘How long…?’

  Frank paused.

  ‘You got a watch?’ he asked.

  The cook glanced down towards his pocket then nodded.

  ‘Wait until midnight,’ Frank told him. ‘After that, it won’t matter.’

  Staring at him in confusion, Carlo began to say something else, but Frank pushed the door shut, then turned around, looking for some way to lock it. Eventually, he had to settle for dragging the glass table over the floor and resting it across the doorway. As an afterthought, he took the large metal pan from beside the sink, and balanced it precariously on the edge of the table. If Carlo did try to get out, at least they’d hear him coming.

  Out in the corridor, Faye jumped and gripped her purse, startled as Frank stepped up quietly behind her.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he hissed. ‘It’s only me.’

  Faye shut her eyes and took a deep breath to settle herself.

  ‘What about the cook?’ she whispered.

  ‘Locked in the pantry,’ Frank told her. ‘Heard anything from the rest of the house?’

  ‘Only the music.’

  It was another Dean Martin song, and it sounded as though it was coming from the rear of the building.

  ‘Okay.’ Frank eased past her and stood, gun in hand, gazing towards the entrance hall. ‘We’ll check downstairs first. Stay a few steps behind me and tell me if you hear anything.’

  Faye was slipping off her shoes, and Frank nodded in approval.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Ready.’

  They moved down the corridor, Frank walking on the balls of his feet, Faye ghosting along behind him. Passing through the entrance hall, he paused, gazing up the stairs into the darkness for a moment, then turned and pointed towards the other passageway.

  ‘It’s definitely coming from down there,’ he whispered.

  They could make out the music more clearly now, the crooning voice, and the romantic strings.

  Gripping the gun, Frank eased around the corner and crept on towards the back of the house. Ahead of him, he could see a set of double doors: dark wood, with carved detailing and a pair of ornate gold handles. He was just a few feet away from them when the song finished.

  Holding his breath, Frank gestured for Faye to stop. He stood there, frozen, waiting for the next song to begin, but there was nothing. Only silence.

  No, not silence…

  Straining to hear, he thought he could make out a rhythmic bumping noise. At first, he guessed it might be the crackle of the needle as it hit the groove at the end of the record, but it was different somehow, less regular. He frowned, unable to place the sound, wondering whether it was better to open the door or wait longer.

  Go! Go now!

  Tensing himself, he reached for the handle, grasping it tightly and easing it down. He felt the door give way and eased it back slowly, aiming the gun through the widening gap. It was a broad room, with a polished wooden floor that stretched out before him; directly ahead, full-length windows looked out onto a balcony and the darkening lake beyond.

  The bumping sound was clearer now – coming from somewhere off to the right – but he couldn’t see that far around the corner. Without looking back, he held up a hand for Faye to wait, then stepped silently into the room.

  It stretched back further than he’d imagined. There was a huge rug, with several easy chairs arranged round a low table, a collection of empty glasses and open bottles. He could see a portable record player lying there, the turntable still spinning, needle crackling softly in the groove, but that wasn’t what was making the bumping noise.

  He took another step forward, staring right down the gun as they finally came into view.

  Facing away towards the windows, a waif-like young woman, bent naked over the arm of the couch, her long red hair hanging down across her face. Behind her, a broad naked man was hunched over, holding her hips firmly as he humped his weight against her, making her small body jolt.

  Discarded clothes were strewn about their feet; they still hadn’t seen him. He swallowed a breath as he noticed Faye at the edge of his vision, her face ashen, a hand across her mouth.

  Entertaining important people.

  Frank tensed his muscles and thumbed the hammer back with an ominous click.

  ‘Don’t move!’ he barked, aiming the .45 at the middle of the man’s back. The red-haired girl gave a startled cry and tried vainly to cover herself, but the man froze, pinning her in place.

  ‘You must be Spree,’ Frank snarled. ‘Turn around very fucking slowly.’

  The girl buried her face in the seat cushions as the broad man raised his hands. He paused for a moment, then very slowly – very deliberately – looked back over his shoulder.

  Frank gasped as their eyes met; the face was older but there was no mistaking who it was.

  ‘Swift?’ he croaked, taking a step back.

  Beside him, Faye’s head jerked around, her expression wary.

  ‘You know him?’ she demanded.

  Frank pulled his free hand across his jaw, trying to take it in, trying to shake off the sense that he was somehow transported back to Switzerland…

  ‘From the war,’ he told her, staring along the barrel at his old commanding officer. ‘His name’s Swift. Major James Swift.’

  ‘Hello, Frank.’ Hands still raised, Swift withdrew himself awkwardly from the redhead and turned around, his erection swaying in front of him. ‘Ellis did promise me that he could deliver you both, but… well, this isn’t quite what I expected.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Ellis any more,’ Frank growled.

  Swift started to raise a questioning eyebrow, then his expression became more serious as he grasped what this meant.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, swallowing. ‘I see.’ His dick was shriveling noticeably now.

  Frank grimaced and motioned irritably towards the discarded clothes.

  ‘Put something on,’ he muttered.

  Cautiously, Swift leaned over and picked up a robe from the floor, his eyes never leaving Frank as he slid his arms into the sleeves and pulled it on. Behind him, the red-headed girl huddled down against the side of the couch, peering up at them fearfully through her tangled hair.

  Faye stepped forward.

  ‘Get away from that poor girl!’ she demanded. ‘Right away from her!’

  Swift moved awkwardly aside as she snatched up a crumpled silk robe and went to drape it around the young woman’s shoulders.

  ‘I’d do as she says,’ Frank warned him, gesturing with the gun.

  Faye had her arm around the girl, helping her up.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right.’

  Swift watched them, then shook his head.

  ‘She’s fine,’ he protested. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt–’

  ‘You animal!’ Faye hissed, something in her voice making him take a step back. She placed herself between Swift and the girl, her teeth bared. ‘Just stay the hell away from her, you filthy son of a bitch! You think you can just use people however you like?’

  ‘Hey!’ Frank brandished the gun, trying to keep control of the situation. ‘HEY!’

  He waited until they both turned towards him.

  ‘Okay.’ He looked at Faye. ‘Take care of her, will you? Make sure she's all right.’

  Faye glared at him for a moment, then nodded.

  ‘And you…’ Frank turned to address Swift. ‘Let's you and me step outside, give them some privacy.’

  He gestured with the gun, then followed Swift towards the balcony.

  The air was cooler now, but the faint evening breeze had gone and a deep calm had descended over the lake. Frank steppe
d out onto the raised wooden balcony and reached behind him to slide the glass door closed. Silhouetted against the dusk, Swift was standing by a flight of broad steps that led down to the grass, staring out at the view. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his shoulders dropped and he turned around.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ he said.

  Such a reasonable tone. As if he wasn’t responsible for a string of deaths, as if there wasn’t a gun pointing at his chest.

  ‘No thanks to you,’ Frank growled.

  Swift sighed and gave a small nod of regret.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about all that,’ he said. ‘This whole business…’

  He trailed off, as though that somehow explained everything.

  ‘Oh, you’re sorry?’ Frank retorted.

  Swift met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I am.’

  Thrown by this, Frank stared at him. There seemed to be no animosity in the man, and yet he wasn’t denying what he’d done.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Why did you send Ellis after me?’

  Swift sighed and rested a hand on the wooden railing.

  ‘Some decisions are forced on us, Frank; you know that.’ He paused, lifting his head to stare out across the lake. ‘But this is part of something that goes far beyond any individual considerations… and I’m just one man in a much bigger operation.’

  Frank stiffened.

  ‘Yeah, I forgot,’ he said coldly. ‘You work for the Mob now.’

  Swift twisted round and gave him a contemptuous look.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he snapped. ‘The Mob works for me. I work for the government.’

  The government?

  Frank gaped at him.

  ‘But… I thought…’

  ‘You thought I was a criminal?’ Swift shook his head bitterly. ‘Thanks a lot!’

  Frank blinked, trying to grasp what this meant.

  ‘So… you’re saying the government wants me dead?’

  Swift sighed again, but his expression became more sympathetic.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t want you dead either. You must understand, this isn’t personal. It’s just… well, your time in Bern. You were there during a very sensitive period, and we couldn’t be sure how much you knew.’

  ‘Knew about what?’ Frank demanded.

  Swift’s eyes flickered briefly to the windows behind him, where Faye and the red-head were moving around.

  ‘Let’s… take a walk,’ he said, then paused, glancing at the gun. ‘If it’s all right with you, of course.’

  Frank hesitated, then frowned and motioned him towards the stairs.

  ‘Go ahead, but no sudden moves.’

  They made their way down the wooden steps, descending below the light from the windows and stepping out onto the shadowy lawn that sloped away to the water. Swift walked slowly, barefoot on the grass, his voice calm and quiet.

  ‘There were always two wars going on. The one people saw in the newsreels, with troops and tanks and colors on the map… and then there was the other war, the one you were part of in Switzerland, with people and information and negotiation. Some of the biggest battles were won there, won without ever being fought, but whenever warring nations try to talk to each other there are… compromises.’ He glanced over, his eyes flashing in the gloom. ‘Sometimes, the only way to secure what our countries want is to do things they would never countenance.’

  Walking beside him, Frank shrugged.

  ‘So you’re saying that sometimes the ends justify the means. So what?’

  ‘No, I’m saying that sometimes the truth behind a nation’s success is utterly incompatible with what that nation stands for, what it believes in.’ Swift looked out across the water. ‘Great things are often built on terrible secrets.’

  Unimpressed, Frank shook his head.

  ‘Okay, but...?’

  Swift slowed, then turned to face him.

  ‘You know that the Bern office helped negotiate the German surrender?’ he asked.

  Frank kept the gun trained on him.

  ‘I knew Dulles was speaking to a lot of people from Berlin.’

  ‘He was working to support the German resistance for months, long before the attempt on Hitler’s life.’ A faraway look came into Swift’s eyes. ‘You remember that night at the ski lodge when Rafe was almost killed? That was a rendezvous with one his German couriers, communicating with… well, with someone who would probably have been hanged for war crimes if Dulles hadn’t succeeded.’

  ‘But the Nazis intercepted that courier,’ Frank reminded him.

  Swift nodded calmly.

  ‘They did, but the point is, we had to do all kinds of unpalatable things to secure that surrender. Deal with some terrible people, cover up some unbelievable atrocities, sacrifice so much. But it was worth it.’ He looked up, and managed a grim smile. ‘As long as people didn’t know, of course; they’d be appalled if they learned the truth… but that surrender shortened the war and saved countless lives.’

  Frank rolled his eyes.

  ‘I’m not interested in old war stories,’ he snapped. ‘I was there, remember?’

  ‘Well, what are you interested in?’ Swift replied, a note of irritability creeping into his voice.

  Frank glared back at him.

  ‘I want to know what all this has to do with me,’ he demanded. ‘What the hell d’you think?’

  Swift paused and looked at him.

  ‘Maybe you didn’t know as much as we thought,’ he murmured.

  Frank waved the gun at him.

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ he said. ‘Just keep talking.’

  Swift scowled at him, but reluctantly continued.

  ‘Try and understand. German surrender was important, but it wasn’t the main goal.’

  Frank frowned.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, there were some who wanted to inflict an absolute defeat, wipe the Germans off the map.’ Swift turned towards the lake again. ‘Others were focused on getting them to surrender. But our aim was to achieve a lasting peace, quickly, and with as few casualties as possible.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No, not of course.’ Swift shook his head. ‘They’re three very different things. And what we wanted involved looking further than just Germany, Italy and Japan.’

  Frank considered this.

  ‘You’re talking about Russia,’ he said. ‘About Truman dropping the bomb on Moscow.’

  Swift glanced at him, then turned back to continue gazing out over the water.

  Frank moved to stand by his side.

  ‘But the Bern station didn’t have any involvement in that…’ He trailed off, suddenly less sure of what he was saying. ‘Anyway, it all happened years ago; why does it suddenly matter now?’

  A smile ghosted across Swift’s face.

  ‘Because Truman’s gone,’ he said. ‘And there’s real resentment among the new Eisenhower administration. There’s a growing feeling that we shouldn’t have bombed Moscow, or sided with the Germans, and some very significant people are asking questions about why we did.’

  Frank snorted.

  ‘So let them ask,’ he said defiantly. ‘We had no choice about Russia. We had to arm the Germans against them, we had to drop the bomb on Moscow. Stalin was gonna sweep right across Eastern Europe, he wasn’t gonna stop.’

  Swift looked at him for a long moment, his eyes glittering.

  ‘Sure of that, are you?’

  Frank hesitated. He'd heard the talk, read the briefings; Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia. Stalin would have seized them all.

  Wouldn’t he?

  ‘But I saw the intelligence reports,’ he protested. ‘All the evidence suggested– ‘

  ‘Oh come on, Frank. You were there!’ Swift interrupted. ‘We wrote those reports. We were the eyes and ears of our government, you know that!’

  The meaning of his words bega
n to dawn on Frank, and he looked at Swift in shock.

  ‘What did you do?’ he asked.

  Swift shot him a cold grin.

  ‘You mean, what did we do?’

  Frank took a step back, his mind reeling.

  All that time in Switzerland, all those documents he'd translated...

  ‘They were false?’ he gasped. ‘It was all a lie?’

  ‘No, we just made sure the message going back to Washington was unambiguous,’ Swift explained. ‘We clarified the picture that the intelligence reports painted. We made it easier for people to come to the right conclusions.’

  Frank stared at him.

  ‘But... why would you do that?’

  ‘Because it needed to be done!’ Swift snapped. ‘You think just because we didn't have enough evidence of Stalin's intentions that he wouldn't have acted? Or maybe you'd rather we waited until half of Europe was under Soviet control and the Russians had built their own bomb... because that would have happened.’

  ‘You can't be sure of that.’

  ‘Can't I?’ Swift gazed up at the dark sky, clenching his fists in frustration. ‘Think about it, Frank. Imagine if we hadn't acted, if Stalin had been allowed to continue, unchecked. Imagine the whole world divided up between two superpowers – east and west – each with enough atomic weapons to…’

  He broke off, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, and tinged with regret.

  ‘The road not taken,’ he sighed, turning away again. ‘Innocent lives were going to be lost whatever happened. We simply tried to minimize those losses. Even if it meant sacrificing some of our own.’

  Frank watched as he bowed his head, a weary figure now, standing alone on the grassy slope. Was this Swift’s way of justifying the attempt on his life? He frowned as another possibility occurred to him. Maybe Swift was talking about someone else…

  ‘Jean?’ he said softly.

  Swift’s shoulders dropped.

  ‘I wish it hadn’t come to that,’ he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder, his face full of remorse. ‘I tried so hard to keep her out of it, but she was clever, and she started noticing things. And her loyalties weren't exclusively to me...’

  Frank stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘So that was you?’ he gasped. ‘You killed her?’

  Swift’s head snapped up, glaring at him.