by Mick Bose
He told her about his life in New York, and his work. A new tunnel was being considered across the Hudson. It was only in the planning stages and he explained why the Bureau of Mines would be able to help.
She was surprised. “I work in the Chemistry Department of the American University, and many people are there from the Bureau of Mines.”
He smiled. “Maybe we were meant to meet.”
She flushed again at that. “Where is your accent from?”
“I came to America in my late twenties. I lived in England before that.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you now?”
“Not at all. I’m thirty-four. Not married, though I got close to it in the past—but I don’t think about that too much.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Please don’t apologise. It`s nice talking to you.”
“Thank you.” The shadows of the railings lengthened on the wooden planks, the evening slowly claiming the sky. The water rustled and lapped at the pebbled shore, louder than before, restless.
“How about you?” Becker asked after a pause.
Jocelyn was downcast for a moment. “Married, but,” she shrugged and pain flashed on her face. “Not going anywhere,” she sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
Jocelyn shook her head. “Don’t be. Honestly, don’t be. It wasn’t going anywhere for a long time. I was just blind. You know?”
He nodded. “It happens. You wouldn’t be the first time. When you’re in deep with someone, it`s hard to see the wood for the trees.”
He didn’t want to pry too much, but he asked after a pause. “Any children?”
“No. That`s better, in a way. How about you?”
Memories came to him from before the war started. A nice Prussian girl, a government clerk in Wilhelmstrasse. His parents would have approved.
“No,” he said. “Like I said, I came close, but it never happened.”
They walked in silence for a while, suddenly feeling closer than before. He stopped and pointed towards the shore. There was a bar with lights ablaze.
“We could sit outside and have a drink, if you wish.”
She seemed to think for a while and made her mind up. “Yes, why not?”
Becker raised an eyebrow, which made Jocelyn laugh. “Why not indeed.”
CHAPTER 6
The next evening they met at the same place, but earlier, as soon as she could after work.
Jocelyn sipped her drink as she looked out over the river. “How long are you staying here?”
“Another two days, at the most.”
He told her about his hotel, near the station. She nodded. “The Best Welcome Hotel. I’ve seen it.” The hotel wasn’t cheap and Becker wondered if she would be interested in being shown around. He impressed Jocelyn, telling her his room had a phone.
He kept her entertained with stories of seeing Buckingham Palace and the grand old mansions of Kensington and Knightsbridge. Jocelyn listened intently—she’d always wanted to visit England. After a few drinks, she agreed to come back to the hotel.
Later that night, she lay in his arms in the darkness. Becker was contented. He was a patient and methodical lover, and enjoyed bringing a woman to her release. She satiated him as well, and he wanted to taste her again.
His arm came up around her naked waist and felt her buttocks.
“Are you happy where you work?”
Jocelyn said, “Yes, I suppose. The Army have more or less taken over our department now.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s the Chemical Warfare Service of the Army. Do you really want to talk about this?”
He kissed her. “I just want to find out more about your work, that`s all.” He gave her a light, playful bite on her neck. “Let`s face it, I know everything else.”
He felt her smile against his face. “Ok. The Bureau of Mines scientists deal with harmful gases and they offered their expertise to the army. That’s where Professor Carlson comes from, his background is in mine gases.”
“Yes, I was told that.”
“So the Army has leased a lot of land from the University. I don’t know what they do, it`s all very quiet. Half of the University is run by the Army now. We still have our regular students, but my department, it`s almost taken over by the Army.”
“So the land behind where you work is being used by the Army?”
“Yes, that’s where their main operations seem to be.”
They talked for a while longer, then Jocelyn fell asleep.
*****
Becker heard his lover`s rhythmic breathing. He was wide awake, and waited almost an hour until he was sure she was fast asleep. He eased himself out of bed. Becker went through the pockets of her coat and gown. He found house keys, then a smaller key ring with a card attached. He crept into the bathroom, shut the door and used his flashlight. It was a university identity card with her name and photo. He looked at the key. He could get it copied, but it would take time, and if it was an army issue, he might not be able to at all.
He went through his own keys and found a substitute. His best hope was the army officers got to work before she did, unlocking the door. He replaced her key with his. Then he climbed back into bed and tried to sleep.
In the morning he told Jocelyn he’d be busy with work in the evening, but would meet up with her the next day. After she left, he went shopping. From a camping store he bought a rain coat, walking boots, black shoe shine and a length of rope. When he got back to his hotel room, he informed the concierge he wouldn’t be leaving his room for the rest of the day, and to send his dinner up by room service.
His meal came at 6:00 p.m., he received it with thanks, and gave instructions to come back the next morning for the plates. He gave the waiter a large tip, and asked if there was a way for a guest to get back into the hotel late at night discreetly. The man took the thirty-dollar bill eagerly, and told him how to use the service entrance at the rear, near the goods delivery, where a key was hidden beneath a flower pot.
About 10:00 p.m. Becker started getting ready. He put oatmeal biscuits and a flask of water in his shoulder bag. His torch and kukri knife hung from his belt, but they were both concealed. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and smeared the black shoe polish on his face. He checked his pockets for Jocelyn`s key, then he sneaked out of his room. He used the staircase, running down two steps a time. Coming out of the service entrance Becker breathed a sigh of relief. No one had noticed.
He started jogging and after two miles arrived at the forest. It had taken him twenty minutes and he had hardly broken sweat. He stayed behind the trees and observed the chemistry department. It was dark and silent.
After observing for half an hour, he ran across the compound and flattened himself against the wall. He tried Jocelyn’s key in the lock. It fit, but didn’t work. The door was wooden, but it was two logs thick. He put his kukri in the gap and with the tip tried to move the bolt inside the lock. The bolt shifted, the key turned, and the heavy door opened a few inches. He listened for a while. No guard dogs. No sleeping sentries.
He lay down flat on the floor and crawled into the darkness of the office. He turned the flashlight on and swept it around. Nothing.
He sat up on his haunches and shut the door, locking it. Then he looked around the office. Two large desks stood on either side of the room. Filing cabinets were on each side. To the right of the room was an open door. A kitchen area. From the kitchen, a door led to outside. He felt the handle, the door was unlocked. He opened it a crack and peered out. Darkness outside. He pushed the door further and felt with his feet. Wooden planks. Must be over mud fields. It reminded him of the front line in Flanders. The three trucks he saw the day before came into this compound. He was certain there would be electric cables along the ground, providing light inside and out. If the barracks was here, there would be men sleeping inside. Someone might awaken and see a moving flashlight outside.
He let his eyes get
used to the dark and stepped out along the wooden planks.
CHAPTER 7
The moon was out, but it cast a hazy, myopic glaze. Clouds scudded across the sky. He made his way carefully in almost a straight line until he reached a wire fence. He picked up a branch from the ground and touched the mesh. No buzz of electricity. Becker smiled wryly. Americans were so naïve. In Europe, this wire would have high voltage running through it. There was a gate and he picked the lock easily. He was in the forest now and the trees blocked what little moonlight there was, making the blackness impenetrable. He switched on his flashlight, covered the face with his hand, and swung it round in shallow arc. There was a path going straight down the middle of the forest. A sign gave a warning.
US Army Property
Authorised Personnel Only.
Paul set off, stepping lightly on the planks. He soon came to another clearing with buildings. Log cabins as well, but they were raised on stilts. Four of these stood around a central courtyard. The barracks. Paul watched carefully. The windows were dark. The sounds of the forest hummed in the air, but no human voices. Yet the huts looked occupied. Paul took his kukri out, held it low in his hand, then scurried across the opening till he was below the closest cabin. He sunk against a post and peered out.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Coming towards him. Directly in front. He couldn’t tell how far they were. But the voices got louder and he could make out two men talking. He lowered himself to the ground, lay spread-eagled and put his cheek against the mud. He peered up. He saw the red glow of two cigarettes. Sentries doing their night rounds. They would have whistles, flashlights and rifles slung across their shoulders.
“Hey Pete, what`s that?”
Paul heard the men stop, then the crunch of boots headed straight towards him. He clenched his jaws and gripped his kukri tighter. He would kill this sentry if he got close, then use the body as a shield to get his companion.
He waited, barely breathing. Any second now. He tensed his muscles. The thrust would come from his feet and legs, propelling him towards the sentry. In the almost total darkness, the man didn’t stand a chance.
“Turn on the flashlight, Donald,” the sentry said. Becker heard the safety catch of a gun being released. What had they seen? His footprints? Had he dropped something on the ground?
“Over there,” Pete said.
The flashlight came on, the sudden light blinding, but Becker didn’t move. The light wasn’t in his eyes. It was to his left. If the flashlight moved however, he would be spotted instantly. His fingers curled tighter round the butt of the kukri. Then he heard a scurry in the bushes and the meow of a cat. One of the sentries laughed.
“Donald, you saw a cat.”
“No, I thought there was something else. I heard a sound. Underneath this cabin. Right here.”
“I didn’t hear anything. I bet you saw the cat prowling for mice. They hunt in the dark, see?”
Donald grumbled. The flashlight switched off. Becker heard the footsteps crunch gravel away from him, and then fade. Breathing out, he relaxed his grip on the knife. He waited for three minutes, listening to the silence. Then he rose and flitted like a shadow between the cabins, not stopping at any of them. He was in the forest again, but only… there was no forest. He stopped and felt the night breeze on his face, cooling his sweat. He looked up at the moon between black clouds. Where was the tree cover? Before he took a step forward, he pointed the flashlight to the ground. What he saw took his breath away.
Trenches. Row upon row of them. Just like in the front line. But arranged neatly in half-circles. No damage from artillery shells here. The trenches were bisected by paths weaving down between them. He couldn’t risk keeping the flashlight on, so he hurried down the path and lowered himself slowly inside a trench. His feet touched something and he recoiled.
He shone his light briefly. Cylindrical metallic objects, ten or twelve inches long, lay arranged in rows along the trench floor. Not artillery shells. These had valves in one end. He had been in Ypres in April 1915. On a sunny day they laid thousands of similar canisters across an empty field. Mustard gas canisters. He remembered the green-yellow gas cloud wafting across the fields like an apparition. The French Army fleeing, coughing, choking, dying. His Division advanced through the French trenches and witnessed, the blistering, oozing eyes and the faces leaking with blood and pus. By then, he had been in the war long enough to see faces blown off, limbs hang uselessly from living bodies. But these dying men had been ghosts. Their blistered skin peeling off, the raw flesh steamed with a sickly, pungent, sickening smell that would remain in his guts forever.
Becker grimaced and raised his head outside the trench. Still empty and dark. He searched several other trenches and saw various contraptions. Most were bombs and gas canisters of different sizes. Timers and detonators were attached, but some were loose and he picked them up and put them in his bag.
Soon, he came to the end of the trenches. Ahead of him, in another clearing, more buildings. None had lights inside. He ran across the compound and tried Jocelyn`s key in one of the locks, but again it didn’t work. These locks were sturdier. He went over to the windows, scraped off putty until he’d removed all the panes, and he climbed through.
Silence. He flashed his light. It was a laboratory. Pipes and instruments on benches all around him. At the far end of the room, he came across a wooden pen. He switched his flashlight off just as he detected movement. White wool—sheep. He shone his light again and the animals looked at him with dull, detached eyes. Becker stepped away. Any closer and they might make a sound.
He realised now the other buildings in the compound must be laboratories as well. The Americans weren’t supposed to have any chemical weapon capability. That belief, so certain in the Imperial Army, now lay in shreds. What he could see around him, in the refrigerators, the different types of gas masks, in the vats of oily liquid in the far corners of the room—all pointed to a state of the art chemical weapons facility.
He looked at his watch. 2:30 a.m. He had an hour and half before dawn. Not much time, considering he had to be back in the hotel and cleaned up by sunrise. He went through the drawers on the benches and discovered some manuals on making mustard and chlorine gases, including one in German. He frowned at that. Maybe the American’s intelligence agencies deserved greater respect than what his country gave them.
Two manuals were for something he’d never heard of. He read the first pages.
“Chemical designated ‘L’. A noxious substance causing vesicles on mucosal surfaces and subsequent bleeding. It is an organophosphorus compound with prolonged survival in the atmosphere…”
He heard voices again and sank to the floor. A flashlight beam came through a window, lighting up one corner of the room. It went away and the shaft of light burst in through the next room. Becker was still crouched in the corner. There was no way he could move out in time, if the sentries stumbled upon the missing glass panes.
He kept his head low and waited. The flashlight moved away, the footsteps fading.
Enough. He had seen more than what he had expected. He stuffed the manuals into his bag. It was time to escape, before his luck ran out.
CHAPTER 8
Becker locked the front door of the office, pocketed the key and set off towards the main campus. He’d put the glass panes back in the windows the best he could, but the break-in would be discovered. Security would be increased, although the local police wouldn’t be informed. This was an enormous, secret operation and the army would want to keep it that way.
Despite his new identity, he needed to get away. He might have to stay out of his apartment in Hoboken for a while, too. Tonight taught him a valuable lesson.
The Americans weren’t to be underestimated anymore.
He got back to the hotel before the dawn became bright. He mentally thanked the waiter—the key was where he’d promised it would be. In his room, he got cleaned up, putting his wet clothes and boots i
nto a separate bag. Starving, he ordered breakfast of sausages, eggs and bacon.
As he ate, he read through the manual on the chemical called “L”, forgetting to chew several times as he read. Then he pushed the document away and finished his meal. He opened the window, dragged his chair close and lit a cigarette.
Later, he checked the timetable for trains back to New York. He cursed. It was mid-week and there were no trains back till 6:00 p.m. He was exhausted in any case, and decided to catch up on some sleep. He set the alarm and informed the concierge about when he would be checking out.
He had been asleep two hours when he awoke to the loud ringing of the telephone.
“What is it?” he demanded gruffly.
“There is a lady here to see you, sir. Miss Flexman?”
He thought rapidly for a second or two. “Ok, please send her up.”
*****
Jocelyn seemed flustered when she came in.
She dropped her handbag on the table, sighed and put her hand on her hips. Becker looked at her warily.
“What’s the matter?”
“You will never guess what happened to me today,” she said and flounced down on the chair. Becker waited.
“Well, shortly after I arrived at work, two military policemen marched into my office without knocking. We were rounded up and taken to the guard house. Apparently, there was a break-in into this secret area last night. They asked me lots of questions.”
Becker looked at her, keeping very still. “Like what?”
“They asked me where I’d been, and I said I was at home.” When Becker looked at her, she added, “It`s the truth… mostly.”
“Last night, of course it’s the truth.”
“As it happens, I have managed to lose my office key.” Jocelyn raised her arms. “I had to wait for an officer to open up for me this morning. But I didn’t tell them that, I was too embarrassed.”
Becker relaxed. “What happened then?”
Jocelyn kept talking. She must have mislaid the key, but she was normally careful about these things. It was a puzzle. The staff was finally allowed to come back to the office. But they had been warned about being vigilant and it was possible the intruder was still at large. All day long officers had come and gone, the place in an uproar. She wasn’t given any further explanation and was allowed to go home at four o’clock.