by Mick Bose
Hindenburg looked at the three men and grunted. “How is phase four of the Kaiser`s Battle?” He was referring to the German Spring Offensive to break the deadlock in the trenches.
“The Fifth and Sixth Armies have been moved up north to Noyon-Montdidier from Artois, Herr Generalfeldmarschall,” Colonel Juncker said. He didn’t mention the slow movement of the eighteen pounder artillery guns and reinforcements, hampering progress.
“We need to strike harder before the Americans arrive in bigger numbers,” Hindenburg said.
Colonel Nicolai cleared his throat. Hindenburg said, “Yes, Walter?”
“We’ve received word from one of our agents in New York.”
Hindenburg frowned. “I didn’t know we had any left.”
“We do have one, an agent code-named Gurkha. He’s one of our best agents in the English-speaking world.”
“If he’s that good, then why haven’t I heard of him?”
Erich Ludendorff said, “Generalfeldmarschall, you’ve heard of his exploits, but not of the man himself. That surely is the measure of how good a spy is? If we knew who he is, then his identity would be in the open.”
“What are his exploits?”
“Remember the explosion in Black Tom Island in New Jersey? In 1916?”
Hindenburg`s face brightened. “In the ammunitions yard? Yes, that was a critical strike. Was it him?”
Colonel Nicolai nodded. “Rintelen organized the bombs, but then he was caught. The Gurkha planted the bombs, killed the sentries and set the detonators.”
“Good man.” Hindenburg was impressed.
“He was also the man who got us the recon information on Verdun. He was a Gotha pilot, one of our best.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir. He flew with Brandenburg on the Verdun mission, but was shot down. He almost went blind in one eye from the injury. But he gathered information from behind enemy lines. We picked him up in Ghent. The Kaiser gave him an Iron Cross for that.”
“The man has an Iron Cross? What is his name?”
Nicolai looked at Colonel Juncker, who nodded. “His name is Hermann Aschoff. He belonged to the Uhlan regiment, but then was drafted into the Gotha Flight School.”
“Where did he fly from?”
“St Denis-Westrem and Gantrode. He was under Staffel 15 at St Denis, then Staffel 18 at Gantrode. Both the Staffel Fuhrers still speak of his daring recon flights over the French Army. He is a fearless man.”
Field Marshall Hindenburg was deep in thought. “You will remember gentlemen, when the heavy Gotha bombers were first commissioned, I went to Gantrode myself to inspect them. All the Staffel men were present. It’s possible I even saw this man. And certainly, if the Kaiser gave him the Iron Cross, then it had to be recommended by me. I remember now, reading the report of a wounded flying ace who escaped through occupied French territory. His information changed the Third Army`s attack sequence did it not? It must have been him.”
There was a series of nods across the room. After a moment`s silence Nicolai spoke again.
“Now he’s sent a new message. The Americans are doing vast experiments with chemical weapons, like mustard gas. Apparently, they have a new weapon.”
“A new weapon?”
“Yes sir, a new weapon. It’s a chemical called L, and has the same effects as mustard gas, but L lasts for longer. Affected troops need prolonged leave from the front line, and most die.”
“This weapon is ready for use?”
“It’s being manufactured in huge amounts. The Gurkha thinks the first gas canisters will arrive in time for the summer offensive. He also says the Americans now have the capability to spray the chemical from the air. L is stable in the atmosphere, so the planes can climb to ranges above one kilometer, out of reach of our anti-aircraft guns.”
“America doesn’t have biplanes worthy of military use.”
“Yes, but they could use the British ones, like the Avro 514.”
Hindenburg got up and paced the room. His generals watched him.
He said, “Where is he transmitting this from? Surely he would have been caught by now. In America, as you know, wireless radios are banned unless they’re under military control. Are you sure, dear Walter, that we’re not dealing with a double agent here, trying to wrong-foot us?”
Colonel Nicolai shook his head. “Along the American east coast, in Long Island and Cape Cod, we still have some wireless radio installments. They haven’t been caught, because they send brief messages which don’t give the enemy enough time to locate them by triangulation. They also move around.”
Colonel Juncker interrupted. “Is this the same wireless that informs our U-boats in the Atlantic?”
Colonel Nicolai nodded. “Yes, they are. We don’t encourage them to transmit from America to Nauen anymore. We fear that almost all our wireless in and out of Nauen is being intercepted. The U-boats are under orders not to transmit sensitive information. They either hand-deliver them to us at the Heligoland base, or give it to a German ship of the High Seas Fleet in the Atlantic. That’s why it has taken us three weeks to get this message.”
The aromatic smell of tobacco rose up in wreaths to the ornate ceiling, causing smog in the room. Eventually, Erich Ludendorff spoke in a soft voice, addressing his old colleague.
“Mein Generalfeldmarschall, I fear if the Allies get this ability to drop chemicals from planes on our troops, we could be looking at a disaster. The British have over three hundred of those Avro biplanes, and the French have a similar number.”
Hindenburg said, “What if we make the chemical? Have you got the formula from this Gurkha chap?”
Colonel Nicolai shook his head. “No.”
“So what can we do?”
“Destroy the American ability to make this weapon.” Colonel Nicolai said mildly.
“How?”
“By first destroying their stores. That alone will delay them by months. Our chemists tell me it’s a major industrial feat to produce thousands of gallons of this material. The war could be over by then.”
“But how?” Colonel Juncker said. “We don’t have an army in America.”
“No,” Colonel Nicolai said. “We have one man.”
“This Gurkha,” said Hindenburg. He moved to the window, looking out at the trees in full bloom. He turned to look back at the men.
“Send the Gurkha this order. Locate and destroy this new weapon. Give him all the help he needs.”
“With all due respect sir, that’s precisely what he does not need.” Colonel Nicolai said.
“What do you mean?”
“We can transmit the order and he will receive it. But if we try and help him, then there is every chance of the enemy finding out. Weapons can be intercepted; men can be arrested and interrogated. He’s better off on his own. That’s how he has survived for so long.”
“One man,” Hindenburg said softly. “Against the whole of America.”
CHAPTER 13
Tunney stared at Inspector Brown of DC Police Department, Homicide Division, and his heart sank. Inspector Brown was the same height as Tunney`s six feet, and the loose jowls of his cheeks and bulging gut belied an age only several years’ senior to Tunney`s. The two men stood facing each other in the lobby of the Best Welcome Hotel.
“We’ve gone through every detail, Major Tunney. No stone has been unturned, I assure you,” Brown said.
“I understand,” Tunney said, keeping his voice as soothing as possible. “But I must interview the hotel staff myself.”
“There’s no need,” Brown’s voice hardened. “The report is ready and you just need to read through it.”
“Reading a report doesn’t equal investigating a crime, Inspector.”
“I know that, Major. I don’t need you tell me,” Brown snapped.
“Look, Inspector Brown—I know you had the Military Police down here. I know they made more work for your department. But I’m here on a small job, I really am. I just want to interview the sta
ff, look at the crime scene and then I’ll be gone. I promise you.”
Brown stared at Tunney for a while, then grunted. “Alright. Can`t see you changing anything though. The suspect must be a psychopath. He`s gone. Good luck finding him.”
“Thank you, Inspector Brown. By the way, if I need to detain or arrest someone, I can use your police station?”
“You have no jurisdiction here, Major. This is not an Army site. Only the Washington PD can charge or arrest an individual here.”
Tunney kept his face neutral. The man`s attitude was getting tiresome. “The WPD has pledged assistance to the Army, Inspector. This is a case of national emergency. We need to consider every possibility.”
“National emergency? Jesus, you get a burglar in a military site, and a murder in a hotel, and you think the world is coming to an end?”
Tunney stepped close and hardened his voice. “There is a war going on, Inspector, in case you haven’t noticed. If I don’t get the help I need, then your boss will get a call very soon from the Army HQ in Washington.”
Brown sneered and put his uniform hat back on. “You can call the President if you like, Major. But the laws of this land give neither you nor the pompous, up-their-own-backside Bureau of Investigation any jurisdiction in my state. Good day to you.”
The Inspector rolled his way to the double glass doors of the hotel lobby. Once he had gone, Tunney headed for the counter. The manager was standing still, looking nervous. Tunney showed the man his ID.
“Major Tunney, Military Intelligence Division, US Army. Were you here when Jeff Hurst checked in?”
“As it happens, yes I was.”
“Describe him to me.” Tunney took notes as the man jabbered away.
“Anything you remember about him? Anything odd, or different?”
The man thought for a while. Then he nodded.
“Well, I thought it odd that he wore a large hat for the summer, you know? With his glasses and beard, it made it hard to see his face. But then—” the manager stopped.
“Then what?”
“When he went out for the evening, he had shaved and looked better-dressed.”
“Did you see his face?”
“The same as before. He still had the hat and glasses on.”
“What did he do with his luggage?”
“He helped the porter take it upstairs.”
“Was he always alone?”
“No, he came back with that woman on July 14. She came on her own to see him on the 16th.”
“Describe her to me.”
“Did anyone else in the hotel either speak to this man, or go up to his room?”
The manager`s face brightened. “Yes. On the night of the 16th, he asked room service for his dinner.”
“Where is the waiter who went to his room?”
“His name is Giuseppe. He’s here. Do you want to speak to him?”
“Have the police spoken to him already?”
“Yes, they have.”
“Alright,” Tunney said, closing his notebook. “I need to speak to him as well.”
Giuseppe was in his early twenties, olive-skinned, and he looked scared. “I’ve told the police everything already,” he said, as soon as he walked into the room. His accent was thick. A new immigrant, Tunney guessed. With the war on, there was strong demand for immigrant labor.
Tunney waited till the manager shut the door behind him. Then he flashed the young Italian a smile. “Please sit down, Giuseppe.”
He sat down opposite Tunney. His eyes darted around.
“Giuseppe, I’m not the police. And I won’t be arresting you, or anyone else. Do you understand?”
Giuseppe’s legs kept moving under the table. “I told you, I’ve nothing else to say.”
Tunney hadn’t asked this man anything yet, and twice he’d voiced his anxiety. In Tunney`s many years of interrogating, the one thing that characterized the guilty was a strident denial before any questions were asked. They also tended to be the accomplices, not the real criminals. Real criminals were calm, thoughtful, hard to crack.
“Of course, I understand. Just relax, Giuseppe. All I want is information. Tell me about the first time you saw Jeff Hurst.” Tunney flipped open his book and started taking notes again.
He looked up when Giuseppe didn’t speak. “Did he look different when he opened the door?” Tunney prompted.
“Si… I mean yes, he did. He’d taken his glasses off, and he looked, younger. Also—”
“Yes?”
“His left eye was a different color, lighter than the other. His right eye was brown, but the left eye was pale.”
Tunney wrote it down. “What do you mean, pale? Like a false eye?”
“No, it was a real eye, because it moved. But it looked different, more yellow. His right eye was brown. When he put the glasses on, I couldn’t see the left eye very well.”
Tunney circled the last sentence, adding a star mark over it.
“Did you tell this to the other policeman?”
“Well… he didn’t seem very interested in what I had to say.”
“I see.” Tunney smiled. “You’ve done very well, Giuseppe. Very well indeed. Is there anything else you can add?”
Giuseppe’s body language was telling Tunney he knew something. He was too honest, and too nervous to be a criminal.
Tunney waited, the best way to make someone talk. Eventually Giuseppe raised his eyes and his voice quivered.
“I need my job. My wife is pregnant with a second child. But I also don’t want to get into trouble. I like working in this country. Capiche, senor?”
“If you tell me everything you know, I’ll recommend you to the manager.”
Giuseppe stayed wary, his tone uncertain. “He gave me a large tip. He wanted to know the back entrance. I told him about it.”
Tunney scraped his chair back, standing. “Well done, Giuseppe. Now show me the room and the back entrance.”
*****
Tunney hunched over the dark spot on the carpet, close to the bed. Giuseppe and the manager stood at the door. He didn’t touch the carpet, he knew it was blood. He looked underneath the bed. Nothing. He checked the drawers of the table. In the bathroom sink he found two black smudges. It came off on his hand. He smelled it—shoe polish. He looked around the rest of the bathroom. Nothing else.
He went outside and found Giuseppe on his own. “Show me the back entrance,” he said.
Tunney looked around the pitched tarmac road and the double doors of the service entrance. He went over the facts in his mind. On the evening of the 16th, Jeff Hurst had room service dinner. Then he wasn’t seen until the 17th, when he ordered breakfast and the girl came to see him. He checked out an hour later. Where was he on the previous night? There was that break-in at the secret site. The victim, who had a key to the site, spent the night with him on the 15th.
Tunney went to the row of potted flowers by the double doors.
“Help me move this.” The pot was heavy. Trapped underneath was a large brass key. The key for the back door. Something else near the wall caught his eye. A faded piece of brown paper. Like a ticket stub from the subway or bus. He picked it up. The writing on the paper was blurred, but he recognized it. He turned round to Giuseppe.
“Has this key been used since the incident?”
Giuseppe shook his head slowly. “Now the manager puts a guard here at night.”
Tunney pondered as he gazed at the waiter`s face. “Listen Giuseppe”, he said. “How would you like to come see New York with me?”
CHAPTER 14
Becker was walking down Main Street in Hoboken, feeling the sunlight beating down. Periodically he lifted his face to the sun, but mostly he kept his head bent, letting his hat shadow his face. He liked the sun. That was one thing about American summers. Hotter than in Europe. Recalling the summer sun in Berlin turned his thoughts to music, and a woman.
He thought of Jemima. Briefly, but so memorably, his Jemima. She was three yea
rs older to his thirty-two, and the neglected wife of a major at the Nachrichten Abteilung, the naval intelligence department. They met at the canteen on Augusta Koniginstrasse when he spilled her coffee. He was on leave from the front line and her husband was posted somewhere in the ruined fields of Flanders. Her love life was a ruined landscape too, and she was hungry for Becker. Their affair blossomed to more than just frantic, vigorous lovemaking in his apartment overlooking the Wilhelmstrasse.
He thought now of her chestnut hair and deep blue eyes. The memory of her soft gasps as he moved over her naked body. Her eyes as she listened to Mahler`s Eight Symphony in the Berlin National Opera, and the same eyes, dulled with tears when he said goodbye. The lingering touch of her fingertips. Jemima.
He stopped in front of the red brick Central Library, then went into the reception. His identification was checked by the guard at the gate.
He smiled at the woman at the counter, who bit her lower lip and a crimson hue spread across her cheeks. He took off his glasses and watched as her gaze flickered from his right eye to his left. He read her name badge.
“Hi Maria,” he said, keeping his eyes on her.
Maria opened her mouth and shut it. “Hello.” She swallowed. “How can I help?”
“Oh, in many ways, I’m sure.” He cocked his head to one side. She smiled back, pressing her lips together. He drummed the table with his long fingers and stretched his hand across the table.
“For starters,” he said, “you could show me the books you have on Ohio.”
“Sure, why don’t you come with me?”
“I would like that.”
They stood close together by a book shelf in the corner. They were alone, and it was quiet.