CIA Fall Guy: A Spy Thriller

by Phyllis Zimbler Miller

  “Now!” the loudspeaker cackled.

  David pushed open the plane's door and shoved her out into — nothingness.

  She couldn't count. She'd be squashed like a bug in Germany. Germany! She would die where Stephen had. Who would bury her?

  “Pull your cord! Pull your cord!”

  What cord? She was about to die!

  A hand not her own tugged at the cord.

  Her descent slowed, the man now a few feet away from her.

  “Bend your knees and roll to your side when you hit the ground. Keep your chin tucked.” She could hear his words above the wind.

  Oh, shit! The ground was just below her. She yanked her knees up, hit the ground, rolled and rolled. When she stopped, she was smothered, the folds of the parachute cocooning her. The white sticky clouds from her dream.

  The man was there. Clearing the chute from her face. Pulling her to her feet. Hugging her.

  “You're fine. You were terrific!” His face inches from hers.

  Had she really survived?

  Beth squeezed the pinpricks of tears back behind her eyelids and stooped to look at the spread of the chute.

  “What do I do with this?”

  “Here I'll get it.” The American accent belonged to a young black man striding towards her across the open field. He was dressed casually, as if prepared to take a stroll in Munich's Perlacher Forst, which abutted the American army housing area in which she and Stephen had lived.

  “More friends?” Beth said.

  This new man gathered up the chute from the ground. “I'm Rodney. Willkommen in Deutschland.”

  Now with Rodney added to the mix Beth realized she'd have to start thinking of David Ward as David instead of “the man.”

  “Where's the car?” David said. “Open spaces make me nervous.”

  “Relax,” Rodney said. “You're expected to land at the field you designated on your flight plan. You're fine.”

  “Still, let's get going.”

  “Spoken like a true ops man. Okay, the car's over there.”

  Beth's eyes followed Rodney's arm. A sleek metallic BMW peeked out of a clump of trees at the edge of the field.

  “A little ostentatious?” she said.

  “Not in Germany,” David said, grabbing her arm and pushing her forward.

  She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Thank you very much — I can walk on my own.”

  “And who might you be, Rodney?” she asked from the safety of the back seat as he started the car.

  “Kathleen didn't mention me?”

  “Not by name. Are you the boyfriend?”

  Rodney laughed. From the front seat David said, without turning around, “They're a couple. Or as much of a couple as two CIA employees stationed in different hemispheres can be.”

  Rodney laughed again. “Well said.”

  “Does this mean Rodney has alerted Kathleen to where we are?”

  Rodney shook his head. “Not yet. I've followed David's instructions to tell no one — and he meant no one — about you until he arrived.”

  Beth watched out the window as Rodney turned the car out of the lane and onto a road where cars whizzed by as if they were competing at the Indy 500.

  “I thought only on the autobahn there was no speed limit,” Beth said. “Why is everyone going so fast here?”

  “Practicing,” Rodney said. Then to David, “Where to? I'm at your service.”

  “Your office. I need to do some research, talk to a couple of the old-timers.”

  So much for keeping her presence quiet. “Won't everyone know who I am?” she asked.

  David turned to Rodney. “Has an alert been put out for her?”

  “Not in Germany. I can't say for anywhere else.”

  “Then we just won't say who you are.”

  Beth talked to the back of Rodney's head. “Now are you going to tell Kathleen where I am?”

  Before Rodney could answer David said, “I don't think it's wise to let Langley know yet. There are still some things I don't understand.”

  “That makes two of us. Except I don't understand anything,” Beth said. “So now that I've survived jumping out of a perfectly good plane, are you going to tell me at least something of what's going on?”

  Instead of answering her David spoke to Rodney. “I've changed my mind. Take us to the Stachus first.”

  “I didn't think we had time for touring,” Beth said.

  “We don't. I'll be scoping out the area — checking to see if we're being followed.”

  “What are you looking for?” Rodney said.

  “Better not to say. Need to know principle.”

  Rodney nodded.

  “Especially with Kathleen as his girlfriend,” Beth said.

  Rodney glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “No fear there. The Company always comes before personal …”

  “… entanglements,” David said.

  “Is that what women are?” Beth said.

  “Yes.”

  This guy was just too much. She shoved her fist into the back of his seat, but he ignored her. He was talking to Rodney. “Who could have known where Hans Wermer was meeting Beth?”

  “Besides the obvious people? Depends on how tight security is at Langley. Or maybe he was tailed from Germany. You've got a wide open field.”

  **

  Shoppers, both native and tourists, pushed by David and Beth as they walked down the Stachus, closed to vehicle traffic since the early 70s. David could see their reflections in the stores' glass windows as he checked for a tail.

  While he was always prepared for the unexpected, this time he was concerned how many unexpecteds there might be. In other words, how many different players? He thought he knew when he started, but now he wasn't so sure. A wild card might have joined the game.

  Hence his decision to postpone a visit to the local CIA shop. Best to get a feel for the situation; see if any of the outlying pieces moved into play.

  Beth walked by his side, saying nothing.

  “Does it look much different?” David asked.

  “I'm not sure. I didn't come shopping here that often.”

  Her hands hung at her side, her gait neither purposeful nor relaxed.

  “You seem nervous,” David said.

  She whirled on him. “How observant you are! Given the series of events for the last couple of days, I can't imagine why.”

  “More than that.”

  Beth glanced around then looked at David. “Stephen. Stephen and I spent his last days here in Munich. Everything reminds me of …”

  David raised his arm to her shoulders, but the ice in her eyes froze his arm in mid-air.

  “The people who did the bombing were never found, were they?” he asked.

  “Supposedly it was a group that wanted the American army to leave Germany.”

  “Is that who you think set off the bomb?”

  Beth shook her head. “I've always wondered if there wasn't a specific target in the club that day.”

  David's stomach did a three-point dive. “Any candidate that day for being the target?”

  “No, no,” Beth said. “It's just my feeling — the anti-American answer was too easy.”

  David checked the store windows. In this crowd it would be hard to spot anyone tailing them. “There were protests of the American army ‘occupation’ at that time.”

  “I know. I … I just can't explain.”

  At the top of the street David led Beth into the town hall square. High above them on the town hall building the famed Glockenspiel perched. The chimes began, the door opened, and out pranced the wooden figures.

  **

  Beth's eyes followed David's hand pointing to the figures. She had, of course, seen the Glockenspiel perform before. Back when Stephen had been alive and everything all right in her world.

  The figures rolled along to the …

  What?

  She was grabbed from behind — someone used one arm to pull her backwards
behind David, the other arm clamped around her mouth. She dropped low, bending at her knees, and stepped out behind the attacker under the arm that had held her mouth, breaking his hold. In karate class they had practiced this maneuver over and over. “You may need it someday,” Eitan had said.

  Then she turned around to face the attacker. But the someone was gone in the crush of Glockenspiel-oogling tourists.

  She gasped for breath, her arms clutched around her body. David stood in front of her, oblivious to the attack.

  The chimes ended. The wooden figures retreated behind the closed doors. David turned around.

  “What's wrong?”

  “While you were admiring the view, I was attacked.”

  His eyes flicked for the briefest of moments. “You were just accidentally shoved in this crowd.”

  “I'm positive I was attacked. I used a karate technique for breaking a grab hold from behind.”

  Beth watched David keep his face expressionless while his eyes scanned the nearby people.

  “Did you see what the attacker looked like?” he said.

  “Now you believe me?”

  He grabbed her forearm. “Answer the question.”

  “No. He — or she — got away in this crowd.”

  She tried to shrug off his arm, but he kept his hand tightly clamped and steered her away from the center of the square. “It's time to check some things.”

  **

  Kathleen stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. It was after midnight in DC. Earlier at headquarters she had survived the humiliation of George berating her in front of Charles. She could imagine the note that would go into her personnel file.

  What could she do to make amends? To prove she was not, as George had said, “a worthless bureaucrat.”

  She thought of Rodney. He wouldn't have gotten himself into such a mess. Coolness was his watchword.

  Of course, he had a background in coolness. He'd been an army brat, his father shipping the family all over the world. Rodney had learned to endure the taunts of his classmates, both on the post and off the post in those assignments where they'd had to live “on the economy.” Considering all the possibilities before he made any move came natural to him. He, undoubtedly, would have considered Beth doing a bolt. Would have checked the premises to eliminate all means of escape, even if it meant breaking a beloved trellis.

  Her own upbringing had been much more conventional. Public school in an integrated neighborhood in New Jersey, no moving around, not even to a different house. Both parents schoolteachers priding themselves on giving their three children the best education they could. Kathleen, as the oldest, encouraged to do whatever she wanted. When she'd gotten into Wharton graduate school, then gotten a partial scholarship, they'd been so proud. Not that they weren't proud of her career decision. It just seemed to them, if you had a prestigious graduate degree that could snag a high-paying position, why settle for low-paying government work?

  Kathleen tossed the toothpaste tube back onto the sink counter.

  Think, Kathleen, think. Don't let your mind stray. What are you going to do about the Beth Parsons problem? To get George and the smirker Charles off your back?

  Obviously, what Kathleen must do was simple. Find Beth before the big boys did.

  **

  Beth shifted in the chair, her face swiveling back and forth between Rodney and David. All three were sitting at a table in the center of a large office space. Through a glass partition the inevitable bank of computers was visible. CIA Munich station. A destination of those military intelligence reports stamped SECRET or CONFIDENTIAL that she had typed long ago. Of course she had no idea whether this was the same office site.

  In the old days she had banged out the reports on a manual typewriter, six copies — an original and five carbons. Correcting all those copies was a nightmare. And did anyone bother to read them she had often wondered, even when the reports sounded reasonably important. The reports concerned clandestine meetings with potential sources on “the other side” or sightings of potential sources in unexpected places. The week she'd started working a GI had done a bunker, defected to the East from one of the border listening posts. He'd gone down to the local pub and disappeared. What had he known worth telling? And how had they turned him?

  Blackmail. Get some information or photos on someone. Had the GI been photographed sleeping around? Or taking money from the wrong person? She'd never learned the whole story, just remembered her boss, Jack Lockheim, jingling coins in his pocket, waiting for the signal that never came: Person found lost while hiking. Everything well.

  At least she had taken a shower in the sleazy motel back in the States. Who knew when she'd get to take another shower? When they had first arrived at this office she had gone into the bathroom to brush her teeth and put on fresh deodorant as well as fresh underpants.

  “Look, enough is enough,” David now said, his voice's more urgent pitch catching Beth's attention. “We aren't getting anywhere. If Beth was attacked, it could be a pickpocket attack on a tourist — the Glockenspiel performance is always a good location — or a planned attack connected to whatever's going on. Let's assume the worst — our opposition knows we're here.”

  Rodney shifted his body in his chair. “Exactly who is the opposition?”

  David shook his head, then eyed an employee standing within hearing range.

  “Surely you must have some idea,” Rodney said.

  “I'd rather not say yet. For now we need to keep moving. See if we can pick up a tail; then see where the tail leads us.”

  Beth said, “David, could we visit the English Gardens? They were always so lovely.”

  Rodney glared at her. “You're not here to sight-see.”

  She smiled. “It might be a good place to check out whether we're being followed.”

  Now David stood. “Pretty good idea for a civilian, huh, Rodney?”

  Rodney stood too. “Okay. I have my own work to care of. Keep me informed of where you are. And I'll meet you at the safe house in Berchtesgaden tonight.”

  David took her right arm and lifted her onto her feet. “We've got a lot of ground to cover.”

  **

  From the back of the taxi David kept a check on the rearview mirror. He'd been careful when they'd left the office, guiding Beth down twisting side streets until they'd come to a solitary cab waiting in front of a hotel. David had reminded Beth that they couldn't assume the driver didn't speak English. He had received a stony look for a reply and then radio silence had been maintained by Beth.

  The taxi turned into the gardens and stopped. David paid the driver and offered Beth a hand out. She brushed his arm aside and climbed out herself.

  “I apologize,” David said. “I'm not used to dealing with civilians who have had intelligence training.”

  “I haven't had intelligence training. I have common sense.”

  “You've worked for army intelligence. You know the score.”

  “I certainly do, so you can stop treating me as a child.”

  “Truce? I promise not to insult you if you promise not to be insulted.”

  Beth nodded, then said, “Let's walk to the Chinesischen Turm. I remember it, as well as the Hellabrunn Tierpark.”

  David reached for her arm to guide her and this time she didn't brush him off. As they walked toward the Chinese Tower and then the zoo, he barely noted the flower beds in full bloom, the grass cut, the paths not overcrowded with others. Instead his eyes swept their surroundings, looking for suspicious activity directed at them.

  Within minutes they were in front of a monkey cage, the animals swinging from branch to branch, babies clasped to their mothers. No one except David and Beth stood before the cage admiring the monkeys.

  Beth turned towards him. “David, I understand the ‘need to know’ principle. But couldn't you please tell me something of what's going on?”

  David shook his head. “It's trite to say, but ignorance is protection for you.”

 
“Why come to Munich? Couldn't you have done all your research online via computer?”

  Her backpack shifted against his arm. With his elbow he shoved it back in position, unwilling to release her arm.

  “No, I couldn't. Much of our material from pre-computer days has not yet been inputted. And the East German material in Berlin is not computerized either. Also, there are a couple of people I want to check with.”

  A whistling noise skittered past his ear. David's right hand stretched for his gun while his left hand, the one holding Beth's arm, shoved her behind the monkey cage. The monkeys jumped in agitation, yelping in their high-pitched voices.

  “Stay down.” With no one else around, David had a clear target field towards the direction the shots were coming from. He squatted in front of Beth and squeezed off a couple of rounds, more a warning than actually an attempt to hit something he couldn't see. A few answering shots, then silence.

  He holstered his gun and pulled Beth farther behind the cage and held her body to his. He could feel her trembling.

  “Everything's fine,” he said.

  “Being shot at AGAIN is fine!”

  Beth pulled slightly away from him to look into his eyes. “David, can you teach me to shoot right now? I want to know how to shoot.”

  David stood up, pulling Beth with him.

  “Why?”

  “I want to feel I have some control. I hate feeling so dependent.”

  David nodded. “Let's go rest somewhere first. The Hofbrauhaus.”

  “I hate beer.”

  “It's a safe place to rest — crowds of people.”

  **

  Germans wearing work smocks and Japanese tourists wearing cameras occupied the lanes of tables. Oversized steins of beer cluttered the wooden table tops. Beth eyed the beer-fed waitresses hefting the steins. How much money did they earn an hour? Were drunks good tippers?

  “Do you want a beer?” David said.

  Beth shook her head. “Always tasted like soap suds to me.”

  David waved down a waitress, told her one beer.

  “What's going on?” Beth said. “I think you know and won't tell me.”

  David laughed. “You have too high an opinion of my crystal ball abilities.”

  The waitress slapped David's beer down in front of him. She asked for payment and David fished out the required German marks. She didn't say danke.