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The Sunday Spy

Page 15

by William Hood


  “It’s a man’s world,” Emily grumbled. “Go right ahead.” She smiled too sweetly and said, “Should I pack the things you’ll need, shaving stuff, the Bible?”

  “Where exactly is the cafe, Inspector?”

  *

  “Some visitors think it’s a habit left over from the old days, when we were supposed to be Austrians,” Zitkin said. “That’s not true, I think the Austrians got it from us. We Czechs are the hard workers. We rise very early here, get to work early. Our parek — a pair of sausage, coffee, and a roll make a good pause.” He stopped to take a bite of the Krapfen. “Me, I prefer a bit of pastry.” He took a sip of coffee. “Do you have such habits in the States?”

  Trosper shook his head. “Unfortunately not, but sometimes a cup of coffee at one’s desk.” The U medvidku was pleasant, but like most cafes, it was fogged with cigarette smoke.

  Zitkin leaned back in his chair and, without pretense, studied Trosper for a few moments. Then, scarcely moving his head, he glanced around the crowded room before pulling himself forward until he could rest both elbows on the polished tabletop. “I have something for you, Mr. Anderson. I must presume it’s important — you’ve traveled so far, and made such an effort.”

  Trosper cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, miming, he hoped, a slight surprise and noncommittal interest.

  Zitkin tugged a worn black wallet from his pocket and extracted a tightly folded wad of paper the size of a matchbook. “I think this was intended for you. Please to read it.”

  Trosper unfolded the flimsy paper. He grimaced and shook his head in disgust as he read the blunt salutation, “Anderson.” He glanced up at Zitkin, who smiled slightly as he took another sip of coffee.

  The typed single-spaced message was without margins. “I know you will not pay money without some proof of my data. Here is sample, for which you will pay me $Ten Thousand, or Swiss francs to same value. Lt. Col. George Pickett working Heidelberg Germany was KGB nash from long time. Completely trusted. I will leave data at hotel for vis-à-vis tomorrow when you will bring valuta. Sinon.”

  Trosper read the message again. He shook his head wearily and glanced across the table at Zitkin before saying, “And that, as the Bishop said to the actress, just about does it.”

  “Please … ?”

  “It’s just something we say,” Trosper murmured.

  Zitkin shrugged. “Yesterday, it would have been difficult for me to explain, Mister Anderson, but there are some things you must know.”

  “I’m sure of that … ”

  “When we noticed your man — does he call himself Sinon?”

  “He is not my man,” Trosper said, “but that is the name on this note.”

  “When this man came to our attention, my young officers assumed — correctly, it seems — that one or maybe more foreign special services are involved in some illegal activity on our territory.”

  All things equal, Trosper realized glumly, Sinon, the master operative, must have attracted the attention of the hotel staff, among whom, in the best traditions of inn-keeping, was a police informer.

  “You must know, Mister, that whatever our sympathies may be, we cannot allow our laws to be violated.”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Trosper said softly.

  “But you do not agree with me?”

  “My inclination, and I gather from what you said yesterday, yours as well, is to fight. And to fight successfully, allies can be helpful.”

  “Oh, yes,” Zitkin said. “We learned all that in the Nazi time — when France and England sold us to Hitler without so much as a warning or a crocodile tear.”

  “But some fought — there was some resistance here, and from your people abroad.” Trosper decided to drop all pretenses. “You mentioned Moravec — but there was General Ingr, as well as all the Czech military and air force people based on England.” The reference to General Ingr, who Trosper remembered vaguely to have been chief of staff of the Czechoslovak forces abroad, would probably confirm Zitkin’s suspicions.

  Zitkin waved his hand, brushing aside Trosper’s comment. “The Germans were clever. They needed our industry, our manufacturing. So, they bought some of us. Heydrich called it ‘Peitsche und Zucker’ — whip and sugar — good wages, beer, and good rations meant no strikes, little resistance, and mostly no problems. Only a few, the very best, joined in the fight.”

  “That was all before my time,” Trosper said. “That, and the Soviet occupation, are behind us now.”

  “Not entirely, Mr. Anderson. The Soviet Bear has been here for forty years. I worked more than twenty years in the criminal police — until judged politically unreliable by the former regime and dismissed. When the government changed, I was called back, not to the criminal police but to the new security organization. But the Bear had long claws and they dug deep into this country Now that we’re again on our own, it will be a generation before we can be sure of one another.”

  “But surely Moscow has throttled back here … ”

  Zitkin glanced slowly around the cafe. “Of course, of course — some changes, less money, some confusion, for a while a little less attention to business. As far as I could tell there was some cutback in staff, but only of the weaker officers. At first some of the Moscow case men were at a loss to know what to say to their collaborators. After a few months, security intensified, their excellent craft resumed slowly with an apparent weeding out of some activity. Things that may have been peripheral were abandoned, left to wither.” He paused as if he were making a continued evaluation of Trosper. “In the days before what you people called ‘the liberation,’ I had established three double agents … ”

  Zitkin stopped and, scarcely moving his head, checked again for eavesdroppers. “About the time the rezidency appeared to be reorganizing, my three cases came to an end. One man — the weakest case — was simply cut off. His attempts to make contact were disregarded, his communications not answered. The two other cases — sound, I had thought — were put on vacation. ‘No funds, no need for your cooperation, we will be back, and here is a small farewell present.’” Zitkin paused before adding, “A fistful of kronen, maybe a small tin of fresh caviar … ”

  “That sounds plausible,” said Trosper.

  Zitkin nodded. “To be sure, plausible. But the timing worried me. It was true the rezidency was cutting back, but the double-agent cases were dropped a few months after my office expanded, after we took on new men from the police and university.” Zitkin raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Was it a coincidence of timing, Moscow cutting back just as we were expanding? Or had our security been violated by our own new staff?”

  “I take your point … ”

  “So, Mr. Anderson, I have to be careful. When we were alerted to your activity, my young men wanted to wait until we could take both the courier and his agent — shall I say in flagrante? Their notion was that two arrests would remind foreigners, all foreigners, that we were again independent. I did not agree, and ordered that Mr. Anderson be taken as he emptied the drop. In their eyes I acted too quickly in taking you into custody.” Zitkin smiled. “Of course, I had not thought you would be accompanied, and must apologize for having had to take your lady as well.”

  “I understand.”

  For a moment, Zitkin busied himself with the jelly doughnut and coffee. “So, to keep my hotheads at bay, I had Pika — we have worked together for twenty years in the criminal police — remove Sinon’s message while he was photographing the canister.” He smiled. “Thus no problem with our law — only an empty canister.”

  “I appreciate that,” Trosper said. “I’m not at all sure of this source, or how important this matter might be, but having this message securely in hand is a big step ahead for me.”

  “Pika and I are the only two who have seen the message — and Pika does not have a word of English.”

  “If, when things develop a bit more, there appears to be any Czech aspect to the information, I can promise that you
will have it.”

  “Understood,” Zitkin said. “We have not identified this man Sinon — which makes me think he knows Prague well and is staying under good cover, certainly not in a hotel or pension.”

  Trosper nodded. “Perhaps with a woman?”

  Zitkin raised his eyebrows. “Possibly so.”

  “If there is ever anything I can do for you concerning this case, or anything else, you can write me at this address.” Trosper tore off a piece of paper napkin and printed the address of his letter drop.

  As the young waiter scribbled the bill, Zitkin spoke sharply to him in Czech. The young man looked surprised, but plucked a coat from the rack and scurried out of the cafe.

  “My young enthusiasts will have you under surveillance until you depart,” Zitkin said. “I told them that I was meeting you here for a final, very fierce warning, so I think we should leave here separately, you had better go first — try to look a little depressed.”

  As Trosper slipped into his coat and turned to shake hands with Zitkin, the waiter hurried in through the front door. Carefully, he placed a small, dripping bouquet on the table in front of Zitkin. He waited, half at attention, as if expecting another order or at least an extra tip. Zitkin whispered a few crisp words of Czech and waved the waiter aside.

  “A small bon voyage gift for your lady,” Zitkin said. “She behaved very well, and I am truly sorry for her inconvenience.” He handed the flowers to Trosper. “Please to keep these under your spy-coat until you get back to the hotel.”

  21

  Munich

  Trosper spoke slowly, attempting to mask his irritation with Widgery. “And just how did you come by all this information?”

  Grogan dropped a sugar cube into his coffee and glanced expectantly at Widgery.

  Before Trosper’s attempt to empty the Prague drop, he had specified a fallback plan. If anything should happen that made a subsequent meeting with Grogan and Widgery in Prague impossible, Trosper would telephone Grogan’s hotel and leave a message that Mr. Johnson had called, and would telephone later. Their next rendezvous — or bugout Treff, in Widgery’s newly acquired operational vocabulary — would be at the Vier Jarhreszeiten Hotel in Munich for either eleven o’clock coffee or four-thirty tea, daily until contact was reestablished.

  Widgery took a sip of Apollinaris water, frowned slightly, and leaned confidently back. “It was easier than I thought. All I did was telephone the consulate … ” He turned to Grogan. “Actually, it’s a consulate general here in Munich.”

  Grogan nodded, gratefully.

  Widgery’s nasal timbre had never been more apparent to Trosper. “I asked to speak to Seth Rigsby — we were at Choate together — and told him I was in town and available for lunch. He said I should drop around … ” The flow of Widgery’s explanation slowed as he attempted to read Trosper’s expression. “Riggo — that’s what we called Seth at school — went into State six months after getting his M.A. at Harvard. We’re not close, but we’ve always stayed in touch … ”

  “And when you dropped around … er, Riggo told you Lieutenant Colonel Pickett worked at Campbell Barracks, lived in army housing in the Heidelberg compound, and was on leave?” Trosper’s irony was not lost on Widgery.

  “Not exactly … ” Widgery tilted forward, lowering the nasal element of his accent. “I mean, Rigsby is straight State, plans to be an ambassador before he’s forty.” Widgery managed an uneasy smile. “I mean, while I was waiting for Riggo to leave for lunch, I just used the military phone book in the outer office to find Pickett’s address and home telephone. Only there isn’t any Lieutenant Colonel Pickett in the phone book. There was only a Captain George Pickett. I mean, I called and spoke to the maid — she comes every Tuesday.” Widgery’s smile became more tentative. “If anyone in the family had been there I’d have said I was dealing encyclopedias, and would have asked permission to come around for a demonstration.” Widgery’s expression brightened. “Of course, I wouldn’t ever have shown up.” Trosper glanced uneasily at Grogan, who shook his head slowly and less in anger than disbelief.

  “Are you sure there’s no Colonel Pickett in the book?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Widgery said. “What’s more I checked with the military directory assistance — there’s only one Pickett in the Seventh Army area, and he’s a captain, on duty in Heidelberg.”

  “Did you mention our interest in Pickett to anyone else, by chance?”

  “Of course not,” Widgery said. “If that’s what worries you, there’s no way anyone in the consulate could have heard me, or have any idea who I called.”

  “Did the maid have anything else to offer?” Grogan asked. He spoke rapidly in an attempt to sidetrack Trosper’s mounting anger.

  “She said the key was in the usual place, under a white rock alongside the bushes to the right of the front door, and that I should leave the package in the hallway, just inside the door.”

  Trosper took another deep breath, and poured himself more coffee. He added milk, and half a teaspoon of sugar. “And just what reason did that good woman have for telling you where the key is hidden?”

  Widgery glanced at Grogan as if to solicit his support.

  Grogan muttered “Package?” and busied himself with his coffee. “Since the family wasn’t home, I just explained that I’m an old friend in Munich on holiday, and that I wanted to leave a gift for the Picketts before I went back to the States.” Widgery’s glance flickered between Trosper and Grogan. “Actually, servants must be a bit of a problem here. My German’s quite fluent, but Trude spoke with an excruciating Bavarian accent and sounded sort of stupid.” Trosper took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He got up from the table, walked across the foyer, and passed the reception desk. As he stood staring at lustrous handbags and briefcases in the polished vitrines near the entrance, he remembered his Boston uncle telling him that briefcases were like ladies’ hats — one had a briefcase. New briefcases were vulgar and one was never to be seen carrying one. Trosper pushed through the heavy doors to the sidewalk. A light rain was falling. He took several deep breaths, stepped back into the hotel, and threaded his way back to the lounge where Grogan and Widgery sat. He took a sip of his cold coffee and turned to Widgery. “Do you have the slightest goddamned idea what you’ve done?”

  Widgery frowned and said, “I was just trying to cash in on an opportunity to get things rolling for you.”

  “And that you’ve surely done,” Grogan muttered. He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair.

  “What you’ve accomplished with that goddamned cock-and-bull cover is to risk blowing us right the hell out of the water,” Trosper said. “For all I know, Pickett really is an agent. If he is, and when the maid lets him know that he’s had a weird call, he could goddamned well take off without even returning to Heidelberg.”

  “Where’s he going to go?” Widgery asked brightly. “Nowadays there’s no place for burned-out spies to hide except Cuba and North Korea.”

  “If you really think Moscow will just let a bought and paid-for agent drift off, you’d better think again,” Grogan said. “Or go back to whatever finishing school your Firm may have for failed field men.”

  “You’ve goddamned triggered a bomb with a fuse so short we haven’t even got the slightest notion how much time we’ve got before it goes off,” Trosper said.

  “But … ”

  “No ‘but,’ you get your ass back to your hotel and get ready to leave. I’ll call you there.”

  “But … ”

  Grogan began to smile. “You’d better just run along, Widge, I think our friend is about to blow a gasket.” He waited before saying, “And if he doesn’t, I will.”

  “I’ll give Widge one thing,” Grogan said.

  22

  Munich

  Trosper was too preoccupied to answer but raised his eyebrows in a silent show of interest.

  “He’s a handsome S.O.B.”

  “And self-confident to a degree … ”


  They were sitting in the Cafe Odéon. “Do you know who used to have lunch here?” Trosper asked. Sometimes making small talk actually helped him to concentrate.

  Grogan glanced around the crowded room. “Hitler,” he said with a smile.

  “Not bad … ”

  “Shooting fish in a barrel,” Grogan admitted. “In Munich, a random question I might possibly be able to answer, who else could it be?”

  “All right, smart-ass, who else might I have meant?”

  Grogan thought for a moment before surrendering. “You win … ”

  “Do you remember Alexander Foote? A limey Communist that Moscow picked out of the International Brigade in Spain in 1936 or thereabouts?”

  Grogan nodded. “The radio operator who was in Switzerland during the second war?”

  “That was later. First, they sent him to Germany for a little orientation. Then, more or less as an afterthought, they decided he might help out in an attempt on Hitler’s life. It never took shape, but he did see Hitler, a few times, right here.”

  “What do you make of the discrepancy between ‘Lieutenant Colonel’ Pickett and plain vanilla ‘Captain’ Pickett?”

  “Nothing right now,” Trosper said. “Perhaps Sinon inflated Pickett’s rank just making sure we’d meet his price for the information before we could check it out. Perhaps he just got confused, and didn’t get it straight.” Trosper chuckled. “With my luck, maybe he just sucked it out of his thumb and there’s not a thing to it.”

  Grogan glanced at his watch. “Thanks to Widge’s enthusiasm and help, if there’s anything in it, we’ve got maybe three days to sort things out. Even less if the Pickett family comes home earlier than planned.”

  “I’ve already called Paul Webster, the Firm’s local guy,” Trosper said.

  “Don’t tell me Widge has put him in the picture too? As of right now, Trude Dankeschoen, the obliging Bavarian maid, knows more about what we’re doing than my boss — sooner or later I’m going to have to let my headquarters know what the hell is going on over here.”

 

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