Beacon of Vengeance

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  Harry was heartbroken when Doro told him that his breeding was corrupted by his English bloodline, and regretted the fact that her half-brother could never measure up to join the SS and father beautiful, racially-pure children as she would bring to the world. He was stunned by the new coldness in her bearing, felt an immeasurable loss, and heard from his father only later that his formerly kind and gentle sister had volunteered to work as a guard in the concentration camp of Dachau.

  This “Fount of Life” had destroyed Harry’s beloved sister, and now Argent bore an unrelenting hatred for all the SS embodied and where it had taken both his countries, Germany and England.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Vichy France

  12 August 1941

  The first three hours of their train journey to the new and often-ridiculed capital of the French State had proven uncomfortable. They shared the first-class cabin with three Waffen-SS officers and a civilian in a fine gabardine suit. The four Germans had boarded as a group in Paris, giving perfunctory greetings to the Americans before settling in. During the long stretch to reach the demarcation line between the northern and southern zones the colonel read a French edition of Victor Hugo while igniting each new cigarette with the last. His lieutenants sat quietly by and watched the passing countryside. The civilian removed thick files from his briefcase and perused them, marking passages with a leaking fountain pen which gave no end of trouble. Not a word passed within the group.

  Ryan and Edward felt compelled to observe the passing countryside, occasionally smoking pipe and cigarette to kill time. Ryan found himself lost in memories of the hectic few weeks which had brought him so quickly to his new role in collaborationist France.

  Ryan had not been excited about starting a new career with the new Special War Problems Division at the State Department. Old memories were surfacing, memories of the bureaucratic hierarchies and hidden agendas which had last driven him from Washington. He had agreed to return to State for two reasons only—first, to get his friends out of that infernal internment camp, and second, because his brother’s argument had been sound. Sooner or later he would step up to serve his country in the coming conflict, and he preferred to play a role of his own choosing. Once Erika, Leo and René were safely out of France, he had expected to step into a boring program with little personal satisfaction, especially since Ed had warned him that some of the German citizens returned to the Reich might not be anxious for repatriation.

  But Ed didn’t take him to the massive State Department complex Ryan had grown to hate after the disastrous last encounter with Kohl in 1938. Instead, the government sedan dropped him off at the Bureau of the Budget building. Here Ryan first met David K. E. Bruce, destined head of the secret intelligence branch of the newly-planned COI, Coordinator of Information. Bruce was a well-spoken man, clean-cut with thin hair parted high on his scalp.

  “Let’s face it, Dr. Lemmon—” Ryan clearly remembered David Bruce’s opening words in that cramped, non-descript office. “—you are without a doubt very poor Foreign Service material.”

  Damn it, Ed, what the hell have you gotten me into now? “Uh, pardon me, sir?”

  Bruce had continued undeterred as he read from Ryan’s State Department file. “Says here you can be ‘bull-headed, self-absorbed, cocky and at times irresponsible’ ”—he glanced again at the file and added a final comment— “and let’s not ignore ‘apt to forget official assignments at the drop of a hat.’ ”

  “But, sir, to what purpose—?”

  Bruce interrupted again. “Not exactly traits one seeks out in diplomats, especially where delicacy and discretion are paramount, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Perhaps not, Mr. Bruce, but I must say in my defense that—”

  Bruce held up a finger in caution: “Hear me out—you’re also said to be ‘quick thinking, resourceful, tenacious, ethically-sound and unafraid of deception and violence to achieve a given end.’ ” Bruce sat back in his creaking desk chair with the hint of a smile. “And let’s not forget ‘brilliant in subterfuge and the use of foreign language and custom when undercover.’ Does any or all of this strike a chord, Dr. Lemmon?”

  “It seems you vetted my file with a very critical eye.”

  “Dr. Lemmon, both Colonel Donovan and I have read your file many times through, and we’ve given special attention to your final debriefing. It’s true you attempted to spirit a girlfriend out of Nazi Germany under the nose of her Gestapo husband?”

  “Yes, sir, that sounds about right. And my boss at State, Richard Kohl, damn him, destroyed evidence that could have saved millions of Jews. Is that in there, too?”

  Bruce regarded Ryan directly but ignored the question. “Dr. Lemmon, let’s face facts—you’re a poor diplomat but a helluva good covert operative. And right now diplomacy isn’t worth squat, so let’s leave that business to the diplomatic drudges.”

  “Sir?”

  “What Bill Donovan and I are about to launch—what the United States most needs right now—is a centralized intelligence-gathering organization. Our involvement over there is about to heat up whether America likes it or not. We have nothing at the moment but a grab bag of agencies involved in overseas intelligence. Just think of it—eight different fact-finding units, from the Navy’s ONI to the FBI to the FCC, believe it or not, and each wants control at the expense of the other. Hell, they treat each other as the enemy, and that’ll kill us in a year. Does anyone actually believe Nazi Germany won’t have centralized intelligence leadership when they come after us?”

  Ryan bent forward.

  “Well, it’s clear you don’t personally give a damn about oversight and control. Just look at your brother’s frustrations with you the last time. It’s all in here.” Bruce tapped the open file. “But two attributes are of unmatched value to us—a proven hatred of Hitler’s thugs, and first-hand knowledge of what makes them tick.”

  “No argument from me.”

  “So let’s put those qualities to work for America.”

  “Ready and willing, sir, as long as I can first get my friends out of that French internment camp.” Now Ryan pointed to the open file. “I’m sure it’s all detailed there.”

  “That shouldn’t present a problem, Dr. Lemmon. We’ll expedite the process with our people already in Vichy.”

  “In that case, I’m all yours.” Ryan felt a glimmer of mounting excitement.

  “We’ll need to bring you up-to-date quickly on some skills, a bit of training before you fly.”

  “The sooner, the better, sir.”

  “And Dr. Lemmon…those ‘negative attributes’ I mentioned earlier?”

  “Yes…?”

  “Colonel Donovan and I would consider them positives for our new operatives, so feel free to be yourself.”

  And he had. Toronto had been aces, at least the training camp nearby where he’d spent a week, with no time to actually visit the city. COI had as yet no facility of its own, and David Bruce relied on Donovan’s UK intelligence friends to get Ryan into the camp for British agents for an abbreviated course in the latest espionage techniques. One week only—nothing more, nothing less—and he would be Clipper-bound for Lisbon with Ed. Ryan zipped through most of the challenges already mastered years before outside Alexandria.

  Just as at the camp in Virginia years before, the Toronto trainers had also decided on a code name for the American inspired by his Florentine cameo ring. From that moment on he was “Tuscan.” The ring was taken for safekeeping along with all other personal items which might reveal his true identity to fellow trainees. A few hours passed creating a plausible backstory for his newly-minted persona, and he was to memorize every detail for testing within twenty-four hours.

  The initial orientation was familiar—the government would deny his very existence if he fell into enemy hands, that sort of thing, all old hat for Ryan after Virginia training. The camp leadership waived the standard assessment of suitability, resourcefulness, and emotional stability under stress—Donovan assur
ed his MI6 friends that Ryan had more than proven himself against the Gestapo. So the demanding week, sunup to sundown, was devoted to jump school, special code and relearned wireless skills, pistol marksmanship, close combat, and, of course, killing with whatever came to hand.

  Once back in Washington, having earned his colors at the training school, he finally met Colonel William “Wild Bill” Donovan. A pending executive order from the White House was about to name him director of an integrated spy agency. For the first time in its history the country was to consolidate all aspects of unorthodox warfare under one roof. Ryan already knew quite a bit about “Wild Bill.” Anybody who read the newspapers knew of Roosevelt’s “mystery man,” the unofficial ambassador just returned from a fact-finding mission in Europe, the Balkans and the Middle East. Ryan had listened intently to Colonel Donovan’s recent coast-to-coast radio broadcast, where he warned that Germany was “aiming at absolute domination of the world.” The stunning conclusion of the broadcast remained fixed in Ryan’s memory: “Our only choice is to decide whether or not we will resist. And to decide in time: while resistance is still possible, while others are still alive to stand beside us.”

  Ryan had been excited to finally meet in person a man he already greatly admired. The colonel had earned the Distinguished Service Cross for valor in the Great War, and Ryan wondered if he would find the war hero arrogant. Instead he felt a soft-spoken warmth and regard, and liked the man instantly at first greeting. “Welcome to our team, Dr. Lemmon.”

  “Thank you, sir. A great honor to meet you in person, and to play a part in this new enterprise.”

  “Well, wait until you’ve been tested a bit in our COI waters and then you may sing a different tune. But for the moment, you’re well-trained—my spies tell me you excel at special operations—and David Bruce thinks the world of your potential.”

  “Means a great deal to me, sir. I’m anxious to get back in the fray.”

  “In a nutshell, Ryan—I may call you Ryan?—a lot of people in Washington would like to see us fail at this. They think we’re going to step on their toes or steal their thunder. Hell, State is afraid associating with us threatens America’s “neutrality,” so they’re already considering refusing cover for our COI agents abroad.”

  “That could make things tough for me, Colonel—“

  “Call me Bill. I like professionals, academic types like you, and our methods and operations around here are going to be a little more relaxed than in the military.”

  “Yes, sir…Bill. Here’s the thing, if I may speak candidly—”

  “Counting on it, Ryan. I’m a straight-shooter myself.” He chuckled. “No reflection on my nickname, of course.”

  “Well, you know my brother Edward’s helping set up State’s new Special War Problems Division. We were intending to use that cover to get me overseas again with few questions asked.”

  “Not a problem from our end, Ryan. Bill Stephenson’s British operation here in Washington is already helping us contact underground organizations behind the lines, so we’re off to a great start.” He reached for a file. “How do you think we got you into Toronto on such short notice? For what David and I have in mind—for you especially—you won’t need much of a cover at all.”

  “Sounds damned intriguing, sir.”

  “Intriguing…and dangerous.” Donovan opened the file. “But I read here that you don’t flinch when the going gets tough, so here’s where we’re at. I want you in France, specifically Paris to begin with. Your cover is simple, just be yourself, college professor on sabbatical. Or you can be “assigned” to State and that new War Problems Division they’re setting up. It’s all the same to us…” The Colonel hesitated as he looked up from the file, “because we don’t want you working for us.”

  “How’s that, sir?” Ryan thought he’d misheard.

  With a quiet laugh Donovan continued. “We want you working for the Germans.”

  “But, sir—”

  “No, Ryan, hear me out, this may interest you more than you think. And it’s an assignment fraught with danger, right up your alley.” He leaned back in his chair and Ryan felt the Colonel watching for his reaction. “Hazardous, but also immensely rewarding.”

  “I’m listening, sir.”

  “We know next to nothing about what the Nazis have in store for us, but you can bet your bottom dollar they’re way out in front with an espionage network already in place. Once we abandon that vaunted “neutrality” Lindberg and his ilk keep whining about, we’ll need to go ‘guns to guns’ with the Reich. That means we need to get inside their network, learn what they know about gathering intelligence and how much they already know about us.”

  “Makes a lot of sense.”

  “Face it, we’re coming late to this game. The Brits have a leg-up on us by a couple of years; the Nazis have been at it since ’33 or ’34.”

  “I’m listening, sir.”

  “Here’s what I think—and you tell me if I’m wrong. I know you lived over there from the get-go, ‘29 to ‘38, right?”

  “Yes, sir, with intervals in France, primarily Paris, Burgundy and the Riviera.”

  “It says here,” he tapped the file, “you used to live and breathe Germany, may even have been a bit of a fan of some things at one time. Judging by your old newspaper clippings, you reported all angles and early on even suggested Hitler might bring the factions together and help the country out of its economic pain.”

  “Yes…about that, sir, it was before the Nazi take-over, when Weimar was falling to pieces. In retrospect, I was naïve, to put it mildly.”

  “Not really, Ryan—you actually got it right. He did indeed help their economic recovery. And very few of us suspected that he would go on to enslave his own people and now try to conquer the western world. But your early, more positive read of the movement is exactly how you can be of service to us now.”

  “Sorry, Bill. I’m still not exactly clear on this assignment.”

  “We want you in Paris. Enjoying yourself as best you can for as long as you can, at least till we give up this cloak of neutrality. We want you hobnobbing with the Germans, bad-mouthing the States and Roosevelt, convincing the Nazis you’ve had a real change of heart and now support the Reich as the world’s best chance to stop the Bolsheviks, Freemasons, Socialists and Jews.”

  “My God, sir, you do know I left the Reich with the Gestapo on my tail and a stolen plan for the mass extermination of European Jews hidden in my tobacco pouch?”

  Donovan’s face went blank. “How was that again?”

  “It should be right there in my file.” Ryan pointed to the open folder on the desk. “Just look for the debriefing report, mid-December’38.”

  “Wild Bill” flipped through the pages before looking up with a shake of the head. “Don’t find it here.”

  “That’s impossible, sir. There should be page after page of it, a full record. All the contacts I made with anti-Nazi groups inside the Reich, then meeting up with an old female acquaintance in Berlin married to a top Gestapo leader, Horst von Kredow. She photographed his secret protocol demonstrating intent to annihilate the European Jews, and I sent the film back to Washington by courier.”

  Donovan had continued to search while Ryan talked. “It’s not here. Sorry.”

  Ryan knew where the blame lay. “It was that damned Richard Kohl! He destroyed the film rather than send it up the line in State, so he must have also stripped all mention from the record.” Ryan shook his head in revulsion. “Damn, how I despise the bastard.”

  “Water under the bridge, Ryan.” He closed the file. “Who else besides this Kohl knew of what you did…how you felt?”

  “God only knows…Kohl was kicked out—had gotten a bit too cozy with the American Nazi movement, it appears. He may have had some contacts in the Reich.”

  “Well, I can’t see how this will compromise your new role. Paris is filled with Germans on leave, all enjoying the sights, and the possibility of blowing your cover is re
mote, to say the least. I think you can safely play the disenchanted American fed up with people ignoring the Bolshevik menace and willing to work hand-in-hand with the Nazis. And, if you play your cards right—our cards—you may find a way to become a triple agent right out of the chute.”

  “Triple agent?”

  “We send you in to spy for us, but our ultimate goal is to have them enlist you to gather intelligence in America. You learn all you can about their espionage and counter-espionage structure, so we know what to expect. And in the process you plant false information to undermine their intelligence. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a disgruntled American scholar willing to support the Reich in the coming war by spying on America. In reality, you bury yourself deep in their intelligence operation. Take your pick, either Sicherheitsdienst for the Nazi Party or Abwehr for military, depending on the lay of the land. Either way, someone is bound to want you, and we gain invaluable intelligence on troop deployments, military and naval bases, anything you think will be useful once we’re in this fight for good.”

  Ryan quietly digested what COI was asking of him. “There is one thing, Bill, and most important to me personally.”

  “Your friends detained in the camp in Gurs.” Donovan nodded toward the file. “It indicates that’s priority number one for you.”

  “Yes, sir, it certainly is.”

  “Anything to do with this Kohl fiasco?”

  “Yes, sir. A great deal, actually.”

  “Well then, get that taken care of right off the bat. State will fly you over, Lisbon via Bermuda on the Clipper. You and your brother check in once you’re in Paris, in case you want to keep the State Department cover alive, then get down south and help your friends out of France. But once they’re on their own, you return to Paris and you’re all ours, agreed?”