So Far From God

by John Harris

  Nine

  The arrest brought a surprise reaction. El Paso was doing well enough as an assembly point for horses and mules from Texas and New Mexico before they were shipped to the allied armies in France for nobody to want to upset business. The Mayor agreed to be Huerta’s attorney and Orozco was reported to have ten thousand men waiting to rally to him and, in the end, with the affair apparently about to end in shooting, Midwinter had to release his prisoners on bail.

  When the Sunday newspapers from New York arrived, Slattery snatched them up as soon as they were released. Wrenching at the sheets, he found the theatre page.

  ‘New Star,’ read the headline. ‘Charles Frohman Reaches from the Grave to Launch Bohemian Girl. Bookings like Forest Fire.’

  ‘Magdalena Graf,’ the report continued, ‘was overwhelmed by her success after the first night of Auber’s Bohemian Girl at Moore’s Theatre last night. She had to take fifteen curtain calls and the audience stood to applaud her.’

  There was more in the same vein, every paper carrying the same message. The German-owned journals were rapturous and openly called her ‘the German-born diva’.

  As they waited, messages began to flood in from Atty. Mexico City, he said, was in turmoil again and could be occupied by anybody who was ready, including Huerta. Zapata was never reliable enough to be a direct threat and Obregón was too far away. Villa had been thrashed again at León and, convinced he was surrounded by treachery, was occupied in executing any of his officers he felt were betraying him. His men were melting away into the hills and, enraged by Urbina’s defection and the theft of his war chest, he and Fierro had appeared outside his hacienda and shot his old comrade-in-arms dead.

  El Paso, meanwhile, was bubbling with fresh news. An urgent message had been received from Washington ordering Orozco and Huerta to be lodged in the county jail. Rather than face arrest, Orozco had jumped bail and vanished into Texas but Midwinter had happily turned the key on the former President.

  ‘Thank Christ that’s over,’ he said. ‘As long as he was free it could have meant war.’

  Rintelen had vanished by the time they arrived back in New York and Midwinter had to turn his attention to picking up those of his accomplices against whom he had proof. It took them all day to plan their swoop, and men gathered in the little office by the docks as Midwinter began to draw plans on a blackboard. There seemed to be enough agents to arrest half New York and as it grew dark Slattery left them to it.

  Heading for Moore’s Theatre, as he approached he could see Magdalena’s name in lights over the entrance a hundred yards away – GRAF. Nothing more. A large denomination bill persuaded the doorman to let him in. Magdalena was onstage, her voice stealing through the auditorium like a spirit. She looked very beautiful and a mounting ache went through him as he watched her, then, after a last brilliant cadenza, like a vast breaking wave thundering on a shore, like a waterfall solid and sustained, came the salute. People rose, waving programmes and throwing flowers, while Magdalena stood in the centre of the stage, curtseying. There was no doubt about her success and Slattery found his heart beating a little faster.

  Making his way to the dressing-room, he noticed that everyone backstage seemed to be in a high state of excitement. Success was obvious and it had affected them all. No one noticed him as they threaded their way about the cluttered wings.

  Tapping on the door of the star’s dressing-room, he pushed his way in. The room seemed to be full of people, chiefly theatrical agents and newsmen, with Magdalena at the dressing-table oblivious to them all. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and he quietly placed the bouquet he had brought on a chaise-longue that was already covered with blooms. Behind a screen, the dresser was hanging up costumes and Magdalena was in a wrapper touching up her make-up. She didn’t even look in Slattery’s direction as he stood in the background away from the lights that edged her mirror. Then, as she moved things about in the spilled powder on the dressing-table, she became aware of the figure in the shadows.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, without turning her head.

  ‘It’s me, Magdalena. Slattery.’

  Immediately, she swung round, scattering powder in a cloud, and rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘You weren’t there!’ she snapped.

  It came in a high rich tone that stopped the chatter at once. Every head swung round to stare and Magdalena turned to her dresser. ‘Get everybody out,’ she said, gesturing with a long fine-skinned hand.

  As the door slammed, she stared furiously at Slattery. ‘You weren’t there,’ she said again. ‘I begged you to come.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Magdalena.’

  ‘It was on the first night that I needed you. You let me down again.’

  ‘You didn’t need me. I’ve heard what happened. It’s all over town.’

  ‘That was because we’d changed the show. Because I was hit by a bullet in Veracruz. Everybody knew about it – the press agent made sure they did – and they knew how little time we had.’

  ‘It wasn’t that. It was you, your voice, your looks, your personality.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come?’

  ‘It was impossible.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Near El Paso.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘I very nearly couldn’t go on. The show was a disaster.’

  She was acting again. ‘Dammit, Magdalena, it was a triumph!’

  ‘The critics hated it.’

  ‘The critics said it was wonderful. I read the reviews. Goddammit, Magdalena, how much more of a success do you want? I was out there just now and I know you’ve been offered another show to follow this one and a chance in opera.’

  The anger died and she looked scared, a little girl suddenly. ‘I’m not good enough for opera. I can’t sing Mimi.’

  ‘You can do anything you want to. Mimi’s only the start. The big roles will follow.’

  ‘I don’t want–’ she began, her eyes suddenly anxious, then she stopped, and the anger returned. ‘Go away! I’m due on for the last act in a few minutes. There’s a lot to do. María, bring my costume.’

  Slattery edged towards the door, loath to go but anxious not to disturb her at a critical point in the performance.

  ‘I’m having supper at Lüchow’s with Hermann,’ she said. ‘Lüchow’s serve good German food and good German wine. Loyal German’s eat there.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Slattery snapped. ‘You’re not German, Magdalena!’

  She seemed awed for a moment by his anger but she recovered quickly. ‘My sympathies are with Germany.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. You’re just angry with me. Frohman drowned because of a German U-boat.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. ‘No, I–’

  He could see she was confused and moved forward, but she picked up a heavy silver hand mirror. ‘If you come any closer, I shall hit you with this,’ she said. ‘I know what you are. You’re a spy. That’s why you’re interested in me. You’re spying on my brother and wanting to know where he is. That’s all you ever wanted from me.’

  She faced him with blazing eyes, clutching her wrapper over her bosom with one hand, holding the silver mirror with the other. ‘María,’ she said, ‘show this gentleman – this man – out. If he stays any longer I shall break down. I shall let down the whole cast and the management of the show. Make him go away. I don’t want to see him again – ever!’

  Slattery was silent for a moment. ‘All right, Magdalena,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll go. I’ll not trouble you any more.’

  As he began to close the door, she stepped forward. ‘Fitz–’

  But he was already outside and didn’t hear her and as the door clicked she stopped dead. Turning, she tossed the hand mirror angrily to the dressing table where it knocked the powder bowl flying in a little pink cloud. Tears sparkled in her eyes, then she stiffened and forced them back.

  ‘Pronto, María,’ she
said. ‘Schnell! Let’s get on with it. We’ll be late for the curtain.’

  Heading through the whispering people in the corridor and out into Broadway, Slattery decided the safest thing to do was get drunk. When he returned to his hotel, however, he was stone-cold sober.

  He continued to half-hope to hear from Magdalena, convinced that the exchange had been the result of tiredness and nerves. But there was no message and two nights later he dined late at Lüchow’s, knowing she would arrive after the show. She was with Hermann Stutzmann and Slattery caught his eye and gestured with his head. Stutzmann looked nervous, as he always did when he was involved in plotting, however innocuous. As he vanished to the vestibule, Slattery crossed to Magdalena. She didn’t respond to his smile.

  ‘I’m with friends,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Hermann’s a friend of mine, too. Hermann’s everybody’s friend. He’s incapable of being an enemy.’

  ‘He’s your enemy. He’s a Hun. Lüchow’s is notorious for being full of Huns.’

  Her hostility irritated him. ‘For Christ’s sake, Magdalena, how can you support a country that’s guilty of so many atrocities?’

  ‘British lies,’ she snapped. ‘The first victim in any war is truth.’

  When Stutzmann returned, she rose. ‘I think we’d better go, Hermann,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the custom at Lüchow’s tonight.’

  Horrocks remained in New York, determined like Midwinter to contain the German agents there. Few of the newspapers were neutral and there were many definitely pro-German, the most virulently anti-British the Hearst press. In addition, there were Sinn Feiners eager to see Britain defeated, whose leaders were known to be in touch with German agents. German propaganda was winning hands down against the hamfisted British productions.

  But then the British Admiralty produced a set of papers taken from an American courier for the Germans when he was picked up as his ship entered British waters. They contained reports of German-planned strikes among munitions workers in the States, proof of payments to saboteurs and plenty of German contempt for the ‘naive’ Americans. Once again the spy mania flared up and the newspapers began to see agents everywhere. Then, as Slattery was about to take the Sixth Avenue Elevated Midwinter popped up alongside him, a glint in his frosty eyes. He indicated two men nearby.

  ‘Guy with the briefcase,’ he said quietly. ‘Spymaster for Rintelen. Let’s see where they go.’

  At 23rd Street the German’s companion left the train and, as they passed through the following stations, the German, his briefcase at his side, began to nod in the warmth of the compartment. As the doors opened for 50th Street, he came to life with a start and headed for the door, his briefcase forgotten. Immediately Midwinter rose and, picking up the case, slipped out of the far end of the car.

  ‘Hey, Mister!’ A girl yelled a warning. ‘He’s got your case!’

  As the German realised what had happened and turned back, he found his way barred by a stout angry woman trying to leave the car. As he pushed her out of the way, he found himself face to face with Slattery, and they danced from side to side, the German trying to pass, Slattery always in the way.

  ‘I’ll do it just once more,’ Slattery said cheerfully, ‘then I’ll have to go.’

  He was flung savagely aside, but the German was too late and, as he dived for the stairs, Midwinter jumped on the rear platform of a passing trolley car.

  The briefcase contained plans to obtain the whole American supply of liquid chlorine for use in gas shells, to ferment strikes, to acquire the Wright Airplane Company to deny its facilities to the allies, to obtain control of the Bethlehem munitions plant, and finally to gain control of the cotton exports of the entire south.

  Midwinter scowled. ‘The goddam crooks,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this stuff along to Washington pronto.’

  Slattery continued to hope but no word came. Bitterly, he began to wonder if what had happened between himself and Magdalena in Mexico City had been part of some devious plan arranged by Fausto Graf to obtain information. He couldn’t really believe it, but stranger and more ominous things had happened. In the end he dismissed the idea, but he found it hard to put everything out of his mind. Finally he thought of Helen Frankfurter, the New York girl with whom he had virtually shared a cabin on the now vanished Lusitania on his way over to America from England. He knew her address and tried to telephone her.

  ‘Who?’ she sounded puzzled, as if she couldn’t remember him, then the bewilderment changed to alarm.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ she said. ‘Fitz Slattery! Jesus, go away, Fitz! I’m married now. To a guy called Hackhofer, would you believe it? I changed Frankfurter for Hackhofer! And he and my mother are banging on the drum as hard as they can go for the Kaiser. They’d murder me if they knew about you.’ Her voice changed and she gave a little laugh. ‘Not me! I don’t think that way. We had fun, you and me, Fitz. But you see how it is.’

  Slattery saw, and replaced the telephone gently. As he did so, one of the bellhops appeared with a letter for him. ‘Just arrived,’ he said.

  Thinking it might at last be a note from Magdalena, he wrenched it open. It was from Amaryllis.

  ‘Dear old Paddy,’ she wrote. ‘In New York. Reah had to go to Canada. Come and have a drink some time.’

  He didn’t bother to read any more but found a cab and drove to the Manhattan Hotel to seek the comfort of Amaryllis’ ample bosom. Finding her room number, he went up in the elevator and tapped on the door. She had taken a suite as big as the Crystal Palace and on the table was an ice bucket with champagne.

  She grinned as she handed him a glass. ‘I’m here to do a book on the American top two hundred,’ she announced. ‘There’s a guaranteed advance and the certainty of good sales.’

  ‘You’re brave,’ Slattery said. ‘Crossing the Atlantic with submarines active off the American coast.’

  She shrugged. ‘Money was involved and I’m a good swimmer.’ She looked at the clock. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be at Moore’s Theatre?’

  ‘I’ve been thrown out of Moore’s,’ Slattery said savagely. ‘By Magdalena.’

  She was silent for a moment. ‘She’ll expect you to go back. Women who kick men out always expect them to go back.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not again, Amaryllis. It’s happened once too often.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as “once too often.”’

  ‘This time there is. You know why I’ve come.’

  Amaryllis frowned and shook her head. ‘No, Paddy,’ she said. ‘Not this time. I’m not here to seduce you. I watched you in Veracruz and I watched her. You don’t belong to me any more. You’re looking at a touch of nobility, old Paddy. It’s frightening when you see it in somebody like me. But she’s probably weeping over you like sleet in a south-easter and she’s not going to accuse me of taking you away from her.’

  He gestured angrily. ‘When Reah starts worrying about me, you can start worrying about Magdalena.’

  She studied him, a sad look in her eyes, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘If you’re determined to go on thinking of her–’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Then try not to look as if you are.’

  Slattery left the hotel frowning heavily. Amaryllis knew every sexual trick in the book and she made no bones about enjoying them, but she’d turned him down. Even as he hated himself for what he’d contemplated, he had to admire her for refusing him. She had her own code of morals, odd as they might seem.

  He was in low spirits when he appeared in the office the following morning and he expected Midwinter to be the same. He had been depressed at the lack of support he’d had from his superiors about Scheele but suddenly his mood had changed.

  ‘Scheele,’ he said immediately. ‘I’ve discovered that here in New York State we have a law that exacts high penalties for anyone trying to seduce a dame. It’s been exploited before now. You don’t like a guy down the street, you get your girl to say he’s been making
advances and he gets fined or goes to jail. Suppose Scheele was accused?’

  It seemed worth trying and when one of Midwinter’s men was set to watch the German chemist, it was noticed that he regularly frequented the Hudson ferry, chiefly, it seemed, to pick up girls.

  ‘All we want now,’ Midwinter said, ‘is a dame.’

  ‘I think,’ Slattery said, ‘that I can find you one.’

  ‘Have you ever fancied,’ Slattery asked, ‘being a British agent?’

  Amaryllis looked startled. ‘What’s the matter? Have you run out of candidates?’

  ‘For this we need a female with looks, confidence, a bit of acting ability and a lot of cool cheek.’ He explained what was wanted and she grinned, not only delighted to join the conspiracy, but flattered to have been recruited.

  ‘Does he have to seduce me?’ she asked.

  Slattery laughed. ‘Not this time. All you have to do is accuse him of it.’

  Two days later, Scheele appeared on the deck of the Hudson ferry, looking prosperous and wearing a lavender-grey suit and the usual boater with its pink ribbon.

  Amaryllis was standing near the rails, staring across the river, and as Scheele passed, she dropped her umbrella. Scheele was quick to jump forward and pick it up. As he handed it back with a click of the heels and a little bow, she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  As they fell into conversation, Slattery, watching from the upper deck, rejoined Midwinter in the saloon. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we can now leave it to the expert.’

  Two days later, Amaryllis reported that Scheele had made a date with her. ‘What a pity he’s such a little toad,’ she said. ‘However, it’s all most exciting and when I write my memoirs it will have pride of place. Amaryllis Eade, British Agent. I can see the title now.’

  Within a week, she was able to report that Scheele had dined her out and was asking her to take a trip with him. ‘He suggested a weekend in the country,’ she said. ‘I can imagine what he has in mind. He says he knows a good hotel in Pleasantville, where they don’t ask questions.’