Operation Blue Sapphire

by David B. Gilmore

  Gurjar thought for a moment. “It is probably nothing, but we do receive a lot of money from him. What I would like you to do is go to all the hotels, the ones that cater to foreigners, especially Americans, and see if she is registered. I do not know how long she has been here. She has probably rented a house, but they may have a forwarding address. See what you can find out. I will make some calls to our competitors that I get along with. Maybe they will know something or have been contacted by her, too.”

  “Do you think she is not who she says she is?” asked Poriya.

  “I did not look at her passport. Maybe I should have, but she showed me an article out of the paper she works for. I had no reason to doubt her. Listen, try to find her, and be serious about it. If you do not find her, at least we tried and our benefactor will be happy. He helps us pay our bills and we do not want to lose his support.” Gurjar reached into his trousers pocket, retrieved a set of keys, and placed them on the desk. “Take the car, and get started this afternoon.”

  Monday evening Conrad Kruger sat in his car outside the Ishapore Rifle Factory north of Calcutta. With him was Ekana Noegi, an Indian man he had worked with before. As a convoy of ten trucks left the factory gate, Kruger checked his watch, started the car’s engine, and merged the car onto the road.

  “Ekana, it’s the same as yesterday and the day before. Always convoys of ten lorries, and they leave at the same times of the day. I think the evening is our best bet. We’ll follow them, but I know where they’re going.”

  “I like the darkness better, too. They are not guarded?” Noegi replied.

  “That’s the beauty of it. No guards at all and the lorries look like any other.”

  Kruger made a mental note of the route the trucks were taking. It was the same as the other times. As the convoy came to a warehouse not far from Dum Dum Airfield, Kruger pulled the car over, turned around, and began retracing the roads they had just traveled.

  He stopped the car on road before the turnoff to the warehouse. “I’m thinking here would be the best place to take the lorries. There is plenty of room to turn them around and we can be well on our way before the drivers can get word that they have been taken. Plus, there is some security at the warehouse they are going to. Here we won’t have that problem,” said Kruger.

  “I agree, this is best, and at this time of day, there won’t be a lot of traffic. Don’t worry about the drivers, they’re not going to tell anyone,” said Noegi as he motioned with two fingers across his throat. “We’ll have all the time we need. Just have a secure place to put them.”

  “I will. What about your people? I don’t want them shooting their mouths off about the job they just pulled.”

  “Not to worry, they will be men I can trust.”

  “How much time do you need?” asked Kruger.

  “Not long. I would suggest we do it on Sunday night. Traffic will be minimal, and we can get the items to your hiding place easily. Have it ready, everything will disappear, and that will be the end of it.”

  “Good to have you aboard. Sunday night it is,” said Kruger as he extended his hand to Noegi.

  Tuesday afternoon Bunnel once again sat parked on Old Courthouse Street across from the Great Eastern Hotel. As he saw Emma crossing the street, he poured her and himself a cup of coffee from a thermos. When she got into the car, he handed her a cup. “Did they see you, Emma?”

  “No, or if they did, they didn’t notice. It was the same as before, they couldn’t wait to get to their room. A locomotive with a full head of steam could have gone through the lobby and they wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “What do you think, Emma, are we barking up the wrong tree? LaCroix said all du Maurier did was win at the track on Saturday. Henri didn’t notice anything unusual. Since then all these two have done is go to work. And this, these meetings with du Maurier’s wife, they seem like a normal routine. The only thing we have to go on is a man saw du Maurier talking to someone outside the café, but he can’t ID him as Preston. It isn’t much.” Bunnel sipped his coffee and continued, “I hate to think we came half way around the world to find out Preston was just the victim of a random crime. To me, that’s what it’s starting to look like. That said, the only thing that isn’t fitting into the picture is the canal where his body was found. Someone went to a lot of trouble to either take him out there and kill him or dump him there after they killed him.”

  Emma nodded slightly and sighed. “Later today, when we’ve finished following Chevalier, call du Maurier and set the appointment to meet him at the café. I’ll go with you. The woman will remember me, but I don’t think that will be a problem. You can introduce me to du Maurier as the fiancée. Actually, I think it’ll help us and add more credibility to our story. If nothing comes of it, we’ll start concentrating our efforts on the Indians again.”

  As Emma sipped her coffee and watched the entrance to the hotel, she suddenly picked up the binoculars she had in her lap and looked intently through them. “Jimmy, quick,” she said, handing the glasses to Bunnel. “Take a look at the Indian man talking with the valet. He looks like the man who works with or for one of the Indians I met with, Gurjar, the one who’s probably a communist. What would he be doing here?”

  When the valet brought the car around, Emma became excited. “Jimmy, it is him. Remember, I told you when we left Gurjar’s office Vern said we were being followed by a white car. And what color is that car?”

  “White. How long do you think he’s been here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Emma, do you think he saw you in the lobby?”

  “He may have.” Emma thought for a moment. “It just seems strange that he shows up here today, when we’re here and so are Chevalier and du Maurier’s wife.”

  “Sitting out here, there’s no way of knowing if he met with them or not.”

  “When they got their room key, it sure didn’t seem like meeting with someone else was on their minds. Besides, if they were meeting with him, they could have done it in the lobby, bar, or restaurant. When we get back tonight, I think it’s time for Vern to get us some different cars. For now, though, we sit tight and wait for those two to come out. See if they act any differently than they did the other day.”

  As before, Emma and Bunnel watched Chevalier put Simone in a taxi and then followed him. Again, rather than returning to the office, he went straight home. They sat parked on the street watching his house. Like the house they were staying at with Miller, it was surrounded by high walls with barbed wire running along the top. In the setting afternoon sun, the rays of light illuminated jagged shards of glass that had been embedded in the cement cap.

  “Interesting,” said Emma, pointing to a taxi that had pulled up in front of Chevalier’s house. “It’s du Maurier’s wife, but she’s changed her clothes. Even her shoes are different.”

  “I would imagine her husband can’t be too far behind,” observed Bunnel.

  Emma watched closely as Simone pulled a cord at the gate. A few moments later a well-dressed woman opened the gate and admitted her onto the grounds.

  “That must be Chevalier’s wife. What a nice little reunion,” said Bunnel as he wrote down her description in a small notebook.

  “This is all rather cozy,” replied Emma.

  “Zacharie, Simone’s here,” Margaux called as she and Simone walked into the house together.

  “Jacques should be along in a minute. I just talked to him when I left the dressmaker’s,” said Simone. “He sounded excited and said a lot has gone on today. I can’t wait to find out what.” Turning to the other woman, she smiled and said, “Margaux, the house smells wonderful. What are you making for dinner?”

  “It’s an Indian vegetarian dish my housekeeper taught me. I just put it in the oven, so it won’t be ready for a while. When Jacques gets here, we can all have a drink.”

  “Maybe Saigon needs a good Indian establishment. If you get the recipes mastered, I’ll help you run it. It’ll give us something to
do while they’re at work,” said Simone.

  Before Margaux could answer, a bell sounded in the entryway. “Zacharie, that must be Jacques at the gate,” Margaux said. “Can you let him in?”

  “Jacques, can I fix you a drink?” asked Zacharie as the two men walked into the house.

  “If you have it, Scotch would be good.”

  “You know I do,” replied Zacharie. He reached into the liquor cabinet, produced a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label, and took it with him into the kitchen. “You look happy today, Jacques,” he said.

  “I am. I have good news. While you were out of the office this afternoon, I received some phone calls. Actually, three. Two of them are related, so we should discuss them together. First, Kruger called. He wants to meet with us on Friday or Saturday, and he told me to bring the money for the down payment. He’s expecting us to take delivery of the weapons on Monday.”

  “That’s great news! If I had a bottle of champagne, I’d open it,” remarked Zacharie as he poured Scotch into glasses for all of them. Holding up his glass, he waved a toast to their triumph.

  “Do you know what that means? Maybe we can finally leave this dreadful place and start living our lives again,” said Simone.

  “We still have to get the guns to Indochina, but that can be done,” said Jacques. “I’ll get word to our comrades in Hanoi and let them know things are finally moving in the right direction.”

  “This is going to cost us a lot of money, but the end result will be well worth it. We’re not going to go back to the way things were before the war. We want to make it better. The first thing we want to do,” said Zacharie as he poured them all another round of Scotch, “is make sure none of the ones who collaborated with the Japanese make it through the war. When this thing is over, we don’t need to go back and be taking orders from them.”

  “I’ll pass that along with my message about the guns,” Jacques assured him.

  “You mentioned three telephone calls today,” said Margaux.

  “I did. Ferguson, the American, called. That was the second call. I set up a meeting with him on Friday at the café where Simone and I picked up Phillips. I told him to meet me there after work at five. The third call came from Rurik earlier in the day. The bomb is ready.”

  “Everything is coming into place. Are you sure this thing he’s building is going to be strong enough? The last thing we need is for this Ferguson to make it out of there injured but alive,” warned Zacharie.

  “I told him the area we needed to cover was three hundred fifty square meters. Knowing Rurik, he’ll build it a little bit, if not quite a bit, stronger than it needs to be.”

  “But Jacques, the café where we picked up Phillips wasn’t much larger than seventy to seventy-five square meters,” said a surprised Simone.

  “I know that. We’re not taking any chances.”

  “Holy Hell! When that thing goes off, it’ll take out the entire block!” exclaimed Zacharie.

  “That’s what I’m hoping for. I think this Ferguson has the potential to be a very dangerous man, and I’m not taking any chances with him. It’ll teach him a lesson for coming into my office and brandishing a firearm. Who does he think he is?”

  “You’re taking this much too personally, Jacques,” said Zacharie.

  “No, I’m not. If this goes the way I think it will, some rogue Japanese agent or one of those independence groups will get the blame. Having an American killed as part of it will take the light off us completely and keep the local authorities busy for months, if not until after the war is over. As you said, Zacharie, we want a better Indochina. What we’re doing is not only the right thing to do, but the only thing we can do. Phillips was a potential problem and we took care of it. The same with Ferguson, this new American. Nothing can stand in the way of our goals. In the end we will be proved right in what we are doing. Taking this personally? Not at all.” Du Maurier opened his hands at Zacharie and added, “If you want to contact Rurik and tell him I overestimated by three hundred square meters, be my guest. As far as I’m concerned, what’s done is done.”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary,” replied Zacharie.

  “When I met with Rurik Saturday, I told him either Simone or Margaux would be by his place to pick it up. He’ll teach either one of them how to set it. The question is, who wants to go?”

  Without hesitation, Simone answered, “I will.”

  “No,” said Margaux. “I have to go. The woman at the café has seen you before. I’ll go. I’m the one who has to drop it off at the café. I don’t really see any other possibility.”

  “Are you sure, Margaux?” asked a surprised Zacharie.

  “It all makes sense if I go. Jacques did the right thing in sending one of us. As far as we know, none of us is being followed, but we can’t take a chance with you two. No one will be suspecting one of us. The same will be true when we drop it off. I’m in this just as deep as everybody else. I need to do something.”

  “But that something could put you in prison for years or worse,” said Jacques.

  “If any of us get caught doing what we’re planning, we’re all going to hang anyway. No, I’ll do it.”

  “That’s a good point,” said Simone. “When we drop it off, what are you going to do, Margaux, just walk in and tell the woman you want to drop off a box and ask her not to look inside?”

  Margaux thought for a moment. “I can’t do that, but if we set the bomb and seal up the box, I can take it in and tell the woman we’d like to have dinner there, and it’s a gift for my husband. Then I’ll tell her I forgot the wrapping paper, leave to go out to the car, and don’t go back. And so she doesn’t get suspicious, I’ll tell her it’s a clock and very fragile. She won’t risk opening it, as she won’t want to break it. You know how Indian people are. The British have them afraid of their shadows around white people. She may become curious, but there’s not a chance she’ll open that box.”

  “It’s agreed, then, that Margaux will meet with Rurik?” Zacharie confirmed.

  “Yes, but I want to go, too. No harm in both of us knowing how to arm the device,” said Simone. “I can drive her to the café, but as she suggests, she should be the one to go in and drop it off.”

  Sitting in his office, Kaaliya Gurjar placed a call to his benefactor. While he did not have the concrete evidence his benefactor was looking for, Gurjar was pleased.

  “Hello,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  “This is Kaaliya. I tried to phone you yesterday but didn’t get you.”

  “I was busy. Do you have some news for me?”

  “I am afraid not. We have checked all the hotels, and Kathrine Williams is not and was never registered in any of them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Taking a defensive tone, Gurjar replied, “Listen, it cost us a lot of money, bribing clerks to find this out. Do you know how many hotels there are in Calcutta that cater to foreigners? Quite a few and they are all constantly booked. If she has powerful enough contacts to get her sent here from Los Angeles with a war going on, she or the paper she works for has to have enough contacts to find her a place to live.”

  “That’s what worries me, her contacts. She found you easy enough.”

  “I tried to call you yesterday, as I have some good news. Yesterday, a messenger delivered to me a carbon copy of what she claims she will be sending in her next cable to her editor. It is the column she wrote for the Times.”

  “And?”

  “It is very fair and portrays the Confederation of Indian Workers and its goals in a good way. She included a handwritten note and claims to be sympathetic to our cause. Of course, she included a disclaimer that, ultimately, it is up to her editor to print it.”

  “Of course. Kaaliya, do you believe her?”

  “I do. I think she and her paper see the end of British rule coming, and when it happens, they do not want to be left out on the story. Being on the inside will sell a lot of newspapers for them. Af
ter all, they are capitalists.”

  “Propagandists, but yes, they are capitalists too. So what do you think?”

  “I think she is legitimate, she is a columnist for the Los Angeles Times. She told me from the start we had mutual interests. At this point I really do not have any reason to doubt her.”

  “I still don’t like you giving out interviews. For now, don’t spend any more time on it. But if she contacts you again, let me know,” said the benefactor. “I’ll see you next week and drop off a donation to your cause.”

  Before Gurjar could respond, the line went dead.

  The curtains gently flapped against the wall as a warm breeze drifted through an open window into a room at the Great Eastern Hotel. Covered in perspiration, Simone propped up the pillows behind her, sat up in bed, and grasped her cigarette case and lighter off the nightstand. Methodically, she lit one and handed it to Zacharie Chevalier then lit another for herself.

  Zacharie took a deep drag and smiled wistfully. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to see each other like this for a while. Margaux is insisting we all get together at our house on Saturday afternoon for an early dinner. Sunday Margaux and I have our usual lunch, and, of course, if everything goes as planned, Monday we’ll take delivery of the weapons from Kruger. After that, we’ll have to make delivery.”

  “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  “I haven’t seen Jacques today,” said Zacharie. “Did he make contact with Hanoi on the wireless?”

  “He got through to Beaudrie. Beaudrie will get with Vieux today and see about bringing the Council together. Jacques told them to be ready on the Burma frontier.”

  “Good. If they’re bringing the Council together, it means they’re ready to move and are going to figure out who they want to target first. The way I see it, there are the collaborators, the Japanese, and the communists. The collaborators won’t be going anywhere and can be dealt with at any time. We know who they are, and when the Japanese leave, they will be left behind. It’s disgusting. They welcomed the Japanese with open arms. Almost like they were long lost friends. They will pay, but now may not be the right time. Same with the Japanese. We’re not yet strong enough to start picking a fight with them. Things seem to be going all right under occupation. Starting a war with them might not be good.”