“Rend?” said Joel, writing. “I never would haveguessed. How come you know someone like this?”
“I told you not to ask, but on the other hand hemay probe and you should have at least vagueanswers everything was always vague. Tatiana is aRussian name, one of the Czar’s daughters reputedlyexecuted at Ekaterinburg in 1918. I say "reputedly’because many believe she was spared along with hersister Anastasia and smuggled out with a nurse whohad a fortune in jewels on her. The nurse favoredTatiana and once free, gave everything to the childand nothing to her sis
ten It’s said she lived anonymously in greatwealth may even be living today but no oneknows where.”
“That’s what I have to know?” asked Converse.
“NO, it’s merely the origins of its presentmeaning. Today it is a symbol of trust given to veryfew people in recent years, people who themselvesare trusted by the most suspicious men on earth,men who cannot afford to make mistakes.”
“Good Lord, who?”
“Russians, powerful Soviet commissars who havea fond” ness for Western banking, who brokermoney out of Moscow for investments. You canunderstand why the circle is small. Few are calledand fewer chosen. Thorbecke is one of them and hedoes an extensive business in passports. I’ll reachhim and tell him to expect your call. Remember, noname, just Tatiana. He’ll have you on a KLM toWashington in short order. You’ll need money,however, so we must think how I can “
“Money’s one thing I don’t need,” interruptedConverse. “Just a passport and a plane ticket toDulles Airport without being picked up.”
“Get to Amsterdam. Thorbecke will help.”
“Thank you, Rene. I wanted to count on youand you came through. It means a lot to me. Itmeans my life.”
“You’re not in Washington yet, my friend. Butcall me when you get there, no matter the hour.”
“I will. Thanks, again.’
Joel hung up, put the note pad and the pen intohis pocket, and went out of the booth to thecounter. He asked for his charges, and while theEnglish-speaking operator was getting them heremembered the item he had marked 2 on his list.His attache case with the dossiers and the names ofthe deci sion makers at the Pentagon and the StateDepartment. Das Rektorat. Through someextraordinary oversight on Leifhelm’s part, hadConnal managed to hide it somewhere? Could ithave been found perhaps by an employee at thecountry inn? Converse spoke to the operator whowas handing him his bill.
There’s a place called Das Rektorat. It’s a hotelin the countryside where I’m not sure, but I’d liketo call it and reach the manager. I’m told he speaksEnglish.”
"Yes, sir. Das Rektorat has splendidaccommodations, if they are available.”
“I’m not looking for a reservation. A friend ofmine stayed there last week and thinks he may haveleft a valuable item
in his room. He called me and asked me to check forhim, to speak with the manager. If I find thenumber, would you place the call for me and get himon the line? I’m sorry to say I don’t speak German;I’d probably reach the chef.”
" Certainly, sir,” replied the woman, smiling. Itwould be easier for me to get the number. Return tobooth seven and I’ll ring you. You can pay for bothcalls when you are finished.”
Inside the glass enclosure Joel lit a cigarette,thinking about what he was going to say. He barelyhad time to formulate his words when the ring came.
“This is the Vorsteher the manager of DasRektorat, sir,” said the operator. " And he does speakEnglish.”
“Thank you.” The operator broke off herconnection “Hello?”
“Yes, may I help you, sir?”
“I hope so. I’m an American friend ofCommander Connal Fitzpatrick, chief legal officer ofthe San Diego Naval Base in California. Iunderstand he stayed there last week.”
"Indeed he did, sir. We were so sorry we couldnot have extended his visit with us, but there was aprior reservation.”
“Oh? He left unexpectedly?”
“I shouldn’t put it that way. We spoke in themorning and I believe he understood our situation.I myself made arrangements for a taxi.”
“He was alone when he left?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh. Then if you’ll tell me which hotel he wentto, I can check there as well.”
"Check, sir?”
“The Commander misplaced one of his briefcases,a flat leather type with two combination locks. Thecontents are of no value except to him, but he verymuch wants to find it. It was a present from his wife,I think. Have you come across it?”
"No, sir.”
“Are you sure? The commander has a habit ofconcealing his legal papers, sometimes under a bedor in the back of a closet. "
He left nothing here, sir. The room wasthoroughly examined and cleaned by our staff.”
“Perhaps someone came to see him and took thewrong
case.” Converse knew he was pressing but there wasno reason not to.
" He had no visitors.” The German paused. “Justone moment, I do recall now.”
Yes?”
“You say a flat briefcase, what is generallyreferred to as an attache case?”
“Yes!”
“He carried it with him. It was in his hand when heleft.”
“Oh . . . ” Joel tried to recover quickly. “Then ifyou’ll just tell me what forwarding address he left,what hotel he went to.”
“I’m sorry, sir. There were no such instructions.”
“Somebody had to make a reservation for him!Rooms are tight in Bonul”
“Please, sir. I myself offered to try, but herefused my aid somewhat discourteously, I mightadd.”
“I’m sorry.” Joel was annoyed that he had lostcontrol. “Those legal papers were important. Thenyou have no idea where he went?”
“But I do, sir, if one wishes to be humored. Imade a point of asking. He said he was going to theBahnhof; the train station. If anyone asked for him,we were to say he was sleeping in a baggage locker.I’m afraid it was also meant discourteous
The train station? A locker! It was a message!Fitzpatrick was telling him where to look! Withoutspeaking further, Converse hung up the phone, leftthe booth, and went to the counter. He paid forboth calls and thanked the operator, wanting toleave her a tip but knowing it would only call at-tension to him. “You’ve been very kind and, if Imay, one last favor.”
“Sir?”
“Where is the train station?”
“You can’t miss it. Turn left out of the buildingand walk four streets, then left again for two more.It is one of the more uncertain prides of Bonn.”
“You’ve been very kind.”
Joel hurried down the pavement, constantlyreminding himself to check his speed. Everythingdepended on control now, eve“7,”thing. Everymove he made had to be normal even casual,nothing to cause anyone to take a second glance athim. Mattilon had told him to take a train;Fitzpatrick had
told him to go to the train station a locker! It wasanother omen! He was beginning to think that sucha thing did exist.
He walked through the large open doors of theentrance and turned to his right toward the row oflockers where he had left the attache case beforeheading out to the Alter Zoll to meet “AveryFowler.” He reached the locker itself; there was akey in it, nothing inside. He began scrutinising thelockers around it, on both sides, below, not at allsure what he was looking for but knowing therewould be something. He found it! Two rows above onthe left! The initials were small but clear, scratchedinto the metal by a strong, precise hand: C.F. ConnalFitzpatrick!
The Navy lawyer had done it! He had put theexplosive papers back where only the two of themknew where they would be. Suddenly Converse feltsick. How could he get them out? How could he getinside? He looked around the station at the summercrowds. The huge clock read two-thirty, in two and ahalf hours the of flees would be closed the businessday over, the crowds fuller. Mattilon had told him toreach Emmerich during the busiest time, whenworkers traveled back and forth across the border atthe end of the day, and it took ne
arly two hours toreach Emmerich, if there was a train. He had lessthan a half hour to get inside the locker.
There was an information booth at the far end ofthe cavernous station. He walked toward it, his mindagain racing, choosing words that might produce akey. The abrasive weight of the money belt aroundhis waist gave him a glimpse of hope.
“Thank you very much, " he said to the clerk, histortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose, the clothhat falling over his forehead. He had been assignedan English-speaking, middle-aged informationdispenser with a pinched face and a bored, irritatedexpression. “Quite simply I’ve lost the key to thelocker in which I stored my luggage and I have to geta train to Emmerich. By the way, when is the nextone?”
“Ach, it is always ze case,” replied the clerk,thumbing a schedule. “Zozzing but trouble wiz zersommer people. You lose ziss, you lose zat; and youexpect everyone to help youl Zer train for Emmerichleft twenty-seven minutes ago. Zer iss another innineteen minuted, but nozzing after that for anhour.”
“Thank you. I have to be on it. Now, about thelocker?”
Joel removed a hundred-deutsche-mark note belowthe counter and raised it slowly above the ledge.“It’s very important that I get my luggage and takethat train. May I shake your hand for helping me?”
“It will be donet” exclaimed the clerk quietly,looking to his right and left, as he graspedConverse’s hand and the money. He picked up thephone at his side and dialed abusively. “Schnell! Wirmasses ein Schliessfach offnen. Standort zehn Auskunit!” He slammed down the phone and lookedup atJoel, a smile sculpted onto his rigid lips. “Aman will be here instantly to be of service. We arealways eager to be of service. The Amerikanen, sothoughtful.”
The man came, bulging out of his railroaduniform, his eyes dull, his authority questionable.“Was ist?”
The clerk explained in German, then lookedagain at Converse. “He speaks some English, notwell, of course, but adequately, and he will assistyou.”
“Zer are our regulations,” said the official keeperof the locker keys. “Come, show me.”
“Happy birthday,” said Joel to the clerk behindthe information booth.
“It is not my birthday, sir.’
“How would you know?’, asked Converse,smiling, taking the fat man’s arm.
“Zer are procedures,,, said the railroadbureaucrat, opening the locker with a master key.“You will sign for zer contents at zer office.
It was there! His attache case was on its side,nothing broken or slashed. He reached into hispocket and took out his money. “I’m in a greathurry,"’ he said as he slipped out first ahundred-deutsche-mark note, then, with hesitation,another. “My train leaves in a few minutes.” Heshook the German’s hand, passing the money, andasked calmly but with cheerful friendliness in hiseyes. “Couldn’t you say it was a mistaken,
“It vas a mistaker’ answered the uniformed manenthusiastically. “You must catch a trains”
“Thank you. You’re a nice person. Happy birthday.’
“I know, don’t bother. Thank you again.”
Glancing around rapidly but subtly, hopingagainst hope that no one was watching him, Joelwalked to an unoccupied wooden bench against thewall, sat down, and opened the attachecase everything was there. But he could not keepit.
Again he looked around the station, knowing whathe had to find; he saw it. A drugstore or itsequivalent, there would be envelopes somewhereinside. He closed the briefcase and got up, trustingsomeone in the store would speak English.
“Nearly all of Us speak English,” said thematronly woman behind the counter near thestationery section. "it is practically a requirement,especially during the summer months. What are yourneeds?”
“I have to send a business report back to theUnited States,” answered Converse, a large, thickenvelope and a roll of tape in his right hand, theattache case in his left, “but my train leaves in a fewminutes and I don’t have time to get to a post office.”
“There are several post-collection boxes in theBahnhof; sir.
“I need stamps, postage. I don’t know howmuch,” said Joel helplessly.
“If you will put your materials in the envelope,seal it and address it, I shall weigh the package andsuggest the appropriate amount of stamping. Wekeep sheets here for convenience, but they are moreexpensive than in the post office.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d like it to go airmail, withmore postage rather than less.” Five minutes laterConverse handed the accommodating clerk theheavily sealed package for weighing. He had writtena note on the top of the first dossier and printed theaddress clearly on the front of the envelope. Thewoman returned with the appropriate postage. Hepaid her and placed the envelope on the counter infront of him.
“Thank you,” he said, looking at his watch, as hebegan frantically licking the stamps and securingthem. “Would you by any chance know where I canbuy a ticket to . . . Emmerich or Arnhem, I guess?”
“Emmerich is German, Arnhem is Dutch. Any stall,sir.”
“I may not have time,” said Joel, on the last threestamps. “I suppose I could buy one on the train.”
“They will not stop it if you have money.”
“There.” He had finished. “Where’s the nearestmailbox collection box?”
“At the other end of the Bahnhof:”
Again Joel looked at his watch, and again hischest began to pound as he ran out into the station;then instantly checking himself, he watched thecrowds for anyone who might be watching him. Hehad less than eight minutes to mail the en
velope, buy a ticket and find the train. Dependingon the complications, perhaps he could eliminatethe second step. But to pay his fare on board wouldmean engaging in conversahon, conceivably havingto find someone to translate the possibilities andthe possible consequences were frightening.
As he feverishly looked for the mailbox, he keptrepeating to himself the exact words he hadscribbled on the top of the first dossier’s cover: Donot repeat, do not let anyone know you have this.If you don’t hear from me within f he days, send it toNathan S. I’ll call him if Ican. Your once and obedient husband. Love. He then looked down at the nameand the address he had written on the envelope inhis hand and wondered, stricken by a dull, sickeningpain how could he do this to her?
Ills. Valerie Charpentier R.F.D. 16 Dunes Ridge Cape Ann, Massachusetts US.A.
Three minutes later he found a mailbox anddeposited the envelope, opening and closing the slotseveral times to make sure it had fallen inside. Helooked around at the signs everywhere, the Germanscript confusing him, the lines in front of thewindows discouraging him. He felt helpless, wantingto ask questions but afraid of stopping anyone,afraid that someone would study his face.
There was a window across the station, far awayon the other side; two couples had left theline four people with a sudden change of plans.Only one person was left. Converse hurried throughthe crowds, once again trying to hold himself incheck and minimising his movements.
“Emmerich, please,” he said to the clerk, as thelone customer finally left the window. “Netherlands.”he added, enunciating clearly.
The attendant briefly turned and looked at theclock on the wall behind him. Then he spoke inGerman, the phrases fast and guttural. “Verstehen?”he asked.
“Nein . . . Here!” Converse put three hun-dred-deutsche-mark notes on the ledge of thecounter, shaking his head, shrugging. “Please, aticket! I know, I’ve only got a few minutes.”
The man took two of the bills, shoving the thirdback. He made change and pressed several buttonsbeneath him; a ticket spewed out and he handed it toJoel. “Danke. Zwei Minuten!”
The track. What track? Can you understand? Where?"
"Wo?”
Yes, yes that’s it! Where?’
"Acht. “
"What?” Then Converse held up his right hand,raising and lowering the fingers to indicate numbers.
The attendant responded by holding up bothhands, a five-finger spread and three middle fingers.
"Acht,�
� he repeated, pointing across the station toJoel’s left.
“Eight! Thank you. ” Converse began walking asfast as possible without breaking into a run. He sawthe gate through the throngs of people; a conductorwas making an announcement while looking at hiswatch and backing into the archway.
A woman carrying packages collided with him,careening into his left shoulder, the bundlesplummeting out of her arms, scattering on the floor.He tried to apologize through the abuse she hurledat him, loud words that caused the surroundingtravelers to stop and gape. He picked up severalshopping bags as the woman’s barking voice reacheda crescendo.
“”Up yours, lady,” he mumbled, dropping thepackages and turning, now running to the closinggate. The conductor saw him and pushed it open.
He got to his seat, gasping, his soft hat pulleddown over his forehead. The wound in his left armwas aching sharply, and he thought he might haveripped it open in the collision. He felt under hisjacket, past the handle of the gun he had taken fromLeifhelm’s chauffeur. There was no blood and heclosed his eyes briefly in relief.
He was oblivious of the man across the aisle whowas staring at him.
In Paris, the secretary sat at her desk speaking onthe telephone in a low voice that was muted furtherby her cupped hand over the mouthpiece. HerParisian French was cultured if not aristocratic.
"That is everything,” she said quietly. Do you haveit?”
“Yes,” said the man on the other end of the line.“It’s extraordinary.”
“Why? It’s the reason I’m here.”
“Of course. I should say you’re extraordinary.”
“Of course. What are your instructions?”
“The gravest. I’m afraid.”
“I thought so. You have no choice.”
“Can you?”
“It’s done. I’ll see you at Taillevent. Eight o’clock?”
“Wear your black Galanos. I adore it so.”
“The Great Spike anticipates.”
The Aquaintaine Progession Page 45