There. That officer in uniform loitering under the trees. He pretended to read a newspaper but his eyes rarely reached the page. Instead, he stared at Monroe and the woman.
Click.
The man in the brown suit captured the officer’s image. That picture might prove useful in the growing dossier of known military personnel.
Monroe stood. So did the woman. They made their way to the curb of the nearest street. The officer under the trees folded his unread newspaper under his arm and followed at a discreet distance. That answered that question.
Monroe hailed a cab and he and the woman climbed in. From down the street, a parked car eased away from the curb and pulled up next to the officer. He climbed in and the dark sedan zoomed after the cab.
The man in the brown suit hailed his own cab. He opened the door and sat in the back seat. “Do you see that car a block away? Follow it.”
The man in the brown suit spoke perfect English. He smiled at himself. He had worked long and hard to remove all vestiges of his German accent before being stationed in Washington, D.C.
CHAPTER 3
Frank directed the cab driver to a nice upscale eatery a few blocks away from the National Archives. Situated on the Dupont Circle, the Hoffsteader Restaurant was hopping with the noontime meal.
Lillian wasn’t sure what Frank said to the head waiter, but they quickly found themselves at a nice table in the center of the floor. Large paned windows bordered three sides of the structure, giving the patrons a wide panorama of the Circle and the cars, buses, cabs, and pedestrians moving about. The fourth wall led to the kitchen, but above it was a large mirror, giving the room an even grander feel.
Frank ordered for them: two pastrami sandwiches and coffee. Lillian also asked for water. Giving the room another once-over, Frank finally settled his eyes on Lillian.
“Yes, it’s about James.”
“What about him? I’ll admit that six months after Paris, I stopped looking for details on his life.”
Frank grinned. “Six months, huh?’ He folded his hands together and leaned on his elbows. “That’s a rather peculiar date.”
Lillian just gave him her eyes. She sipped her coffee.
“You take it black?” Frank asked. “You used to take cream and sugar, two teaspoons if I remember correctly.”
“You remember correctly. I decided to change the way I drink coffee in the years since we were at Oxford.”
“Let me guess: did that change also happen around six months after Paris?”
Heartbroken at the breakup with James and shocked to have had Frank propose marriage in that aftermath, Lillian had returned to England and was adrift. Unlike Frank or James who had their professional lives lined up before they left college—one might even say they had their lives lined up before college—Lillian was at Oxford to broaden her mind. A California girl who grew up in San Diego, Lillian wanted to put as much distance from her upbringing as possible. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents and family, but she wanted to see the world, and the only way to do that was to get out of San Diego. Education was the key, and she earned a scholarship to U.C.L.A. and then on to Oxford. She studied philosophy and history, the subjects that were great in school but had little real-world value. She also had a knack for mathematics. That’s how she met and fell in love with James Geiger who was also studying math at Oxford. But after his desire to remain in Europe and Germany, an irrevocable split emerged and nothing, not even the love of math, could mend it.
Six months after they broke up, James Geiger married Elsa Schmidt.
She gave Frank a wan smile. “There were lots of things I changed at that time.”
“Well,” Frank said, reaching over and grasping her hand, “some things never change. You still look as radiant as ever.”
Lillian chuckled, effectively dismissing the comment even thought she inwardly like the compliment. “Let’s get down to it. What’s the story about James. And why in hell should I care?”
Another quick scan of the room. Frank reached into his suit coat and withdrew a small package. He put it on the table and slid it to Lillian.
The package was wrapped in brown paper and sealed with tape. On one side, her name was handwritten in a script she recognized. James had written it. He had even included the fancy tail he always applied to the “S” in her last name. It had been so long since she last set eyes on this style that her heart skipped a beat.
The sensation surprised her. After all the years of tending to her own happiness and trying to forget James, she didn’t think something as insignificant as seeing his handwriting would do that to her. She was at once happy and angry with herself.
She picked it up and held it up to the light to examine the tape.
“No, I didn’t open it,” Frank said. He smirked. “Thanks for trusting me.”
She curled half her mouth at him. With a fingernail, she sliced open the tape and unwrapped the object.
It was a small book, hardback, that could easily fit inside trouser or jacket pockets. The exterior was a turquoise blue. Her heart skipped another beat. She already knew what this book was. She turned it over and opened the cover.
There, on the fly leaf, was the inscription James had written to her over five years ago: “To Lillian, may we grow old together reading these poems to each other. Always yours, James.”
The sting of a tear stabbed her eyes. She turned her face away from Frank. She bit her inner cheek and tried her meditation techniques to stem the coming tide of emotions. It took her a few moments, but she succeeded. When she looked up, he was giving her a meaningful look.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know what it was.”
Lillian cleared her throat. “You weren’t supposed to. It was to me. But what does this have to do with James?”
Frank gazed at her. “When I saw James a week ago, he gave me that package. He also gave me this message.” He looked at the ceiling, clearly recalling the words. “You are to remember that time in London when you both went to see Romeo and Juliet. From there, do the calculations.”
Lillian frowned. “Do the calculations?”
Frank shrugged. “That’s what he said. Heck if I know what it means. It wasn’t directed to me.”
Lillian started mouthing the message over and over again. She thought about the time she and James took the train down to London. It was a weekend fling to get away from the drudgery of their studies. They stayed in adjoining rooms at one of the fancier hotels in the city, and quickly opened the common door. It remained open the rest of the weekend. They took in two plays, ate great meals, and generally forgot about the world for two glorious days. It was during that trip that he had bought this book for her. They had repeatedly checked out a similar copy at the library, but hated having to return it. They wanted their own copy so that they could write in it.
Realization dawned on Lillian. She flipped through the pages. There, in the margins, were all the annotations they had made. Some passages were underlined, others had hearts and designs surrounding them. It was a mixture of her handwriting and James’s. But what made these annotations particularly personal were the dates. Every trip they had taken together resulted in a new favorite poem. They had begun to write the dates of their trips and the towns visited. In a sense, this small book was a history of their relationship.
And James had kept it. Now he had sent it to Lillian.
The more pages she flipped, the more she started to mouth the words to the message. “Meet” appeared first. Then “in Belgium.” “Will deliver” followed. The next word puzzled her.
“Codebook?” Lillian said.
Frank gave her a curious look. “What did you say?”
“Codebook. What codebook?”
The blood in Frank’s face lightened one shade. He quickly sipped his coffee to hide.
“Frank, what is it?”
He kept drinking. He drained his cup and clattered it down on the saucer. “I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
Frank signaled the waitress. He held up his empty cup. She came over and refilled his cup and Lillian’s.
Once the waitress had left, Lillian leaned forward and whispered, “What didn’t you know?”
“The nature of James’s message.”
“Of course you didn’t. You just told me that.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He paused and adjusted himself in the chair. “You said you haven’t kept up with him, right?”
She nodded.
“Do you know what he does now?”
Lillian shrugged. “Other than being married?” Her tone was dismissive. “Or his job?”
“His job.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. He majored in mathematics back in Oxford with a minor in engineering.”
Frank nodded. “Since he stayed in Europe and married Elsa”—he glanced at her to gauge her reaction—“he got himself some rather influential and powerful friends and family.”
Lillian narrowed her eyes. The only influential people in Germany nowadays were likely to be Nazis. “How influential?”
“Very. We’re talking just about as high as an American-born man can get. Elsa’s family is rich and well-connected. James used those connections to make more connections. He is entrenched in what’s going on over there.”
Lillian thought about what that meant. Here in late April 1940, they were in what the press dubbed The Phony War. Germany had invaded Poland back in September 1939, prompting Britain and France to honor their treaty and come to Poland’s aid. It hadn’t amounted to anything, for the country fell in a matter of weeks. Then the Nazis did a most unusual thing for a war: they stopped. No one quite knew why but it had happened and it had gone on for months. Long enough to make everyone in Europe on edge. Chances were good Hitler wasn’t completely satisfied, but no one knew where he’d strike next. He had already invaded Norway at the beginning of the month. The western front was probably going to come next.
But when?
Frank continued. “Don’t you see? What codebook might James have that you’d want? I’m talking ‘you’ as in ‘your job’ you.”
Lillian knew what he meant and it puzzled her yet again. While she had stopped keeping up with James years ago, clearly James hadn’t stopped knowing about her. That meant he knew she worked for the U.S. Army.
She gasped as the ramifications slammed into her. She sat up straight, blinking. She looked at Frank. His eyes met hers with a steadiness that meant he had figured it out as well. She broke off her gaze with him and scanned the room. Her back was to the front door and windows so she looked up in the mirror to scan the rest of the room.
And she stopped. There, in the reflection, she could see a man waiting outside at the bus stop. He looked familiar. He wore a brown suit with a camera slung across his neck. She had seen a man dressed exactly the same at the Washington Monument. She had taken every person there for a tourist. But what were the chances that a tourist from the monument would come to this coffee house and be standing right outside the window within sight of her and Frank?
Possible, but unlikely.
She closed the book of poetry and slipped it into her pocket. She picked up her coffee cup but didn’t drink. She talked from behind it.
“Frank, you see that man outside at the bus stop? Brown suit. Camera. No, don’t stare at him. Just sweep your gaze around. That’s better. He was at the monument when we first met.”
His eyes got wider. “Are you sure?”
“You remember who I work for, what I do? I’m trained to notice things like this. It could be coincidence but I’m betting not. Here’s the thing: he’s probably following you.”
Frank frowned deeply. “Surely not. You’re the one in the Army.”
“But I’m not dressed like I’m in the Army. And the last few assignments have all been here in America. You, on the other hand, just arrived from Europe.” She patted her pocket. “And you just delivered something to me.”
It was Frank’s turn to lift his coffee cup and talk from behind it. “You sure?”
She gave him a pitying look. “Would I ever question you regarding banking activities? So don’t question me on this. Listen, I’m going to buy a paper from the newsboy over there near the bus stop. I’ll get a better look at him.”
He reached out a hand and grasped her arm. “Let me.”
Lillian plucked each one of his fingers off her arm and stood. “I’m not the way I was back at Oxford. I don’t need some handsome hero to look out for me.”
She folded her napkin and turned to the front door.
***
The man in the brown suit had gambled when a bus arrived at the stop and he didn’t get on. He was pretty sure Monroe and the woman hadn’t noticed him. It helped that the cafe had windows on three sides. It enabled him to walk on any of the three sides and still keep an eye on the Americans.
He noted they ate pastrami sandwiches with sauerkraut. He gave them points for eating good food. The sight of it made him want a sandwich. Or sausage links and sauerkraut. His mouth watered. He also noted when Monroe had delivered a package to the woman. A new focus came over him. What his superior officer suspected proved to be true: Frank Monroe was a spy.
The man in the brown suit now stood next to the bus stop. He glanced into the cafe.
The woman was gone. Probably went to powder her nose. No matter. He’d follow her when she left, see where she lived and where she worked.
Amid the screeching brakes of the approaching bus, a woman’s voice said, “Excuse me.”
The man in the brown suit turned and came face to face with the woman Frank Monroe had met. Up close, a part of his mind noted the details of her face. Her lips were full with red lipstick giving them a glossy sheen. Her red hair, pulled up over her ears, caught the sunlight. Her skin seemed flawless except for delicate wrinkles under her eyes. He wondered what had put them there.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked. “You seem lost.”
“No, thank you, madam,” the man in the brown suit stammered. “I know perfectly well where I am.”
“Care to tell me why you’re so interested in me and my friend?” She stepped closer to him. “And why you’re taking pictures?”
The man in the brown suit had been trained well, but this was his first mission. He had internalized all the scenarios and the appropriate responses. One dictum stated “when approached by an officer of the law, stick to the cover story. So he did. “I am a tourist from Indiana. I’m in town to visit the sights. It appears that we are both seeing the same sights and eating at the same restaurants.”
“Then why haven’t you come in and ordered?”
“The cafe is crowded. I was merely waiting for the line to thin.”
The woman looked at him with clear suspicion. He read it on her face. He also could read she had nothing other than suspicion. He tried to change the subject. “What do you recommend?”
“The Reuben.”
Frank Monroe arrived and stood next to the woman. She looked up at him and smiled wanly.
“Are you ready?” Monroe asked the woman.
She nodded. “Sure.”
Monroe offered her his arm. She took it. Together, they walked down the street.
The man in the brown suit breathed a sigh of relief. The intersection was way too public for any sort of altercation. He was confident he would prevail, however. The training he had undertaken was extensive. There were few who would emerge unscathed.
Turning, the man in the brown suit hopped onto the bus. He didn’t care about its destination. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and the couple. Once safely away, he’d get to his apartment and the dark room therein. He needed to develop his photographs as soon as possible so he could make his report to Herr Colonel.
CHAPTER 4
“Hail a cab,” Lillian blurted.
“What?”
Lillian broke off from Frank’s arm and stepped into the str
eet. A car swerved to avoid her. She paid it little mind. Her focus was on the cab halfway down the block. She waved her arm and the yellow car veered to meet her.
“Get in,” Lillian ordered Frank. Mutely, he complied. To the driver, she said, “Follow that bus.” The cabbie started the meter.
“What’s going on?” Frank asked.
“I want to see where that tourist goes. Something about him I don’t trust.”
“He looked normal to me.”
“Exactly. I don’t think he’s a tourist.”
“Then what is he?”
“Not sure, but we’ll find out. Who knew you were coming to meet me?” She thought a moment. “Besides James.”
Frank pondered the question. “My boss, of course. I told him I would be taking a few days off and wondered if he needed anything done over here. A few friends. My parents.”
Lillian’s mind raced. She dared not to say anything untoward until she had more evidence. But chances were good Frank had a spy on his tail. But with the U.S. not at war, she wondered who it might be. Germany was obviously a candidate. The Soviet Union as well. She wouldn’t put it past France or England to engage in espionage on American soil either. The man had spoken in perfect English so his accent didn’t betray him. Maybe his movements now would.
The cabbie followed the bus for two stops. Both times, Lillian had the driver wait until the bus departed, scanning the passengers who disembarked to see the man in the brown suit was among them. The third time proved a success. She got out of the car. Frank tried to follow her but she stopped him.
“Listen, you wouldn’t want me telling you how to operate a bank. This is what I do. You’d just be in the way. Stay here, but watch where he goes. If things get bad, call the police. Also call Captain Donnelly of the Army.” She blew a kiss at him and slammed the door.
Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller Page 2