Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  The man whom Lillian had come to think of as Brown Suit waited until the bus left and looked around. Lillian found protection behind a newsstand. The cab remained in place. Brown Suit appeared satisfied and walked across the street. Lillian matched his pace on her side of the street.

  Brown Suit walked an additional five blocks west, then two north. Lillian turned to verify Frank and his cab were following her. There were half a dozen cabs on the street including Frank’s. Chances were Honeywell and his crew were also keeping tabs on them. She felt secure enough to close some of the gap between her and her mark.

  At the entrance to a three-story apartment building, Brown Suit turned and entered the lobby. Lillian crossed the street so she could approach without being seen. As she neared the lobby with its bay window facing the street, she slowed to a halt. Cautiously, she peered inside.

  The lobby was small. Four chairs bordered a small table littered with ashtrays and wrinkled magazines. A man sat in one of the chairs. He was reading a newspaper. There was no sign of Brown Suit.

  Lillian glanced back at the cab. It was half a block away. She scanned the rest of the street. No other cars passed by. If Honeywell’s men were anywhere, they were hiding pretty well.

  She grasped the handle and walked inside the lobby. The moldering odor of smoke, alcohol, and mildew assaulted her senses. She winced at the smell, not expecting it. At the rear of the lobby was an old elevator, the kind with an Otis scissor door. The door was closed and the car missing. Brown Suit lived somewhere on one of the upper floors.

  Lillian turned to the man reading the newspaper. She fingered her red curls and adopted a squeaky voice, the kind one would expect from a love-struck doll.

  “Hey, mister?”

  He looked over the top of the paper. His eyes were hard and gray. “Yes?”

  “Um, the guy who just came through here, the one in the brown suit, do you know which apartment he lives in?”

  He displayed no emotion. “Why?”

  She assumed a goofy grin. “Well, you see, I saw him at a bookstore today and we got to talking. We talked so much that he accidentally left one of his books at the counter.” She pulled out the poetry book and waggled it. “I’d like to return it to him.”

  He grunted and put the paper back between them. “3C.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lillian contemplated the elevator but dismissed it. The noise would have alerted Brown Suit. She chose the stairwell. She winced again. Added to the other odors she already had experienced was now urine.

  She ascended the wooden stairs on her toes. The steps made no creak under her weight. The second-floor landing had a bulb that was just about to die, the light was so feeble. She glanced up, just to make sure no one lurked in the shadows. Satisfied, she continued up.

  From somewhere within the building, a mechanical sound rumbled. It was the elevator. Hearing how loud it was, Lillian praised herself for taking the stairs.

  At the third floor, she reached a door. It was solid. No window. She’d have to open the door with no way of knowing if Brown Suit was wandering the hallway. But why would he? She’d developed quite a good sense on how to follow people. Donnelly and others had commended her for that very thing in multiple reports. She opened the door.

  The hallway smelled better than the stairwell. The floor was wood with a long throw rug running down the middle. A light bulb glowed right above her. Another was at the far end of the hallway, about thirty feet away. A third bulb was at the center where the elevator was located. She noted the gate was closed up here.

  Four apartments were on each floor, two on the right and two on the left. Lillian moved forward and glanced at the number on her left: 3A. The number on her right read 3B. Odd and even. Apartment 3C was up on her left. The doors had no peepholes. Still walking on tiptoes, she passed the elevator. She could see the cables moving. Whoever was using it was coming up. The sound was quite loud. She used it as camouflage to close the distance between her and apartment 3C.

  The elevator wasn’t so loud that she couldn’t hear footsteps on the other side of the door. She inhaled deeply and set her feet in a fighting stance. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but surprise was going to be her weapon. A thought crept into her brain: what if Brown Suit really was a tourist? She dismissed it when the doorknob turned. No tourist would stay here.

  The door opened a crack. Half a face peered out. She made eye contact and the person’s eye widened in surprise. He grunted and tried to close the door quickly. She rammed her shoe in the space and prevented it. Next, she slammed her shoulder into the door. Taking the other person by surprise, she flung the door open, banging him in the face.

  Lillian Saxton stormed into the room. A distinct odor, a new one, met her. She recognized it but had no time to determine what it was. The man had quickly recovered and was moving towards her.

  She recognized him as Brown Suit in the instant before his fist flew at her. It came from her right side. She raised her right arm to deflect the blow while, at the same time, pivoting on her right foot. She used his momentum in her favor. His fist met air and he momentarily lost his balance. That gave her time to crash her left fist on his face.

  Years ago, when Lillian had joined the Army, she knew her size and weight would never prevail for long in a fist fight. Lillian felt confident in her abilities if her opponent was a woman. When fighting a man, however, she knew her size and weight meant she needed to end it as quickly as possible. Speed and dexterity were her greatest allies. She knew her blows couldn’t end fights with a single thrust, so she honed her ability to rain multiple blows on her opponents.

  Her left fist landed on Brown Suit’s jaw. She brought her knee up a second later and smashed his chest. Finally, with her right arm now free from deflecting his one swing, she placed her hand on the back of his neck and shoved him downward.

  Brown Suit toppled to the floor on his hands and knees. He held his head at such an angle that Lillian knew she had stunned him good. She took a step back to regain a proper fighting stance.

  His hand shot out and clipped her ankle. She lost her balance and stumbled backward. She reached out for something to stop her movement and found only air. Lillian backpedaled a few more steps, her thick heels clogging on the wooden floor. A few more feet and she hit the back of a couch. This stopped her backward movement and gave Brown Suit time to stand.

  He charged.

  Still not quite on perfect balance, Lillian gambled. Brown Suit expected to body slam her. In response, she fell to the floor, landing on her back. A few puffs of air escaped her lungs but she was rewarded by the surprised look on his face as he sailed over her, arms outstretched.

  Lillian rolled over and got to her feet. Brown Suit hit the wooden back of the couch and fell to the floor again. A grunt of rage erupted from him but she didn’t press him nor did she move closer. His hitting her ankle told her he knew how to fight. Better to get a good handle on her surroundings than to risk another swipe at close quarters.

  The interior of the apartment was spare. The couch she had met. Only a coffee table fronted it. The large room had a small kitchen off to her left. A modest wooden table and chairs were to her immediate left. On the far wall was a door that likely led to the bedroom.

  Lillian looked around for a weapon. She found none. Not even a plate or a knife on the counter. Only a radio. She judged it too heavy for effective use.

  Brown Suit now stood opposite her. His hair had fallen in his face and he swiped at it. A stream of blood coursed from his lip. The red spot left by her fist was already starting to bruise.

  “You’re an interesting one,” he said. “How did we miss you?”

  We? Lillian didn’t have time to think about that now. She studied his face, watching his eyes and his body for the next move. What she saw took exactly one second to process. It was a subtle change in his expression. A relaxing of his grimace. And a slight shift of his eyes to a spot behind her.

  She ducked. In the same mom
ent, she swept her leg out behind her. It met something solid. Another person’s leg. She heard a cry of surprise from that person—a man. She hoped her action might give her a precious few seconds to readjust to this new scenario. Two to one. Not good.

  The other person lost his balance and fell. He landed almost directly on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs. The momentum and his weight cracked the wood. It gave way and splintered into pieces.

  It also gave her a weapon.

  She reached out and grasped one of the broken chair legs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Brown Suit was reaching his hand into his suit pocket. Chances were good he wasn’t trying to be gentlemanly and offer her a tissue.

  Holding the chair leg like a baseball bat, she swung. With his hand buried deep in his suit, there was nothing he could do. The wood connected with Brown Suit’s face. He crumpled to the floor.

  Not waiting a second, Lillian pressed her advantage. The other man was now on his knees. She recognized him as the man reading the newspaper in the lobby. Unfortunately for her, Newspaper Reader had already drawn a pistol and was bringing it to bear on her.

  She shifted her grip on the chair leg from a baseball bat to a fencer’s grip. She extended her arm and jabbed at the gun hand. Newspaper Reader, having just witnessed Lillian swing with two hands, was momentarily surprised at her action.

  He swatted away the chair leg. That was exactly what she had hoped for. She wanted him to think that was her only move.

  It wasn’t.

  Lillian let the shattered chair leg leave her grip. She leapt into the air and brought her leg around in a roundhouse kick. The thick heel of her shoe found its mark. Already on his knees, the man huffed in pain and crashed to the floor.

  She landed on both feet. In a single movement, she kicked the pistol across the room. She pivoted and assumed another fighting stance just in case either man had more fight in him.

  They didn’t.

  And that’s how Honeywell’s men found the situation when they stormed into the room, guns drawn.

  CHAPTER 5

  “We have to go to Belgium.” Lillian Saxton repeated.

  She stood in the office of Colonel Honeywell in Washington, D.C. It was two hours after her altercation with the two men in the apartment. Scattered across an ornate table of dark mahogany were black and white pictures of people in various stages of life. They were clandestinely clearly taken.

  The odor Lillian had detected upon entering the apartment was developing fluid. The second room was a darkroom. Brown Suit was a spy.

  “Out of the question” Honeywell stood behind his desk, glowering. Donnelly kept his silence near the table with the photographs.

  “Why?” Lillian asked.

  “Let’s start with we’re not at war,” the colonel snapped. “And we can end it there.”

  “War is coming. You know it. I know it. Blast it, the whole world knows it. This so-called Phoney War is merely the calm before the storm. If we can get our hands on a Nazi codebook, we can have the upper hand.”

  “We’re not at war with Germany. Besides, how do you know those men are German spies? They spoke perfect English.”

  “Exactly. It’s too perfect. And regarding our using the book, why not deliver it to Britain or France? They’ll certainly be fighting Hitler before we will.”

  Honeywell looked at Donnelly. The junior officer merely shrugged. Honeywell continued. “And this friend of yours, James Geiger. Why do you think he’s doing this?”

  Lillian shook her head. “I’m not sure. But there has to be a good reason he’s willing to deliver a top secret Nazi codebook to me.”

  “You don’t think it’s just so he can get you over there?”

  “To what end?” Lillian said, exasperation settling into her voice. They had been at this for nearly an hour.

  Donnelly, for his part, stayed out of it. The colonel let the silence say what he didn’t want to voice.

  Lillian shook her head, exasperated. “James is married.”

  “Since when has that ever stopped anyone?” The colonel arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s enough to stop me. Besides, we ended things a long time ago.”

  “Not so long that he didn’t contact you, of all people, to make this offer. If he wanted to smuggle out a codebook, why not just give it to your other friend in the outer office?” He was referring to Frank who had accompanied her to Honeywell’s office building but was refused admittance into this meeting. “There’s something else going on here.”

  “I don’t know what it is, sir, but I’d like permission to find out. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

  Honeywell walked to the mahogany table. Lillian watched his fingers run over the images. She knew some of the subjects. They all worked for Honeywell. Curiously, her picture was not in the mix. Likely it was in the camera they had seized at the apartment. Honeywell’s team was developing the pictures as they argued.

  A knock sounded at the door and Honeywell’s adjutant entered. He wore the same brown uniform that everyone wore except Lillian. “Sir, there’s a gentleman to see you.”

  “Not now, Private. Can’t you see I’m in a meeting?”

  “He said it pertains to the meeting.”

  Lillian glanced out of Honeywell’s office and locked her gaze with Frank. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She shook her head.

  Honeywell frowned. “Who is it?” He ran a tight, closed ship and few people outside the military knew his business. And, as he had yet to report to his senior officer, no one knew the nature of this meeting.

  “The name’s Reginald Nevins.” A man with a British accent strode into the office uninvited. He was tall, dressed in a fine gray suit complete with vest, and carried a black cane. Of all things, he wore a derby. He removed his hat with a flourish and bowed at the neck. “My friends call me Reggie. If you hear what I have to say, you can do the same.”

  No one spoke for a few moments. Lillian was surprised to discover her mouth hung open. Honeywell was not the type of Army officer who suffered his authority lightly. Indeed, he recovered first. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Reginald Nevins. I believe I said that already.” He turned to Lillian. “And this is the lovely lady who took on two Nazis with scarcely a scratch on her.” He reached for her hand, scooped it up in his, and shook it. “Impressive work, my dear. We couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening until your boys stormed into the room.”

  Lillian smiled at Nevins, still unsure what was going on.

  “How the hell do you know what happened?” Honeywell demanded.

  “Oh, we have the room bugged.” Nevins’s tone was offhand and dismissive.

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Honeywell asked but Lillian already knew the answer.

  “British intelligence. MI-5. And you boys owe us.”

  “What the hell are y’all doing spying on American soil?” Colonel Honeywell demanded of Nevins after the British spy had detailed his group’s activities regarding the two men Lillian had bested. It turned out Brown Suit’s name was Dieter Hous and his companion was Kurt von Himmel. Both were Nazi spies that Nevins’s team had been keeping tabs on since the invasion of Poland eight months ago.

  “Trying to guarantee we win,” Nevins replied.

  Nevins had strolled into the room like it was his own office. He examined the photographs on the table and began naming the ones he knew. Honeywell stood in shock.

  Inwardly, Lillian enjoyed the sight.

  “Okay.” Honeywell finally broke out of his stupor. “I understand spying over here. What do you know about this?”

  “Trying to determine if that banker out in your waiting room is helping the Nazis.” Nevins spoke the words as a statement.

  “What?” Lillian moved next to Nevins. “Frank? Helping the Nazis?”

  Nevins shrugged. “Why else would someone like him meet with a known Nazi collaborator?” He let the words hang in the air. In the meantime, he withdrew a pouch
of tobacco and a short pipe. He filled the bowl, put the pouch back in his pocket, and put a lighter to the dried leaves. The pungent aroma of the burning tobacco filled the room.

  Lillian’s mind raced. Nazi collaborator? Whom could Nevins mean? The answer zeroed itself out of the blue. “Do you mean James Geiger?”

  “Precisely, my dear.” He pointed to the wall on the other side of which sat Frank Monroe. “A week ago, that man travelled to Berlin ostensibly on business. He met with the same James Geiger you mentioned. Tall man, broad-shouldered, dark brown hair, flecks of gray along the temples?”

  Lillian tried to image the young man she had last seen four years ago with gray in his hair. She couldn’t. They were both still twenty-nine and she had no gray hair despite the life she had chosen.

  “I don’t remember the gray part, but yes, that’s James.”

  “You know he’s working for the Nazis?”

  All eyes turned to Lillian. She straightened her back. “As I’ve already told my commanding officer, I’ve had no contact with James Geiger for over four years. It been just about that long for Frank Monroe. And if you think either one is helping the Nazis, you’re crazy.”

  Nevins cleared his throat. “I admire your loyalty to your friends, but in the case of Geiger, he is helping the Nazis. He manages a factory that manufactures barrels for large artillery.”

  Lillian nodded. “That makes sense. He majored in math.”

  “He also helps the Nazis create their codes.”

  A thunderclap of silence filled the room. In the pregnant pause, Honeywell spoke to Lillian. “Tell him.”

  Lillian moistened her suddenly dry mouth and told Nevins about the true nature of Frank’s mission back to America. She showed him the book of poetry and explained how the code worked. Lastly, she vouched for Frank as being unaware of James’s request until she told him herself.

  “Your friend, Frank,” Nevins said after she finished. “You sure he’s not in on it?”

  “Unlikely. It makes no sense if he was. Besides, what would be the outcome? Why request the two of us to return to Belgium and meet James in person next week?”