Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  The question threw Graf. It took a moment for his mind to recall the information. “He’s in Berlin with his wife. My latest report is that he’s preparing to leave and travel to Brussels ostensibly to vacation with his wife.”

  Siegfried pursed his lips. “On the eve of the invasion?”

  Graf shrugged just to move something on his body. There was a reason he had chosen academia over the military. “Yes, Herr General. It is my belief he was to meet Monroe and the woman in Brussels.”

  “You will meet them there.”

  Did he hear correctly? “Sir?”

  “Clandestinely, of course.”

  “You want me in the field?”

  “Not only me, but other members of the high command. We’d like to see how you handle yourself. It should be a routine mission. The invasion’s nigh so if anything goes wrong, the army will be there to bail you out.”

  “Permission to speak?”

  Siegfried stepped back from Graf and waved dismissively. “Granted, but it won’t change anything.”

  Gunter Graf, professor of history, had waded through departmental politics for years and come out on top. It was one of the reasons he was selected for the job he now held. Well, that and connections. He knew when to ruffle feathers and when to keep them in place. This was one of those latter times.

  Gunter Graf said nothing.

  “Don’t have anything to say?” Siegfried said.

  “No, Herr General. When do you expect me to leave?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Herr General, if I may, my wife has prepared dinner. Might I have the opportunity to go home and say goodbye to her and eat her wonderful cooking?”

  “Of course. Tell her two will be coming to dinner.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “George Ludlow is dead.”

  The words came from the mouth of Charles Hastings, one of the high officers of the Secret Intelligence Service. He sat behind his desk. His tie was loosened, his jacket hung over the back of his chair, and the cup of tea on his desk steamed. Lillian and Henry sat opposite Hastings. They were alone otherwise.

  “Sir?” Henry appeared visibly weak and it wasn’t from the rush of the car chase.

  He had maintained the convertible’s fast speed to London, only slowing when they reached the heart of the city. He had driven straight to the SIS offices. The guards at the front gate gave him a wary look, but a brief utterance of a passcode gained them entrance. Henry and Lillian had parked the beat-up convertible in the lot and walked inside. Many eyes stared their way. He was mostly intact. Lillian, on the other hand, with all her extra activity, looked positively disheveled. She excused herself and, carrying her valise, went to the ladies room to freshen up before they met with Henry’s supervisor. She emerged a few minutes later with her hair fixed up, all her clothes tucked in appropriately, and her shoes spit-shined. If not for the couple of scratches on her cheeks from falling glass, no one would be the wiser that Lillian Saxton had, that very afternoon, found herself hanging onto the trunk of a moving car.

  “I’m afraid it’s true, Henry,” Hastings said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Henry had trouble comprehending the news so Lillian spoke up. “Day before yesterday. Up in Liverpool. Mr. Ludlow met with us and gave us his car to come down here.”

  Hastings turned his attention to Lillian. “You must be the American who caused all of this?”

  Lillian frowned. “I don’t believe I follow you.”

  “Ludlow’s death, the exposure of Henry as an undercover agent to the Nazis, you know, things like that. And for what?”

  “A Nazi codebook,” Lillian asserted.

  “Sure, and the king’s my brother.” Hastings blew his tea and sipped. Lillian looked at her cup of tea sitting on the desk. She brought it to her face and enjoyed the steam.

  Hastings went on. “Supposedly, the only way we know what this mystery message says in that little book of poetry from your old boyfriend is from what you tell us. Mind showing me?”

  Lillian bit her inner cheek to prevent words she couldn’t take back from emerging. She opened her valise sitting on the floor next to her and withdrew the book. She stood and came around the desk to stand next to Hastings. Flipping pages and explaining how the code worked, she showed the message in full.

  “Your boyfriend was pretty specific on the date,” Hastings commented. “Any reason why he picked May ninth?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “That’s not the date of your first kiss or whatever, is it?”

  Lillian flexed her jaw muscles and counted to five before responding. “No, sir.”

  Hastings grunted.

  Lillian closed the book and returned to her seat. “Your man in Washington, Reginald Nevins, thought it was credible enough to persuade my government to send me here. My friend has already died in the process. Mr. Ludlow also believed in this mission. He told me so and wished us well.”

  “So how do you explain the Nazis showing up in Dover after Clark’s inexcusable side trip?”

  Henry started. “Sir, Mr. Ludlow gave me permission to…”

  Lillian silenced him with a hand to his arm. “Mr. Hastings, are you suggesting Ludlow gave up information? How did he die?”

  “Burning.” Hastings bore his eyes into Lillian, actively challenging her. “And not just one time. He was tied to a chair and burned. In more than one place, I might add, and more than one time.”

  Inside, Lillian’s heart leapt at the knowledge. What a horrible way to go. Still, Ludlow was a soldier in His Majesty’s intelligence service. Chances were he gave up no information. She said as much to Hastings.

  “Then explain how the Nazis found you,” he insisted.

  Lillian thought a moment. “There must be more of them here in England.”

  Hastings pounded his fist on the desk, rattling the tea cups and saucers. “Precisely. I know we have assets all throughout Europe. Hitler’s got his men over here. It’s a given. But that doesn’t mean we have to make it easy for them.” He started ticking off concepts with his fingers. “Let’s say Ludlow said nothing or, if anything, a false lead. I’ve known the man for a quarter century. He was a good man and I’m positive he said nothing. But I’ve never been tortured. The brain works differently under torture. Be that as it may, Ludlow likely said nothing. Can we agree on that?”

  Henry and Lillian let silence be their acceptance.

  “Good. You drive all the way across the country to Dover to see your father and pay your respects to your mum. I understand. I wouldn’t have given you permission, but Ludlow was always one who saw the human side. We send a car and driver out there. Good man, too, Monk. It’s a shame. I’ll have to telephone his mum. Think she’ll be pleased her son died because of some Nazi scum?” He paused only a second before continuing.

  “If we accept Ludlow’s silence as a given, then there are more spies out there. We don’t know who they are or where they are. But they were good enough to spot you and Henry and try to kill you both, presumably to take that little book of yours. What does that mean? I’ll tell you. It means the Nazis think there’s something special in that book, but they don’t know what it is. They are willing to do anything to get that book. Which brings up the question about the man on the other end of that book. Your old boyfriend.”

  Lillian grew exasperated. “Mr. Hastings, sir, we went over all this back in Washington with Nevins and my commanding officer. Nevins persuaded my superiors to let me come here and try to obtain the codebook from my old friend.” She emphasized the word “friend.”

  “Circumstances have changed.” Hastings leaned back in his chair. “What you both are unaware of is the constant chatter across the Channel. Have you wondered why we’re not fighting directly with Hitler yet? We have, too. We’re waiting for his move. There have been lots of communications from the Continent that the invasion is imminent. It could happen any day now.”

  “With all due respect, having the codebook woul
d help you plan. You would know what Hitler’s up to. We can get that book for you.”

  “Perhaps you could, but not as a proper British operation. Effective immediately, this operation is over.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Gunter Graf had one of the worst dinners in his life. The food was, as always, excellent. The company proved nearly insufferable. The problem was that he wasn’t able to tell his wife he had been assigned to the field before Siegfried himself broke the news.

  Wilma actually choked on her food. She had prepared eisbein with sauerkraut. She grabbed her napkin and hid her mouth behind it. “I’m sorry. You caught me off guard.” She turned to look at her husband. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I only learned about it right before we arrived,” Graf said. “I wanted to wait for a good time to tell you.”

  Wilma harrumphed. “There is never a good time to tell your wife you are heading into a war zone.”

  “It’s not a war zone,” Graf said quickly. “It’s in Brussels. It’s purely a secret mission to apprehend a spy from Britain and ascertain if someone from our side is passing secrets over to our enemies.” He smiled, trying to disarm her.

  The look in her eyes told him he had failed.

  Siegfried chuckled. He swirled his wine and finished it. He then proceeded to pour the rest of the bottle into his glass. “Frau Graf, you should be proud of your husband. He has prepared many reports and done an admirable job at his position. This is more of a promotion. He gets to use his experience and skill on an assignment.”

  “Herr General.” The tone of Wilma’s voice indicated a challenge was coming. “My husband is a university professor. His skills are in distilling information gathered from all sources and preparing recommendations. Yes, he is a college professor of history specializing in military history but that does not make him prepared to lead men into battle.”

  Siegfried waved her off. “Frau Graf, as Gunter said, this is an intelligence-gathering operation. He’s going to Brussels, in a fancy hotel no less, to spy on our enemies. He’s just gathering the information firsthand.”

  “Alone?” Wilma had abandoned her food.

  “No, there will be a team with him.”

  “How many?”

  “Five others.”

  “All military?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will he be armed?”

  “Of course.” Siegfried turned to Gunter. “Perhaps we’ve employed the wrong Graf.” He smiled in a way intended to be kidding.

  Gunter returned the smile halfheartedly.

  Siegfried said, “Frau Graf, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “What about the invasion?” Wilma persisted. “It’s due to start soon, ja?”

  Some of the joviality left Siegfried’s face. It was verboten to discuss military matters with anyone outside the military, including wives. He eyed Gunter and Wilma who sat to his left and across the table, respectively. “Please tell me, Gunter, you haven’t been sharing military secrets here at the house.”

  “No, sir,” Gunter said.

  “Herr General,” Wilma said, “I assure you my husband is the model of decorum. He has the highest love for der Vaterland. He never tells me anything. I only make the observation that the invasion must start sometime. It’s spring. We’ve delayed long enough. You don’t stay married to a military historian and not pick up on some of his interests.”

  Siegfried bowed at the neck. “Understood, Frau Graf. And what do you bring to the table, besides the obvious?”

  The silence in the room was thick with derision. Wilma cracked a smile, defusing the moment. “Love. Devotion. Children. Motherhood. And a majesty in the kitchen.”

  Siegfried laughed. The Grafs tried and failed. “You certainly can back it up, Frau Graf.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “I’ll call for a car, Graf. I expect you back in your office in two hours.” He bowed to Wilma. “Frau Graf, I have to say your reputation as a cook is well-deserved. Gunter brags about you all the time. It’s too bad it’s taken this long for him to invite me.”

  “Thank you, Herr General.” Wilma’s fake smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll have to come again sometime. Perhaps after Gunter has returned.”

  “Of course.” Siegfried looked around the room. “Where is your telephone?”

  “Down the hall. In the front room.”

  “Thank you.” Siegfried turned and walked out of the room.

  Wilma and Gunter Graf stared at each other. Emotions flooded between them in their gazes. Gunter’s stomach was in his throat. His cheeks twitched. He reached out and offered his hand to Wilma.

  She didn’t take it. Instead, she busied herself with clearing the table.

  Ten minutes later, Siegfried was gone. Gunter went upstairs and packed a bag. Given the mission was in a hotel, he decided against packing anything for the field. Into his bag went clothes and toiletries. From his side table, he pulled out his Luger in its holster. He decided he’d wait to strap it on until he returned to the office.

  A subtle sound at the door stopped him. He turned, still holding the gun. Wilma stood there. She had put her apron on over her blue dress. A look at her face told Gunter she had been crying. She glanced at the gun.

  “When they assigned that to you,” she said, “I thought it merely ornamental. Now it’ll be part of who you are.”

  He dropped the Luger in his bag. “No, it’s not. I probably won’t even wear it. It’s not like I get to wear a gun on my hip like the cowboys in the Hollywood movies.”

  She moved to him, slowly, hesitantly. He wore only his undershirt and trousers, the suspenders hanging down his waist. “I’m scared for you, Gunter.”

  Since he had just mentioned Hollywood movies, Gunter wanted to be the hero and tell his wife it would all be okay. Most of him thought that was the truth. A part of him was truly scared. The invasion was at hand. Geiger had specifically mentioned May 9 as the meeting date. He was in a position to know the start date of the invasion. That was clearly part of the plan. With that in mind, Gunter was worried.

  What would Belgium do when der Führer’s armies crossed the border? Would it be as swift as Poland or as slow as the first war? Even as well-prepared as he knew the Nazi army to be, Gunter’s reading of history told him the fog of war clouded everything. He desperately wanted to tell Wilma all would be fine. He wasn’t sure.

  “I’m not scared. It’ll be a simple mission, with a competent team. We’ll assess the situation, decide what to do with our potential traitor, and then come back.” He pulled her chin up with his finger.

  Wilma looked at him with tears. “Our men are already out there, fighting,” she whispered. “I so fear for them every day. But you were always my anchor. Now, you’ll be gone, too.”

  “I’m here now.” Gunter pulled his wife close to him in a full-body embrace. He kissed her, tenderly. Their heat grew quickly. She hugged him back with a power he’d never before encountered.

  Gradually, he lay down on the bed, bringing her with him. With her on top of him, he felt, then tasted, one of her tears on his face. They separated, looking at each other. Her eyes were glassy. So were his. They smiled at each other.

  With a violent thrust of his arm, Gunter shoved his bag off his bed. The next hour consisted of the most passionate lovemaking each of them had ever known.

  CHAPTER 29

  A thousand thoughts flooded Lillian’s mind all at once. They all boiled down to one word. “What?”

  Even Henry appeared stunned.

  Hastings shook out a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it. “The invasion’s here. We’re not sure where or when, but it’s all but here. It has to be. We can’t risk any military supplies to get you across the Channel.”

  He held up a finger to stop Lillian from speaking. “In addition, it’s too risky. Ludlow, for all his experience and fortitude, might have given up crucial information. I can think of few reasons why the Jerrys caught you off guard on the road from Dover.”
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  “But sir.” Henry stopped when Hastings glared at him.

  “Then there’s the other side.”

  “The other side?” Lillian asked.

  “Yes, the other side. Your old boyfriend—and yes, I’m using that term because it’s the truth—what’s his game? Why’d he send your other friend all the way to America just to fetch you? Why all the subterfuge? Why not just give Monroe the book and be done with it?”

  Lillian pursed her lips. It was true what Hastings said. On the surface, if James had passed the book of poetry to Frank to give to Lillian, he could just as easily have passed the Nazi codebook. Then all of this would be for nothing.

  And Frank would be alive.

  But there was the other thing, the secret message that she still held close: James was going to name her brother’s killer. That was the real reason she was here in London. She desperately wanted that information. And what she did with it was her own business.

  In her mind, Frank’s voice again asked her the question: “So, you are judge, jury, and executioner?” In her mind, she answered: I am your avenger. And Samuel’s.

  But she dared not tell Donnelly or Honeywell back in America so she was surely not going to tell Hastings here in London.

  “I’m not sure, sir,” Lillian finally responded. “But there must have been a good reason.”

  “I can think of a few. One in particular involves your linking up with him and causing all sorts of havoc.”

  Lillian looked at him askance. “Are you seriously suggesting I’m working with James Geiger? To what? Plan something against Britain?”

  He looked at her evenly. “The thought has crossed my mind.” He blew smoke through his nostrils.

  Lillian sat up straighter on the chair and leaned toward the desk. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Hastings. I’m an American. I’m not British. But I know our shared history is linked and forever intertwined. There’s a war that’s already started, no matter if folks back home call it The Phoney War or not. It’s a war. And sooner or later, the United States is going to get involved. It’s destined to happen, no matter what the isolationists want. I want us involved. The world needs to have us involved. We need to be there in war so we can make the peace.”