The Sentinels: Fortunes of War

by Gordon Zuckerman

  Claudine smiled faintly. Just them and me. Mike would understand exactly what she was up against. She picked up the phone.

  ______

  “Mr. Stone, there’s a call for you and Mr. Roth from Geneva—a Miss Claudine Demaureux. Will you take it in the executive conference room?” the secretary asked.

  “Yes, Carole, thanks. Would you please ask Mr. Roth to join me?”

  Mike Stone quickly walked down one of Stone City Bank’s long corridors to the room with the transatlantic telephones. It had been a while since he’d talked to Claudine, and he wondered why she was calling. She was not one to make social calls.

  The first time Mike had ever laid eyes on Claudine, she’d been sitting in front of a large plate-glass window. The sunlight on her silver-blond hair made it appear almost luminous. Even from across the room, he could see her blue eyes set perfectly in that gorgeous face of hers.

  Mike had quickly realized it would be a mistake to judge Claudine as some sort of pampered, rich European coquette. Underneath her cool Nordic appearance lay more intelligence and intensity than any three other people.

  Mike’s thoughts were interrupted by Jacques, who rushed into the conference room. “Mike, we have to do something about those elevators,” he panted. “They are so… slow that I couldn’t wait. I ran… up three flights of stairs… when I heard Claudine was calling.”

  Jacques slumped down in a chair next to Mike and each of them picked up a phone.

  “Claudine, greetings from New York. Jacques and I are both here. To what do we owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “Mikey!” Claudine’s voice sang over the line. “I was wondering if you and Jacques are still planning to attend the International Bankers Gold Conference in Zurich during the second week of April. The economic climate in Germany appears to be changing quite rapidly, and I think we should meet before the conference to discuss the effects it’s had on the banking business. Since you are going to be so close, Father and I were wondering if you could come early and spend a few days skiing at our chalet in St. Moritz. I know you are both busy, but I simply won’t accept no for an answer.”

  Claudine had no sooner gotten the words out than the line went dead. Mike and Jacques stared at each other in confusion, still holding the receivers in their hands.

  “St. Moritz?” Jacques said. “Their chalet’s in Chamonix. What is she—”

  “Something is wrong,” Mike said. “Claudine’s a smart girl. She probably knows German agents are monitoring international calls. What’s she trying to tell us that she doesn’t want them to know?”

  Half to himself, Jacques said, “It’s like that nonsense code we used to have at Berkeley, when we thought someone might be listening in on our research discussions. She asked if we were attending the IBG Conference in Zurich. I’m sure it’s to be held in Geneva. But Zurich is where she and I had such a bad experience trying to introduce the concept of gold bearer bonds to the banking community. Things were going so badly that I said I would never come back to Zurich, even if the streets were paved with gold.” He looked at Mike. “Maybe she’s telling us that we need to go to Geneva to talk about something to do with gold.”

  “Well, I was struck by the fact that she called me ‘Mikey.’ She knows I hate being called that,” Mike said. “When we were at Berkeley, she would only call me by that name when she had something serious to discuss and wanted me to really focus on what she was saying. I agree with you… Next month, she wants us in Chamonix, and she obviously couldn’t discuss details over the phone.”

  Jacques nodded. “Actually, it wouldn’t hurt us to get out of old New York, the city that never lets us sleep.”

  “That’s true. I’m flying out someday within the next week to meet Cecelia, but beyond that, I haven’t got anything scheduled. We haven’t seen Ian in five years, either. Let’s leave a little early and spend a few days with him in London before heading to Geneva. It’ll be like a little group reunion.”

  ______

  Claudine stared at the phone. The call hadn’t taken long. She wondered if it had gone well and if Mike and Jacques would remember that silly code they had used at school. We used to joke that we were all becoming paranoid. I guess it wasn’t so silly after all.

  Jacques was the son of one of her father’s closest friends. Long before arriving in Berkeley, she had heard “Jacques stories,” accounts of his exploits on and off the soccer field. The sports sections of French newspapers would frequently publish pictures of Jacques pursuing the ball toward the goal with such reckless abandon. Often, in the same edition, she would find photos of him in the society section, escorting his latest companion to a charity ball, the opera, or his favorite nightclub. Left unreported were his academic achievements at L’Ecole d’Administration in Paris and, later, at the London School of Economics.

  Working so closely together for the three years at Berkeley, they had become good friends. Yet, always mindful of Jacques’ reputation as a womanizer, Claudine preferred to maintain their relationship on a professional level. More than once, however, she wondered what might have happened if she had allowed things to be different.

  Well, never mind all that. I’m about to get in over my head here, and Jacques and Mike are the only people who can help.

  Chapter 3

  SPIES AND LOVERS

  As excited as Mike was to see Cecelia, he knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy their time together until he got some answers, even if it cost him their relationship.

  I’m going to ask her about all the mysterious phone calls and unexplained visits to Chinatown. I know she’s hiding something… I just don’t know how bad it is.

  As the skyline of the city appeared beyond the left wing, his mind drifted back to that day nearly eight years ago when he and Cecelia had first met. He’d seen her sitting across the table from the glamorous Claudine. The two women appeared to be having a serious discussion.

  It wasn’t Cecelia’s physical appearance that had first attracted Mike, although even now, he could still envision what she’d been wearing: a plain white blouse with a Mandarin collar, a Chinese-red blazer, and a black, pleated skirt. What had attracted his attention were the sense of serenity she had and her aura of great personal strength and determination. He could tell immediately that she was a very special person.

  As she’d spoken, Cecelia’s facial expressions had seemed to mirror her every thought, giving her ideas a life of their own. Almost immediately upon reaching the table, Mike had felt the surge of personal chemistry passing between them. He must have been staring rather impolitely, because Claudine had broken off her conversation.

  “Oh, excuse me. Cecelia,” Claudine had said, “I want to introduce you to Mike Stone from New York. His father and mine are great friends.” She’d turned to Mike and continued, “And this is Cecelia Chang. She has come all the way from Hong Kong to join our study group.”

  In one fluid movement, Cecelia had risen, dipped into a slight bow, extended her hand, and in her quiet, clipped British accent, said, “Hello, Mike Stone.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he’d said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Not at all,” Claudine had said. “We were just—”

  “—rallying against a male-dominated regime.” Cecelia had shrugged. “You know, the usual girl talk.” She grinned; Mike was hopelessly smitten.

  The two women had motioned for him to sit down. “I was just telling Claudine about my life in Hong Kong,” she’d continued. “I attended a private school where we were required to wear uniforms, the kind with pleated tartan skirts and white blouses—long sleeves in winter, short sleeves in spring and fall, just for a little variety. But it was those long, blue knee-length socks that bothered me the most. They always seemed to itch and make my legs look fat. Someday, I would like to meet the man who designed those… and I’m sure it was a man.” They’d all laughed.

  The two women compared notes on their sheltered—they considered them stifling�
��upbringings. Claudine expressed gratitude that by making the Swiss women’s Olympic ski team, she’d at least gotten the opportunity to travel and escape the constant pressure to conform to her society’s expectations of “proper” young ladies.

  “Claudine, you really were lucky,” Cecelia had said. “The only way I could learn more about life beyond Hong Kong was to leave. That’s why the idea of visiting the United States and attending an American graduate school became such an obsession.”

  “And now you’re here,” Mike had interjected. “How did it come about that our study group would be graced by your presence?”

  “Well, I earned it,” Cecelia had said simply, “same as all of you.” She said the words with a self-assurance and directness that Mike found totally disarming—and would come to admire more and more.

  “Dr. Tom and his wife—”

  “—are friends of your family,” Mike and Claudine said almost simultaneously, and the three of them began laughing.

  “It’s true,” Cecelia said. “How did you know?”

  “You’ll come to find out that Dr. Tom is the main thing we all have in common,” Mike said. “Let’s just say he gets around.”

  “At any rate, it was during a visit to our home in Hong Kong by Dr. Tom and Deborah that I first learned about the doctoral program he would be teaching the next year. Violating my society’s strict ‘seen but not heard’ policy, I asked so many questions that my father reached over and put his hand on my arm. It was a clear signal to stop, not a suggestion.”

  “Your father sounds a bit like mine,” Mike had said, remembering sneaking out of his window to go to the boxing gym while his father had thought he was upstairs, studying.

  “Without telling anyone, I wrote for the course information, applied for admission, and took the tests,” Cecelia said. “A few months later, I received my acceptance in the form of a personal invitation from Dr. Tom. Though I was elated, my concern over my father’s reaction prevented me from truly enjoying my success. For weeks, I wondered how to best broach the issue.”

  “What did you do?” Claudine had asked, wide-eyed.

  “As chance would have it, shortly thereafter, our long-time friends, Sir Edmond Meyer and his son, Ian, were visiting us during one of their art-buying trips to Asia. One night at dinner, Sir Edmond proudly announced that his son had been accepted to Dr. Tom’s program the following fall. Without thinking, I blurted out that I had been accepted into the same program. The shock and disbelief on my father’s face were almost audible amid the stunned silence from the dinner table. The time to get his approval had arrived, just not exactly as I had planned.”

  Cecelia had a serene smile on her face as she thought about her father, the all-powerful Ivan Chang. He loved his daughter deeply and had marveled at her intelligence and tenacity, telling her once, at a young age, that it was easier to give up and answer all of her questions than it was to keep sending her away.

  “After an hour of highly energized debate,” Cecelia had said, “I finally hit upon the right question to ask him. ‘Father, do you want me to remain in Hong Kong and marry some older man whom I won’t love, or will you set me free to study in America and realize whatever human potential I might possess?’”

  “And he agreed?” Mike had asked, impressed.

  “How could anyone in his right mind refuse?” Cecelia said, with a slight shrug and a smile.

  ______

  The line in front of Mike moved slowly as passengers filed off the plane. Finally, he reached the exit, looked out at the gate area, and saw her. Any suspicions about mysterious phone calls and visits disappeared. How could anyone in his right mind do anything that might destroy a relationship with her?

  Cecelia had pushed her way past the gate attendant and was waiting at the bottom of the stairs as he took that last step. Throwing herself into his arms, this modest woman gave him a passionate and lingering kiss, unaware of the smiling passengers around them.

  As she and Mike disentangled and started to walk arm in arm toward baggage claim, he asked, “Have you told anyone in your office where we’re staying?”

  She looked up at him and said, “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because almost every time I’ve been out here, we get interrupted by one of your special meetings. I just want to spend six unbroken days with you!”

  She stopped, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I promise, there will be no meetings and no interruptions. In fact, Mr. Stone, you’d better get used to the idea of having to pay attention to me nonstop for the next six days.”

  The look in her eyes as she said it made Mike tingle in all the right places.

  After they had claimed his luggage and were driving south on U.S. 101 toward Carmel, Mike remembered another mysterious phone call. “You’ll never guess who called Jacques and me. Claudine telephoned from Geneva. You know, she can be so dramatic at times, but it seemed to us that she was trying to convey a very serious message.”

  “Trying to?”

  “Remember our code from school? She used that. All we know is that she wants us to come to Switzerland next week.”

  Cecelia took on a worried look. “Here on the Pacific Coast, we’re seeing a lot of money moving around. There are some very wealthy families throughout China and Southeast Asia who are concerned about protecting their savings from the Japanese. For years, they have been selling off their plantations, their companies, and anything else that couldn’t be easily moved, and converting their wealth into gold. Perhaps Claudine wants to do something similar. After all, as the one who helped develop them, she certainly has a firsthand knowledge of the use of gold bearer bonds.

  “If the Jews were still trying to move their wealth out of Germany, I would understand what’s happening. But in this instance, I got the feeling she was talking about someone else. You don’t suppose it could be German industrialists? Could it be that the fox and the chickens are seeking financial refuge in the same henhouse?” she asked.

  As Cecelia leaned into him and he breathed the heady scent of her, Mike hardly noticed the long ride. Carmel-by-the-Sea was a quaint little village sustained by the Big Sur artist colony, golfers who came to play the great Monterey Peninsula courses, many wealthy retired residents, and tourists who frequented its collection shops, art galleries, and restaurants. It was the perfect place to get away from the bank, the war, and the world, if only for a few precious days.

  Quickly, he and Cecelia fell into a lovers’ routine. They spent days on the sand and nights in each other’s arms, and he started to believe that nothing could intrude on their bliss.

  On the fourth day there, they were returning from the beach when Cecelia suggested, “Why don’t you go back to the room? I want to stop in a gift shop I saw the other day. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t mind going with you,” he said.

  “How’s a girl supposed to buy a surprise gift if you go with her? By the time you shower and change, I’ll be back. You’ll hardly even know I was gone.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” he said, kissing her cheek and slowly backing away. “But you’ve convinced me.”

  “Good. Maybe later I can convince you to take me to that restaurant on the Monterey Wharf, the one we’ve been hearing so much about.”

  Back in the hotel room, Mike took off his clothes and climbed into the shower. He took an extra long time to wash off all the sand, then shaved and put on fresh clothes. Cecelia still wasn’t back, so he sat down in a chair to wait for her. After a few minutes, however, he left the room and checked the bar and lobby. There was no sign of her. Growing increasingly concerned, he walked out the front door and turned toward Ocean Avenue.

  He spotted her in a phone booth across the street from the gift shop she had wanted to visit. Her back was to him, but he could tell by the way she was gesturing that she was engaged in a heated conversation.

  Suddenly, she slammed down the telephone, turned abruptly, and saw him looking at her. �
��Mike!” she exclaimed. “I thought you went to the hotel!”

  “I did. But you didn’t show up so I started to worry and came looking for you.” Cecelia was clearly upset. Trying to defuse the situation, he glanced down at his freshly pressed sport shirt and trousers and said, “See? No more sand.”

  When she didn’t reply, he said, “What was that all about, anyway? I thought you promised no business this weekend.”

  “I told the office I would check at least once for messages,” she said, frowning a bit. Her face held a “no trespassing” sign, but then her mood changed. Giving him a charming smile, she took his arm, stepped off the curb, and started walking toward the hotel.

  “Come back to the room while I get out of my bathing suit. If you aren’t too mad at me about talking business, changing clothes could take a very long time.”

  ______

  Famished from no lunch and an afternoon of lovemaking, Mike and Cecelia drove to a small seafood restaurant that overlooked the lights of the bay. But even the romantic afternoon, the ambiance of the rustic restaurant, a bottle of good wine, and same-day fish all failed to dissolve Mike’s lingering concern about the phone call. I’ve been up against bigger opponents, he thought. But they could only break my nose—she could break my heart.

  He took a deep breath and started in. “Cecelia, I can’t help it… I know talking about that call with you is trespassing on forbidden territory, but you have to understand my side. I have tried to accept the unexplained trips and urgent calls, but I find it increasingly difficult to ignore them. So difficult, in fact, that I am beginning to question how we can continue to build a relationship based on secrets. I think it’s time that you let me know what’s going on.”

  Her ensuing silence was deafening; he was sure she could hear the pounding of his heart. But after what seemed like an eternity, Cecelia began to talk. “If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t tell you. I can’t even imagine how many federal laws I’m breaking by doing this. When I’m through, I’m sure you’ll understand why my need for confidentiality had nothing to do with our relationship.”