The Sentinels: Fortunes of War

by Gordon Zuckerman

  “How did you arrive at those particular conditions? They’re most restrictive,” Henri said.

  “In the past, the Fed approved a much smaller transaction to Stone City along those same terms. Because of its size and the impeccable track record of all the parties involved, it was not considered noteworthy at the time. But, as you know, our case is entirely different. I had to go with something they had already shown they were comfortable with accepting.”

  “Do you think there is any flexibility in the Fed’s position?”

  “You would know better than I, but I suspect that if we introduce softer terms, we would be taking a hell of a risk. We need to play by the ‘laws of the game,’ to borrow an old footballers’ expression, particularly if we need them to act in an expedient fashion.”

  “Well, I guess we are going to find out how motivated Karl’s clients are to complete this deal. Before I talk to him, I need to work things out with my Swiss colleagues, which may take a couple of days.” Standing up, Henri said, “Look, instead of hanging around here, why don’t you and Claudine go to Chamonix, and I’ll let you know as soon as I have an answer. I understand that the snow on the back side of the glacier is still good.”

  ______

  Jacques and Claudine arrived at the chalet and took time only to change clothes and grab their ski equipment before heading up the gondola to the summit of Mont Blanc. Two lifts later, they were standing on the top of the world.

  Staring out over the mountain, the two were standing close enough to be touching. Jacques put his arm around her.

  After a few seconds, Claudine broke the spell. She pulled away and gave him a mischievous smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom!”

  Jacques watched her for most of the afternoon, amazed by her complete mastery of the mountain. She makes it seem so easy, just like everything else she does. In fact, he was so lost in his thoughts that he missed a turn and disappeared from view.

  Claudine looked over her shoulder just as Jacques vanished. She couldn’t see what happened next. All she could hear was a muffled thud, followed by, “Oh, shit.”

  Thirsty and soaked with perspiration, they were more than ready for a cold beer when they completed their final run. As Jacques ordered a second round, Claudine asked, “Are you ready for a hot shower, a good dinner, and a warm fire?”

  The silent question of what might follow lay heavily between them. Neither of them voiced it.

  “Yes to all three. Where would you like to eat?”

  “I have a taste for a certain… intimate nightspot that I often frequent. Actually, I know the chef personally.”

  “Where’s the restaurant?”

  “Chez Demaureux—but I’m warning you, the food may not be the absolute best. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the traditional domestic Swiss Hausfrau.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he replied. “But perhaps you don’t realize that you are talking to a famous French chef!”

  “As a matter of fact, that information had escaped me. Do you think that between the two of us, we can manage one good meal?”

  ______

  As she stood under the scalding shower, Claudine wondered, Who is the real Jacques Roth? Is he still the inveterate chaser of women? Self-absorbed showboat? Famous French chef? She smiled to herself. Has he matured into a man I can depend on and trust? Will he let me share his life, or will he push me aside, the same way Tony did?

  So many questions, she thought, getting out of the shower and toweling off.

  Still lost in her own thoughts, Claudine dressed in her old cable-knit sweater, gabardine slacks, and worn-out pair of sneakers, and she arranged her hair into a single braid that extended down to the middle of her back. Wearing no makeup, she looked like a healthy young woman, relaxed in her very familiar environment and at home in her own skin.

  As she approached the kitchen, she saw a well-scrubbed Jacques, absorbed in chopping vegetables, pause to take a sip of wine.

  Standing there like that, he hardly seems to be the internationally acclaimed banker, playboy, and heir to the Roth banking empire. He looks more like the very real man with whom I think I may be falling in love.

  Hearing her approach, Jacques lay down the big chopping knife and poured chilled wine into a second glass. Claudine walked over to take it, standing close enough to feel the now-familiar current passing between them.

  Uncertain what to say, she busied herself in the kitchen. “Let me see what we have for dinner!” Rummaging around the refrigerator, she found fresh trout, some small white potatoes, and a bunch of long, green onions.

  “What can you do with these, Chef Jacques?”

  “Trout happens to be one of my specialties. Wait until you have tasted Sauce Roth.”

  We have studied, worked, and played together, Jacques thought, but nothing from earlier times is like the intimacy I feel standing in this small kitchen with Claudine at my side.

  When dinner was ready, he opened a second bottle of wine and they sat down at the tiny round table, illuminated by two candles. Everything in the world seemed complete.

  Claudine took her first bite. “It’s absolutely delicious. I’m surprised you can find your way around a kitchen, much less prepare such a wonderful meal!”

  “My dear, you should never underestimate the talents of a totally spoiled French bachelor. Mike can’t even find the stove’s ‘on’ button in our apartment, so I’m forced to do all the cooking.”

  When they had finished their meal, Claudine wondered aloud, “Why do meals seem so much better when you don’t have to eat them alone?”

  “Sharing a meal is life’s second best pleasure,” Jacques answered. Seeing Claudine blush, he quickly changed the subject. “Let me pour you another glass of wine, and we’ll sit in front of the fire.”

  They got as far as standing in front of the fireplace before he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her leaning into him. Slowly, Jacques began to kiss her, his lips trailing a path from her hairline down her neck to her shoulder.

  “So, what are we going to do about this?” she whispered, pulling herself free from his embrace.

  As an answer, he pulled her back into his arms, nuzzled her hair with his nose and lips, and ran his hands down to the small of her back, drawing her closer. She floated into his arms. Jacques scooped her up and lay her gently on the couch.

  Slowly, they began to undress each other, reveling in the contours of each other’s bodies in the light of the fireplace. Claudine’s eyes filled with desire; as he stared into them, Jacques was enraptured by their deep turquoise color.

  Totally lost in the moment, Jacques felt as if he were making love for the first time. Claudine’s hair, now free of the braid, was splayed across the pillow; he could see the growing passion in her face and feel the rise and fall of her breasts and the arching of her back as her body moved in concert with his. His dream had come true—Claudine was finally giving herself to him.

  Their lovemaking lasted well into the night, leaving them spent and sleepy. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t get close enough to a woman, couldn’t get enough of her smell, her feel, and the way she made him feel.

  This was no conquest—unless, maybe, a mutual one.

  The sun shining through the window awakened him. At first, he didn’t know where he was; then he realized that his arms were wrapped around Claudine, who was still asleep. Watching her peaceful breathing, not wanting to disturb her, he didn’t move.

  Could this be the Ice Princess who uses her career to insulate her from close personal relationships, so afraid of getting hurt? Is this the same girl who is seriously planning to steal one hundred million dollars from the Germans? Jacques, you’d better brace yourself. Getting involved with Claudine makes skiing down that glacier seem like child’s play.

  For the next two days, they were determined to make every minute count. They skied, talked, made love, and—most important—spent a lot of time just holding each other, lost in the moment.
Jacques knew that things had irreversibly changed between them, and also that there wasn’t much time left before the realities of war and their roles in the world would once again take over their lives.

  The call came early on the third day.

  “Claudine,” her father said, “I’ve heard from our new clients—the terms are acceptable. As you can imagine, their biggest concern is moving forward as quickly as possible. My Swiss colleagues are also on board.”

  “That’s great news,” she said with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Back to the real world…

  “Yes,” Henri stated. “It also means we’ve got to get busy. You and I will take care of the Swiss banking end of things, but I’m afraid Jacques is on his own with the Fed. We have to be careful not to do anything that will implicate Roger.”

  “I’m sure Jacques can handle things just fine on his own,” Claudine said.

  During their last night in Chamonix, the possible repercussions of what they were planning started to weigh on their minds in earnest.

  “Claudine,” Jacques asked, absently stroking her hair, “should we tell your father and Mike’s father about our second agenda? After all, if something goes wrong, they’ll be strongly affected.”

  “Nothing will go wrong.”

  “Still, we are planning to foul up the ‘flight capital’ of right-wing German industrialists, possibly infringe on the credit of the Swiss financial community, and upset the operations of some of the world’s most powerful banks. Is this the kind of decision we have a right to make on our own?”

  “Jacques, we must make this decision on our own. Any conversation would make them just as culpable as we are. And even if they believe as we do, they have more to lose.” She turned to look at him. “In thinking through this problem, it was the possible losses that could be inflicted on the Swiss banks that naturally worried me the most. I would never want to put my father in that situation. So, I did some homework. The banks become exposed only if they unwittingly honor both the genuine and the duplicate bonds. That’s a problem that I can control in my role as special accounts manager. I’ll make sure that each bank receives a master list of the bonds, a complete set of instructions, and notifications every month that audits are scheduled, to ensure their compliance. In other words, it’s already taken care of.”

  “Good. Then there’s only one thing left.”

  “What?”

  Laughing, Jacques took her in his arms. He didn’t let go until the next morning.

  ______

  Saying good-bye to Claudine at the airport was one of the hardest things Jacques had ever had to do. Still, he didn’t allow himself the luxury of thinking about his relationship with her (or with Natalie) until he was safely ensconced in the comfort of his seat on the Pan Am Clipper headed back to New York. He leaned over to loosen his shoelaces.

  How is it that a confirmed bachelor, never willing to subject his interests to the whims of one woman, has fallen in love with two entirely different women at the same time? Ordinarily, I would have been content not making a choice. Plus, it’s wartime, and I probably won’t see much of either one. Why not lie back and enjoy it?

  His thoughts were interrupted by the same pretty stewardess he’d met on his trip to London with Mike.

  “Mr. Roth, may I bring you a drink? Boodles gin martini?”

  “Yes,” he said, impressed by her memory.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was sipping his second martini. Is it my imagination, or is this one tasting even better than the first?

  More relaxed, he let his thoughts drift back to his female dilemma. Anyone would be privileged to have the kind of relationship he was enjoying with either Natalie or Claudine.

  As difficult as it will be, I’m the person who will really be cheated if I don’t make a choice. How I wish my life could be more like Mike’s. He wins by loving one woman entirely.

  Lost in thought, he barely noticed when the stewardess began to serve his dinner. Looking up into the eyes of this smiling woman, he asked impulsively, “Do you mind if I ask you a question about my personal life?”

  “I’m flattered, actually. Let me finish serving the rest of the passengers, and you can ask me any question you want.”

  A short time later, she settled down in the empty seat next to him. “Okay, Mr. Roth, tell me what’s troubling you.”

  He briefly described his dilemma to his captive audience.

  “Do you know how unusual your question is?” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “The men I know are so self-centered, they would never consider how much damage they are doing to each of those women. But put yourself in their places. If they are as independent as you say, how difficult do you think it is for them to let themselves be vulnerable to you? If you truly care about them both, you have to let one go.”

  “But how do I decide which one?” he asked.

  “Now, that’s a different question. You will never be confident about your choice until you reach a point of clarity. Though the situation is entirely different, the principles are the same ones you deal with every day in your professional career.”

  “So, the problem is how to achieve a sense of personal clarity without feeling forced to make a decision?” asked Jacques.

  “Now you have it,” she said, standing up. “And just so you know, I think they are both very lucky women. I’m sure I’ll see you on another flight. Let me know how it turns out.”

  Chapter 15

  A TEST OF WILLS

  The rusty steel door squawked on its hinges and Cecelia’s eyes snapped open. She watched the guard carry two fresh buckets into the small, poorly lit room—an empty bucket and one filled with water. He removed the old buckets, then returned with a bowl of soup, two pieces of stale bread, and a three-day-old newspaper.

  With the benefit of some sleep, Cecelia’s mind was beginning to function more logically. She had been held here for about a week. She was convinced that the kidnapping had something to do with her government work. But what do they want? Information, the names of my contacts, money, or perhaps all three? And what can I do to make sure that I don’t compromise the operation… but stay alive?

  Her survival would depend on staying alert and functional. That meant eating, but as hungry as she was, the foul-smelling soup made her recoil. Congealing fat floated on the surface of the soup. There were a few scraps of some unidentifiable meat.

  Focusing on the soup, Cecelia realized that she was faced with the first dilemma to occupy her mind. If I eat the soup, it will probably make me ill, but not eating anything will weaken me. I’ll call that problem number one.

  She looked around for other things to divert her attention. How much water should I apportion each day for both drinking and cleaning? Problem number two.

  She turned her gaze toward the newspaper, her mind reaching for problems to solve. Every time I read the newspaper, I have to be careful not to allow the bad news of the war to depress me. I have to use the news to occupy my mind but not compromise my will. Problem number three.

  Now, I need to concentrate on solving the nightly issue of personal warmth. I could use the newspaper for insulation, but if my captors learn what I am doing, they might stop delivering it to me. Problem number four.

  Personal interaction was her next problem. One morning, as she watched the guard complete the ritual of changing the buckets, she gave him a weak smile and said, “Thank you.” He nodded his head at her in response. It was the first acknowledgment of her humanity that she had gotten.

  How can I expand my conversation with the guard? Problem number five.

  Each day, Cecelia would attempt small talk, usually centered around that day’s weather. It wasn’t long before extra pieces of beef had been added to her soup bowl, a third slice of bread accompanied each meal, and the newspapers were more current.

  By concentrating on her five problems during the day and her most cherished memories by night, Cecelia learned to control the emotional turmoil of her incarceration s
omewhat. Each day blended into the next; days became weeks.

  One night, in the middle of the night, the door to her room clanged open. A man handcuffed and blindfolded her before forcing her into another room and making her sit on a cold metal chair, clad only in her underwear.

  From the sound of breathing, she could tell that other people were there with her. The warmth she was feeling on the front side of her body suggested that she was sitting in front of a very bright light.

  Nothing happened and nobody spoke for at least five minutes. She was becoming aware of her semi-nakedness, the cold of the metal chair, the pain of having to sit in one position for a very long time, and the tightness of her handcuffs.

  Suddenly, the blindfold was jerked from her head. The bright light was excruciating. She had to look down to reduce the pain. Finally, a voice from behind the light said, “Good evening, Miss Chang. As soon as you tell us what we want to know, we can all go home.”

  Cecelia wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Miss Chang, it has come to our attention that you have been very busy helping enemies of Japan transport a lot of money out of China and other Pacific Rim countries. Would you like to tell us about it?”

  They expect me to be disoriented and probably to lie. I must project a calm, controlled demeanor and tell as much truth as I can.

  “As I’m sure you already know, I have been in the employ of the United States government since 1938,” Cecelia said. “My job was to assist people in the path of Japanese imperialistic conquest to transport their wealth to safe harbors.”

  Judging by the long silence that followed, Cecelia guessed that her composure and candor must have put them off balance. Good.

  A different man asked, “Do you mind telling us how you were able to accomplish this feat?”

  “Not at all. Prior to the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong in 1941, we introduced a new financial instrument known as the gold bearer bond to the British- and American-controlled banks in Hong Kong, Sydney, Singapore, and San Francisco. Clients of these banks, fearful of confiscation by the Japanese, would convert their wealth into gold bullion, deposit it into gold money center banks, and convert that wealth into gold bearer bonds, which were smuggled out of the country.”