Fifth Column

by Christopher Remy

  "None so far," the agent replied. "We just got a call that he left his apartment an hour ago. He should be here by now, along with the two agents who were tailing him."

  "Good."

  Wexler turned his back and resumed scanning the thousands upon thousands of faces.

  Johanna could sense the energy of the crowd growing; the cheering, singing and chanting was getting louder as the rally's start time drew closer. She checked her watch – the first speaker was scheduled to go on in five minutes. Looking at the arena floor, she could see that there wasn't a single empty seat.

  "Is Viersing even going to be here?" she shouted into Hagen's ear. "If he wants to frame a Communist for Lindberg's murder, shouldn't he send someone else to do it?"

  Hagen gave her a noncommittal look and leaned in to answer her.

  "I see two possibilities. One, he will attempt to assassinate Lindbergh in public. If that is the case, it can't be Viersing, since he would not be confused with a Communist. It would have to be someone unconnected to Germany. Or, two, it will be done in private. It could still be someone we don't know about, or it could be Viersing if he expects to get away from the scene. All we can do is stick as close to Lindbergh as possible, keep an eye out for Viersing and hope the assassin isn't someone we don't expect."

  "Well, we already know that Viersing has at least one accomplice from that night in Lloyd's Neck."

  Hagen nodded.

  "And there is a third option," Johanna continued. "There could be no assassination attempt tonight at all."

  Hagen grimaced.

  "If that's the case," he replied, "we start all over again. If Viersing is not our man, it's back to the beginning – only it will be more difficult now that they know you're back."

  The crowd roared as the house lights dimmed. A bespectacled woman strode to the podium and waved her hands for quiet.

  "My name is Mrs. Bennet Champ Clark, and I am a member of the executive committee of America First. I now call this meeting to order."

  Again, the crowd roared. Mrs. Clark led them in singing 'America.'

  At the conclusion of the song, the crowd resumed cheering, drowning out Mrs. Clark's words.

  "…patriotic Americans to speak with you tonight. First is our former Ambassador to Belgium, Mr. John Cudahy."

  The crowd roared again and Hagen took Johanna by the elbow, tilting his head toward the door. They weaved through the overflow crowd standing in the aisles and left the arena floor.

  Wexler spotted movement at the edge of the floor. In a sea of faces turned toward the stage, two people were exiting the arena. For a moment, all he could see was the back of a man's head and a woman in a beige kerchief. As the woman turned to move past an older man, he caught a glimpse of her face. It was Johanna Falck.

  "They're leaving the floor," he shouted to two agents standing beside him.

  He turned and pushed one down the aisle, pointing to where Johanna had just been.

  "Go down to the concourse and find them. Remember, wait until you see them make contact with Lindbergh. I want you to witness Lindbergh passing secrets or whatever he is up to. We're not going to let this one get away."

  People were spilling out the doors onto the concourse that ringed the arena. Johanna squeezed past them, feeling like a salmon going upstream. Once they were clear of the crowd, Hagen found a darkened corner near an empty concession stand and led her to it.

  "Now we must find Lindbergh," he said. "He may not have arrived yet, in which case…."

  Johanna spotted an usher in uniform and walked away, leaving Hagen mid-sentence. He started after her.

  Johanna smiled at the elderly man, pulling off her kerchief and shaking her hair loose.

  "Excuse me, sir. I was hoping to get Mr. Lindbergh's autograph. Is he here yet?"

  The usher smiled back at her.

  "Yes, dear. As a matter of fact, he just arrived. Big police escort and everything."

  Johanna considered batting her eyelashes at the man but thought it would be a bit too much.

  "Is there a chance you could sneak us in or just tell me where he is?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't get you in to see him, but if you want to try to catch him on his way in to speak, or on his way back, you're welcome to try."

  "Could you show me where the best place would be to wait for him?"

  "Well, I really shouldn't." He looked genuinely pained.

  Johanna put her hand on the usher's arm.

  "I promise not to tell anyone," she offered.

  He nodded, smiling, and crooked his finger.

  "This way."

  Johanna turned to Hagen with raised eyebrows. He grunted.

  The usher led them around the concourse, looking over his shoulder as they reached the backstage area. He held the black door open and waved them in. Johanna bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

  Wexler had left the arena for his makeshift command center in one of the Garden's offices. Loudspeakers blaring Ambassador Cudahy's speech carried up to the windows of the street-facing room.

  "…as we know it. The only hope for averting war is for President Roosevelt to call immediately for a peace conference. Hitler would not dare refuse an offer of mediation now!"

  Paper and food wrappers littered the desk and chairs. A floor plan of the arena was spread over the detritus and he barked orders to several agents standing around him.

  The two agents he had ordered after Johanna and Hagen burst into the room.

  "Sir, they're gone," one said. "They left the arena, went out onto the concourse, but nobody has spotted them. They never went out into the lobby, and we swept the concourse twice, but saw no sign of them."

  Wexler threw his empty paper coffee cup at the man.

  "Goddamn it! We cannot miss this! You two go and stake out Lindbergh. Stay inconspicuous, do you understand? We must not tip our hand."

  The first agent wiped droplets of coffee from his jacket sleeve.

  "We should have had some of our men pose as NYPD," he said. "They're all over Lindbergh."

  "Yes, well there wasn't time for that," Wexler replied. "Now, go!"

  The backstage area was cavernous and dark, with only a few pools of light from scattered bare light bulbs. Wooden crates were stacked here and there. The crowd noise and the amplified voice of the speaker boomed from the other side of black floor-to-ceiling curtains that made the stage backdrop.

  "…he is only a passing phase. Even if Hitler refused to make peace now, his General Staff would overrule him. We could have peace before the year is out!"

  Sound and lighting people dressed in black rushed about, none noticing Hagen and Johanna.

  "Where's the best spot for us to position ourselves?" Johanna asked.

  Hagen thought for a moment.

  "The first speaker came out from stage left," he said. "Let's wait there."

  They walked along the edge of the backdrop, careful to stay in the shadows. They found a dark spot near stage left and waited.

  No sooner had they found their hiding place than Johanna spotted a man walking with quick steps, looking over his shoulder.

  It was Viersing.

  He, too, found a spot in the shadows. Johanna looked over to Hagen. In dim light she could see that he had spotted Viersing also. He glanced over to Johanna and nodded. All that was left to do was wait.

  Two police officers stopped Mearah and Alexander under the Garden marquee, asking to see their tickets. Mearah flashed a fake NYPD detective's badge to the men and they continued following Friedrich Falck inside.

  Alexander shouted over the crowd noise. Every applause line emanating from the loudspeakers was met with raucous approval.

  "This is a fool's errand. We'll never keep on that German bastard in this crowd. He could have met her already, passed her a note, given her a signal, anything."

  Mearah flashed a sarcastic, toothy smile.

  "Ours is not to reason why, old chum."

  He turned back to the crowd. Where Friedric
h had been a moment ago, there was but the formless crowd. Mearah looked left and right with a sinking feeling. He gave Alexander an inquisitive look but got only a roll of the eyes in return. Mearah took off his hat and slapped it on his thigh with a loud curse.

  They had lost him.

  Standing pressed against the cinderblock wall, Johanna's back and legs began to feel cramped. Viersing was invisible in the dark, but he had made neither sound nor movement since he came backstage.

  Johanna found herself hoping that Hagen was an expert shot. Even with the scattered pools of light, it was dark back here and Viersing was liable to move quickly once Lindbergh came into sight. If Viersing even was the assassin. She tried to banish doubt from her mind. If Viersing wasn't the one, it was a waste of effort trying to figure out who it might be. They had to be in the right place – they were where Lindbergh was and Viersing was not hiding backstage with innocent motives.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Johanna saw a wedge of light spread on the far wall. The door they had come in was open and two men in suits walked in.

  They came into the backstage area and began to walk around like they were inspecting the area. Johanna felt a surge of adrenaline as they came closer to her and Hagen in their dark niche.

  She could hear them talking, yelling to each other over the noise. Unable to make out what they were saying, she strained to hear. The amplified voice of Ambassador Cudahy and the frenzied crowd drowned out the two men as they walked past. She breathed in silent relief as they seemed not to notice her and Hagen. Her breath caught in her throat when she caught a snippet of their conversation.

  "…Wexler can come back here himself. We should camp out by Lindbergh's dressing room or wherever he is."

  Wexler…? They're FBI!

  Had they been followed? The two agents had been discussing Lindbergh, but she hadn't heard them mention her. Were they here for Lindbergh or for her?

  The two agents walked away from Johanna and Hagen's hiding spot over to where Viersing had been.

  Johanna nudged Hagen, who was watching the two men intently.

  "They're FBI," she said as loudly as she dared.

  Hagen nodded. He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Johanna saw the look of alarm on his face and turned to see what he was looking at.

  She turned in time to see the flash of light on metal. Was that a knife?

  Viersing had slit the throat of one of the FBI agents. The man slumped to the floor, blood spilling through his fingers as he clutched at the wound. It was like watching a silent movie. Johanna could see the man try to scream, but the noise of the rally drowned it out.

  "And now, Senator D. Worth Clark of Idaho!"

  Before the other agent could react, Viersing reached from behind and clamped his hand over the man's mouth. With his other hand, he stabbed the agent in the front of the throat. Even in the dim light, Johanna could see the knife buried to the hilt in the man's windpipe.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you that American and British staff officers have secretly set the date for American entry into the European war!"

  Johanna gasped in horror. Hagen's hand shot up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.

  "I demand, right now, upon this stage, that President Roosevelt tell the American people whether the repeal of the Neutrality Act and the arming of American merchant ships are necessary to follow through on his secret promises made to the British!"

  Viersing was lowering the second agent onto the corpse of the first when his head snapped up, looking right at Johanna. She knew he couldn't see her in the darkness, but her skin crawled nonetheless.

  With Hagen's hand still held over her mouth, Johanna stiffened as Viersing began to walk across the floor, heading right for them. He held a knife out in front of him, blood staining it dark in the scant light.

  A new voice boomed from the PA system—

  "…my distinct honor to introduce to you, a true American hero, Mr. Charles Lindbergh!"

  The floor shook with the noise from the crowd.

  At Lindbergh's introduction, Viersing spun around and headed back to where the two FBI agents lay. He scrambled to drag the bodies behind a stack of wooden crates just as a group of men entered the backstage area and strode toward stage left.

  Two uniformed NYPD officers led the group, with several men in suits following. From the middle of the group, Johanna could see curly blond hair.

  It was Lindbergh.

  He towered above the men of his protective detail and walked with an easy grace that gave him the air of an important man. For a moment, Johanna forgot about his connections to Nazi Germany and the isolationists and felt star-struck. Whatever his current station in life, he was still the bold adventurer who had crossed the Atlantic in the Spirit of St. Louis.

  As she was banishing this thought from her mind, she saw Lindbergh slip a little. His left foot had slid in the pool of blood from the FBI agents. Johanna could see him frown a bit and look down, but he kept walking. In the darkness it was doubtful he could see the blood.

  Lindbergh and his entourage walked onto the stage. The crowd achieved new heights of frenzy. Johanna could make out women's shrieks and hoarse shouts from men as Lindbergh took the stage. The roar rocked the arena and seemed to go on forever.

  As soon as Lindbergh was on stage, Viersing again walked over to where Johanna and Hagen were hiding, his knife held out in front of him.

  "Fritz, is that you?" he asked.

  Johanna and Hagen remained still. The crowd finally died down and Lindbergh began his speech.

  "Fritz?"

  He came closer and closer until it was clear he would discover them.

  "…without declaring war. If Germany had been permitted to throw her armies eastward against Russia in 1939 instead of 1941, the picture of Europe would be far different today. Whether Germany would have turned west after conquering Russia is debatable. But even if she had done so, a weaker Germany would have faced a stronger England and France."

  Hagen walked out of their dark corner and adopted his stern Nazi officer act.

  "Guten Abend, Hauptsturmführer," he said, giving Viersing an imperious look.

  "President Roosevelt and his Administration have never taken the American people into their confidence. They preach about democracy and freedom abroad, while they practice dictatorship and subterfuge at home."

  Viersing looked confused and lowered his knife.

  "You. What the hell are you doing here?"

  Hagen took a few sideways steps, leading Viersing away from where Johanna was standing.

  "I might ask that of you," he replied.

  Viersing waved his knife in dismissal.

  "Drop the act, I know all about you. I checked with Berlin, you're not here on any mission for the Führer and you're not here to help me."

  Hagen said nothing. Johanna felt her heart beating harder in her chest.

  "In fact," Viersing continued. "They suggested that you might be the same Erich Hagen that is part of Oster's circle. In which case, I might just get the Knight's Cross for slitting your fucking throat." He held the knife out and waved it in a slashing motion to emphasize his point.

  Viersing and Hagen began to circle one another.

  "That's about what I'd expect from someone like you," Hagen sneered. Johanna was surprised to see the sudden anger and contempt on his face. "Just another idiot thug of Heydrich's."

  "…opponents of non-interventionism have resorted to smears and personal attacks. Their promises have not been worth anything from one side of an election to the other."

  Viersing said something about Hagen being a race traitor, "you and that bitch you're traveling with."

  With that he lunged at Hagen with his knife.

  Hagen reached into his coat pocket and produced his pistol, raising it to point it at Viersing.

  Over the amplified sound of Lindbergh's voice, Johanna heard a sound like a cough. For a moment, she didn't realize what the sound was. Hagen's gun was s
till lowered and Viersing didn't look shot, so it couldn't have been gunfire.

  Then she saw the gun in Viersing's other hand. It had a long cylinder attached to the end of the barrel.

  A silencer, Johanna realized.

  As the thought occurred to her, Hagen grabbed his right arm and dropped his gun.