by Tom Gabbay
“I noticed that on some nights Kleinmann would leave his office with a locked black case under his arm. If he carried the bag home at night, he would be driven to the airport early the following morning, where he would deliver the bag into the hands of a courier, who would fly it directly to Berlin. There, a motorcycle from the Foreign Office would carry the consignment directly to von Ribbentrop, who had the only other key. If information was being passed to Berlin through Kleinmann, this was how it would travel. I had to look inside that case.
“An opportunity presented itself one night when Kleinmann decided to take me to a performance of Don Giovanni at the Teatro Nacional. He’d learned from my file that Mozart was my favorite composer and wanted to surprise me. When he collected me, I noticed that the bag was on the front seat of the car, beside the driver, and I knew that this would be the night. During the performance, I did everything I could to arouse him, which wasn’t difficult. I was shameful, really. By the time Don Giovanni was dragged off to hell, Dr. Kleinmann was putty in my hands—so to speak. I suggested that rather than join his friends from the embassy, we have a nightcap at his residence. He was beside himself, believing that all his romancing was about to come to a dazzling climax. Once we arrived at the house, it was just a matter of holding out for as long as I could—I managed to get the better part of a bottle of cognac inside him before I finally had to give in…”
The thought of Eva being manhandled by the likes of Kleinmann gave me a shot of angry adrenaline, but I was careful not to show it. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that she’d slept with him in the line of duty.
“He didn’t last long,” Eva continued. “After such a buildup, I suppose he just couldn’t hold out. Before I knew it, it was over, he’d rolled onto his back and was snoring like a pig, with his trousers in a twist around his knees. I finished undressing him, then waited—it must have been a full hour—before getting up. There was no light in the bedroom, so I went slowly, one foot in front of the other, hoping that I remembered correctly where the door was located. I walked into a table and something—maybe a picture frame—crashed to the floor. He stirred, but after a moment, his heavy breathing began again.
“I found my way out of the bedroom and into the study, where I’d seen him leave the bag. I turned a lamp on and found it on the desk—locked. I’d been stupid. His keys were in the trousers that I’d left hanging on the bedpost. I had to go back.
“This time I woke him. He sputtered and snorted and grumbled that I should get back into bed. I slipped under the sheet, and after he’d fumbled around for a few moments, he dozed off again. I was pinned under his arm, but managed to slide out from under him, retrieve the keys, and get back to the study without making any noise. By this time, there were signs of morning and I was getting anxious. I knew that his driver would soon be knocking on the door.
“Most of the papers were diplomatic exchanges. Standard bureaucratic chatter. But then, in the midst of all the typewritten memos, I found a large manila envelope addressed to the foreign minister. It wasn’t sealed, so I reached inside and took out a single, plain white envelope. There was nothing written on it, but I could see that there was a handwritten letter inside. Easy enough to steam open—if I had time.
“I carried the envelope to the kitchen and put some water on to boil. It seemed to take forever. What is the expression? ‘A pot—’?”
“A watched pot never boils,” I said.
“Yes, that’s it.” Eva smiled a thank-you. “But it finally did boil, and I was able to unseal the envelope and remove the letter. It was written on fine linen paper in a very tight, very precise script. As I read it, and realized what it was, my heart started to beat. I understood now what Roman had meant about it changing the dynamics of the war. When I’d finished, I read it again, to be sure I’d understood correctly. I started to memorize it, but I was too nervous and I had to have the words precisely right. I found a pen back in the study, slipped out of my panties, and copied the letter, word for word, into the inside.”
Eva closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said, “It read like this:”
26 June 1940
Dearest Friend,
I write to you from the most recent of the seemingly endless parade of temporary abodes we’ve suffered since leaving Antibes, this one situated on the fringes of an undistinguished village at the border between Spain and Portugal. It is our intention to cross over in the next few days, in the guise of visiting a nearby friend, then to make our way to Lisbon, where we will await further developments. I intend to send this letter ahead so as to give you an opportunity to make arrangements for our stay.
I will not bother you with all the details of our recent tribulations, but suffice it to say that our lives have not been made any easier by the powers that be. (I’m certain that you will know to whom I refer.) What upsets and, I must say, angers him more than anything is that not only have they not bothered to offer assistance, but they seem to be going out of their way to make our situation even more difficult than it already is. The reason, of course, is clear. They know the sway he holds over his people and, for this reason, they feel they must, at all costs, keep him quiet. This strategy will not succeed.
As you well know, my husband is a man of action. He could not—and will not—stand idly by to watch these absurd declarations of defiance be carried out to their illogical conclusion. He has taken the suggestions you made in your last communication to heart and is currently formulating a plan that might achieve our mutual goal of peace. He understands the unique responsibility that history has presented to him and, with your support, he will not fail in it.
It is critical that we make our move at the right moment. He feels, I think astutely, that the people must first taste some of the “blood, toil, sweat and tears” that they have been so cavalierly promised with such quixotic bravado. When the time is right, there are others in positions of influence who can be called upon, and he has even talked about bringing to bear the influence of my former country in his plan. This, I believe, is something that he is in a unique position to achieve.
Above all, it is his desire to minimize the destruction that must occur (and which we can justly lay at the door of the present occupant of Number 10). To that end, he would like AH to know that there are sensitive documents that would help shorten the time and extent of the destruction. These papers can be made available once we are in a more settled position.
Finally, if I may speak openly (as I know I can), we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The powers that be are using the purse strings, as they are prone to do, hoping that this will compel him to toe the line. Anything you can do to relieve that pressure would be most appreciated and will, of course, be a debt that will be fully repaid when we are again in charge of our own destiny. I feel foolish making this request, but I’m afraid that we have been put in that position.
My greatest wish is that I could see you again. It has been far too long and so much has happened. But I feel we will be reunited soon. Until that time, I remain, as always,
Yours,
Wallis
CHAPTER 16
Wallis Simpson’s letter fit right in with what I knew about the Duke of Windsor’s so-called peace plan, though it certainly cast it in a new light. Not only was the former king plotting against his brother’s government, he seemed to be doing it at the suggestion of Hitler himself! And his assertion that England might have to suffer a few Luftwaffe bombs before seeing the wisdom of surrender wasn’t just table talk—he was actively encouraging the Germans to give his countrymen a taste of the Blitzkreig. And, most amazing of all, he was offering to provide documents that would make the job easier!
For a price, of course. There’s always a price.
I don’t know if the duke was a true believer in National Socialism or not. Perhaps he saw himself as a natural candidate for membership in the brotherhood of “strong leaders,” joining Hitler, Mussolini, and Franco in the elite pantheon of Europe�
��s most recent despots. But—as with most people willing to betray their country—his motive wouldn’t have been ideological. His Royal Highness could talk about the perils of communism until his face was as blue as his blood, but the bottom line was that he wanted another shot at the title, and the Führer was just the guy to give it to him. No, the duke and his lovely wife weren’t ideologues. They simply saw the war as a wonderful opportunity to get back on top.
“There were rumors that von Ribbentrop and Mrs. Simpson were lovers,” Eva explained. “While he was ambassador to the Court of St. James.”
It didn’t shock me, but the rest of the world might’ve been a bit taken aback. To them, Edward and Wallis were the twentieth-century version of Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers whose undying passion could not be denied; the noble king who relinquished his realm in order that he might wed his true love, a commoner. If their adoring public knew that Mrs. Simpson had been fooling around with a Nazi on the side, it might’ve taken some of the shine off the fairy tale.
I didn’t see any reason to let Eva in on what I knew about the duke’s plans, so I asked her what happened after she’d copied the letter.
“I put the key back in Kleinmann’s trousers and slipped into the bed,” she said. “I pretended to be asleep, which wasn’t easy with my heart pounding like a hammer, as it was. I lay there, going over each word of the letter, committing it to memory. When the driver rang the bell, about twenty minutes later, I got up and dressed as quickly as I could. I was nervous, and made all the more so by the way Kleinmann watched me, never taking his eye off me as I pulled my clothes on. I thought he knew, and was playing with me.
“My heart stopped when he walked over and slipped his hand inside my panties. I closed my eyes and held my breath, believing I was as good as dead.” Eva smiled bitterly. “But he interpreted my reaction as the inevitable result of his magic touch. He smiled like a conqueror, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered that he had a dinner appointment that evening, but if I came to the apartment at ten o’clock, I would find him there. He thought I would be grateful. I played along, of course, acting delighted that I would have another opportunity to experience his manhood, whereas all I really wanted was to wash him off me. I couldn’t even breathe properly until he stepped into his car and drove away, on his way to the airport, the black case with the letter inside sitting safely on his lap.
“I thought about going directly to Rua das Taipas, but Roman had been adamant that I was to wait for him in my room, so I made my way back there. But as I approached the building, a strange feeling came over me—a sense that I was being watched. I couldn’t say why, but it was palpable and I became quite anxious. What if Kleinmann had been aware of what I’d been doing after all? He wouldn’t have confronted me then and there. He would have had me followed, hoping to discover who I was working for. I was afraid that I would put Roman and his entire operation in jeopardy.
“I wasn’t sure what to do. Perhaps it was just my nerves and I was imagining it. But, if it was real—if someone was watching me—it could only be one of Kleinmann’s agents. Aside from Roman, no one else knew where to find me. I ducked into the local bar, where I could gather my thoughts. It was dark and cool inside, and empty, except for an old man seated by the door. I’d seen him there before, leaning against his cane, observing the world through a pair of rose-tinted glasses.
“‘Does he find you?’ he said to me as I entered.
“‘Does who find me?’
“‘The man who looks for you.’
“‘What man?’ I asked him.
“The old man signaled for me to come closer. ‘He comes here last night and shows a photograph of you to all the people. It is an old picture, but I can see it is you. He offers big money, this man, but I don’t like his face, so I say no, I don’t know you.’ The old man frowned. ‘But Ricardo, the bastard, I see he takes the money and then this man, he goes to his car and he waits. He waits still.’ The old man lifted his cane and pointed across the street. ‘There he is. He still sits in his big red automobile.’”
“Eddie Grimes,” I said, recalling the red coupe that had been extracted from the jaws of hell.
“Yes,” Eva nodded. “Though I didn’t know it at the time. I couldn’t imagine who it would be. Surely an operative for Abwehr wouldn’t be using a car like that. I went to my room, making sure that my stalker could see me. Then I waited, watching from my window. After a few minutes, he got out of the car and started walking toward the building. I ran downstairs, to the basement, where I knew there was a back exit. When I heard the front door open and footsteps on the stairway, I slipped out the door and circled around to his car as quickly as I could. The door wasn’t locked, so I slid into the driver’s seat, keeping my head down so he wouldn’t see me if he looked back. I didn’t know what I was looking for—anything that might give me a clue as to who he was. A hotel receipt in the glove compartment had his name on it, but it meant nothing to me.
“I decided that I’d better find Roman before he walked straight into my mysterious pursuer. I hurried to Rua das Taipas and found him asleep. At first he was surprised to see me, then he became angry that I’d ignored his instructions. I didn’t tell him about the man in the red car, but when I showed him the letter, he calmed down and became very quiet. It was a rather disappointing reaction, to be honest. I wanted him to tell me how well I’d done and how important my discovery would be, but he didn’t say anything at all. He just took a piece of thin blue paper and, using a code that I didn’t know, slowly copied the letter onto it. Then, without a word, he struck a match and set fire to my panties.
“When the fire had burned out, he asked me if Kleinmann had arranged to see me again. I told him about my instructions for that night, and he said that I would have to go. I detested the idea, but I knew he was right. If I didn’t appear, Kleinmann would become suspicious, and Roman needed time to transmit the letter to London and await instructions. As I left the warehouse, Roman slipped a small pistol into my handbag.
“‘You never know,’ he said, and I didn’t argue.
“I couldn’t go back to my room, so I spent the day wandering the streets. The anticipation of seeing Kleinmann again made me feel physically ill—empty and cold—so I concentrated on the man in the red car. Who was he and what did he want from me? I was certain that he had nothing to do with Abwehr. I’d seen from the hotel receipt that he had an American address—San Francisco—but that didn’t help. By the time darkness came, I was possessed with curiosity and decided that I would have to find out.
“The proprietor at the Imperial Hotel wasn’t at all forthcoming, but he didn’t mind letting me go up to the room. In fact, he seemed to quite relish the idea, though I didn’t understand why until I got up there. The room was on the second floor, with a cheap lock that was easily opened. After removing the pistol from my bag, I threw open the door. I won’t describe the scene that I encountered—suffice it to say that Mr. Grimes was not, in any sense of the word, a gentleman. It took a great deal of restraint not to shoot him then and there…”
I recalled the look of resignation I’d seen on Fabiana’s young face and felt a surge of disgust. I guess as much as anyone, Eddie Grimes deserved to end up in the jaws of hell.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Eva continued. “So I just stood there, frozen, my pistol pointed at the bastard’s head. If he was afraid or embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He casually disengaged from the girl, untied her, and told her to ‘get lost,’ which she did with considerable haste. I asked him who he was and what he wanted with me.
“‘Eddie Grimes is the name,’ he said, displaying a repugnant smile. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
“I told him that I already knew his name, but he just kept smiling. He seemed to be laughing at me, in spite of the fact that he was naked with a loaded gun pointing at him.”
“‘You asked me who I am,’ he said. ‘That’s the answer.’ He stood up. ‘If you wanna know why I’m here, how about I
get dressed and we discuss it over a drink?’
“I told him that I didn’t want a drink and that he could explain his business just as well without getting dressed. Aside from not wanting to stay any longer than I had to, I thought he might have a weapon hidden away in one of his pockets. When I asked him again why he was looking for me, he pointed to his jacket and said that he was just delivering something.”
“Lili’s letter…” I said.
“I was dumbfounded. After all those years. Lili…” Eva shook her head in disbelief. “I read the note quickly, and told him to relay my thanks to Lili, but I wasn’t interested in accompanying him to New York, or anywhere else. Then I told him to stop following me. He just stood there, leering at me, but I didn’t care. I had what I’d come for, so I left.
“I was late, so I found a taxi and gave the driver Kleinmann’s address. The building was dark and I hoped that he might not have returned from his dinner engagement, in which case I could leave a note saying how devastated I was, and disappear. I was about to turn around when his maid came to the door. She led me to the sitting room, leaving me in the dark without a word. I thought it odd that she didn’t turn on a light. Even the drapes were drawn. I tried the lamps, but all the bulbs had been taken out…
“Does the darkness frighten you?” His voice came from somewhere across the room, but I couldn’t see him.
“‘Darling?’ I cried out in a poor attempt to sound lighthearted. ‘That’s very naughty of you…’ I could only hope that he was playing some sort of game, but of course I knew better.