Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  From where Julian stood, which happened to be leaning over the desk with a clear view of the top of Victoria's breasts extending well above her bra, certainly a size too small, he wasn't sure just how proper she really was, notwithstanding her disdain for any sobriquet. She came from Swindon, an old railroad town two hours west of London and a bit east of Bristol. Julian had stayed there for about eight weeks in 1940, as an informal and discrete liaison between the U.S. State Department and intelligence units within the British government. His posting was discrete, not secret, so he saw nothing wrong with checking out the nightlife, of which there was not much except the local pubs and workingmen's clubs. Feeling at home in all strata of society, Julian became friendly not only with his English counterparts, but also with the various clerks and typists that seem to make governments everywhere function, and it was this latter group that showed him all the places that official government representatives would not be expected to frequent. A quick learner, he came to know the town quite well in a matter of weeks, and despite Victoria's outward propriety, he bet that she hailed from between the bridges, where the workers lived, and that she was no stranger to the local pub. On loan from William Stephenson of British Intelligence, the man known by some as Intrepid, she was sent to help out Allen Dulles when he set up shop in Bern and was having a tough time finding experienced people; sort of lend lease in reverse; England's gift to the United States.

  Shortly after he was recruited for the OSS by William "Wild Bill" Donovan, Dulles leased space on the thirty sixth floor of the International Building at Rockefeller Center, so he could pursue his new job away from prying eyes in the law offices of Sullivan and Cromwell whose well appointed suites had been his bastion up until then. It was not a coincidence that his new digs were next door to offices occupied by Stephenson, who was also Donovan's mentor in the business of spying. That was back in 1942 and Victoria had been a fixture at 23 Herrengasse ever since he settled in there, most of the staff assuming that she was really sent to keep an eye on Dulles. Stephenson considered "Wild Bill", the first head of the OSS, to be his protégé and did whatever he could to make sure the United States succeeded with its fledgling spy shop, including acting as an employment agency. After all, the well being, even survival, of England was intimately tied to the United States. Of course, there was another camp at the Bern headquarters that thought Victoria was kept on because of her beauty and presumed extra curricular activities, although the identity of the supposed lucky recipient of her favors seemed to change from month to month. Julian believed the former but also thought that with the right maneuvers someone might succeed in bringing out the wilder side of this railroad town's daughter. There must be purpose, he thought, in the blouse opened one more button than was prudent or the sweaters that always seemed just a smidge too tight. He continued the small talk, seemingly spontaneous, but like most of what he did, well thought out, purposeful and part of a larger plan.

  Kent emerged from the small cloakroom, which also doubled as the mailroom for personal letters and non-intelligence communication, two letters in his right hand and a coat over his arm. He held a gray hat in the other hand and, stopping in front of the desk, he placed it on his head with what he considered to be the proper angle, stylish but not too rakish for a government employee. Transferring the letters from one hand to the other, he pulled his coat on, surreptitiously surveying the view enjoyed by Julian.

  "Where are you heading?"

  "Back to the apartment to start thinking about this op," Kent said while fine-tuning the angle of his hat. "You and I have to put our heads together."

  "I'll walk with you. Let's cut through the park; looks like a nice day."

  * *

  They exited #23 by the front entrance and turned left, heading toward the Botanical Gardens, walking in silence, not only because of the clandestine nature of their work, but because they were each momentarily lost in thought, Kent worried about laying out the details of an almost impossible mission, and Julian concerned about a plan of his own. After strolling alongside the Aare River for fifteen minutes, they crossed at the Lorraine Bridge, reaching the gardens moments later, and entered through an ornate iron gate spanning fifty feet, interrupted by an open doorway of more human proportions, the whole extending upward for almost thirty feet. "Look at that, will you," said Julian, pointing at the expanse of metal work. "You don't see this kind of workmanship much these days." From close up, the metal rods that composed the gate seemed to run in every direction, a haphazard array, some round, some flattened, others twisted and still others having the cross section of a perfect square. Looks, however, were deceiving, and like the order induced by nature, some effort in observation was required to discern a pattern. In this case, one had only to step back twenty paces to appreciate the symmetry in design and how one part flowed into another. The changing shapes of the rods, rather than separating and defining individual sections, imparted a movement to the whole structure that effortlessly guided the eyes on a prescribed course. Graceful curves of metal enclosed intricately wrought animals and designs, here the ursine symbol of Bern flanking the massive lock and gate handles, over the opening a motif of alpine scenes and scattered throughout assorted seemingly abstract designs.

  Julian, having backed up, stood hands akimbo, smiling at Kent and then swept his left arm across the expanse of the gate, looking for all the world like a master of ceremonies begging applause from a reluctant audience. Let's hear it folks for the wonderful Stromboli sisters and their dancing elephants. When Kent stood poised at the entranceway, unmoving, he motioned him to step back and appreciate the view. Reluctantly, Mallory walked back to Julian and turned to face the object of his partner's fascination. "Look at that," said Julian again. "What do you think?"

  "It's beautiful."

  "No, tell me what you see."

  "Julian, I'm just not in the mood for an Art and Architecture lecture right now. Let's get going." He started to move off towards the entrance in the gate.

  Julian's right arm shot out and grabbed his coat sleeve, the jovial ringmaster gone from his face and ice in his voice as he whispered, "When I have something to say, you listen. Hear me, junior partner?" Before Kent could react, the smile returned to Julian's face and to his voice. "This is important. Consider it espionage 101," the latter barely audible. "When you look at this gate, what you see depends on where you see it from. Remember that. Also, that there are many points of view and you may not even know all of them, and the one that you don't think of may be the very one from which your enemy sees the situation." Here, he pointed to the figure next to the huge lock. "See that rung running out from the bear at forty five degrees? It starts with rounded edges to more easily blend in with the workmanship of the bear, and where it ends, way up in that corner, it's also round. But look at the intervening portion. First square, then twisted, then square again before returning to round. The origin can tell you a lot about the finish, but in between, that's often a mystery. Now look at the other side of the gate, to the left of the doorway. See the rod that begins at that figure about five feet above the bear. It runs straight up to merge with that figure near the top. Notice the pattern. Round where it leaves the whatever the hell that animal's supposed to be, then square, twisted, square and finally round again where it blends into the eagle. There's an ordered sequence here. People tend to follow patterns, and patterns, even complicated ones, can be figured out. This is a distance from the arrangement we just looked at on the other side, but the sequence is similar. From one we can infer information about the other. This rung here could be in plain sight in Switzerland and the other could be largely hidden, say, in Nazi Germany, but, if the same hand is involved in both, one can tell us about the other. You just need to know where to look."

  "How do you go about looking for relations like that?"

  "That, my friend, is where I come in."

  Julian walked thru the doorway of the gate and turned right, choosing a path that led thru an area thick with
bushes, assorted flowers and scattered trees. Kent hurried to catch up, his perception of him suddenly different, and his thoughts still churning as he matched his own pace with Julian's.

  "So, what are things like on the home front, Kent? How's the little woman holding up, what with her man overseas?"

  The question seemed like such a non sequitur that Mallory didn't answer at first, not sure if this was also some kind of training exercise.

  Julian used the pause to interject, "Are they that bad? What's going on?"

  "Helen is having a bad time of it and I suppose it's mostly my fault." Before he knew it, Kent was telling him things he had intended to keep to himself, things that one could tell an old high school buddy, a close friend or perhaps a stranger met on a train, someone you didn't know and who, you expected, would pass briefly into and out of your life, never to be seen again.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't imagine it would be due to something you did, not a guy like you. You know, I've always thought a lot of you. Sure, you're a bit inexperienced in this field, but shit, most of the people in it are; and I think you'll be a quick learner. That's why I asked Dulles to partner you with me." Julian smiled, then nodded his head as a look of mild disbelief crossed Kent's face. "Yep, I asked the old man for you; and don't look so surprised, you underestimate yourself. So, how's Helen having a bad time?"

  "Oh, it's money. It always seems to come down to that. Her parents live in Virginia, that's where she grew up. In a style that I can't afford to give her; not on a government employee's salary."

  Once started, the words kept coming and it felt good to finally have someone to talk to, having been away from home and the States for almost eight months now. However, as he spoke, a part of his brain was whispering to him. He made me talk. I wasn't going to tell him. As a matter of fact, I don't think this was even on my mind. How did he manipulate me? Jeez, Julian's good.

  "Yeah, it's a bitch. It seems that just a bit more in the way of cash would solve a lot of problems for a lot of people."

  "Well, if I don't have the cash to give her the life she wants, then it looks like ten acres in Virginia, even if it's with her parents, trumps the run down apartment we have in D.C. She just can't envision the life and work that I see for myself. Helen wants to shop at the best stores, buy the nicest jewelry, belong to a country club and, of course, should we have kids, they would have to attend the best schools. When we met and she heard that I worked for State, visions of diplomatic parties and the Washington social circle danced in her head along with pictures of all the wealthy ambassadors she had heard of. I suppose I didn't do anything to discourage that, certainly not at first; she was really a looker and I figured I needed all the help I could get. Later on, when we were engaged and I tried to tell her that it might take many years to work myself up through the State Department, she was just too enamored with this fantasy she had in her mind to hear what I was saying. Her reply was always, 'It won't take them long to realize how good you are and to move you to a position of importance.' Hell, one afternoon when we were downtown doing some shopping she wondered what kind of dress would be appropriate for when she met the president. Do you believe that? She actually believed she'd be at some dinner party with the president.

  "But you know what the really crazy thing is, the 'this takes the cake' final boffo finish. I love her and can't get her out of my mind in spite of the fact that being with her is going to take more money than I'll probably ever earn with the State Department. I really like working for State and I'm crazy about Helen. How's that for stupidity?"

  "Don't be too hard on yourself. Besides, I may have a solution for you." They had been walking all during Kent's confession and now found themselves alone in a secluded part of the park. "Let's sit a minute," he said, pointing to a bench just ahead. When they had eased themselves onto the metal slats of the bench, both finding it much more comfortable a seat than either had expected, Julian casually looked around to make sure no one was within earshot before turning to Mallory and speaking. He was careful to talk naturally, although not loud, avoiding any of the facial expressions that one uses when whispering or speaking conspiratorially. "How'd you like to stay on as a State Department employee and earn enough money to give Helen and yourself the life style she wants?"

  "Who do I have to kill? Or are you going to convince Roosevelt to appoint me ambassador to England? I didn't know you were on such good terms with him." It was difficult for Kent to keep the disbelief and sarcasm out of his voice.

  "Didn't I tell you about those Thursday night poker games with the president?" When this failed to elicit any response, Julian saw that Kent was in no mood for levity, so, while mentally jotting down a modification to his character analysis of him, he switched back to the serious. "No, you don't have to kill anyone and I've never even met Mr. Roosevelt. But I do know someone who can get to that plutonium and is willing to give it to us to get him out of Germany and into South America. What do you think about that?"

  "I'm not sure what to think? Are you asking me to become a German agent? I hate those mother fuckers!" A subtle movement of Julian's hand alerted Kent to the increasing volume of his voice and he notched it down before continuing, "And I certainly won't betray our country."

  "Whoa! Hold on there. No one's asking you to do either, certainly not me. Whatever else you may think of me I don't believe you could ever accuse me of being a Nazi lover, or even a sympathizer."

  "No, I ..." Templeton held up a hand to silence Kent's protestation, and continued.

  "Let me finish before you say anything else. Our government has seen fit to pay off some Nazi general to get this plutonium out of Germany so none of the remaining 'Hitlerites' could make a bomb. Their idea, not mine. I want to do the same thing, only I have a different general in mind, one who's not against making a little money in the deal and who's willing to share the wealth with us. Same end, different means."

  Kent continued looking at Julian, waiting for him to continue, but he had too much experience to part with more information than was necessary. If Kent agreed, he would go into a little more detail, but only as needed. If he refused, no one had been compromised, no options eliminated. The only person at risk was himself if Mallory decided to mention it to Dulles, and if that seemed likely, Julian had a contingency plan for that. He was confident now in his ability to read Kent and if necessary would see to it that he never got to Dulles. He had made many contacts in his line of work, most of them unknown to others in the OSS. That was the way it was meant to be; the fewer people who knew the sources and contacts that agents and handlers used, the safer it was for everyone. Among the many people that he knew, people of various nationalities and political leanings, were more than a few who were not strangers to arranging "accidents" or outright assassinations. And Julian had always been willing to do favors for his contacts, only occasionally taking money, but always letting them know it was a debt, one that might someday be called. After a pause that was becoming uncomfortable for Kent, Julian said, "What do you think; are you interested?"

  "Well, this is certainly something I wasn't expecting. I, ... yes, I'm interested, but exactly ... " He was interrupted by Templeton.

  "Good. I think you're making the right decision, for you and for Helen." He started to get up, as if the matter was at an end, a deal struck and handshakes all around.

  "Wait. I need to know more. Where does the money come in and just how much are we talking about?"

  Julian stood and arched his back, as if he had been sitting too long, and used the stretching as an excuse to once more check the vicinity for any onlookers. About seventy-five meters behind them on the path, a woman sat on a bench, an infant in hand and a stroller in front of her. He had noticed her when she sat down, several minutes ago, had heard the baby making soft crying sounds and as she had picked up the baby to quiet it, that part of his mind that was always on sentry duty had removed her from the potential threat list. Nonetheless, he glanced her way again to make sure h
is initial assessment was still correct, and reassured that she was just what she seemed to be, he sat down again and turned once more to the man who he hoped to lure into the Great Game as his personal pawn. "There should be a few hundred thousand in it for each of us from the sale of the plutonium." He paused briefly to access Kent's reaction, noticed the slight flare of his nostrils, the inhalation that was just a little deeper than the one before and the fleeting dilation of his pupils; all of these reassuring him that the amount of the pay off was enough to hook his prey.

  Julian was hoping not to have to tell him any more, at least not now. Later, when he had taken the first step from which there was no turning back, when he was committed to the point that any revelation of his activities would end his career, if not get him thrown in jail, not to mention losing the woman for whom he had done it all, then that would be the time when the operational details of the plan could be revealed. Templeton, however, was neither a fool nor an optimist, and he didn't really expect Kent to be satisfied with the sparse information he had received so far. He was hooked, the money had done that, but to reel him in would require that his conscience be assuaged; he had to know that what he was doing would not hurt the United States nor cost the lives of Americans.

  "Who's going to buy the plutonium? If it's going to end up in the hands of some other Axis country or diehard Nazi sympathizers, then I don't want to have anything to do with it. Shit, they could make a bomb just to get back at us for kicking Hitler's ass. And who's going to arrange the sale?" The last question, for Julian, was the only one of importance, and he was glad that Kent had asked it because it confirmed that, whatever other qualities he might lack, he was sufficiently astute to realize that the plutonium was the trump card and whoever controlled it, controlled the game.

  "First of all, relax. You don't have to worry about a bomb being made by any enemy of the United States because the plutonium will never, under any circumstances, be sold to anyone who might turn around and use it on us. I can be really positive about this point since I'm the one who'll arrange the sale and I would never do anything to endanger my country, ever! As to who the buyer is, I can't tell you because I don't know yet. There are several prospects I'm talking to, I can't tell you who now, but no deal has been made. This is a delicate issue and I have to maintain my confidences; besides, I think you'll agree that it's better if you don't know too many details until the sale is finalized. I just want to emphasize that I share the concerns you raised, which is why I've already eliminated several potential buyers. It will go to a friendly country, one that might end up getting plutonium or info on how to make it from our government anyway, but doesn't want to wait or take a chance. In any case, it will be out of the hands of the Nazis or any of their friends.