"A little early in the day isn't it, doctor?" Julian said as he removed his hat and sat down across from the doctor.
"Ah, Mr. Smith, welcome. I thought you left yesterday. Once I pushed that young man over the cliff I didn't think you'd stick around to watch the impact. My compliments to you for your follow through." He raised his now empty glass in mock salute.
"Doctor, I know this has been tough for you, but it really is important."
"Important enough to trick someone who's barely more than a kid into killing himself?"
Templeton lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly to convey to the doctor that discretion was required in these matters. "I'm not at liberty to discuss details, you know that, and you also know my credentials so I hope you'll believe me when I say that this is a matter of the utmost importance to our country and will save thousands of lives. You're not a soldier, you've never commanded men in the field, never had to send boys who should be home worrying about how to get the girl next door into the sack, into battle with the full realization that some of them were not coming back. That takes a lot out of a man. But, doctor, our country is at war and like it or not we're all soldiers and we all have to make sacrifices. That doesn't mean it hurts any less, but sometimes in this life we're going to feel shitty and there's nothing to be done about it. I'm telling you this had to be done."
Miller tilted his glass on edge and stared at it. The anger in his face faded, replaced by a profound sadness as he looked back up at the OSS man sitting opposite him and said, "Up till now I've spent my entire professional life trying to help people, to do my best to keep them out of trouble or fix them up when that failed. In the beginning of this war I was in a forward hospital. I may not have sent our boys out to meet the enemy, but I sure as hell saw an awful lot of them come back from those encounters. Shot up, cut up and maimed in every way imaginable. A lot of them died, but Goddamn it, Smith, not one of them died because of me. I did everything I could and if it wasn't enough and they didn't make it, it was like a knife in my heart. The pain was real. Only it didn't last. Before any one failure could get to me, I had to move on to the next poor bastard. By the end of most days it was all a blur. Some triumphs and too many defeats." He hung his head in dejection and spoke into his glass, "This one won't be a blur, though. It'll be burned into my memory. And you're right about having to feel shitty sometimes and there's not a God damn thing you can do about it." Looking at the drained glass, "Not a God damn thing."
"You'll be OK. I was wrong; you are a soldier and you know what's got to be done."
Looking Julian in the eyes, the barest hint of a wry smile showing at the corners of his mouth, Dr. Miller went on, "Now, Mr. Smith, or whatever your name is, why are you really here? Surely not to give me a pep talk."
Templeton felt like he was on more solid ground now, back to operational issues; what he did best. "I have to report to the higher ups, the people in charge of starting this operation, and I have to make sure I have all the details straight, I have to know what the variables are and I need to do some contingency planning just in case."
"What more do you need from me? Tell me specifically. I don't want any of this to feel like something I did on my own. Order me to do whatever it is you need."
"The medicine you gave him when he first came to you saying he was getting a cold, that's what actually caused his symptoms to get worse, to start to wheeze and cough, is that correct?"
Miller nodded, his face like stone.
"So as long as he takes it, he still feels sick and believes he has a fatal disease."
"He feels ill because of what I gave him, yes, but he thinks he's dying because of what I told him."
"The boy really looks like shit; could barely walk twenty feet without panting. He could never do what needs to be done to complete the mission we have in mind. You said, though, that you can control his symptoms, keep them real light so his function will be only minimally impaired but he'll still feel enough of a twinge to believe what we told him."
"What 'I' told him, not 'we'."
"What I ordered you to tell him. Listen, doctor, I know this is onerous to you, and maybe it's easier for you to cry in your schnapps if you think it was all your fault but that's really not the way it is. Fact is, you were ordered to do it; you didn't like the orders, didn't agree with them but you followed them like thousands of other guys follow orders they don't like, and you're just going to have to deal with that. Soon your part in this will be over, so please tough this one out. It's more important than you can imagine. Now, how will you control and manage his symptoms?"
"He's going to get medicine to help his symptoms. It will just be the same thing he's on now, only a lower dose so his symptoms will, in fact, improve."
"And this will be a pill of some kind, something that he can easily carry with him?" The doctor nodded silently. "OK, keep him on the same dose for now. I'll let you know when to switch. Oh, when you do change his medication how long before he begins to improve?"
"A few days."
"Good. I'll be in touch through the C.O. Remember, we need him to be in as close to top form as possible; just a hint of disease." The absurdity of that last remark escaped Templeton as he placed his hands on the tabletop and stood up, his eyes fixed on the doctor the whole time, hoping to impress on him the importance of what he had said. Miller did not flinch from his gaze but remained impassive, not acknowledging the farewell nod of Julian who turned and walked out. The doctor stared after him after him for several minutes, lost in his thoughts, before signaling the bartender for another drink.
CHAPTER NINE
It was late when Kent returned to Bern and, in spite of the alpine chill and the dampness of the air, he walked from the train station to his apartment. The streets were deserted and the sidewalks wet from a cold afternoon rain that blew in across the mountains, drenched the city in a frigid deluge and then moved on, the dark, angry clouds not yet done with their mischief. He kept his head down, staring at the pavement, the occasional puddle reflecting his visage, which always seemed on the verge of speaking to him, only to be suddenly obscured by the frosted breath he exhaled, the about to be spoken words lost in the mist. His own thoughts tumbled through his mind. Guilt, fear and shame on the one hand, and a way out of his lower echelon existence on the other. Could he go through with this plan of Julian's? Would he forever be a pariah in his own mind, a traitor to his country? Worse yet, would he be caught? Conscience was one thing, malleable and sometimes ephemeral, but federal prison was a harsh reality that could not be rationalized away. That would put a quick end to all his dreams of wealth and power in the world of Washington politics. The answer to his dilemma was waiting for him at his apartment although he didn't know it at the moment, and so Kent continued his march across the center of town lost in thought. By the time he reached his building the cold night air, so different from the almost balmy conditions in Lugano earlier, had penetrated to his very core and numbed his mind as well as his body.
Kent walked up the steps to the entrance, inserted the key with frigid fingers barely able to feel the sturdy metal object they held, twisted it and leaned his weight against the door, entering the foyer with a lurching motion. He paused there for a moment waiting for warmth to return to his body but the chill persisted, having insinuated itself even deeper than he thought. With a profound weariness he forced himself to ascend the stairs to his apartment, his muscles and joints protesting this final exertion. Mallory fumbled for the door key on his key ring, dropping it twice before he was able to let himself in. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around, perhaps hoping to find some solace in the familiar surroundings, an arm around the shoulder, an understanding nod, but there was none. He put the keys on the small table by the door, next to a small pile of mail. The fact that all his mail was delivered to 23 Herrengasse and that no one else had a key to his apartment did not register at the moment in his unsettled state of mind. Kent shucked off his coat, tossed it over the nearest ch
air and walked into the small kitchen where he took down a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet next to the sink. It was a relatively rare commodity in wartime Europe and he had been parsimonious in its use. He held the bottle in one hand, stared at the label for a moment as if admiring a fine wine, then reached for a glass that stood next to the sink and poured himself three fingers of scotch, which he downed without removing the drinking glass from his lips. The burning in his throat cleared his head and allowed him to focus, to suppress, at least for the moment, all the disparate emotions that seemed on the verge of choking off conscious thought. He inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, a slight nod of the head, as if talking to himself, indicating that the Scotch had been just what he needed. A central nidus of warmth that started in the middle of his chest began to slowly expand as he walked back into the main room of the apartment. Turning, he noticed the leather briefcase that he sometimes carried, laying on the small desk next to the chair. It never contained anything of much importance; written material pertaining to his real job remained at OSS headquarters. However, since his cover was as a State Department employee he was regularly given various documents and communiqués of little significance that would serve to corroborate his position if, or more correctly when, since it was a foregone conclusion that such an eventuality would occur, a German agent or one of their paid informants stole a look inside. To the potpourri of official pieces of paper Mallory added some personal items and an occasional letter from his wife. He stood there staring at the briefcase, not quite sure why; it reminded him of something but he couldn't make the connection. Another deep breath. Relax. Open your mind. Let it happen. The link closed.
Kent spun around and strode to the entrance where he looked down at several letters casually left on the table next to the green glass ashtray he had purchased from the tobacconist at the corner. His first reaction, one of fear and danger, a feeling that the sanctity of his home, as it were, had been breached, quickly subsided when he realized that the presence of the letters indicated the intruder must have been from the "office" since no outsider could have had access to the mail that was kept there. It must have been Julian. This surmise was reinforced when he picked up the small packet and looked at each of the envelopes. The first was from his wife, the second was from the State Department —— a routine memo judging from the way it had been addressed —— and the third bore only his hand written name on the outside of a plain white envelope. He thought the handwriting might be Julian's, but he wasn't sure. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure he had seen anything that Julian had put in writing. Putting the other two aside he pried the corner up with his thumb, slipped his forefinger in like a crude letter opener and tore it open. Inside, a folded piece of typewriter paper without any header had two lines written on it, Hope you enjoyed your little shopping trip. I trust you are comfortable with the fit of the new clothes. Kent was not exactly sure about the meaning; it seemed somewhat ambiguous. Was he inquiring how he felt about Waldman living up to his end of the deal or could he be astute enough to realize the continuing reservations he had, how difficult this was for him, and was he really asking if Kent could still go through with it. Even more of a puzzle was why Julian had left it here in the first place. He was too much of a pro to leave a paper trail. Mallory shifted the note to the bottom of the group of three envelopes he held, moving his wife's letter to the top. He stood there for a moment holding the packet in his right hand and using his left thumb to fan the letters repeatedly while he simply stared into space, momentarily lost in thought.
Heading back into the living area Kent tossed the other two envelopes on the desk, next to his briefcase, and sat in the one easy chair in the room. Using a letter opener he had picked up from the desk, he neatly slit the envelope and pulled out several sheets of pastel colored writing paper that it was his wife's custom to use, in various shades and hues, this time in a pink that seemed off the mark, a bit too red and garish. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he began to read and as he did so his mien exhibited a gamut of expressions, but not once did a smile appear. When he had finished, Kent leaned his head back in the chair and knotted his hand into a fist, crumpling the gaudy paper and letting it fall from his hand.
I trust you are comfortable with the fit of the new clothes. The meaning was apparent. He leaned forward, picked up his wife's envelope and turned it over in his hand, looking for signs that it had been opened. None were visible, but he wasn't really sure exactly what to look for; he was not a field agent, had never run one and his tradecraft was limited. Nevertheless, he was sure Julian had been monitoring his mail and had thought this letter provided an opportune time to cement Kent's allegiance. He thought about his wife, not the envious social climber, the woman who would be only too happy to become a snob, who wouldn't care if she were a parvenu as long as there were sufficient women below her station; but rather, he thought about the slim blonde who turned heads wherever she went, who could look up to him like a star struck teenager, whose hair smelt like a warm meadow in bloom and could excite him like no woman ever had, touching and caressing him like the very fire of the sun burned inside her. Kent was hopelessly in love.
This most recent letter from his Helen was not substantially different in quality from many that had come before, but she did drive home her opinion about what she needed to survive in the life that she envisioned for them after the war. Included, of course, were various references to people they knew whose current condition or future prospects seemed more advanced than theirs, who were members of the proper clubs or whose children attended the right schools. And, did I mention that Daddy met so and so, some unmarried son of a close friend, who was sure to be a real mover after the war. The implied threat of losing her was there, at least in Kent's mind; that was something he could not endure. He knew he would do anything, whatever it took, to hold on to her and make her happy.
Kent stood up. Once the actual military engagement took place, the war with his conscience had been quick and decisive. It had been routed by the fragrance of a flower filled meadow and his spirits lifted now that the conflict was resolved and a decision had been made. The crinkled letter from his wife was placed in a desk drawer along with other sheets of blue, green, mauve and teal. Julian's note was burned in the sink and the ashes washed away.
He was physically exhausted from the day of traveling, and mentally drained by the conflicts that had raged within, yet he felt curiously at ease. Undressing quickly and hanging his clothes on whatever was handy he slid into bed and was asleep before he remembered to turn off the light.
CHAPTER TEN
Julian and Kent left Dulles' private office, passing through the small ante room where Bill sat sorting through correspondence, opening some items, separating them quickly into three piles and placing other items unopened in a fourth stack for Allen Dulles to deal with himself. Bill looked up briefly, gave a barely perceptible nod as they passed his desk, then went back to his work. When they were out of earshot Julian said softly, "I have the picture of Schroeder's girlfriend I'm supposed to give to the field agent. It should be only a matter of days, or at most a week, before he's ready to head out so you've got to get back to Lugano and see Waldman again."
"Shit," he said a bit too loudly. I just got back two days ago. What's up?"
Julian lifted his chin ever so slightly to remind Kent that they were approaching some of their coworkers and then turned to him with an almost beatific expression on his face, which Kent interpreted correctly as, "Shut the fuck up, please, until we have a bit of privacy and try not to announce to the whole staff what we're doing."
Kent nonchalantly adjusted his tie and whispered, "Sorry."
When they had descended a dozen or so steps on the stairs leading to the first floor reception area, Julian paused and, after making sure that no one was either on the way up or down, said to Kent, "Our General has information on the location of the package and also has something he must get to you before our agent crosses into Germany.
That's all he was able to send to me, the details have to be done face to face so you've got to return to where you met him before. He'll be there each of the next three days between 10 AM and 2 PM. Make arrangements to be there by tomorrow; day after at the latest. And get the tickets yourself. No need to announce a second trip to any of the staff."
"Will do. And thanks for delivering my mail." He threw the last in as a non sequitur, thinking it might catch his partner off guard. Mallory looked directly at Templeton, hoping that some subtle change in his expression might provide a clue as to whether or not he was the one who had entered his apartment and left the letter from his wife. He was not sure if he would be able to discern the telltale signs, especially because Julian was so good and he was such a novice.
However, as it turned out, no skill was necessary since Julian broke into an ear to ear grin, started back down the stairs and chuckled out loud as he said through his smile, "Wait for me outside, we'll talk. I just need to stop by Vickie's desk."
"Yeah, we should talk. And by the way, how's that working out with Vickie? You must have seen her several times already."
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