Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  Halfway up the side of the ravine he noticed an outcropping of large rocks beneath a protruding boulder, the formation flanked on both sides by a cluster of bushes that provided additional cover. He reached the location after ten minutes of carefully scampering up the still muddy dirt walls, and stripped off his clothes, laying them to dry on the rocks. Although the air was still chilly, the sun felt good, and he lay there for a time allowing his body to dry off before covering himself with shrubs for warmth, and falling asleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maria Müller was putting on her scarf by the front door of her apartment, looking in the mirror that hung on the wall, when she heard a noise like someone twisting the doorknob. Turning to look she did see that the handle was, in fact, turning and instinctively took a step back although, in truth, she was not particularly scared. After all, it was known in the neighborhood that she was the goddaughter and ward of a General in the Wehrmacht, and everyone had always been kind to her and shown her the greatest of respect. However, when the tip of a metallic blade appeared in the doorjamb and the door was thrown open, followed by three soldiers rushing in, she dropped her purse and scarf and emitted a startled exclamation. Two of the soldiers grabbed her under the arms, one on each side, while Maria, showing remarkable aplomb, immediately began to protest. "What are you doing? How dare you touch me! I am under the protection of General Heinrich Schroeder." At this, the two privates hesitated a moment, their grips loosening slightly, but sharp words from the sergeant that accompanied them made them hold her even more tightly and drag her from the apartment. "You mustn't do this. I am General Schroeder's goddaughter." Her feet barely touched the floor as she crossed the threshold. In the hall she saw an attractive dark haired woman waiting to enter. Maria turned to her. "Who are you? What is going on?" Other protestations followed but slowly faded as she was dragged down the hall, one shoe falling off just before the stairs, and carried kicking and screaming into a waiting staff car, the small Nazi flags mounted on the fenders fluttering in a morning breeze. As for her friends and neighbors, well, there was a limit to what one could protest, or even notice for that matter. Brusquely tossed into the back seat where two other soldiers waited to subdue her if necessary, Maria finally felt bone numbing fear as the car sped off.

  The sergeant bent down and picked up the dropped purse and scarf, handing the latter to Eva as she sauntered into the room. She held it to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, a smile on her face, then casually hung it over her shoulder before taking the purse now offered to her. Opening it, she quickly rummaged through the contents before turning it upside down and emptying it over a trash can. She turned the purse in her fingers, looking at one side then the other, then tossed it in the can, too. "Put my luggage in the bedroom, sergeant." He nodded then went to the door where he motioned to two soldiers waiting outside standing next to several bags. They double timed into the apartment, deposited Eva's belongings in the bedroom and promptly retreated, taking up positions in the hall on either side of the entrance. Ignoring the sergeant as well as his men, she perused the small apartment for a moment then strolled through the main room that served as both sitting room and dining area with a small kitchen off to one side. She poked her head into the bedroom and the generous bathroom, which stood just outside the entrance. It had a large tub with a recently added showerhead protruding from the wall and a rather ornate vanity and sink leftover, she thought, from some prior occupant. A woman's instinct combined with her astute powers of observation told her that Maria was a plain and simple no frills kind of girl, although she had to admit that she was very attractive. At this thought she lifted the scarf absentmindedly and once more inhaled the scent of the young woman she had just displaced, before walking into the bedroom where she began opening drawers. She quickly surveyed the contents and opened the single small closet, also examining the clothes there. After a moment's thought, Eva removed various items and tossed them on the floor, pausing now and then to take stock before stepping back, satisfied and calling out, "Sergeant, get your men to remove all the items on the floor in here." Without waiting for a reply she walked back to the sitting room. Continuing her circumnavigation she came to a table with a picture of Maria and Heinrich. She picked it up and looked closely as if trying to extract from the lifeless images within the frame the essence of those depicted. Finally, Eva lowered the picture and, still holding it, finished her brief tour, running a finger across this table top or the back of that chair and ending up at the front door next to the sergeant where she unceremoniously dropped the picture in the trash can.

  "Will there be anything else?" he said, sounding more like a hotel bellman than a member of the SS.

  "Empty the trash on your way out." She turned on her heels and walked into the bedroom to unpack.

  Later that night Waldman stopped by to tell Eva that the American agent had crossed into Germany the day before. "It should take him no more than three days to get here, maybe less, especially if he's able to get a ride or commandeer some sort of vehicle, so you must be in the persona of Maria."

  "And what sort of persona would that be, dear Gerhard?" she said with lilting sarcasm.

  "You must take this seriously. I've given you her dossier, you've seen her in person and I know your talents so I'm sure you've figured out what type of woman she is. And if you need any more information about her call the number I gave you and ask for Sergeant Bloch to pick you up; he will take you to where she is being held."

  She walked up to Gerhard and put an arm around his waist. "This agent is a man, yes?"

  "Of course."

  She reached down and cupped his buttocks. "Then what are you worrying about, my sweet?"

  "Sometimes you are exasperating." Forcibly, and against resistance, he removed her hand while continuing, "He will no doubt be asking you questions, wanting to know where a particular item is or asking you to take him to a location that he will identify in some way that has meaning for Maria and no one else. It is Schroeder's way of insuring that his young lady is not bypassed. You must put him off until you find out the proper information from Maria. My men will be with her if you need help convincing her; but somehow I think you will make a most persuasive interrogator."

  "Speaking of 'persuasion', dear General Gerhard, do you think I can persuade you to stay for a while?" She stood directly in front of him, and slipping an arm around his waist again pulled him tightly against her while she reached up with the other hand and tugged on his tie until he lowered his face to meet her lips in crushing defeat and total surrender.

  He barely had time to verbalize his agreement before the onslaught began.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "What the hell do you mean you don't know where he is?"

  "We met three days ago to finalize plans before the field agent left. Wrapped things up at the 'Alpine' over lunch, then parted at the entrance when we were finished. He said he was going to take a walk, then attend to the final tasks he had —— going to Altstatten for a final briefing of the agent and checking the arrangements for the contingency extraction routes."

  Dulles was fuming. Julian remained calm and tried to look contrite without giving the appearance that the operation had gotten away from him. "What have you done to track him? Do you think he went over?"

  "I'm working on it. I wasn't concerned until yesterday afternoon. Figured he might have slept in after returning, extended his time off from the previous day just a bit. After we determined he wasn't in his apartment, and nothing in it gave the appearance that he had moved out or left for any extended period, I checked with the police and the hospitals. Nothing there, but he did buy a ticket at the station sometime after we finished lunch the prior day."

  "To where? And don't tell me 'Germany.'"

  "Lugano. It was the morning train to Lugano."

  "That's where you said he met with Schroeder. Did he have any unfinished business there?"

  "None. He had completed all the arrangements." Dulles did
n't have any personal knowledge of the specific details of the planning and was unaware that although Kent did, in fact, meet with Schroeder in Lugano on one occasion, it was the only time he had gone there for that purpose. About Waldman, of course, he had no knowledge.

  "There's nothing that could have come up to require another meeting?"

  "Anything would have gone through me."

  "Can we get in touch with Schroeder?"

  "He's back in Italy. Communication is slow and spotty at best."

  Dulles let out a loud sigh. "We have to assume the mission has been compromised. How well did he know the operation?"

  "Well enough to interdict it at a variety of points to his own advantage."

  "Damage control?"

  "There's no way to get a message to the agent in time to be of any use. We can and will talk to those involved in the extraction but the danger will come before then."

  "Try to get word to him anyway. If things get delayed maybe it will get there in time to help him."

  "I can also put out word on the network to all of the people we have out there but that can cause a lot of confusion —— which agent is the good agent, so to speak —— and may make matters worse for him."

  "Just try what you can with direct links. Don't broadcast anything yet; it may make chances of retrieval of the plutonium worse than they are."

  "I'll get on it right away." Julian rose to leave.

  "And I expect frequent updates, even if it's just to tell me you still know jack shit."

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Julian nodded agreement to the order, a sober look on his face as he gently closed the door to the room. His expression remained the same while he turned into the hall and walked the short distance to his own office. Inside, he closed the door and sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair, deep in thought, as he pondered the next move in the chess game that was now underway. None of the meetings between Mallory and Waldman had been of any consequence, Kent serving merely as a courier and, more importantly, as someone being set up to be the fall guy, the disgraced OSS agent who would be conveniently eliminated once the blame had settled squarely on his shoulders but before interrogators could wrest the truth from him. Their last meeting, however, had no doubt been of great consequence, he thought, especially for Mallory who, he was fairly certain, had been killed by Waldman. Premature as far as Julian was concerned, and introducing an unexpected complication.

  Later that day, in the early evening, Mary Bancroft appeared at Dulles's private apartments as she had been doing once a week for some time now. When he opened the door, there stood before him an attractive woman in her late thirties, poised in her bearing, with an intelligent look and bright, inquisitive eyes. Allen held the door aside while she entered, then glanced outside briefly before shutting it and helping her off with her coat, lightly kissing the back of her neck as he did so.

  "How was the ride over?"

  "We stopped at Langenthal to change engines. Not sure why, but it added twenty or thirty minutes to the trip." She spoke as she strolled over to a table where Dulles kept cigarettes for her as well as for other guests, and her walk, the way she removed the cigarette from the holder, the assured way she waited for him to light it for her, all spoke of a privileged upbringing. Mary had, indeed, been a debutante in Boston, where she was raised by her step grandfather, C.W. Barron, the publisher of the Wall Street Journal; but she was no detached society lady, filled with ennui. Blessed with above average intelligence and a natural curiosity, she refused to be bored, turning to literary pursuits in addition to striking up a friendship with the Swiss Psychoanalyst, Carl Jung. She had had both lovers and husbands, the latter numbering two and the former, well, let's just say Allen Dulles was not the first.

  Since 1934 Bancroft had lived in Switzerland with her accountant husband who, for business reasons, traveled frequently. When Gerry Mayer, the advance agent from the OSS, arrived in Switzerland, he scouted the small American community for possible assets, Mary's name being one that stood out. With her fluency in French and German, her intelligence and her literary capabilities, she was immediately recruited by Mayer, a relatively easy task since she was ever one for adventure and challenge.

  "Well, you could probably use a drink; I know I can."

  "Bad day?"

  "Let me fix the drinks first, then I'll fill you in." When Mary first started working for the OSS, she was assigned to read the German press and write an analysis of what the Nazi Party was proclaiming and what layers of meaning each story might have. After she and Allen had become acquainted, he had all of her work sent to him rather than Mayer.

  Bancroft sat in one of the comfortable chairs placed around the room in intimate groupings. Dulles would often meet with potential sources of intelligence, and his apartment made for a private, comfortable refuge, where the atmosphere and the furnishings were conducive to the discussion of personal and secret information.

  Allen placed the drinks on a table, the crystal tumblers chiming as the ice cubes bounced and ricocheted against the glass, then settled into one of two leather upholstered chairs sighing as he sat down. Mary looked at him, sipping her drink, not pressing the issue but patiently waiting for him to begin. He took a long pull on the drink then began, relating the tale of the OSS man gone missing, the various possibilities he and Julian had mulled over and then reiterated the importance of the operation to recover the plutonium. Although not aware of the specific operational details she did know of the plan since one of her duties that had evolved over the months they had worked together was to review the information that Allen relayed to Washington each night by radio-telephone. Since the line was open to eavesdropping he had to speak in generalities, slang and references known only to Bill Donovan on the other end. Afterwards, Dulles and Bancroft would evaluate what he had said to make sure there was no confusion because of the circumspect language he had to use, and then they would decide if clarification was needed in the next night's transmission.

  Mary listened patiently, commiserating over the bad state of affairs without being cloying in her sympathy, knowing that Allen just wanted someone to listen; her knowledge of field operations was minimal at best, and she did not think she could provide anything of any use. But on this point, she was wrong.

  After the radio-telephone call had been completed, sans any mention of the departed agent, and the post mortem on it was hashed over, the couple walked the two blocks to one of their favorite restaurants and had a leisurely dinner during which no business was discussed, not an easy thing for Dulles. They strolled back to the apartment in near silence, and after a nightcap Allen embraced Mary, holding her close before they went to the bedroom where disinterested sex provided neither pleasure nor relief. Bancroft, sensitive as she was, felt sorry for Dulles but there was nothing she could do, so she made the motions and let him try to dispel his frustration by this brief physical diversion. At times like this she felt used, and it was not the first time Allen had treated her this way. There had been a pall over the evening and after several fitful hours during which neither of them slept, she dressed and returned to the hotel Schweizerhof across from the train station, where she managed a few hours of sleep before she arose, showered and took the morning train back to Zurich.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Larry awoke, the sun was low in the sky and a gray non-descript light filled the forest, subdued and without warmth. He shivered and quickly put on his clothes, for the most part dry but still damp in patches, the loss of heat from evaporation sucking the warmth from his body. Even with his clothes on he felt cold and he coughed as he stood and slowly stretched. His muscles ached from the pounding they had endured, and were knotted in so many places that the best he could do was to massage the worst and just hope that the rest would loosen up as he began to move. The short climb to the top of the ravine produced protests from his arms and legs as he pulled himself up, while the rest of his body merely grumbled discontentedly in the background. Winded by the time he r
eached the top, Larry was nonetheless thankful that the coughing seemed to have subsided somewhat, although without his medicine he thought it would be only a matter of time until it returned. As a matter of fact, the possibility that he would become too incapacitated to complete the mission crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside, refusing to consider it. Instead, he took several deep breaths and focused on how he would reach Munich now that he was without any form of transportation other than his feet. He had already modified the route once to avoid the area where the German soldier had been killed, and Larry wasn't sure if he had any other viable options or, for that matter, whether there was even anything to be gained in changing his intended path. But his training taught him to think through all the possibilities, to look at a problem or task from different points of view and to keep an open, receptive mind. Seemingly inconsequential details may hold the key to improving the odds. Clearing his head he concentrated on the terrain maps he had studied before leaving. His new route was longer but, while he could have made up some time by riding a bit longer each day or peddling a little faster, without a bike there was no way to get around the fact that it would take him several extra days. The distance could be walked in three to four days under good circumstances and if he were in good shape. Unfortunately, neither was the case. Still, the route he had chosen remained the best probability. The terrain was not particularly difficult and it avoided any known concentration of German units. He turned over various contingencies in his head, attempting to assess the resources this route might offer as well as the dangers it presented. Food, shelter and, most importantly, remaining inconspicuous were paramount. Emergency exit strategies came to mind, in case the mission had to be aborted, but since he knew he carried a death sentence more certain than any dangers he might face, thoughts of escaping were easily dismissed.