Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  "No. I'm going to lift you up by the legs. I'll have to bend, then quickly straighten and push up from your ankles. Don't hold on to the ledge now but get ready to grab on with your hands or your whole forearm if you can."

  "OK."

  "Here we go." Larry tightened his grip on Friedrich's ankles, squatted then snapped his legs upright, at the same time pushing up his arms with all the strength he could muster. The boy was able to place his left hand and most of his right forearm on the top of the ledge. He dangled there for a few seconds, Larry hovering beneath him, before pulling himself up, getting a purchase first with one knee, then the opposite foot and cautiously standing, holding on to the window frame for balance. "That's great," Larry exclaimed in a loud whisper. When you lift the window keep hold of the bottom so you don't lose your balance."

  "Got it." He dropped into a squat and slipped his fingers under the window. From below Larry heard a grunt as he tried to lift. Then another. And another. Finally, "It's no use. It won't move."

  "Shit," he murmured. To the boy, "Do you see any kind of lock or something jammed above the window to block it?"

  "Nothing. It's just stuck."

  "OK. Hold on a minute. You may just need a little leverage." Larry went to the corner of the house where there was a small pile of broken items, including the wooden handle of some implement, probably a shovel or pick, shattered at one end, the working portion missing. He carried it back and lifted it up toward the youngster balanced on the small stone protrusion.

  "Slide this under the window and push down on the end. But hold on."

  He inserted it and pressed. Again the grunting. "I can't push hard enough with just one hand." Before Larry could say anything, Friedrich let go of the window, gripped the handle with both hands and exerted his full weight and strength. The end of the handle moved up several inches then slid out from under the window. With nothing now to counterbalance the force of his downward thrust, he was launched downward and out, his arms and legs flailing in the air as he fell. As soon as he had seen him place both hands on the lever, Larry knew this was going to happen. Nevertheless, it occurred so quickly that he was not prepared, although he did manage to get his arms out in front of him so there was a chance he might catch him. He grabbed the boy like a falling sack of potatoes, but because he didn't have time to brace his legs and body for the impact, he was knocked to the ground, nonetheless cushioning the lad's fall. The jagged end of the handle missed his head by inches and he lay there panting, the wind knocked out of him. "Friedrich, are you hurt?"

  "That was scary but sort of fun. I'm fine. How about you?"

  "Maybe not fine, but not hurt. And it certainly wasn't fun for me. Well, anyway, I thought it was good idea. I guess I was wrong."

  "But the window moved. I saw it go up. Lift me up there again and I'll get in this time."

  Larry was on his feet, bent over and out of breath. I don't think I should be so short winded. No medicine for days now. Wonder if things are going to get worse sooner than I expected? "You really want to try it again?"

  "I can do it this time."

  "Give me a minute." When his respirations returned to normal, he motioned for the boy to join him and once more the youth was propelled upward to his perch alongside the window. This time Friedrich lowered both his legs, got a firm grip on the wood at the bottom of the window and straightened up with a controlled lift. The window was elevated even more easily than he had hoped and he slid both legs into the room, his torso following. A second later his head popped out the window, then his left hand signaling "thumbs up" before withdrawing again into the house.

  Larry was starting to worry about the old man coming home unexpectedly and all the possible consequences that might ensue if he called in the authorities. His pacing was interrupted by the appearance of the head at the window again and an overloud "pssst." Friedrich's hands were extended outward, several items of clothing dangling from them, and when Larry was below him, he dropped the articles. "How are these?"

  Larry held them up. Two shirts and one pair of trousers. The size was close enough and they were at least clean and presentable. While he was examining the clothes a tie floated down and draped itself over his head and right shoulder.

  "If you're looking for a job you should look your best. That's what my mother always said when we went into the city." At the mention of his mother his face, which had seemed brightened by this new adventure, turned somber. Before Larry could say anything he retreated into the house again and a minute later Larry noticed him through the window at ground level, no doubt looking for the kitchen and any food. Larry began to police the area, removing all traces of their brief habitation, and returning any items he or the boy had used to where they had been. After five minutes Larry tapped on the window to get Friedrich's attention; it was time for them to leave. He had an uneasy feeling and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, maybe just due to the cold, but to Larry it was all the more encouragement to "pack their tent" and get the hell out. He banged on the window but there was no sign of Friedrich. Just as he was considering taking the clothes and making a quick exit, the familiar little head appeared at the window, a bulging rucksack clenched in his fist and a big smile across his face. "Should I let myself out the front door, I can unlock it from the inside, or should I come out the window?"

  There was little point, Larry now realized, in trying to hide their exploit. If the owner came home sober he would discover the break-in very quickly even if the front door remained locked. If he returned drunk, a good possibility from what Friedrich had been telling him, he might simply think he forgot to lock the door and stagger into bed or the nearest chair without noticing anything amiss. "Just close the window to about where it was and come out the front door, but look carefully to make sure no one is on the road who could see you, then come right around to here. We've got to leave."

  He came scurrying around the corner of the house in less than a minute, holding the pack against his body to keep it from bouncing around. It was bulging and overflowing like the proverbial cornucopia, and the boy's grin matched the abundance. "I've got enough food to last us a week." He looked expectantly at Larry, whose expression did not change from the look of concern he had worn for the last half hour.

  "I'm afraid we've got to split up; I have to go to places where a kid wouldn't be welcome, might get us both in a lot of trouble."

  "I didn't think you'd want to, but I thought I'd ask."

  "You were really great, though. I couldn't have asked for a better companion. You're quick, smart and determined, and I think you're going to make it through these times in good shape."

  "Strong, too."

  "What?"

  I'm strong, too. You didn't mention that." Larry nodded his agreement. "Can we walk together at least till we get through Germering?"

  "Sure, but let's get moving. Here's my knife." He reached in his pocket and handed it to Friedrich who turned it over in his hand, looking at it, before pulling a sausage from the pack and offering it to Larry. "You keep it. I'll be able to get food once I'm in Munich."

  "Then take the knife back. I already have one and you may need yours." Larry hesitated but the boy took a step closer and put the knife in his hand. "If it wasn't for you I'd be rooting through garbage cans in Germering." Larry pocketed the knife, took a last glance around, then put his arm on Friedrich's shoulder and guided him out of the yard and back on the road.

  After forty-five minutes of brisk walking they were in the outskirts on the opposite end of the town. It had been uneventful. They passed two pubs, both rather well lit with kerosene lamps burning on the tables, and both crowded with people. From the first, singing could be heard as well as loud talking and occasional laughter; the second, just a hundred meters or so down the road, was couched in silence, only the distant noise of a chair scuffing the floor or someone coughing being heard from the road as they passed. Just as they came alongside the entrance he thought he saw a stooped figure eme
rge in a group of patrons who had had enough of the silence in the alehouse and were now off to rejoin their own more private world of silence. The contrast between the two impressed itself on Larry, indicating something of significance he thought, but the meaning eluded him, or so he believed. The only notion that came to mind was triggered by the sound of coughing and it led to the depressing thought of his own impending demise and eternal silence.

  An idea teased at the edge of his awareness but his attempt to clarify it was interrupted by someone tugging on his sleeve and talking. "Sometimes you don't hear very well. I said 'this is where we split up.' There's a place down the side street where I sometimes sleep. I'm going to head there." He held out his hand in a rather formal looking gesture and Larry smiled to himself but maintained a dignified expression as he grasped the boy's hand and shook it.

  "Good luck, Friedrich."

  "You, too, Lorenz." He walked off down the street, purpose in his stride. After ten meters he turned back to wave. Larry was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In Bern, Mary Bancroft stepped off the train from Zurich and walked across the street to the hotel Schweizerhof, carrying her small overnight bag in one hand and a small purse slung over her shoulder. She made it a point not to carry a briefcase or work product of any significance on her excursions to visit Dulles. It was a bright day and although there was a bite to the morning air, the warmth of the sun could be felt on the face and to her that was a sure sign that spring would not be long delayed. Always alert she looked left and right as she strolled briskly toward the hotel, a smile on her face. Halfway across the square she noticed a black car pull to the curb about thirty meters from the hotel entrance to discharge a lone passenger, who exited the vehicle with a bearing that indicated power, wealth or a military affiliation. The rather dapper looking man stood on the pavement adjusting his coat and talking to the driver who remained in the car, but it was apparent even to Mary who had no field training that he was surveying the area, glancing to either side and across the square. His gaze swept past her like a searchlight without pause and she kept her eyes ahead of her, using her peripheral vision to keep him in sight, her curiosity piqued. She stopped under the pretense of switching her suitcase to her other hand, then continued at a slower pace, determined to see what she could make of this situation. After a moment the man turned and strode towards the hotel entrance, apparently satisfied with his surveillance. He reached the entrance about twenty paces ahead of Mary and she had a clear view of his face. I know that man. But from where?

  She expected that she would see him inside and that perhaps something about him —— his voice, his mannerisms, the way he moved —— might trigger a spark of recognition or at least an association with some person, time or place that would help her remember. When she entered the hotel her eyes shot across the spacious lobby trying to home in on him, but he seemed to be gone. The sound of an elevator door opening directed her gaze to an alcove to the right of the reception desk, but her vision, initially dimmed as she went from the bright morning sun into the subdued light of the Schweizerhof, was now further compromised by the glare of a large window adjacent to the elevator alcove, and she was unable to determine with any degree of certainty whether the figure she she saw entering the lift was her man. Mary stopped about three meters in front of the reception desk, annoyed that she had lost him, and then curious why she had been so interested in the first place. It was, she thought, no doubt due to her months working for an organization whose work involved every kind of clandestine activity, gathering all sorts of information and trying to correlate it to glean some useful intelligence about the enemy. A trade where no observation could be ignored or discarded off hand. It was a game where nothing was what it seemed to be. She filed this piece of information for possible future reference, then walked the remaining steps to the desk, acknowledging the clerk's greeting with a smile.

  "Welcome back Mrs. Bancroft. Your usual room is ready."

  She was well known at the hotel, making the trip from Zurich once each week for her liaison with Dulles. Business and pleasure; a bit more of the former and less of the latter in recent months as Dulles became more and more preoccupied, and Mary often felt that she was merely a vehicle to provide a release from the tension that seemed to be increasing even as the outcome of the war became obvious to all but the most deranged of Hitler's sycophants. Still smiling, her inner emotions not mirrored in her face, she replied to the ever solicitous desk clerk, "Thank you, Jonas."

  "Let me get someone to help you with your luggage." Without waiting for a reply —— he hadn't actually asked a question —— he leaned forward and smacked his palm down on the traditional bell to summon one of the bellhops. "I hope your journey from Zurich was pleasant."

  "It was. Thank you for asking." A young boy appeared at her side, scooped up her single small suitcase and ushered her toward the elevators. He said something to her as they entered the lift, but she was lost in thought and didn't hear it, reinforcing the boy's belief that all foreigners were naturally impolite. The clack of the elevator grate snapping into place brought Mary back with a start and also brought a subtle smile to the bellboy's lips. Bancroft watched the light of the elevator lobby fade as the inner doors closed, drumming her nails on her purse as the slow journey to the third floor began.

  After freshening up from the train trip, and unpacking, the latter entailing nothing more than opening her suitcase to let the few items "breathe", she made her way to the OSS offices on Herrengasse to review with Dulles her analysis of the information coming out of the third Reich and to review with him the topics for the nightly communication with Donovan in Washington. There would be the usual cocktails, dinner and, she assumed, the usual sex afterwards. That was the problem with this part of their relationship; it was too "usual", the sex perfunctory on her part and almost medicinal for Allen. The OSS work, on the other hand, was never completely routine. They worked well together, their differing points of view often allowing for a more complete analysis of information, one seeing something the other had missed, and they each appreciated and respected the abilities of the other. The tradecraft honed by Dulles was increasing his abilities and his stature within the government and would lead him to the directorship of the CIA in the years following the war.

  * *

  General Waldman had been enjoying afternoon coffee and the newspaper in his hotel room when there was a knock on the door followed by two rather loud coughs. Recognizing the arrival of his contact, he put down the paper, took a last sip of the thick dark coffee he found so pleasing, then eased himself out of the chair and went to the door. He stood aside as Templeton walked into the room, strode directly to the coffee service without even acknowledging Gerhard's presence and picked up an uneaten croissant on the plate, tearing off a piece and inserting it into his mouth before turning and mumbling a garbled hello through a mouthful of the French pastry. Waldman barely hid his distaste for this kind of behavior; he felt it to be boorish and ungentlemanly, not to mention the fact that he did not share well. Julian knew this and it was all part of the game, a show of contempt for the enemy to demoralize him and perhaps goad him into making a mistake, perhaps, in his anger, revealing something that could be of importance. They may be partners but there was no love lost between them. Not that they hated each other or even disliked each other; they were both far beyond the nationalistic and patriotic fervor that led to such sentiments. For them it was merely business, two companies in a joint venture that could prove profitable for both, but a business transaction in which neither side wanted to miss an opportunity to advance their position.

  Gerhard nodded to Julian and motioned him to sit.

  "Didn't have time to stop for lunch. These rolls are really good."

  "Please, help yourself. Would you like me to order more; another pot of coffee?"

  "No, this is fine." Getting right down to business, Julian said, "I thought you were going to try to bullshit Kent into bel
ieving Schroeder agreed to join us and that you had a plan to send the agent back to us unharmed, thinking the plutonium was already gone? Did you have to kill him?"

  "Is he dead?"

  "Maybe you did try to bullshit him, and now you're trying to scam me! Please, I'm not stupid."

  "No, of course not. I don't know what 'scam' is, but you are correct, he is dead."

  "Why?"

  "He did not believe the story. I had to eliminate him."

  "Kent was so fucking stupid he'd believe you were his long lost twin separated at birth." Julian stood and walked to the window, glancing out at the plaza, now filled with people hurrying to and from the railroad station. He turned back. "I don't care that you killed him, it's just that you could have chosen a better time. His absence can't be hidden from Dulles and now we're going to have people looking into this affair before we're ready to hide our tracks. Kent will be considered compromised, and, by extension, so will the whole operation."

  "It was expedient to eliminate him. I'm sorry if it makes your job more difficult, but it cannot be undone. The cards have changed and we will just have to play what we have."

  Yes, they have changed. He now has our agent and the means to find the plutonium, all on his side of the table. The one loose canon has been removed and I've been left with a new set of problems to distract me. But does he have the hole cards to win the hand, to cut me out? An interesting game. Templeton maintained a poker face as he continued. "Well, I guess I'll just have to play the game as it unfolds. Who knows what's liable to turn up next?" He looked Gerhard in the eyes, an ever so slight smile apparent, or maybe it was just a facial twitch. Waldman would have to figure that one out. Sometimes I love this game. "By the way, General, has our agent arrived at the apartment yet?"