The change in Waldman's features, however fleeting and miniscule, was not lost on Templeton as the former replied, "I have not yet heard from Eva; communication is difficult."
Shit. He hasn't made it there yet. "When you hear, please let me know by the usual channels. Oh, and I'll need some kind of confirmation —— his name, some personal information or what the tattoo on his arm reads." Julian had no idea if Larry even had a tattoo; he'd let Gerhard wrestle with that one. He didn't want to make it easy for him to bluff his way to a payoff as well as allied transportation and a get out of jail card.
"Communication is difficult, as I said."
"I'll play my hand, you have to play yours."
Gerhard nodded. Julian ambled towards the door, confidence, he hoped, in his casual, assured pace. Turning to face Waldman as he passed he returned the nod as he said, "General," and exited the room, slowly closing the door behind him.
Gerhard stood for some time, not especially pleased with the way things had so far evolved. He was worried about the failure of the OSS field agent to make it to Munich. There were a variety of possible explanations, and most of them did not bode well for the plan. In addition, every day they held Maria compounded the risks. She was not an unknown, and her absence, even in the midst of the turmoil of a war gone bad, would soon be noticed. It was true that he had more influence in the region than did Schroeder, but the latter was not without friends and allies, people whose voices would not be ignored when they made their inquiries. He sat down and idly stared out the window at the approaching dusk. There was nothing further he could do until he returned to his command in northern Italy and it would be another hour or so before his transportation arrived. Gerhard picked up his cup and tilted it back and forth on its side, watching the cold black liquid creep up one side then the other, leaving behind a dark residue with even darker flecks of coffee grinds as the fluid retreated.
Julian shared many traits with General Waldman despite the fact that their countries were at war with each other, and at the moment they were also united in their feelings of displeasure. When he left the room, Julian's mind was racing. There were so many new contingencies to be considered and he was not happy about this new tide of complications. When he left the elevator he headed for the bar, hoping that a scotch and soda would ameliorate at least the mental distractions born of fear and anxiety, leaving him free to focus on the real issues.
As he sat in the dark paneled bar, reminiscent of an English "gentleman's" club, he tried to free his mind of any thoughts related to the operation and the impending crisis that he feared. Julian sat there, sipping his drink, staring at the highly polished, well worn wood, letting his eyes trace the carvings that adorned various pieces as he felt the alcohol smooth the jagged edges of his disposition. After a while he was calm enough to face the real issues, and in his usual methodical way he laid out the new complications, mentally picturing each one, then drawing imaginary lines linking each to specific aspects of the plan that it might impact. He then thought of all the ways the new circumstance could alter how things played out. Like all good chess players Julian had a great capacity for thinking ahead and holding numerous possible scenarios in his head at the same time. Finally, there was the most difficult part, figuring out how the play could be manipulated in each permutation to achieve the outcome he wanted. The rest was mostly sorting and arranging, a mental skill he had taught himself over the years and honed in numerous chess competitions. It was, in effect, setting up multiple new sets of operational plans. The scotch and soda that he ordered was his first and last that day. There followed multiple cups of coffee as he sat in the Schweizerhof bar and planned the most important chess game of his life. Had Kent really been killed? Well, he was sure of that one at least. He could see no use for Waldman to keep him alive. But what had happened to Larry, and was the General involved in whatever it was? Could he extract the key that Schroeder had provided to get the information from Maria? And most importantly, was there another game and, if so, who were the players? Questions wrapped in an enigma and sent into a spin by deception and trickery. Tradecraft at its best. Nothing is what it seems.
By the time Templeton left the hotel it was dark and there was a chill in the air. He was still preoccupied, and he almost bowled over Mary Bancroft as he hurried down the front steps. "Excuse me miss, so sorry ... oh, hello Mrs. Bancroft."
"Mr. Templeton, hello. Where are you running? Oh, I guess I shouldn't be asking that question, not in this town and at this time."
"Just a drink on my way home."
"Yes, I'm sure you could use one, or two or three. Mr. Dulles has said things were getting a little dicey here."
"That's for sure. It's become quite chilly suddenly, more than I would expect for this time of year, and I was in a hurry to get home. Sorry I wasn't looking where I was going."
" 'A miss is as good as a mile,' as they say. You're right about the cold. That's why I came back to get a sweater and scarf before Mr. Dulles and I go to dinner. Anyway, I won't keep you. Nice seeing you."
"My pleasure."
Mary entered the lobby and went directly to her room, putting on several layers against the frosty night, then retracing her steps to the hotel entrance and on to the restaurant where she was meeting Allen.
* *
Later that night, she and Dulles were ensconced in comfortable chairs at his apartment, enjoying an after dinner Schnapps when Mary remembered her meeting with Julian earlier in the evening. "I saw Julian Templeton coming out of the Schweizerhof when I went back to get my sweater. Does he live over that way?"
"Actually his apartment is in the other direction from the office."
"He said he stopped in for a drink on his way home."
"Well, they have a nice bar, sort of like a private club. That would suit his taste. Probably worth the walk for him."
"I guess so. Hey, you know who else I saw there when I got in this morning?"
"No, who?"
"That's just it. I don't know. But I've seen him before. In Switzerland, and for me that pretty much means Zurich or Bern. German military, I'm sure, although he was in civies."
Dulles smiled. "Mary, this is a neutral country in the midst of enemy nations. There are all kinds of people here, some of them military. Are you starting to see plots at every turn?" Even as he said it, Dulles knew it was the wrong thing to say. Mary was very bright, not prone to histrionics and was a careful observer, one with even more patience than Dulles. In addition, her work in analyzing news reports had taught her the importance of correlation and how a single item, seemingly insignificant at one time, might provide a crucial link at a later date. Had Templeton been a fly on the wall he would have thought immediately of his lecture to Kent at the ornate gated entrance to the park. Allen, contrition in his voice, went on, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound condescending. There's just too damn much going on now."
"No offense taken."
"Did you get a good look at him?"
"Quite."
"Describe him and I'll see what I could find out."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Larry stood at a signpost that read, "Munich 5 K." He leaned against the upright, forcing himself to breathe heavily so it looked like he was resting. Glancing around aimlessly while pretending to catch his breath, he went over the city plan in his head, found a landmark in a nearby factory, its single tall smokestack reduced to a pile of bricks, and was able to determine exactly where he was and how he would be entering the city. It struck him that most highway markers were still intact whereas in France and other countries conquered by the Nazis all such items that might help the enemy or give then guidance were removed or repositioned to confuse the intruders. He thought it might be because the French knew that with the help of the allies their subjugation would be only temporary, while the German population knew that there would be no going back, that they could never oust the invaders of their land. They would leave in their own time. It also might be, he reasoned, that the
higher ups refused to acknowledge that defeat was even a possibility. Before striking off again one more odd thought insinuated itself into his consciousness. He had hardly coughed at all in the last twenty-four hours, nor had he found himself panting during his long trek towards Munich. It was a situation that required some thought, but now was not the time; it would have to wait. May as well enjoy the break.
The night was spent behind a derelict garage, long since emptied of anything useful and hence not a place especially frequented by the people of the night. Nonetheless, Larry slept with one eye open, leaning against what remained of the rear wall, his change of clothes under his rump for protection of both the clothes and the flesh that surmounted them. In the morning he removed his pants and shirt, did the best he could to wash his hands and face in a bit of standing water he found on the concave surface of one of the large stones that had formed the foundation of the ruined edifice, and put on the clothes that the boy had pilfered for him. They were a surprisingly good fit. His well-muscled torso filled out the shirt nicely although the pants were too big in the waist and had to be cinched in with his belt. A lot of people have lost weight with the shortage of food. Can't imagine anyone would give it a second look. The tie was definitely out of place so he folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. It could be useful as a garrote in a pinch. He had slept longer than planned, a backfiring truck startling him from a deep sleep, but was glad for the extra rest and the renewed energy it seemed to bring.
Satisfied with his orientation and confident that he looked the part of a laborer —— poor, but without the lost, feral look of one of the dispossessed, dangerous marauders who roamed the perimeter of societies whose rule of law had begun to unravel. Taking a deep lungful of the late morning air, he set off to Munich, determination in his stride and strength in his face, an honest workman going to seek employment. Although the distance was not great, his progress was slow due to increasing congestion, occasional detours and the need to pause to reorient himself.
By mid afternoon he reached the quiet street outside of the commotion of the city center, where Schroeder's ward maintained her small apartment, and after walking two blocks he was alongside the entrance, passing it without slowing his pace. There was no one ahead of him and he kept walking for about twenty meters feet before doing an about face, pantomiming someone who has forgotten something, and walking back in the direction from which he had come. He saw no one in this direction either and this time when he reached the entrance he hurried up the steps, prepared to use his knife if the outer door was locked. It wasn't, but it led to a very small vestibule with a dozen or so mailboxes and a locked door at the other end. Before the street door had completely closed behind him, Larry had his knife out and was visually inspecting the door as he approached it. There was a deadbolt, but it wasn't thrown; perhaps that was saved for at night when all of the residents were home. The door was secured by a latch, apparently one that could be actuated by a control from within the apartments so guests could be let in without the inhabitant having to leave the comfort of their apartment. The knife slipped easily into the space between the door and the jamb, but when he snapped it back the blade almost bent, the latch retreating only a small distance. God damn these Germans and their mechanical prowess. There must be some kind of secondary locking mechanism. Larry tried finessing it and applying whatever he could remember about picking locks but it was no use. The latch would not recede enough to clear the rear of the metal latch receptacle. Fear of discovery started to well up and he had to resort to the always available backup of brute force. Holding the stubborn latch as far back as it would go, he put his shoulder to the door and pushed. Nothing. Still holding the knife in place, he pulled back until his arm was fully extended and his shoulder was as far away from the door as he could get it. Shit, this is going to hurt. Larry lunged forward and impacted hard on the door. The latch, only partly engaged, sprang from its docking mechanism and the door flew backwards, propelling him into the small lobby from which a set of stairs led to the upper levels. He managed to keep the heavy door from running the full excursion of its hinges and banging against the wall, although he almost lost his balance in the process.
Ignoring the sharp pain from his shoulder he quickly closed the door and darted onto the steps, hugging the wall for as much cover as possible. He two stepped up to the landing immediately below Maria's floor and peered down the hall. A door closed somewhere along the passageway, someone's curiosity either satisfied or felt to be best left unfulfilled. At this point in the arc of the Nazi party, at about its nadir, most of the population considered it best to stay out of other people's business, unlike in years gone by when everyone watched everyone else to make sure their national fervor was of sufficient verve so as not to embarrass their country or its leaders. When a minute passed and there were no other forays into the hall, he proceeded to the apartment, inhaled slowly and deeply, then knocked.
The door was opened in short order and a classic Teutonic beauty stood there, holding the door partly opened with one arm, the other resting on the jamb, her body blocking the entrance. And what a body it was, thought Larry. The picture that his CO had given to him was portrait style and it didn't really convey the essence of the beauty who now stood before him. It failed to convey many things about Eva. Larry quickly returned his gaze to her face.
"May I help you?"
"I have often admired you." The recognition code came out dry and raspy, mostly due to Larry's poor hydration during the last twenty-four hours, although the site of so beautiful a woman after such a long time of essential celibacy no doubt contributed something to the parched state.
Eva turned up her nose slightly, delicately sniffing the rather malodorous air that emanated from Larry, a smile on her face as she said, "From afar, I would hope."
The humor was lost on Larry, focused as he was on making contact and getting to shelter. All that registered was that the countersign was incorrect and that meant danger. "I'm terribly sorry, I must have the wrong apartment." He turned to go, but Eva stepped into the hallway after him and put a restraining hand on his arm.
"I hope you still have the picture my mother gave you." With great relief, Larry turned back, and after scanning the corridor for unwanted observers, Eva ushered him into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. "You are days later than expected. What happened?"
"Complications."
"That's it, just 'complications?'"
"Nothing that will compromise our plans, and nothing worth repeating. Let's just leave it at that."
"As you wish. By the way, I'm Maria; what is your name?"
"Lorenz."
"Ah, a nice German name. Very good. Well, Lorenz, would you like to eat something or take a shower first?"
"I'm starved, but I think a shower has to come first."
"I was hoping you would say that." Larry began to apologize for his appearance and his smell but was silenced as Eva held up her hand dismissively. "I did not think the passage into the country would be easy. You don't need to make excuses for your condition; you are to be congratulated on your endurance. Come, let me show you where the bath is." She led him into the bedroom. "The bath is through that door. There are towels in there as well as a razor and shaving soap. I'll leave fresh clothes on the dresser here. Hand out what you're wearing and I'll dispose of it, although it doesn't look as decimated as you."
"It was stolen just the other day, but only the pants and shirt. Everything else probably should be burned."
"I see. If it was stolen we best get rid of it all."
"You're right." They exchanged small talk through the partially open door while he undressed, Eva asking about the progress of the final allied advance on Germany, Larry telling her truthfully that he didn't really know very much other than it seemed to be proceeding fairly quickly. Larry in turn asked her about current conditions in Germany, especially Munich and its environs. She explained that Munich was considered a relatively safe city, an
d was subject to far fewer air attacks than other, more industrialized cities. However, the same shortages of food and services existed and the same travails were visited on the citizenry as were present throughout the nation.
Larry handed out the clothes and Eva took them, using the opportunity to glance at the mirror in the bathroom where Larry's naked form brought a smile to her face. "I'll make some food for you. Come out to the kitchen when you're dressed. She rummaged through a few drawers picking out items for Larry that seemed appropriate, then went back to the main room of the apartment, clothes in hand.
The hot water felt good on his tired and sore muscles, and as the grime from days on the road flowed down the drain his spirits improved. He lingered longer than usual, until the water started turning tepid, before turning off the faucets, stepping out of the bath and toweling off. It wasn't until he was shaving that his stomach began protesting in earnest, and in his rush to get to the source of the pleasant odors wafting in from the kitchen, he had to exert the utmost care and restraint to keep from seriously injuring himself with the razor. He quickly combed his hair then looked at his reflection in the mirror, the image confronting him presentable although several steps from dapper, but "sometimes," he thought, "good enough is good enough." Wrapping a towel around himself he walked into the bedroom to get dressed. There were no clothes left out, not on the dresser or on the bed. "Maria, where did you leave the clothes?"
"Oh, I'm sorry Lorenz, I forgot and brought them in here with me. Could you come and get them?"
"Sure." Exiting the bedroom, he found Eva sitting in a well worn chair, looking through a magazine, a glass of wine in her hand. He wondered where she was able to find wine, considering the dire straits of the population, but he supposed that General Schroeder had something to do with it. The clothes were on a small table next to the chair and, setting the glass down, she picked up the small bundle and tossed them at Larry. Instinctively he reached out to gather in the oncoming haberdasher's projectile, and in so doing, the towel came loose and started to slide off. Quick hands and superior coordination managed to prevent a complete disaster, the towel caught and held in his clenched right fist, its folds draping over his privates, and his right forearm and left hand supporting the unexpected parcel of clothes. The only casualty was a single sock lying on the floor at his feet.
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