Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  "That's because he grew up in Italy," Maria chimed in, following the front story they had prepared before leaving. "They're our allies, you know."

  "Oh," said the old man, then followed quickly with a couple of questions in somewhat broken Italian, apparently trying to catch them in some kind of lie, although to what purpose did not seem clear, even to the old fellow himself, who seemed merely cantankerous and a bit confused, rather than a hinterland defender of the Third Reich. Larry responded in flawless Italian, complementing the man on how well he spoke the language. "Yep, I lived there for two years back in 1920, after the war." Satisfied with Larry's authenticity, he looked back at Maria and started to say something when the plump woman walked over to the table carrying a large tray with bowls of steaming soup, a pot of some kind of stew, empty plates and a basket of bread as well as two pints of beer.

  She set the tray down and transferred the items to the table, grabbing the old man by the shoulder as she withdrew and pulling him back to the bar. "Come on Wilfred, let's leave the young couple have some privacy." Maria and Larry paid their compliments to Wilfred and thanked the woman, then dug into the food, the aroma reminding them of just how hungry they were.

  After the meal, the innkeeper showed them to a small second floor room looking out over darkened meadows, placed a lit candle in a bent metal holder on the small night table and closed the door behind her. Exhaustion overtook them and they quickly shucked their clothes, sliding under the covers from opposite sides of the bed, their warm bodies uniting in the center, each finding solace in the arms of the other. Larry was ill at ease, confused and guilty. He found himself thinking that perhaps Maria was correct when she said that the doctors had mixed up his x-ray with that of another patient. But if that was true, he was committing suicide by carrying the plutonium and, in addition, how could he become involved with Maria knowing that his demise was a forgone conclusion, even if she was unwilling to accept it. He felt that he had to get these feelings out in the open, as difficult as it would be for him and as painful as he imagined it would be for Maria, so, trepidation in his voice, he began. Stumbling through the first few sentences, thinking he was making no sense, he paused to gather his thoughts, and it was then that he heard her gentle deep breathing as she slept the sleep of the exhausted. Ashamed at the relief he felt in being able to put off having this conversation, he, too, closed his eyes and was soon in a place where the world was far distant.

  * *

  Some eighty kilometers to the northeast, Eva, impatient and annoyed, paced back and forth in one of the cluster of small rooms that now served as SS headquarters in Munich. The corporal who manned the communications center had sent word to Waldman's command post in northern Italy and he was anxiously awaiting a reply. The radio operator was ill at ease, and had been so since Eva stormed into his domain earlier and demanded that she be put in touch with the General immediately. His first inclination when she had launched what amounted to a blitzkrieg assault on him as soon as she entered the room, barking instructions and demands in a tone that would be the envy of any drill sergeant, was to tell her to fuck off, but since he knew who she was and how explosive a temper the General had, the soldier meekly carried out her orders. He dearly wished she would leave, and thus his hope for a prompt reply.

  "Call again. Are you sure you reached the proper unit?"

  "Yes, Fraulein. They have gone to tell him." Eva started to say something but was interrupted by the crackle of the speakers as a static laden incoming voice message began, arriving via radiophone and landlines. He held up his hand for quiet. "This is SS command, Munich," he said as he put on earphones and switched off the speakers. "Yes, understood." Corporal Schultz removed the earphones and held them out to Eva. "General Waldman wants to speak to you. Sit here and hold the microphone close to your mouth." He motioned to the chair next to his as he pushed the large microphone towards her.

  Eva slipped the earphones over her head and took hold of the microphone with both hands. "Yes, General, it is me. No. Right away." She turned to the corporal. "Wait outside, I'll let you know when I'm finished."

  "Yes, Fraulein." He stood up and quickly left the radio room, his alacrity commensurate with his relief at being anywhere where Eva wasn't.

  Waldman and Eva conferred for ten minutes or so, then she strode out of the room and directly up to Corporal Schultz, handing him a piece of paper as she commanded, "Get me a car and a driver right away; give this to the driver, it is our destination. This is a direct order from the general." The latter statement was not in the least necessary since the corporal was only too anxious to have her as far away as possible and as soon as possible. In short order Eva found herself in the back seat of a black Mercedes heading out of Munich to the Southwest, a young and somewhat frightened private at the wheel.

  * *

  Hans Mettler realized that the information he provided to his old friend was very useful, but he could also tell from his face that he was saddened by it at the same time. Dulles walked Hans to the door, opening it for him and ushering him through the anteroom to the hall, where he shook his hand then turned back to his office. As he passed Bill's desk, he said, "Get me all of Templeton's case files and tell the military attaché at our Embassy that I need to see him today." Back at his desk, he spun his chair to face the window, and stared out at the sunlit vista over the rooftops, while he reviewed the situation. He had a rogue agent, one agent that was in all likelihood dead and a field agent behind enemy lines on a mission that was compromised. With German forces in retreat or disarray, and the French border open, he was concerned that Julian might bolt, but he was more worried about the safety of Larry, the agent in the field. It was only two days ago that he inquired as to his name and who he was. Normally he was not involved in operations to that degree of detail, but now he wanted to know, not only because he had to make sure that Larry had been properly vetted and was not involved in Julian's plot, but also because of the guilt he felt for allowing a traitor to thrive in his midst and thus place this young man in even more danger than was engendered by the mission itself.

  When Bill brought in a pile of folders that represented Templeton's casework, Dulles was still looking out the window. Without turning he said, "Thanks. Just leave them on the table." He spent the rest of the day pouring over the documents, creating a list of all the operations which Julian had run or with which he had been connected in any way. Then he wrote down all the personnel involved —— agents, staff, informants, targets, partisans and any other listed person who may have been contacted. Accurate record keeping was an integral part of any espionage system, and the effort involved often yielded results that were invaluable in detecting connections and maintaining the security of the network, as Dulles hoped would be the case today. He looked over his notes, wrote "Waldman" and "Schroeder" at the top of each page, leaned back in his chair staring at the pages, then asked his aide to come in. Phone logs had to be reviewed and he would need Bill's help with that, as well as following up on connections that might show up after his study of all the files.

  There followed forty-eight hours of intense work by the two of them, Dulles reluctant to call in any help since he didn't know the extent to which his network may have been compromised. He expected that Julian, being smart, would have omitted incriminating items and contacts from his case files once he began the rogue operation, but it was likely that some of the connections that made his plan possible, that, in fact, may have given him the idea, had been established previously and their footprints were in earlier case files that were beyond tampering by Julian. All they had to do was find them.

  * *

  "Mr. Dulles, take a look at this." It was after Nine PM of the second night and Bill had several pages from different files arrayed on the large conference table. "There is a small group of partisans operating out of northern Italy, mainly around the Trentino Alto-Adige region. That area shares borders with both Austria and Switzerland."

  "I know it. I was there b
efore the war. Beautiful countryside; the Dolomites extend into that region."

  Bill captured the conversation again, as quickly as he could without sounding insubordinate, before Dulles could go off on a tangent, reminiscing about his extensive travels. "Anyway, the group is headed by a fellow going under the name of Fabrizio, who Templeton has used multiple times over the last few years, either as part of some operation or as a source of information. The last mention of him was in a document from December of 1944, where it indicates a payment to him of five hundred American dollars, then there's no reference to him or any of his group in any reports since."

  "Were they captured or dispersed for fear of being discovered?"

  "There's no record of anything happening to him, nor is there any explanation for why this particular asset was no longer being used."

  "Other than for use as an occasional bribe they might need, we don't pay these people; they're patriots, risking their lives for the sake of their country and fellow citizens. I don't recall authorizing any payment."

  "Five hundred dollars is just under the limit where expenses need your personal OK."

  "You think Julian was raising a small private militia?"

  "It wouldn't be the first time that criminals or those interested only in themselves changed their stripes and presented themselves as defenders of freedom. For some it was a true epiphany, a realization of just how much their country meant to them, for others it was simply a change of venue and a new way to turn a profit."

  "So we lose track of this group after December. What else was going on then?"

  "Templeton's trip to Altstatten, and Waldman's thirty six hour absence from command headquarters, Berlin, took place in early December. Also, by that time it was obvious to the real tacticians among the Nazi military command that they were going to be defeated."

  "The general knows this and figures it's time to get in the game even though he doesn't have the plutonium yet. But how did he get to Julian, and why him?"

  "I think it was just a walk in. I checked the visitor log that Victoria submits each week. In November there's an entry for someone claiming to be a representative of a German SS general, not such an unusual occurrence, but almost all of them prove to be low level military with no connection to anyone higher than a sergeant, and no information of any use. Often it's just a refugee looking to line his pockets or achieve some kind of recognition with the presumptive victors. In this case, Victoria had him talk to Templeton; he was the duty officer that day. The report that he filed indicates he met with a junior officer who refused to give his name, and upon questioning could provide no proof of his access to a general, nor would he be able to get the purported general to demonstrate any kind of action that would signal his actual command authority. Templeton concludes that he was worthless as an asset and no further mention of him appears in any record."

  "That could very well be the initial contact. If so, Julian saw an opportunity that he decided to keep in his vest pocket." Dulles tapped out the tobacco in his cold pipe and asked a question, more to himself than to Bill. "Why does a man sell out his country?" Even though they both knew the question had been rhetorical, Bill suggested that maybe the answer would be in the pouch that was due to arrive tomorrow. He expected that there would be more background info on Templeton. Dulles didn't reply. He sat there thinking.

  Bill stood up to leave, but the director motioned him to wait. "Hold on while I write a note that I want you to get to Caserta as quickly as possible. Mark it extremely urgent." He took about five minutes, reading through it once and making a few changes before giving the paper to his aide. "Let me know as soon as you get a response."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Maria and Larry were up early, the bright sun, barely over the horizon, the harbinger of a splendid spring day. After a quick breakfast of bread and cheese from their packs, they left their room and descended to the main bar and dining room below, where the matron poked her head out of the kitchen and wished them a good morning. In response to her offer to prepare breakfast for them, they demurred, thanked her for her hospitality, and moments later were on the road again heading south towards Austria. There were a fair number of people on foot as well as sporadic vehicular traffic, most of the flow going north, away from the advancing allied forces. Larry was surprised and relieved that so far they had not encountered any military units, a relief that was to be short lived. The unending lines of refugees that had characterized the early months of the war as German troops overran one country after the other, were not to be seen now that the tables were reversed; in those days the fleeing population had hopes of escaping to the unconquered lands that surrounded the ever expanding cancer that was Nazi Germany. However, as the end of the Third Reich drew near, where could the Germans run? Like a star that expands in a sudden flash, spreading its brilliance across the sky, only to later contract into a small, cold, dense mass, the lifeless residue of flames that burnt too intensely, so the Germans returned to their own land. But once within their borders, they could contract no further, could not huddle as one in the geometric center of the country, holding on to each other and awaiting the onslaught of the avenging allies. They had to abide, stay by their homes and pray that the approaching juggernaut would pass them by without harm.

  Shortly after noon, as they crested a small hill, Larry could see a long column of vehicles several kilometers ahead, a trail of dust dancing in the air above them. "That's got to be military," he said to Maria. "I can't tell what kind of unit it is, but I think it would be safer if we didn't wait to find out. Let's head into those trees and wait until they pass. We have a couple of apples left so we may as well call it a lunch break." They walked the short distance to the wooded area that bordered the road and disappeared into the subdued light of the cool forest, the smell of pine filling their nostrils and the mat of needles padding their footfalls. At a point where Larry could make out the road, but from which they would be unseen by anyone traveling on it, they removed their packs and found a large tree stump to serve as a bench. Larry placed his pack five feet away behind a protruding rock, which he hoped would provide shielding from its contents, took hold of Maria's hand and kissed it as they sat there quietly, enjoying the brief respite from the trail. After a moment she reached into her pack and produced two apples, one of which she handed to Larry, a sly smile on her face as she said, "Why is this familiar? A woman in a gardenlike setting giving a man an apple and encouraging him to take a bite. Hmmm?" She started to giggle, then bit into the red fruit, the crunch of the bite sounding loudly in the quiet surroundings, followed by the noise of Larry sinking his teeth into the offering. There followed a third sound, the crackling of a twig snapping, and Larry jerked his head up, turning to the direction of the noise. He spit out the fruit as he looked at a large man wearing ragged clothes, a hunting knife hanging from his belt. Broad shoulders supported a generous head with jet black eyes starring out from a dirty face. Following his eyes, Larry turned to the left and saw two more men, smaller, but equally scruffy, forming a partial circle around them. Maria moved closer to him, sliding her arm in his. He quickly disentangled himself and stood up, placing his hand on her shoulder, an indication that she should stay put, while he angled his body so he could see all three of the intruders. Unfortunately, they had a pack instinct and slowly moved to surround the couple.

  "What can we do for you fellows?" he said, not directing the inquiry directly at any one of them. One of the smaller men replied, and that at least told Larry who the leader was.

  "Well, we're in need of food and maybe some clothes."

  "And maybe something else, too," said the man next to him, starring intently at Maria.

  "We don't have much food, but we're glad to share some with you."

  The leader expelled a short laugh. "Sharing isn't what we have in mind." The big fellow sniggered and took a step toward Larry's pack. Larry turned and faced the approaching giant head on while the leader continued, "What you got in that sack? Se
ems like it must be pretty important."

  "Believe me, it's nothing you want. It could kill you, all of you."

  "You carrying some kind of bomb? I better have a look. Max, bring me that satchel."

  "It's poison! You could die, Max." The big guy hesitated, then looked to the leader.

  "It doesn't look like it did him much harm. Just get the pack, Max, we'll get the woman." Again that short laugh.

  As much as Larry wanted to take immediate action and run to Maria's protection, he knew that would be the wrong move, something for which they would both suffer. And so he kept his eyes squarely on Max, even as he heard the others advance towards the woman he loved. The giant starred back at Larry as he took the final step to the pack and bent to pick it up, at the last instant looking down so he could take hold of the straps. Larry needed only that fraction of a second to make his move. There was no time for lead in steps, he just brought his right foot forward with all his strength, like a soccer player confronted with a fleeting, unexpected shot at the goal, one requiring the utmost celerity. The kick landed on the left side of his jaw, its force, however, mitigated by the fact that Max was already starting to straighten up, his head receding from the direction of the blow. Nonetheless, it was sufficient to drop him to the ground although not to knock him out. Obviously used to fighting, the big man kept his wits and immediately grabbed the butt of his knife and slid it out of the holster, rotating his wrist so the business end was pointing at Larry while he started to get back on his feet. Back alley fights and bar room brawls were not part of Larry's youth, but the commando training he received from the army and the OSS made up for that. He launched himself across the short distance separating them and expertly wrapped his arms around the knife hand of his opponent, neutralizing it for the moment, then, from the squatting position in which he found himself, propelled himself upward, still holding fast to Max's arm. He heard the giant's shoulder pop as his arm separated from the socket, followed by a loud yell as the pain hit him like a jolt of electricity and he settled back on his knees, leaning forward and supporting his torso on one arm, the other hanging useless. Larry reached for the knife, but Max, still on his knees, turned to the side, grabbing Larry in a one armed bear hug, falling on his back at the same time. He now had him around the neck, flexing his arm like a nutcracker, hoping to crush the breath out of Larry. Larry tried to loosen the vice like grip to no avail, then reached out trying to take hold of the knife, but it was out of reach. His flailing arms found the pack as his breathing became labored, and he rooted inside, feeling the cold metal of the plutonium like some silver shot put. Sparkles of light danced before his eyes and he began to feel dizzy. Grunting, the big man tightened his hold, rotating from side to side like a feline predator shaking its prey. Larry tried removing the grapefruit sized mass but it kept slipping from his sweating hand. As he was jerked to and fro, he caught glimpses of Maria struggling with her attackers, saw her knocked to the forest floor, her blouse ripped and one of the men spreading her legs apart while the other sat on her chest. The yell of anguish that came from Larry reverberated through the trees, and he made a final lunge to the side, took a firm grip on the heavy plutonium ball, lifting it high before slamming it down on Max's head with all the might he could muster. He was splattered by blood as the big man's scalp split and the underlying bone splintered. As soon as the death grip on his neck relaxed, Larry tore himself free and rushed to Maria, throwing one of the attackers to the side and grabbing the other around the neck in a hammer lock, snapping his head forward in one swift movement and holding him until his body went limp.