Larry and Maria were brought to the open car, where the recent occupants pivoted, almost in unison. They were face to face with General Gerhard Waldman and his mistress, Eva, the latter with a most delighted and evil smile as she surveyed Larry and the shivering young woman beside him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Sun had climbed over the rooftops of Bern, dissipating the shadows of early morning, but not yet banishing the night chill that remained in the air. Although the clear blue sky promised a fine spring day, the weather was far from Julian's thoughts as he made his way through the quiet streets in the early morning. He had remained low key since the disappearance of Kent, without giving the impression that he was trying to stay completely out of sight, something that would have surely increased suspicion that he was somehow involved. During the night an urgent message from general Waldman had been delivered, notifying him that the whereabouts of the field agent had been discovered and he expected to acquire control of the package within the next twenty four to forty eight hours. It went on to say that their rendezvous near Altstatten should take place as soon as possible after that, Gerhard going directly there once the prize was in his hand.
Templeton was on his way to Herrengasse to make final arrangements and he was no longer certain about the best course of action. Goddamn Waldman for killing Kent, and Goddamn Kent for being stupid enough to allow it to happen. It would be so much easier if that didn't happen. Well, it can't be undone; I'll just have to deal with it. He planned to turn over the plutonium to a buyer in Switzerland as soon as he received it from the General; the less time it was in his hands the less chance of discovery. The money would be deposited in a Swiss bank to be retrieved at a future date, and he would simply continue at his government job for a year or two, then quietly retire to pursue "other interests", knowing that he had a sufficient nest egg to allow him to live comfortably for the rest of his life. The maneuvering at the end of the operation was to have been quick and easy, the acquisition, sale, and deposit all taking place within thirty six hours at most, then business as usual for him, just another government employee doing his job. All of that was now uncertain.
The original plan might still work, but he had to now consider the possibility of modifying the ending. Once the money was safely in a numbered Swiss bank account, the part about business as usual might have to be replaced with cut and run. Templeton knew that with his partner gone missing, and the operation about to end in failure, at least as far as the OSS was concerned, he would be under suspicion; at the least there would be an inquiry into the entire operation from start to finish. He had no doubt that he could effectively disappear and make his way to some South American or other quasi neutral country, but he didn't envision himself living as an expatriate fugitive, and the likelihood that he would eventually be tracked down seemed high. The original plan was better; it was simple and elegant, but now it was really a question of whether or not it was still tactically feasible. Would his role as a loyal OSS agent survive the scrutiny of a focused investigation?
Before going to the office Julian stopped in at the Bellevue Palace hotel, a bastion of old world opulence since 1913, crossed the ornate lobby in hurried steps and placed a sealed envelope on the registration desk, calling to a clerk as he did so. "Please deliver this right away to the gentleman in room four twenty-eight." He placed a few coins on top of the paper.
"Shall I say who it's from, sir?"
"Not necessary, it's explained in the letter."
"Right away, sir." Julian was already walking to the door. The clerk twirled the envelope in his hand, wrote the room number on it and then rang for a bell-boy to take it up.
Ten minutes later Templeton hurried up the steps to his office, glad that Vickie was not yet at her desk. One less encounter, one less distraction. Walking down the corridor he passed Dulles's office, the door open as Bill was emerging carrying a small stack of papers. Through the open portal he saw Allen Dulles at his desk, removing manila envelopes from the morning courier pouch, a small plume curling upward from his pipe. Bill looked up as Templeton passed, and nodded to him. "Morning, Julian. You're here early."
"Got to keep up with the old man." He paused. "Actually, I'm trying to check on some leads about Kent's disappearance. It's frustrating not knowing what happened. And dangerous. I don't like it when an operation goes wrong."
I'll bet you don't. Out loud, Bill said, "We're all worried, especially when this happens to someone who's not a field agent. Good luck."
Julian continued along the hall to his office, closing the door behind him and dropping into his chair with a feeling of exhaustion, even though the day was just beginning. Between the Bellevue and Herrengasse he had made the decision to forge ahead with his original plan, selling the plutonium and parking the money in a numbered account for a couple of years. However, to cover unforeseen events, Julian wanted to have one or more exit doors available, and to do that he needed to check on the assets available to him. Some of the information he needed was hidden in his apartment, squirreled away like acorns against the possibility of a harsh winter, but some remained in his office files, to be copied or removed before the day was out.
An hour later, his planning and foraging was interrupted by a knock, followed by Allen Dulles walking into the office. "Find anything? Bill said you were checking into some new leads on Kent."
"I don't know how real it is or how useful it might be, but one of my contacts, a Swiss national with ties to Austria, sent me a rather cryptic note in which he mentioned hearing about my friend, I presume Kent, and saying we should get together for dinner sometime."
"Could be useful. You should arrange a meeting. Where is he located?"
"Near Altstatten. It's close to Austria and he's back and forth across the border fairly often."
"Get out there tomorrow. You can also check at our base and have them put you in contact with the partisans waiting for the field agent. We've got to see if we can find out anything about the status of our boy."
"I'll be on tomorrow's train."
"If you find out anything, you can get a secure message to me from the base." Dulles turned and left with no further conversation.
Templeton watched the door close, then leaned back in his chair and slowly exhaled, a smile on his face for the first time since his sleep was interrupted last night by the message from Gerhard. What a fucking stroke of good fortune. He just built my cover story for me. Just a few more days and I should be back in Bern with a well stocked bank account." Julian spent another hour at his desk, then returned to his apartment, stopping again at the Bellevue and leaving another message for the gentleman in four twenty-eight.
* *
Rain had been pelting the curtained window of his first class seat since shortly after the train left the Bern station, but now, as Julian sat in the dining car, the clouds rolled aside and broad beams of sunshine dotted the passing landscape. The waiter cleared away the remains of his modest breakfast, and refilled the coffee cup, maintaining perfect balance as the car swayed from side to side.
It seemed odd, he thought, that the buyer of the plutonium would end up being a Swiss citizen, but who else would have better access to the infrastructure necessary to pull off a sale like this and arrange for safe storage and transportation. Templeton knew that Mr. Gottier, the man whose agent had waited in room four twenty-eight, would simply sell the package to some other interested buyer, certainly at a substantial profit over what he had paid, but there was nothing he could do about that. He had the plan to acquire the plutonium but lacked the resources to do anything with it once it was in his hands. Gottier, on the other hand, was a quintessential merchant and was well skilled in turning a profit as a middleman. And, if luck continued to shine on Templeton, he would be meeting with Gottier on the train from Zurich to Altstatten. The wealthy merchant had kept one of his trusted men ensconced at the nicest hotel in Bern, just so he would be available as a cutout to relay messages to his employer in Zurich. When he
changed trains, Julian would share a private compartment with Gottier, and the first part of their business would be concluded on the ride to Altstatten.
To the Swiss, a train schedule was something to be adhered to, not merely an approximation of when a particular run was likely to begin, and so, when Julian arrived at Zurich, he had exactly twenty-one minutes to change platforms for the train to Altstatten. He accomplished this without incident, and five minutes before the train left the station he was seated across from Armin Gottier, lunch spread out on the table between them, waiting for the steward to fill their wine glasses before commencing their business.
"Ring when you're ready for coffee, or if there's anything else I can get you."
"Thank you." The deep base voice was surprising and not at all what one would expect from the tall, thin merchant. His straight black hair was brushed back, slicked firmly against his scalp; his face was clean-shaven and deeply tanned from hours on the ski slopes near his private alpine chateau. Despite his ruddy complexion, it was difficult for Julian to think of Gottier as athletic in any way. His pencil thin stature, accentuated by a close fitting double breasted suit, reminded him more of the anthropomorphization of an expensive walking stick. Emphasis on "expensive," for notwithstanding his physical appearance, he radiated wealth and power in everything he said or did. There was no mistaking it.
Gottier's eyes followed the steward from the compartment, then, when the door clicked shut, he turned back to Julian. "I'm told we are ready to commence our transaction." No preamble. Strictly business.
Templeton followed his lead. "I'll need the down payment we discussed and contact information for your driver in Altstatten. Once it's on board he and I can drive to wherever you want so the shipment can be authenticated, and then I'll expect final payment. Transaction completed."
"When do you expect this to happen?"
"Tomorrow or the next day."
"Very good." He reached into his briefcase and produced an envelope bulging with high denomination Swiss francs. Julian took it, not bothering to count it, and placed it in a large manila envelope marked "Top Secret." He returned this to the leather briefcase at his side. Gottier continued, "You understand that the remainder of the payment will be in the form of a bank draft." There was no need for him to mention that it would be honored at virtually any bank in the world. Nor was there any need for him to detail the course of action should the merchandise not be delivered or be other than what had been described to him. Money and power.
"Understood."
"Good. Now, let us enjoy lunch. My personal chef prepared this. The railroad was kind enough to allow him some space in their kitchen." Money talks; power even more loudly.
Business concluded for the day, Gottier became a congenial host. They exchanged pleasantries for the remainder of the trip, with coffee and cognac topping off an excellent meal. In subdued intimate tones he talked about his youth and his rise to preeminence in the world of commerce, seemingly as he would to a long time friend and confidant. Julian, however, realized he was presenting only a sanitized version of his personal history based on material that was public knowledge or easily obtained, leaving out the events that hovered on the edge of legality or represented flagrant transgressions of the border between ethical and unethical. Gottier was, of course, aware that his guest knew all this, but continued the charade nonetheless. After all, business was business and appearances must be maintained.
They parted company at the Altstatten station, Gottier disappearing into a waiting Rolls Royce, and Templeton making a brief phone call before emerging from the station. At the curbside he entered a nondescript sedan, driven by a nondescript United States government employee, a scene that was an affirmation for him of the decision he had made not to live his life so far down on the food chain. They pulled away from the curb and drove at a modest speed through the small town and onto the road that led to the technically illegal base that the OSS maintained on Swiss soil.
* *
Eva's grin morphed into a sneer, then she laughed out loud, a dry, cold, bone chilling cackle. She said something to Gerhard, who nodded, motioned her to stay by the car, then slowly walked forward, coming to a halt in front of Larry and Maria. Maria averted her eyes, but Larry returned Waldman's stare, looking directly in his eyes with neither belligerence nor supplication. One soldier acknowledging to another that today the field was his.
The General spoke first. "I do not even know your name, but I have been expecting you."
"Lorenz. My name is Lorenz."
"Ah, so Eva says. But we both know that is not your name. No matter. 'Lorenz' it shall be."
"And your name, General?"
"Waldman. SS General Gerhard Waldman. There. You see, I have been honest with you." Turning to Maria, he continued, "And this must be Maria, the late general Schroeder's woman."
Maria's head shot up, her eyes fixed on Waldman. "What do you mean, the 'late' general Schroeder?" Hysteria in her voice.
"I am sorry to inform you that the General has been killed by partisans in northern Italy."
"No, that can't be. German generals don't get killed." She started forward but was restrained by a nearby soldier. "Tell me it's not true," she screamed.
"I am afraid it is true, Fraulein. I can attest to it personally."
That bastard had him killed. But Larry showed no emotion and remained motionless. There was nothing he could do now. Maybe later. Unlikely, but at least a remote possibility. Maria's sobs tore at his gut, as she cried in great bursts for the man who had been her only support through one of the darkest periods of her life. He wondered if she believed the part about the Italian partisans, and, in one of those strange tangential thoughts that come unbidden, he wondered if it would affect their relationship, considering his Italian origin. Almost immediately he realized the irrelevancy of his concerns, since it seemed probable that their relationship, as well as their lives, would soon be terminated by a bullet in the head. For him it would be an exit far better than he had imagined for himself, but for his beloved Maria it would be a tragic end, although perhaps, even for her, it would be less painful than a life without him and Heinrich.
For the moment, all eyes were focused on Maria, whose sobs seemed to reverberate through the air, and Larry took the opportunity to survey his captors. There were about a dozen men, mostly the old and the young, some wearing only potions of a uniform, the rag tag remnants of the male population of a country which had committed all its resources to a war whose front had expanded far beyond the capacity of Germany to maintain. As it receded, the tide of German expansion left behind its detritus, like the sea leaves behind rows of debris on the shoreline. In the case of Germany, it was its fighting elite that were left behind on foreign soil, dead or captured, while all that remained in the fatherland were those who were not thrown into the tidal surge. These stood before him now, old, grizzled, unseasoned, but each, nonetheless, carrying a weapon that could snuff out a life with the mere contraction of a finger on a trigger.
"Well, Lorenz, we have some business to conclude. You are carrying something that I must have. Come, let us take a walk." He spoke to the sergeant next to him who barked some orders, and several men detached themselves from the squad and fell in beside Larry and Maria. Waldman turned and signaled to Eva who joined him before he led the small group into the adjacent woods. Larry noticed two of the soldiers carrying a large crate —— for the plutonium, he surmised.
With gallows humor, he thought that their future was "not promising" and apt to be rather short. Still, the future was an unknown, and that which is not known offers a myriad of possibilities. So Larry retained some small sliver of hope, although as they marched closer to certainty, the number of options would rapidly shrink until they converged, at the final moment, into a singularity from which there was no escape. The black hole of destiny.
They moved noisily through the woods for about a half-mile, heading East, then halted in a small clearing, the soldiers assuming
positions around the periphery. Several large boulders stood like silent sentinels, embedded fragments of quartz reflecting light. Gerhard unsnapped the holster of his PO8 Luger and removed the dark metal sidearm.
Eva put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, let me have the pleasure of killing at least one of them. I think the woman, while he watches, would be nice. What do you think?"
"Yes, of course, Liebchen," he said, emphasizing "Liebchen." It seemed that Eva was about to say something.
Maria ran to Larry, entwined her arms tightly in his and held on as if he was her only anchor in the roughest of seas. The crack of a gun discharging at close range shook her body with an involuntary spasm and her grasp momentarily tightened even further.
Eva opened her mouth, as if to continue the thought she had been about to vocalize, but no words followed, only the forced expiration of air. With a surprised and then questioning look on her face, she sank to the ground, the still smoking muzzle inches from her abdomen, the gun clenched in Gerhard's hand, his head angling down to follow her slump to the forest floor.
"I do not like to share, Liebchen," he said, then pivoted around to face Larry again. "And now, Lorenz, it is time." What happened next was a rapid succession of individual actions, some occurring simultaneously, but all happening with such speed that the overall effect was that of a great upheaval, multiple events that were discernible to the contemporaneous mind only by virtue of their consequences after the fact.
Waldman's index finger tightened on the trigger and there followed two shots, one immediately after the other, the sounds blending into one. His cap was blown up and to the side by the round that tore into his right temple, the slug exiting amid a shower of blood intermixed with fragments of bone and brain. The force of the bullet sent his body reeling to the left, toppling like a tree and landing across the prostrate body of Eva. As he was thrown to the side, there was a spasmodic clenching of his hand and the Luger discharged, sending a nine mm round into Maria, who let out a startled cry and, with a low groan, settled to her knees, then fell over.
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