No one at the camp knew where the presumed rendezvous with the agent would take place. All they knew was that each day someone from the camp drove Templeton to the outskirts of the city before daybreak and from there, wearing laborer's clothes, he walked off in the direction of the town. At nightfall, they were to return to wait for him. Everyone seemed happy with this arrangement; the less known the better.
On this early spring morning, the sun not yet above the horizon and the temperature cold from the alpine air rolling off the mountains into the Rhine valley, Templeton nodded goodbye to the camp driver, thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and set off down the road toward Altstatten. It was still dark when he entered a café in the city center, the warmth from the cooking stoves a pleasant relief from the chill. Gottier's driver was waiting for him. It was a moderately large eatery, catering to the working class, and no one paid them any attention. It opened early in the morning, was quickly filled with laborers as well as businessmen hoping to get a jump on the day's work, or perhaps just trying to impress their boss, then, by ten o'clock it closed, to reopen again at four as a beer hall, with a bit of simple fare, one or two dishes for those who had no one waiting at home to prepare their supper.
Julian and the driver were able to eat a hearty breakfast, fill a thermos with coffee and arrive at the expected meeting point shortly after dawn. They headed east out of the city, then bounced along dirt roads before stopping alongside a small meadow bordered by trees and surrounded by low hills that provided a modicum of privacy. The eastern edge of the meadow was several hundred meters from the Rhine, flowing swiftly northward to plunge into Lake Constance fifteen miles to the north. On the first day of their vigil Templeton had engaged the driver in conversation, mainly to go over the logistics of authenticating the plutonium, receiving final payment and getting that money into the numbered account he had previously set up. After going over the plans a couple of times, there was not much else to say, so they both sat in the car, the driver smoking and reading a newspaper, and Julian drinking coffee and thinking.
At about the same time as the two of them pulled the car off the dirt road to wait, Fabrizio and Larry were beaching the boat along a short stretch of the bank where the ground angled down to the water's edge rather than falling off in a precipitous drop, like it did for much of the distance they had come. It was hardly a beach, however, there being no sand whatever. Mud, stones, debris and an overgrowth of brush awaited them, but at least they could maneuver the boat onto shore and could walk to higher ground without having to climb a seven or eight foot embankment. The earth forming the bank had been undermined, most likely from a swift current or a high water level at some time in the past, and had collapsed along much of its length, forming the slope that now provided an exit path for the two travelers. At either end of this short stretch, the bank had not collapsed, but was deeply undermined, forming a cave like enclosure, partly hidden by overhanging brush.
"We'll hide the boat there, just in case we need it again," Fabrizio said. "You can't have too many exit plans and escape routes." They floated the boat to the end of the short stretch of sloped shore, then dragged it ashore again under the overhanging bank, adding additional brush and debris to the naturally occurring shrubbery that hung down from above. Satisfied that it would escape detection except for someone actively looking for it, Fabrizio motioned Larry up the slope. "We should be able to get you to the rendezvous in a couple of hours or less."
"Good. I'll be glad when this is over. I need to start working on arrangements to get Maria across the border. Do you know where they took her?"
"It could be one of two houses. Maybe three."
"Will your men stay with her?"
Fabrizio shrugged. "Who can say? They might stay for a day, but it would be dangerous for them all if they remained much longer. My guess is they will start out for home once your woman is in a safe place. But I am not there, so I do not know." He left out the part about how his men would most likely not stay at all since he doubted that Maria would survive her wound even long enough to make it to the house.
They had reached a path of sorts that followed the Rhine, partially hidden from both the river and the inland terrain by assorted brush, trees and occasional stretches alongside rock formations and berms. There was not much foliage on the bushes, but the sheer density of the stems and twigs shielded them from view, and although they remained vigilant, they both felt a degree of security that had been absent for their entire journey to date. The two walked at an easy brisk pace, a feeling almost of tranquility surrounding them, yet the partisan remained troubled.
"Tell me where these safe houses are located, Fabrizio, my friend. It seems that my side will most likely have to go and get her."
"It isn't easy to explain without a map."
"Take your time and do the best you can. We have at least an hour of walking ahead of us, and I have a good memory as well as a good eye for visualizing what you describe." Fabrizio explained what he remembered about the locations, Larry continually asking for more detail, prodding him to picture the town in his mind and describe how he would proceed, where he would turn, what buildings he was looking at, what shops or other landmarks he passed. This interrogation went on for quite a while, longer than Fabrizio would have liked, but he didn't complain. It helped pass the time and after a while it became a challenge to the partisan to see how much detail he could remember. All things considered, though, he would rather have been talking about women, or wine or his plans for after the war, but the conversation kept Larry from thinking of anything else or asking other questions that might be harder to answer, and for this Fabrizio was grateful.
Suddenly the Italian stopped, looked to his left, then to the right, across the river. "We're getting close. See those twin radio towers on the other side of the Rhine and that rock formation up on the hill ahead to the left? When we reach a position where the rocks, the towers and us are all lined up straight, we head inland for a few hundred meters. Your friends will be waiting there."
* *
Julian opened the car door, getting out to walk around a bit and stretch his legs. With the sun above the horizon in a clear blue sky, the day was already warming up, and he left his coat in the back seat while he walked out onto the meadow, swinging his arms and pausing now and then to stretch his back. The coffee was having its usual effect, and his bladder was signaling him for some relief, so he headed off in the direction of the trees bordering the grassy meadow, dotted with scattered early spring blooms. After about five minutes he emerged from behind a large tree and was beginning the stroll back to Gottier's car when he noticed two men cautiously approaching from the direction of the river. His binoculars were in the car, so he casually ambled in their direction, not wanting to make a dash for the car or do anything to make their presence seem like something more than a chance encounter, in case these two were not who he expected. In short order they were close enough that he could recognize Fabrizio, who he had met on two occasions before deciding it would be safer for all concerned if they communicated by cutouts or secure messages. It took longer for him to recognize Larry, with whom he had spoken on only one occasion at the OSS camp when he gave him his instructions. He seemed different, but Templeton couldn't detail anything specific, and marked it off as change induced by the strain of a particularly difficult mission. Julian noticed the pack that Larry carried and, presuming that it was the plutonium, he allowed a feeling of relief to wash over him, mixed with disappointment as well as apprehension. He was hoping that it would have been only Fabrizio and the pack, or, at worst, Fabrizio and Gerhard. No agent. The Italian had promised that he would take care of the OSS man and he had to assume that something had prevented him from dispatching him earlier. Fabrizio had always delivered on his promises, and he expected that this time would be no different. Nonetheless, Julian began running through options, thinking of reasons for Larry to stay with the partisan while Julian left with the plutonium. He was also forced to th
ink about the more distasteful and dangerous possibility of having to kill Larry himself. As it turned out, he needn't have worried about either possibility. Templeton walked towards them, wanting the first encounter to be out of earshot of Gottier's driver.
Fabrizio leaned towards Larry and whispered, "That's Faro. Not his real name of course, but that's how I know him."
"What does he call you?"
"Fabrizio, of course."
"So, you don't know his real name but he knows yours?"
"What makes you think 'Fabrizio' is my name?" He grinned, and when the corners of his lips curled up, and his wine stained teeth showed, there was no mirth in the smile. "I do not know who that other one is in the car. I'm not alarmed, but we must be cautious."
"You didn't see anything when you scanned the area from the trees, and I've been looking since we walked out of our cover. It looks clear."
"Good." Again the humorless smile.
The three men met in the middle of the meadow, Fabrizio's rifle resting on his folded arms. The driver had set down his paper and was watching intently from the front seat.
Templeton spoke first. "Good to see you again, Fabrizio."
"And to you signor Faro." He had switched to English for the benefit of his OSS contact, who spoke no Italian.
"As usual you deliver what you say you will deliver. That's why I like working with you." He turned to Larry. "We were all worried about you, soldier. I'm glad you made it." He inclined his head toward the pack Larry carried and continued, "After all that you must have been through, it looks like the operation has been a success."
There was no smile on Larry's face when he replied, "Only partially. General Schroeder's ward was shot and we had to leave her behind. We have to get her out."
"We'll take care of that, as soon as we get you to safety and you're debriefed."
Larry was about to continue but Fabrizio spoke first. "That fellow in the car, who is he, and what's he doing here?"
"He's just a driver. Not ours. He belongs to the gentleman who's making the purchase." A quiet warning sounded in Larry's mind, somewhere deep and almost below the threshold of awareness. It engendered a feeling of unease, but no real comprehension, and therefore, no fear. He was operating at some more basic level.
"Is he armed?"
"Unless it's very well hidden, he has no weapon with him, other than a nail file he's always using. Seems to be very interested in his appearance. Are you worried, Fabrizio?"
"No, Faro, but one must be cautious. That's why I'm still around." As he talked, Fabrizio moved to the side and slowly stepped around Templeton, ostensibly to get a better look at the driver and the car. Seemingly satisfied, he turned back, his body now between the car and Templeton, the rifle still cradled in one arm, and with his other hand withdrew a handgun from his pocket, the muzzle pointing at Larry's midsection as it emerged. Leaning in towards Julian he said softly, "And now, signor, I must ask you to remain very still." And in the next instant he pressed the weapon firmly into the back of his OSS contact. "Do not move or you die on this spot, and so does your driver." He raised his head and looked Larry directly in the face. "This man is not your friend. He has sold out his country and is willing to sacrifice you, all for that package you carry on your back."
Larry was momentarily stunned. He felt like a car whose accelerator was suddenly floored, the engine racing but the clutch not engaged. Adrenalin forced into his system primed his muscles for action, any fatigue he felt from the arduous journey was instantly dispelled, but he simply could not assimilate or evaluate what had just been said to him, so he stood there with what he later thought must have been a stupid expression, and stared back at Fabrizio who continued his explanation.
"This man had a deal with a German general to buy whatever it is that you carry. You were not supposed to make it this far. It was that General who I shot back there that I was to guide to the border if I couldn't kill him on the way.
Inside Larry's brain, relays clicked, connections were made and a sense of verisimilitude began to emerge from the brume that clouded his thinking. The subliminal warning that had sounded just moments before now rang loud and true. In Italian he said, "What do you intend to do?"
"Hold that pack out to the side and turn around once. Your real friends are watching us and will be here in a moment. There is nothing else that either of us have to do."
After a rapid assessment, Larry did as he was instructed even though he felt like he looked rather foolish. Putting aside, for the moment, the veracity of what he had just been told, he figured it was best not to argue with someone holding a rifle and a gun, especially someone who was deadly with both. When he completed his three sixty and once again faced Julian, the latter spoke to him in rapid English. "Don't believe him, soldier. This guy's only in it for the money. He's going to kill us all and sell the plutonium to the highest bidder. Think. The three of us should be able to take him." Continuing the rapid-fire speech, and couching his words in terms that he thought would make it impossible for the Italian to understand with his limited capability in English, he added, "The driver has a gun and will be reacting soon. Be ready to move quickly."
"Shut up, Faro, or in my confusion I might pull the trigger."
The driver, at first somewhat bewildered by what he saw, was now alarmed. He thought he might have caught a glimpse of a handgun aimed at the back of the man he was ordered to drive and watch, so, still keeping his eyes intent on the scene in the meadow before him, he reached under the seat and pulled out an American made Colt 45 automatic. He quietly unlatched the car door and slid out of the front seat. As he raised his gun, the sound of an approaching vehicle broke the silence of the morning, he and Fabrizio both turning simultaneously towards its origin. Two cars were speeding around a curve in the dirt road that ran alongside the grassy area in which they stood, plumes of dust rising up in their wakes as they careened down a hill. A second later Fabrizio saw the weapon in the driver's hand, and shifted his position to get a firing purchase on the rifle, determined not to be shot after coming this far. Feeling the movement, Julian spun around, falling to his knees as he grabbed for the automatic, ripping it from the partisan's hand. Fabrizio felt cornered. Now he had two guns aimed at him, a deadly crossfire. He quickly gauged that the most immediate and likely threat was from Faro, who, even as Fabrizio turned to face him, was securing his grasp on the gun and bringing it up to a firing position. What Templeton didn't see was Larry launching himself into the air, and he was surprised when the thud of a colliding body knocked him to the ground, followed by a sharp pain in his right wrist, the agony radiating up his arm all the way to the shoulder. When the knife like thrust of the pain subsided, he was lying on his back, his empty hand still numb, and Larry standing over him holding the Colt.
Fabrizio, seeing his first order threat neutralized, turned back to the car, dropped to one knee and brought the rifle to his shoulder. The driver, however, seeing the two cars bearing down on him, decided that discretion was the better part of valor and darted behind the wheel. A second later the engine roared to life and he took off in a cloud of dust and spinning wheels.
Templeton started to get up, but Fabrizio put his foot on his chest and forced him back to the ground. "Stay where you are," he said in a flat voice, but he lowered the barrel of his rifle so it pointed directly at his heart, just in case the lack of affect in his voice might be misinterpreted as a lack of conviction.
"Why did you sell me out, Fabrizio? Someone make you a better offer?"
"Why did you sell out your own country? Not good enough for you? You don't have enough? Get a better offer from some other country?"
"Goddamn right I don't have enough. Not enough respect for what I do, not enough money and certainly no recognition. Other people are getting rich, people who move in the right circles, people that don't even look my way, or, if they do, wonder how I got to be in the same room with them. It's not just the money. I want to be regarded as a person who means something,
not just another invisible civil servant. I'm not like you."
"Oh, you poor little bambino, nobody stands up and gives you the applause. Me and the people I know, the ones that nobody sees, the ones who are just trying to get by and take care of their families while the world around them is going to hell, all of us are so sorry for your condition. On their behalf I give you my sympathy and offer you the respect you deserve."
"Don't give me that shit. I know your type; I find your kind in the dark streets all over Europe. Money is what drives you and you don't care where it comes from or who you have to hurt to get it."
"For a man who must have gone to school for many years you are dumber than the mule on my uncle's farm. Yes, I like money, and sometimes maybe I break a few rules or even hit someone on the head, but I don't stick it to my country or the people I work with. Italy is my country, my home, the place where I don't have to be ashamed or cringe in dark streets like some mongrel dog waiting to join a pack led by a whore like you." He paused a second. "I do an injustice to whores to call you that. You are much worse."
"Yeah, so what did they offer you, whoever 'they' are?"
"A chance to work for the allies after the war, and from what they tell me, that should be very soon. I get safe passage back home and I get to walk with my head high. And respect. I get respect, but it comes from here." He tapped his chest with his fist. "For a man, that is the only kind of respect that matters."
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