Crossword

by Alan Bricklin

  "You stupid ass Wop, you'll always live in the gutter, and that's where you belong."

  The first of the two cars had pulled partly onto the meadow and had come to a stop. As it did, two men popped out, looked quickly around, and trotted over to where the trio was in a tight cluster. Larry recognized the men from the camp and walked towards them, stepping partly over Julian, letting his left foot trail just a little low so it impacted on the side of his face. He turned back. "Sorry about that. I guess us gutter Wops are a little careless about where we walk. Always stepping in dog shit."

  The two men grabbed Templeton by the upper arms, none too gently, and hurried him into the car, motioning to Larry and Fabrizio to get in the second car, which had just pulled in behind them. Larry suggested to the driver that the trunk would be the best place for what he carried in his pack, and, after stowing it out of the way, slid in beside Fabrizio who was already seated. The last view he had of Templeton was the back of his head receding from view as the first car bounced over the grass to regain the road, then accelerated in the direction from which it had come. By the time he settled in place and closed the door, the first car was disappearing from view around a curve in the road. That was the last he saw of Julian Templeton, and weeks later, when he casually inquired about him, he was met with a blank stare. He never asked again.

  The ride back to the camp was mostly in silence, the driver indicating to Fabrizio that he was expected and would be taken care of. To Larry he said that everyone was just damn happy that he made it back OK, and that he would be debriefed by Allen Dulles himself, who had arrived at the camp the day before. The only other time that anyone spoke was when Fabrizio turned to Larry and thanked him for saving his life when Templeton had the drop on him.

  At the camp, Larry shook hands with Fabrizio before they were each led off to opposite ends of the base. It was a handshake that had to last a lifetime, for they never saw each other again, although from time to time Larry thought about him, and when he did, he imagined him walking the Dolomite hills in Trentino-Alto Adige, his beloved northern Italy, with his wife and children at his side, his chin high and a smile on his face.

  Larry was allowed to shower and get something to eat, but sleep would have to be put off until after a quick check up by the doctor and the first of his debriefings. He received a cursory examination from an unusually taciturn doctor, was told everything seemed to be fine, and then was hastily ushered from the exam room and sent off for debriefing before he could ask any questions.

  Allen Dulles and two other OSS members awaited him in one of the offices in the main building of the camp, just a couple of doors from the doctor's office where his life first started to catapult off course, in what seemed eons ago. Dulles rose and walked across the room, hand outstretched in welcome. As they stood and shook hands, Dulles put his arm on Larry's shoulder and said, "You had us all worried here. You must have been through hell, and I know you must be exhausted, but I'm going to have to ask you to stick it out a bit longer while we ask you some questions. You're safe now and you're going to be OK."

  "Sorry to interrupt sir, and with all respect, but how can I be all right when I have cancer and it's going to kill me if the rays from that plutonium don't do it first."

  "There's a lot we have to talk about, but I suppose there are a few things we ought to take care of right off the bat." A brief but awkward silence. "You don't have cancer. It was a lie, told to you without our knowledge to get you to agree to a suicide mission. It's not easy to tell you this, but straight talk is best, and now you know. But it is good news."

  He flashed back to Maria. "Maybe they're wrong," she had said, "maybe it was a mix up." She saw more than I did even with all my training. "Sir, if it's straight talk we're doing, I can't exactly feel good about the fact that I was duped into a suicide mission, just because you tell me I really didn't have cancer. Dead from cancer or dead from this radiation poisoning they told me about doesn't make much difference. Either way I'm pushing up daisies."

  "There's more, son, and it is good, although it may strike you hard. You're not going to die from radiation."

  "But the plutonium ..."

  "It's not plutonium."

  Larry's mouth dropped open, his eyes widened and his mind buzzed with a million half formed questions like annoying mosquitoes on a summer's evening that harried the unfortunate night traveler and gave him no rest. He didn't know where to begin. Nothing in his training had prepared him for this, and all he could manage was to blurt out, "But...but ..."

  Dulles didn't let him suffer through the agony of trying to frame questions in some coherent order, but jumped in while he was still stammering. "Let me give it to you from the beginning, the short story, but I believe it will answer most of your questions. A hydroelectric plant in Norway was commandeered by the Germans shortly after they invaded the country, and Hitler ordered that it was to be used to turn out plutonium for the manufacture of an atomic bomb. Some of the best German scientists and engineers were sent there with explicit instructions about what results were expected, and, moreover, their families remained behind in Germany, de facto ransom on their success. None of these men and women were fanatic Nazis, many were not even members of the party, or had joined strictly for their own protection. The consequences of failure were not lost on them, and when they realized how unlikely they would be to succeed in what Hitler demanded, a handful of these men, the most senior, met one night to discuss their predicament. One of them made a suggestion that night, one that seemed so preposterous that they all laughed it off; but it was an idea that apparently stuck in their minds and wouldn't go away. They met again a week later, and, to a man, they admitted that they couldn't stop thinking about that absurd proposal of the week before, and each of them had thought of ways that they might make it work. I guess it's obvious to you what they planned." He didn't wait for an answer from Larry, who still seemed almost in shock but, after taking a sip of water, Dulles continued with his story. "Since they ran essentially all of the fancy equipment that monitored operations in regard to manufacturing plutonium, as well as performing the tests necessary to evaluate their success, it was possible, they thought, to fake it. It was perhaps the best kept secret of the war. None of the party members knew anything, and the lower level workers didn't have much of an idea what anyone else was doing. They each had their own specific task to perform, isolated from each other for security reasons. The scientists realized their subterfuge would eventually be discovered, but they also knew how difficult it would be to make a bomb, even given real plutonium. Considering that they all believed there was a good chance that the allies would marshal sufficient forces to defeat Germany before a bomb could be made, it was a gamble worth taking."

  Larry had risen from his chair, his fatigue pushed aside by the impact of what he was hearing, and was pacing back and forth. He started to mouth a question, but Dulles held up a hand to quiet him, then went on. "Let me finish, then I'll answer what questions I can. As added insurance, they did whatever they could to facilitate allied bombing raids on the plant, hoping that would obviate the chance of the ruse being discovered. Almost all of the fake plutonium was, in fact, destroyed, but the raids had another unexpected consequence. Hitler, afraid that everything would be lost, ordered the one remaining sphere of plutonium to be shipped back to Germany so work could commence immediately on making a bomb. This changed the timetable the conspirators had in mind when they launched their plan, and would lead to exposure before Hitler and his thugs could be neutralized by the allies. Frantic efforts were made to pass the information about the transfer to British intelligence, before the fake plutonium left the plant. Of course, they failed to tell the Brits that it was fake. It was deceitful on their part, they played both sides, but they knew well enough the horrors that would be levied on them and their families if the plan was discovered by the Nazis. As it turned out, a successful commando operation was launched by the English and the Norwegians, which took out the ferry car
rying it across a Norwegian lake. Unfortunately, not only Germans were killed, but also civilians on the ferry. British intelligence is furious. So far, no one has told the Norwegians. Unknown to all of these people was the fact that General Schroeder had snatched what he believed to be the real plutonium. The loose ends seemed to be wrapped up until Schroeder contacted us. Enter Larry Sabatini, one of our best field agents, who, as it turns out, was betrayed by one of our own."

  Dulles paused to catch his breath, and Larry jumped in. "When did you know all this?"

  "It's been only days. One of the scientists from the hydroelectric plant made it out of Norway and was debriefed by the Brits. They didn't know about our operation so they saw no reason to forward the information to me until I started asking questions about German operations in Norway, looking for connections to General Schroeder." He stood and stretched, then motioned for Larry to sit down again. "Now we have to ask you some questions."

  This first part of the debriefing went on for almost two hours before it was apparent that Larry was just too tired to go on any more that night. Dulles called it off and ordered Larry to get some rest.

  As he stood up, Larry said, "There's one thing I have to ask you. General Schroeder's ward was shot. We have to get her out of Germany and back here where it's safe. How soon can I finish so I can get started?"

  The two OSS officers looked at each other, neither speaking, then both turned to Dulles, who figured the ball had been passed to him. "We'll talk in the morning. We'll do whatever we can, but right now you need some sleep. You're too tired now to be of use to anyone. Someone will walk you to your room. Good night, Larry." It came off a bit more brusque than Dulles had intended, but he was tired too, and had a lot on his mind.

  Morning turned out to be almost noon by the time Larry dragged himself out of his bunk, showered and had something to eat. He had slept fitfully, his sleep hounded by strange dreams and flashbacks to the strafing by the P-51, and the ambush where Maria was shot. His body had over ten hours of rest, but he still felt tired, and when he awoke, anxiety and fear pervaded all his thoughts. Larry didn't even try to figure out the meaning of any of the dreams he had had, since he knew the source of the emotions that now troubled him. It was the well being of Maria, and respite would come only when he brought her safely across the border. To that end, he hurried to his appointment with Allen Dulles, eager to explain the plan that he had to rescue her. Fabrizio would be useful, but he was sure he had memorized enough of what he had learned from him to make it back and locate the safe house, even if his guide was not available.

  He bounded up the steps to the headquarters building and strode purposefully to the office where the others were waiting for him. His brisk knock was followed by Dulles's voice. "Come in."

  Larry was opening the door even before Dulles had finished that two word sentence. He was expecting the two OSS officers to be there too, but found Dulles alone in the room. In response to his gesture, he walked to the chair indicated and began talking before he was seated. "Sir, I've been working on a plan for a short operation to extract Maria. All I need are two men. One if you can't spare two, and they don't even need any special training." Before Dulles could respond, Larry launched into an explanation, which Dulles let go on for a few minutes until he realized how unfair it was to this battered agent who had done so much, to let him continue when there was no chance that any such operation would take place.

  Dulles interrupted, holding up his hand and telling Larry to stop. He actually had to do it twice, speaking louder than he had intended, to get Larry to halt his discourse. "Larry, the war will be over any day now, and there's chaos along the border. German troops without commanders are retreating on their own, and a kind of lawlessness prevails, even among the non-combatants. In addition, the Swiss are really annoyed at what we did here and they're securing the border with speed and determination. They don't want anyone going in or out just now, not until there's an armistice signed. We can't do anything for a while."

  "No!" he practically yelled. "All the more reason to get her right away. I can go myself. I'll be able to slip back across."

  "I'm sorry, but I can't allow it." There was a brief impasse, then Dulles continued in a gentler voice. "This is difficult to say, but you have to realize the true situation. Fabrizio has seen many wounds in his line of work and he told us there's little chance she'll survive. Before his men headed back they were going to try to get her to a doctor, but they thought it highly unlikely that they could even find one."

  "Just let me have Fabrizio for part of the trip; we can do this, I know."

  "When our people in Caserta got word to Fabrizio and explained what Templeton was doing, he agreed to help, in spite of how dangerous it was. He did his job and we kept our promise to him. Fabrizio is on his way south to wait for the border into Italy to open. I'm sorry, truly sorry, but none of our people, including you, are leaving this camp for a while."

  Larry stood up so quickly the chair tipped over backwards. "Well, I'm sorry, too, but this is something I have to do."

  "I gave you an order and I expect it to be obeyed."

  Not bothering to reply, Larry turned on his heels and stormed out of the room. One of the other OSS officers entered from a side door. "Do you want me to restrain him in any way?"

  "No. Let him cool off. It's got to be tough on him. Fabrizio told us they fell in love. Hard to believe something like that could have happened during this operation, but I guess stranger things have happened in this war. Hell, just look at the operation itself. Wild Bill probably won't believe my report."

  The other smiled. "I have a feeling Bill Donovan has heard it all."

  "Probably so. In any case, I'm sure Sabatini will accept things the way they are, at least until the borders open." The OSS officer didn't believe that, but he didn't see any percentage in arguing the point with his boss.

  While Larry was walking back to his quarters, he passed two of the men playing with what looked like a shot put, and as he passed them, he realized it was the fake plutonium. His ragged backpack lay at their feet. Larry's anger and frustration were nearing the boiling point, and it took a great effort to keep from jumping the guys and shoving that lump of bogus metal in one of their orifices, merely as a vent for all the emotion that seethed within.

  Before he returned to his room, Larry walked the periphery of the camp twice in an effort to shed some of the rage he harbored, an emotion that he knew was best utilized in only minute doses. More than that and it only clouded clear thinking and judgment. While he walked, he thought, and by the time he arrived back at his quarters, settling into the corner chair with a determined exhalation, he felt more in control, more in the analytical, operation mode in which he felt secure and competent.

  By dinnertime, he was outwardly calm, and when Dulles saw him casually talking with a few friends in the mess hall, Allen felt relieved to see Larry returning to what he considered to be a more normal frame of mind. On the way out, Larry nodded to Dulles.

  Just past two in the morning Larry slipped out of the camp and took off for the Swiss-Austrian border in order to find the woman he loved, the woman who the others had told him, in the kindest way they could, was most likely dead. Suppose she's not there? What if they moved her? What if the CO was right and she died? God, I don't know what I would do. The last possibility was like a dagger poised over his heart and, if true, would leave him floundering, without direction. If she was alive, he could scour all of Germany if necessary, but if she was dead, what then? How do you search for someone who's no longer among the living? Do you look for a ghost, some ethereal spirit that haunts places once familiar, that lingers in corners of times gone by and peeks from behind some almost forgotten theme? His mind was in turmoil, filled with unanswerable questions.

  Larry disappeared into the darkness of night, just as fourteen months before, the Norwegian ferry Hydro vanished into the fog, sailing to its own burial, the only requiem a cold sphere of impotent gray metal and t
he damage it inflicted on those with whom it came in contact.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  SOUTHERN MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIA

  The 1971 Chevy chugged and sputtered as the old man switched off the ignition. It continued to "diesel" for several seconds before the pistons ceased their movement and quiet enveloped the car, a peace which lasted even less time than the dying coughs of the old car. He sighed inwardly as the squeals of his grandchildren rose up from the back seat, at first in harmony with, and then drowning out, the droning insects and squawking grouse of the surrounding field.

  The elderly woman sitting next to him said, "You've got to get that fixed; or maybe we should start looking for a new car. It's nearly 25 years old, dear."

  He inhaled deeply as he opened his door and eased himself across the seat, the frayed vinyl upholstery gently scraping his trouser legs as he slid out. The opening of the back door was the signal for whoops and hollers to begin, his grandchildren darting out of the lime green car as if mechanically ejected into the late morning sun. Grass, birds and meandering butterflies all seemed to part before this exuberant dash of youth. The old fellow smiled and slowly shook his head, almost mesmerized by the energy of David and Lauren, then stood still, transfixed by the ease with which the field had swallowed them up, taken them in and incorporated the two into the myriad energies contained within it.

  "Don't go too far! Wait for me and grandma."

  He closed both doors and, glancing once in the direction of the children, walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door for his wife. "Twenty five years isn't so old," he said. "We've been married longer than that and I'm not looking for a new wife."

  "I should hope not!"

  "Besides, she has a lot of years left in her."

  "Like me, I hope."

  "Like you, dear. Like you." He reached in and took her offered hand to help her out. Their touch was like an embrace for him and they both smiled as the warmth of that embrace ignited a thousand memories of tenderness and passion past, and kindled hope for memories yet to be. Still holding her hand as she emerged from the car, his arm encircled her waist and they kissed, briefly, tenderly, then embraced, holding on tightly, each breathing in the essence of the other, each buoyed by the warmth and energy of the other. They were in love, and had been ever since they married after Larry returned from the war. It was a time that had been especially turbulent for him, punctuated by bouts of depression and recurring nightmares. A time when he tried to forget the horrors and the loss that dogged his final year in the military.