Keeping Secrets

by Suzanne Morris

  Actually, could any of us have seen ahead, we would have been grateful for the knowledge that the travail would soon come to an end. The wheels, set in motion so long ago, were turning at such a high speed, they hardly seemed to be moving at all.…

  In mid-December a new man was promoted to head the German Foreign Office. His name was Arthur Zimmermann. Around the same time the BNA learned there was much infighting in the German Reichstag over the next measure to be taken to stop the war, particularly over the use of a new submarine with a far more powerful cruising range than those used up to that point. Edwin told me the fighting was over whether to unleash the new submarines in an all-out campaign against merchant vessels of any country.

  “Won’t that force us into the war?”

  “It might … that’s why their congress is fighting. The military leaders are favoring it. The civil government is against it, as far as we can tell.”

  “Which side is that new fellow heading the Foreign Office on—you know, Zimmermann?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “I wish we could find out how well Tetzel knows Zimmermann.”

  He laughed. “You’re not the only one.”

  By the end of the year we had our first break in months—an opening in the telegraph office was promptly filled by a Czech, sent by the BNA as soon as the position became vacant. Allan—his code name—was to prove the master key for all hitherto locked doors.

  20

  The death of Geoffrey Woodstone seemed a hard blow to Electra. She visited my office one day unexpectedly, entreating me to take the old Englishman’s terrier Scoop, because, as she explained, her husband would not let her keep the dog indefinitely.

  It was very hard for me to refuse, yet pets were not allowed in my apartment. I just couldn’t tell her “no” flat out because she was obviously desperate. I hedged a little and told her I was thinking of moving in a few months, and wouldn’t mind having the dog if I could find a place that permitted him. In fact, as I mentioned the idea it sounded pretty good. My only companion for the time being was the healthy ivy plant that favored my River Avenue balcony.

  She seemed somewhat consoled by the suggestion, and told me she wouldn’t bother me further about it, that I should let her know when I could take the animal. As usual, I was struck by her elegance. She both dressed and conducted herself like a lady whenever I was around her, and could always retain her dignity and composure. She spoke at length of her friendship with the English gentleman, and said only since his death had she fully realized what a great friend he was.

  I told her the only experience I’d had with death was that of my father, and there were many things about him I never appreciated until a long time after he passed away.

  She faced me directly then, her eyes intent, and said, “Yes, in time, many things have a way of coming to light.”

  I thought she’d say more, but she looked away quickly then and rose from her chair. “I have to go now, or I’ll be late for a sitting with Miss Onderdonk. She’s doing a miniature of me as a surprise for Emory.”

  Long after she left I was still sitting idly, wondering about her. She could at once seem so open and frank, while remaining very private. She could pour out her heart over something which mattered to her, yet leave you without a clue as to why she felt so strongly. With many questions now open about Electra’s activities, both before she came to San Antonio and after she arrived, she might well have been two people. The Electra I had come to know, and who seemed fond of me—judging by her generosity toward me, and her eagerness to confide in me, even to look out for me in certain matters—might have appeared one day out of nowhere … someone with all the usual human qualities, yet at the same time not quite real, though altogether sincere.…

  It was but a few short weeks later that I was forced into reconciling Edwin’s harsh, realistic view of her with my own. He asked that we meet one Friday near the front of the arsenal to exchange information. Since the hiring of one of our group at the telegraph office, he was now turning the tables and telling me about Tetzel’s doings.

  “He’s sending wires to von Eckhardt’s office in Mexico, as well as to the Foreign Office. Before, all we knew was that he was connected with Germany on the wire. His telegrams carry his special code of vagueness—the best in the world. If we could have seen his letters, or even his wires, from the beginning, we might be able to tell more.

  “As it looks, though, he’s running a one-man show on this Barrista thing, so far as Germany is concerned. He is apparently reporting everything that Cabot says directly to M.K. in the German Foreign Office. There is a Mortimer Krantz who works as an underling there, and he seems to be Tetzel’s contact. R. M. Francke has disappeared. Tetzel wired von Eckhardt’s office a duplicate that Barrista would be in touch with Diaz, Villa, and Zapata, and that they should follow up in the usual way.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We think Tetzel is playing both sides of the fence. The German agents are apparently being instructed to assure each of the three leaders that Barrista is on the German hook, in case it comes to ‘them against us.’ That ought to suit them fine. The Pershing expedition effectively turned just about all the Mexicans against us anyway.”

  “That’s a far cry from what he told Cabot.”

  “I know. Now, we already have confidence that the Germans are hot to get Carranza bought and paid for, and that Tetzel has been against this move from the beginning. So there is an underlying plea for patience in all of his wires. He’s trying to tell them they’re wasting their time by trying to bargain with Carranza, and that he can deliver Barrista all wrapped up and tied with a ribbon by spring.”

  “That may seem a long time to them.… What about Zimmermann?”

  “Tetzel wired that he was personally gratified about the promotion, and confident they could work together. His ‘personal gratification’ probably stems from the fact Zimmermann came up from the ranks. There’s a little clique in German political and social circles that separates the ‘vons’ from the common man.”

  “Anything more about the third party?”

  “No.”

  “It still seems that it would take strong reasons for Tetzel to be so entangled. If the United States helps to bring about a peace settlement, and the war comes to a close, surely Germany isn’t going to take friendship with Mexico seriously. And since they’re so fired up about keeping us out of it, I don’t see why Tetzel goes to the trouble,” I said, but Edwin disagreed.

  “If we get into the war it would tie up arms shipment to the Allies because we’d have to be stockpiling for our own use once we got men over there. That would take at least a year, probably, and in the meantime Germany could have the war won and be enjoying the spoils of victory,” he pointed out.

  “I see. So, Tetzel wants to play it safe in any event, and Carranza can’t be counted on.”

  “Right. Like I told you before, regardless of the stand our government takes, Mexico alone could be a pretty strong ally because it controls British fuel, and there’s a wealth of mineral resources that would be at the disposal of the Centrals,” he said.

  “But apparently those dealing with Tetzel are getting too edgy to go along with his waiting game,” I said.

  “That’s what we think. I guess when you’re the one out in the lake, trying to keep your head above water, you’ll settle for a floating log instead of awaiting a rescue ship.”

  “Has Tetzel mentioned anything about Electra Cabot in any of his messages?”

  “Not by name, but he has warned both von Eckhardt’s office and the German Foreign Office that any interference at this point could be damaging to them all.”

  “That could cover a whole list of subjects.”

  “Yes. It’s apparent that as the time for Barrista’s rise comes nearer, Tetzel gets more nervous. Remember that phone conversation you overheard that seemed to indicate he was having someone check Electra out? He could be wondering if her object in dealing with him
is to get information to pass on to his adversaries right in his own back yard.”

  “Gosh, I never thought of that. I guess you’re better at putting two and two together than I am.”

  “I’m no genius, just persistent. I’m going into Cabot’s office tonight.”

  “Oh! I won’t sleep a wink until I talk to you.”

  “I ought to be back home by nine-thirty or so, unless I run into trouble.”

  That evening I sat around my apartment and waited. I was reminded of a conclusion I’d made earlier: spy work was in many ways not quite what I would have expected. One of the greatest surprises was the amount of time spent waiting for something to occur. This did not suit my nature, particularly. I wasn’t sure whether it was worse to be hiding inside a dark building, searching through files, or sitting on a couch awaiting news. Either way, it was far from glamorous.

  I was to leave my apartment at ten o’clock and go to a phone to call Edwin. Full of my old nervous energy, I cleaned floors and dusted and rearranged cabinets from the time I got home from work until eight-thirty. Then I heard a knock on the door. Startled, I nearly dropped a glass tumbler. I wasn’t expecting any callers.

  It was Christie, Ken, and Keith, and the three of them had obviously begun a party before deciding to include me. They toted in two dozen bottles of Lone Star beer. Ken opened four of them while I glanced nervously at the clock. Christie looked at me sideways and said with a wink, “Don’t tell the Butlers I enjoy a beer once in a while.”

  Keith was excited about the new aviation center planned for Fort Sam, and even Ken seemed to have been infected with his enthusiasm. They talked of the Army’s attempts at picking up privately owned property between the parade field and the fort. One of Ken’s dentist friends owned a big chunk of it, and as Ken said, “He’s holding out as long as possible for a high price.”

  “If he holds out too long, they’ll just condemn it anyway. He ought to be reasonable and sell out while he can get the true value,” said Keith.

  “Well, you know how Harry is.…”

  I kept glancing at the clock. Nine-thirty. We were on the third round. No one seemed to notice I wasn’t talking much, and I sneaked off and poured my beer down the drain. Seemed a shame to waste it in the face of the certainty of prohibition, but all the same I seldom drank beer and I didn’t want to get caught by the party mood and be late calling Edwin. I had to get this bunch out of my hair in time.

  Finally at ten minutes before ten I said, “You know I’ve really had a rough week. Why don’t we call it a night? Maybe Sunday we can get together again. I’ll fix supper here.”

  “Translated, that means Keith will furnish food and Christie will cook it,” Keith piped up, and everybody laughed. Thankfully they didn’t seem to get their feelings hurt when I bustled them out the door. As soon as they were all the way down the stairs I walked a block up Houston to a cafe with a telephone. It would have been nice to have a phone in my apartment at times like these, but I couldn’t afford one and also it was better to use a different phone all the time as a safety precaution. If the BNA knew how to tap a wire, then surely the other side was capable as well.

  By ten o’clock I was awaiting the sound of Edwin’s voice through the receiver. Yet there was no answer. My first thought was that he’d been snared by Nathan Hope. Tax time or not, Nathan kept odd working hours.

  I drank a cup of coffee and tried again at ten-thirty. Nothing. Growing nervous now, I ordered another cup of coffee. The place closed at eleven o’clock, and I didn’t know where I could find access to another phone this time of night. At fifteen minutes before eleven, I gave it one more try, and this time Edwin answered. I drew a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice.

  “There’s a lot to tell. Maybe we ought to try and talk tomorrow night,” he said. His voice was husky. I attributed it to his being fatigued, but I wasn’t about to let him off so easy.

  “Tell me now. I just won’t make it through—”

  “All right. I spent most of my time trying to pick the lock in Cabot’s desk, but I finally found a folder way in the back of one drawer with a contract drawn between Cabot and a private agency, a couple of invoices, and some letters that pretty well sum up his wife.”

  “Well?”

  “Electra Cabot was a prostitute.”

  My mouth fell open. I couldn’t speak.

  “The agency began their search in a Texas town. They had the name Leslie Weems. They lost her—she apparently dropped out of sight for a while from what I could tell—then they picked her up again under the name Electra, kept a line on her up into several eastern cities and finally across to Colorado. The letters indicated she was pretty classy—as night ladies go—and the little town near Denver may have been her last stop because she’d been there five years, longer than at any other place.

  “It’s a pretty unfortunate story. In her early twenties she had one of those … uh … abortions—evidently a real butcher job that nearly killed her.” He paused, then asked, “You all right, Camille?”

  “Sure,” I said weakly. I felt dizzy, and was thankful for the chair underneath me.

  “Anyhow, when they finally located her, Cabot instructed them to buy out what was left of her contract with the house madam where she was working, and meet her expenses to bring her to San Antonio. Buying her out cost twenty-five hundred, and the agency fee was another twenty-five hundred.”

  “So that’s where the five thousand went that he mentioned to Aegina.”

  “Listen, somehow I’m inclined to believe you’re right about Electra’s motives, now that I see what Cabot did for her. But we’ve still got to find out what she’s doing with Tetzel. With a past like hers, she could have any number of reasons for becoming involved in espionage, whether or not she’s doing it willingly.

  “Remember, she’s paying somebody behind Cabot’s back and there is that gap in her history that even Cabot may not know how to fill in.”

  “I understand … any suggestions?”

  “Not tonight. I’m too tired to think straight. I’ll meet you tomorrow at twelve, near the rear entrance of the Gunter Hotel. Maybe by then I’ll have an idea.”

  For all I slept that night, I may as well have obliged Edwin by holding off any discussion of Electra until the next day. I stood out on my River Avenue balcony for a long while, watching the headlights of the few automobiles still cruising down the otherwise deserted street, thinking of her. At least a couple of riddles were now solved: the night she hinted to me that someone—a man—might be taking advantage of me, that I ought to be careful of attentions paid me; and the night she reacted too abruptly to my inference she might one day be a mother.…

  How did she get into that sort of business? For her looks and polish, she could have been anything she chose … or could she? What options did she have as a young woman? It seemed to me then that all my mother fought for in her crusade for the rights of women made sense for the first time. I remembered once, before I moved away, Mother participated in some hearings in Chicago about the limitations upon women who had to make their own way, and I went along to watch and listen. This was at a point when she was trying her hardest to get me to join the crusade for women’s rights.

  A group of prostitutes testified in the courtroom that day, each one of them filing in, dignified, their faces hidden behind dark veils and their names withheld. I had been fascinated by their mysterious qualities, their soft, refined voices. Electra. Oh, it seemed so wrong … yet so right.

  Next day Edwin laid out his plan. “I’ve composed a little note, offering her a job, which I will slip under her door.”

  “That’s dirty,” I told him.

  “But quick, and hopefully effective. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Let me see it,” I asked him and, after reading it over, remarked, “It’s very vague—‘business opportunity.’ That could mean anything.”

  “Exactly. She won’t come down there unless she thinks it’s her admiss
ion slip into the game. Remember Tetzel warned her about getting into ‘risky business.’ On the other hand, if she isn’t up to anything she’ll assume someone who knew her in her former life has seen her here, and is trying to blackmail her. ‘Business’ would have only one meaning for her, and Durango crosses Flores near the district. She’ll recognize that and pitch it into the garbage, having no reason to fear it because Cabot already knows what she was.”

  “But what if he sees it?”

  “She won’t let that happen if she’s up to something of interest to us. Just to be on the safe side, I want to get it to her while he’s out of town.”

  “Why can’t we just ask the postal clerk to put it in her box?”

  “Because we have no way of knowing when she might decide to stop by and pick up her mail.”

  I started to hand it back to him, then thought again. “Let me do it,” I said. “I want to think about it … maybe there’s another way of—”

  “Believe me, I’ve considered all the alternatives, and this is the best. You can do the job if you wish, but remember that time is not on our side. And let me know, so I can be waiting for Electra when the time comes.”

  As we parted I felt a little better. Now that I was in control of the note I could put it off for as long as possible—Cabot would be gone at least through January, probably longer—and maybe, just maybe, something would happen to save me from having to slip it under Electra’s door at all.

  During this period Tetzel was away from the office a lot—for days on end—and when he was there, his manner was again quiet, and more and more withdrawn. I could now almost use Cabot and Tetzel as barometers for events to come, just by watching their behavior. Tetzel was letting bank business go undone. Mail piled up on his desk after he gave it a cursory glance once or twice a week. I took care of the items that I could handle without his help, but when I broached him about our need to write a certain letter, he’d wave a hand and say, “Another day. I have some business to tend to this afternoon.”