Authors: Alan Bricklin
Tired, out of breath and sweating in spite of the morning
chill in the depths of the woods, Larry paused, leaned his M-1 carbine against
an old tree stump and bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, panting
heavily while he tried to catch his breath. He was at the edge of a clearing,
approximately twenty meters across, dominated by a large boulder that was
flanked by two old Oak trees, their foliage mostly stripped by the grip of
winter. The branches reached to the very periphery of the clearing, blending
with the surrounding trees and forming a cocoon of safety and isolation. Flecks
of mica within the rock reflected those of the sun's rays that penetrated the
forest cover and gave the appearance of a giant mirrored orb in the center of
some Coney Island ballroom. Still panting, Larry squinted at the myriad beams
of reflected light, then, unable to move, his lower jaw dropped and his eyes
widened as two German soldiers jumped out from behind the centrally placed
boulder, rifles leveled unflinchingly at him, their fingers on the triggers. He
turned his head to the side, toward where he had rested his carbine, the motion
seeming to take forever, but before he could will his arms to move, two more
Germans dropped from the branches of the Oaks and now four rifle barrels
pointed directly at his heart. A captain in the German Wehrmacht stepped out
from behind the rock, his sidearm un-holstered and casually pointing in his
direction. As he walked toward Larry, the only thing he noticed as he slowly
straightened up was how shiny the captain's boots were for someone who had been
out in the woods. He stopped about two meters from Larry as one of the privates
shouted, "Hande hoch!" The captain took a step forward, a cross
between a frown and concern on his face as he said, "Jesus Christ, Larry,
what's the matter? You look like shit! And we heard you five minutes before you
got here; you sounded like a fucking locomotive."
"I don't know what it is, sir. Couldn't have been
running more than half a kilometer, three quarters at the most." He had to
pause after every few words to catch his breath. "Last week I had a cold
and the Doc gave me some medicine; maybe it's still hanging on. Man, I am
winded "
"Maybe you have pneumonia. Better get that checked
out."
"Hey, Lieutenant, can I still shoot him? If he's not
German he's probably Mafia," one of the privates yelled.
"Shut up, Stokowski." The lieutenant put his arm
around Larry's shoulder and said softly, "Larry, go see the doc as soon as
you get back. Do you need any help getting in?"
"No, sir. I can make it. I'll take care of it." He
turned around and slowly trudged off in the direction of headquarters for the
small OSS camp in the Northern Swiss woods bordering Lake Constance. The
lieutenant didn't have the heart to tell him he forgot his rifle. He picked it
up and slung it over his shoulder as he watched Larry disappear into the
shadows of the forest.
Larry reached his quarters at 09:45 and by 10:30 hours was
enduring various indignities as he was poked, prodded and otherwise examined by
Dr. Benjamin Jonson Miller III, the son of Capt. Benjamin Jonson Miller II, a
retired Naval officer who believed in tradition and English literature. Dr.
Miller, the camp physician, was actually a naval lieutenant on loan to the OSS.
After carefully listening to Larry's heart and lungs for a
second time and palpating the entire chest again, all the time a look of great
concentration on his face, Dr. Miller removed his stethoscope, laying it
carefully on the desk next to the examining table. An astute observer would
have discerned that the expression on the good doctor's face during the
examination was not only one of concentration, but also considerable anxiety.
"Sgt. Sabatini, why don't you sit down," motioning to a chair across
from his small desk, "and we can go over what I found."
"Just a cold, isn't it? I don't want to have to deal
with a pneumonia."
"Sergeant what you...mind if I call you 'Larry'?"
"Sure, doc, go ahead. They don't like us to use rank
here anyway."
"Larry, I don't think it's pneumonia, at least not what
a non medical person would call pneumonia. But it's more than just a cold.
You're going to have to get an x-ray; you'll have to go into Bern, or one of
the cities where they have the necessary equipment."
"Shit...uh, excuse me sir. What do you think it
is?"
"I really can't say until I see the x-rays. I'll talk
to your CO; he'll take care of the arrangements."
"Doctor Miller, isn't there any more you can tell
me?"
He answered in a tone more gruff than he had intended, but
the tension was taking its toll. "Not now; after I look over the films.
Your dismissed, soldier." He looked down at his desk, averting Larry's
glance, thumbing through the notes he had made; but as Larry turned to go, the
doctors eyes followed him out the door.
LUGANO, SWITZERLAND. 11 MARCH, 1945
Kent felt a bit uneasy. It was a beautiful day, warmer than
usual and particularly pleasant along the lakefront where he sat at a small
café, an unread newspaper on the table. He stared down at his coffee and
watched as the warm vapors curled lazily in the soft onshore breeze, the strong
aroma of the brew lost on him as his thoughts turned inward, confronting a
conscience that would not be mollified. "Shit!" he murmured.
"Why did he have to meet here?" Kent half turned in his seat and
looked over his shoulder at the façade of the church of Santa Maria degli
Angioli, St. Mary of the Angels. It's exterior might be somewhat shabby, but
after over four centuries it still had a moral aura, a compelling rectitude in
whose power he felt naked and exposed for what he was, a traitor to his
country. Perhaps it might have been easier for him if he didn't have to deal
directly with the Nazis. Doing something that was not in the best interests of
your country was not the same as directly aiding your country's enemy, an enemy
that had killed so many thousands of Americans. O
n the other hand
,
I'm
not helping anyone to kill GIs, just allowing some dumb German who chose the
wrong side to get his stupid ass out of the war.
Expedience was worse than
a prism, the latter distorts what you see but the former perverts your thoughts
as well.
One hundred meters along the promenade an attractive couple
leaned against a railing and gazed out at the lake, talking quietly, sometimes
pointing to one of the steamers plying the calm waters. They smiled and
occasionally turned to look at the mountains surrounding the lake and the town,
the lower slopes of the Alps dotted with olive trees, their silver leaves
seeming to sparkle in the sun. Turning towards each other and holding hands
they seemed the quintessential vacation couple, enjoying each other's company
and the beautiful scenery. But as Dulles and Julian both knew, and Kent would
soon discover, looks can be deceiving and nothing is what it seems; at least in
the world of the OSS.
Looking at Gerhard, her arms out, holding him lightly by the
wrists, Eva leaned toward him and said, "He's been there for twenty
minutes. Before you got here I strolled by once, then back again. People have
come and gone, no one stationary; I'm sure he's alone."
"You've seen nothing of Mr. Templeton? That one makes
me a little uneasy. When I first contacted him to make the offer I could tell
that under his casual, almost nonchalant, friendly American attitude there was
a cold and calculating persona. It was in his eyes. And there was something
about his mannerisms, too. I could see myself in him and that scares me. I'd
rather not deal with him any more than is necessary."
"I had a good look at him in the park in Bern. I would
have recognized him if he were here. The boy is alone."
"Good. I guess he has waited long enough then. Take a
table at the café where you can keep an eye on the area and also watch his
face. When it comes to reading men, I know no better than you, Liebchen. We
will talk later."
She leaned in close, her lips close to his ear as she whispered,
"Until later, when the talking will be brief, I hope." Before she
pulled her head back her tongue darted out, its tip caressing his ear for the
briefest of seconds. She continued holding his wrists as she now looked him
directly in the face, a most domestic smile on her face, and said through her
smile, "And, if you ever call me 'Liebchen' again I will bite your balls
off when you least expect it." She pivoted smartly and walked toward the
café, turning her head back, a grin on her stunningly etched face as she called
out, "Bye, Liebchen."
Gerhard watched as she sauntered down the promenade to the
café, and despite the seriousness of the situation, he could not help thinking
of her naked body nor could he still the stirring in his loins.
There will be
time for that later
. He forced himself to become the dispassionate
observer, his thoughts now flying ahead to his meeting with the OSS
representative.
Kent looked at his watch again and silently cursed the
supposed German punctuality. He looked up to scan the approach for Gerhard and
was distracted by a very attractive woman being seated by the waiter. His eyes
followed her to her table, at first riveted on her face, then lowering to focus
on her breasts, her light sweater doing little to obscure the firm uplift or
the swell of her nipples. Her narrow waist, gently curved hips and rounded
bottom completed a picture that Kent knew must drive men into a near frenzy.
Sighing inwardly and thinking of his attractive wife back home with her
parents, a feeling of loneliness washed over him, his feeling of isolation
increased by the path he had now chosen. When he turned back he found himself
starring at a rather dapper looking man in his early forties wearing sharply
creased pleated slacks, a cream colored silk shirt open at the collar and a
sweater draped neatly over his broad shoulders. A stylish hat at just the right
angle completed a picture that said good taste and a personal tailor. The
outfit was a bit more Spring than Winter but, considering the balmy conditions,
was certainly appropriate. A firm but pleasant, clean-shaven face sat atop a
well-muscled body, and Kent was greeted by a smile that topped off a figure
that would no doubt be acceptable in even the most exclusive men's club.
"How do you do? You must be Mr. Kay," Gerhard
said, using the prearranged appellation, "I am Hans Goedell and our mutual
friend has told me that you are interested in buying some of my cleaning
supplies for your factory." Kent, somewhat flustered by the materialization
of Gerhard apparently out of nowhere, automatically accepted the outstretched
hand, noticing the firm handshake as well as the manicured nails. Mallory
continued to stare for a moment while the man stood there, the smile seemingly
indelible, waiting for the proper response.
Kent blinked back to reality, taking a split second to
search his memory and replied, "Yes, we are particularly interested in
cleaning solutions that will remove fabric dyes from floors and
machinery." Here was the enemy before him, he had shaken his hand and was
about to discuss a "business" proposition. He shuddered internally. W
hat
have I done?
His shame and inner anger at himself now redirected itself
outward and Kent felt a rising loathing for this natty figure standing before
him, now motioning if he may be seated. Kent did not reply and the expression
on his face showed the disdain he felt. Gerhard ignored the lack of response
and, if he read Kent's feelings from his face, he showed no reaction, the smile
still on his face as he pulled out a chair and sat down. He motioned to the
waiter, ordered an espresso, and then turned back to Kent.
"It is a most beautiful day for this time of year don't
you think?" The sullen look on Kent's face as he stared at Gerhard,
ignoring his comment, left no doubt that he was not happy about this meeting.
Several tables away, Eva watched events unfold and smiled as she sipped her
coffee.
How naïve, these young pups.
Gerhard, not really a man of great
patience, endured the silence for a full thirty seconds before he began,
"My friend..."
"We are not friends!"
"Very well then. Mr. Kay, we have a business deal to
discuss, one that will be very profitable for both of us, and one that people
in your organization are anxious to see consummated. We do not have to become comrades
or great friends, but we do have to get along well enough to bring this plan
forward. Can we at least agree to conduct our business on a professional level?
"Yeah, we can do that. You know, I just met you and I
already don't like you, but business is business." Some measure of the
professional in him returned and he straightened, sitting up a bit higher,
having sunk down slowly in his chair, settling centimeter by centimeter as his
dour mood had deepened. Placing his hands on the table he inhaled deeply and
said softly, "And so it begins." He continued in a more normal,
though subdued voice, "Well, Hans, just what is it that you can offer us?
I think we should review things before going any further."
His condescending manner was not lost on Gerhard, whose face
remained placid nonetheless, since he, too, believed in the adage
"business is business." However, since he also thought highly of
retribution, he allowed himself a slight smile as he put down his cup to reply.
Dueling would be nice. I would love to look into his face and see his eyes
widen as my blade penetrates his body. Too bad that is an unlikely option, but
then, there are so many ways to kill someone.
Having docked his cup neatly
in the saucer, he began.
"It seems that a certain officer in the Wehrmacht had a
prominent member of the Italian business community relay a proposal to your
company at its Swiss headquarters. The Italian gentleman and I are also
acquainted and, unknown to the officer, he mentioned the details of the
transaction to me one evening over drinks; a great many drinks as I recall. I
realized that this could be very profitable information, for both of our
companies, particularly if upper management, as it were, was insulated from
what was really happening, while we took control of the real situation. Through
personal contacts I arranged a meeting with your friend, Mr. T, who also agreed
that this was a fortuitous situation and one which should be exploited to its
full advantage."