Authors: Alan Bricklin
Kent emerged from the small cloakroom, which also doubled as
the mailroom for personal letters and non-intelligence communication, two
letters in his right hand and a coat over his arm. He held a gray hat in the
other hand and, stopping in front of the desk, he placed it on his head with
what he considered to be the proper angle, stylish but not too rakish for a
government employee. Transferring the letters from one hand to the other, he
pulled his coat on, surreptitiously surveying the view enjoyed by Julian.
"Where are you heading?"
"Back to the apartment to start thinking about this
op," Kent said while fine-tuning the angle of his hat. "You and I
have to put our heads together."
"I'll walk with you. Let's cut through the park; looks
like a nice day."
* *
They exited #23 by the front entrance and turned left, heading
toward the Botanical Gardens, walking in silence, not only because of the
clandestine nature of their work, but because they were each momentarily lost
in thought, Kent worried about laying out the details of an almost impossible
mission, and Julian concerned about a plan of his own. After strolling
alongside the Aare River for fifteen minutes, they crossed at the Lorraine
Bridge, reaching the gardens moments later, and entered through an ornate iron
gate spanning fifty feet, interrupted by an open doorway of more human
proportions, the whole extending upward for almost thirty feet. "Look at
that, will you," said Julian, pointing at the expanse of metal work.
"You don't see this kind of workmanship much these days." From close
up, the metal rods that composed the gate seemed to run in every direction, a
haphazard array, some round, some flattened, others twisted and still others
having the cross section of a perfect square. Looks, however, were deceiving,
and like the order induced by nature, some effort in observation was required
to discern a pattern. In this case, one had only to step back twenty paces to
appreciate the symmetry in design and how one part flowed into another. The
changing shapes of the rods, rather than separating and defining individual
sections, imparted a movement to the whole structure that effortlessly guided
the eyes on a prescribed course. Graceful curves of metal enclosed intricately
wrought animals and designs, here the ursine symbol of Bern flanking the
massive lock and gate handles, over the opening a motif of alpine scenes and
scattered throughout assorted seemingly abstract designs.
Julian, having backed up, stood hands akimbo, smiling at
Kent and then swept his left arm across the expanse of the gate, looking for
all the world like a master of ceremonies begging applause from a reluctant
audience.
Let's hear it folks for the wonderful Stromboli sisters and their
dancing elephants.
When Kent stood poised at the entranceway, unmoving, he
motioned him to step back and appreciate the view. Reluctantly, Mallory walked
back to Julian and turned to face the object of his partner's fascination.
"Look at that," said Julian again. "What do you think?"
"It's beautiful."
"No, tell me what you see."
"Julian, I'm just not in the mood for an Art and Architecture
lecture right now. Let's get going." He started to move off towards the
entrance in the gate.
Julian's right arm shot out and grabbed his coat sleeve, the
jovial ringmaster gone from his face and ice in his voice as he whispered,
"When I have something to say, you listen. Hear me, junior partner?"
Before Kent could react, the smile returned to Julian's face and to his voice.
"This is important. Consider it espionage 101," the latter barely
audible. "When you look at this gate, what you see depends on where you
see it from. Remember that. Also, that there are many points of view and you
may not even know all of them, and the one that you don't think of may be the
very one from which your enemy sees the situation." Here, he pointed to
the figure next to the huge lock. "See that rung running out from the bear
at forty five degrees? It starts with rounded edges to more easily blend in
with the workmanship of the bear, and where it ends, way up in that corner,
it's also round. But look at the intervening portion. First square, then
twisted, then square again before returning to round. The origin can tell you a
lot about the finish, but in between, that's often a mystery. Now look at the
other side of the gate, to the left of the doorway. See the rod that begins at
that figure about five feet above the bear. It runs straight up to merge with
that figure near the top. Notice the pattern. Round where it leaves the
whatever the hell that animal's supposed to be, then square, twisted, square
and finally round again where it blends into the eagle. There's an ordered
sequence here. People tend to follow patterns, and patterns, even complicated
ones, can be figured out. This is a distance from the arrangement we just
looked at on the other side, but the sequence is similar. From one we can infer
information about the other. This rung here could be in plain sight in
Switzerland and the other could be largely hidden, say, in Nazi Germany, but,
if the same hand is involved in both, one can tell us about the other. You just
need to know where to look."
"How do you go about looking for relations like
that?"
"That, my friend, is where I come in."
Julian walked thru the doorway of the gate and turned right,
choosing a path that led thru an area thick with bushes, assorted flowers and
scattered trees. Kent hurried to catch up, his perception of him suddenly
different, and his thoughts still churning as he matched his own pace with
Julian's.
"So, what are things like on the home front, Kent?
How's the little woman holding up, what with her man overseas?"
The question seemed like such a non sequitur that Mallory
didn't answer at first, not sure if this was also some kind of training
exercise.
Julian used the pause to interject, "Are they that bad?
What's going on?"
"Helen is having a bad time of it and I suppose it's
mostly my fault." Before he knew it, Kent was telling him things he had
intended to keep to himself, things that one could tell an old high school
buddy, a close friend or perhaps a stranger met on a train, someone you didn't
know and who, you expected, would pass briefly into and out of your life, never
to be seen again.
"I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't imagine it would
be due to something you did, not a guy like you. You know, I've always thought
a lot of you. Sure, you're a bit inexperienced in this field, but shit, most of
the people in it are; and I think you'll be a quick learner. That's why I asked
Dulles to partner you with me." Julian smiled, then nodded his head as a
look of mild disbelief crossed Kent's face. "Yep, I asked the old man for
you; and don't look so surprised, you underestimate yourself. So, how's Helen
having a bad time?"
"Oh, it's money. It always seems to come down to that.
Her parents live in Virginia, that's where she grew up. In a style that I can't
afford to give her; not on a government employee's salary."
Once started, the words kept coming and it felt good to
finally have someone to talk to, having been away from home and the States for
almost eight months now. However, as he spoke, a part of his brain was
whispering to him.
He made me talk. I wasn't going to tell him. As a matter
of fact, I don't think this was even on my mind. How did he manipulate me?
Jeez, Julian's good.
"Yeah, it's a bitch. It seems that just a bit more in
the way of cash would solve a lot of problems for a lot of people."
"Well, if I don't have the cash to give her the life
she wants, then it looks like ten acres in Virginia, even if it's with her
parents, trumps the run down apartment we have in D.C. She just can't envision
the life and work that I see for myself. Helen wants to shop at the best
stores, buy the nicest jewelry, belong to a country club and, of course, should
we have kids, they would have to attend the best schools. When we met and she
heard that I worked for State, visions of diplomatic parties and the Washington
social circle danced in her head along with pictures of all the wealthy
ambassadors she had heard of. I suppose I didn't do anything to discourage
that, certainly not at first; she was really a looker and I figured I needed
all the help I could get. Later on, when we were engaged and I tried to tell
her that it might take many years to work myself up through the State
Department, she was just too enamored with this fantasy she had in her mind to
hear what I was saying. Her reply was always, 'It won't take them long to
realize how good you are and to move you to a position of importance.' Hell,
one afternoon when we were downtown doing some shopping she wondered what kind
of dress would be appropriate for when she met the president. Do you believe
that? She actually believed she'd be at some dinner party with the president.
"But you know what the really crazy thing is, the 'this
takes the cake' final boffo finish. I love her and can't get her out of my mind
in spite of the fact that being with her is going to take more money than I'll
probably ever earn with the State Department. I really like working for State
and I'm crazy about Helen. How's that for stupidity?"
"Don't be too hard on yourself. Besides, I may have a
solution for you." They had been walking all during Kent's confession and
now found themselves alone in a secluded part of the park. "Let's sit a
minute," he said, pointing to a bench just ahead. When they had eased themselves
onto the metal slats of the bench, both finding it much more comfortable a seat
than either had expected, Julian casually looked around to make sure no one was
within earshot before turning to Mallory and speaking. He was careful to talk
naturally, although not loud, avoiding any of the facial expressions that one
uses when whispering or speaking conspiratorially. "How'd you like to stay
on as a State Department employee
and
earn enough money to give Helen
and yourself the life style she wants?"
"Who do I have to kill? Or are you going to convince
Roosevelt to appoint me ambassador to England? I didn't know you were on such
good terms with him." It was difficult for Kent to keep the disbelief and
sarcasm out of his voice.
"Didn't I tell you about those Thursday night poker
games with the president?" When this failed to elicit any response, Julian
saw that Kent was in no mood for levity, so, while mentally jotting down a
modification to his character analysis of him, he switched back to the serious.
"No, you don't have to kill anyone and I've never even met Mr. Roosevelt.
But I do know someone who can get to that plutonium and is willing to give it
to us to get him out of Germany and into South America. What do you think about
that?"
"I'm not sure what to think? Are you asking me to
become a German agent? I hate those mother fuckers!" A subtle movement of
Julian's hand alerted Kent to the increasing volume of his voice and he notched
it down before continuing, "And I certainly won't betray our
country."
"Whoa! Hold on there. No one's asking you to do either,
certainly not me. Whatever else you may think of me I don't believe you could
ever accuse me of being a Nazi lover, or even a sympathizer."
"No, I ..." Templeton held up a hand to silence
Kent's protestation, and continued.
"Let me finish before you say anything else. Our
government has seen fit to pay off some Nazi general to get this plutonium out
of Germany so none of the remaining 'Hitlerites' could make a bomb. Their idea,
not mine. I want to do the same thing, only I have a different general in mind,
one who's not against making a little money in the deal and who's willing to
share the wealth with us. Same end, different means."
Kent continued looking at Julian, waiting for him to
continue, but he had too much experience to part with more information than was
necessary. If Kent agreed, he would go into a little more detail, but only as
needed. If he refused, no one had been compromised, no options eliminated. The
only person at risk was himself if Mallory decided to mention it to Dulles, and
if that seemed likely, Julian had a contingency plan for that. He was confident
now in his ability to read Kent and if necessary would see to it that he never
got to Dulles. He had made many contacts in his line of work, most of them
unknown to others in the OSS. That was the way it was meant to be; the fewer
people who knew the sources and contacts that agents and handlers used, the
safer it was for everyone. Among the many people that he knew, people of
various nationalities and political leanings, were more than a few who were not
strangers to arranging "accidents" or outright assassinations. And
Julian had always been willing to do favors for his contacts, only occasionally
taking money, but always letting them know it was a debt, one that might
someday be called. After a pause that was becoming uncomfortable for Kent,
Julian said, "What do you think; are you interested?"
"Well, this is certainly something I wasn't expecting.
I, ... yes, I'm interested, but exactly ... " He was interrupted by
Templeton.
"Good. I think you're making the right decision, for
you and for Helen." He started to get up, as if the matter was at an end,
a deal struck and handshakes all around.
"Wait. I need to know more. Where does the money come
in and just how much are we talking about?"
Julian stood and arched his back, as if he had been sitting
too long, and used the stretching as an excuse to once more check the vicinity
for any onlookers. About seventy-five meters behind them on the path, a woman
sat on a bench, an infant in hand and a stroller in front of her. He had
noticed her when she sat down, several minutes ago, had heard the baby making
soft crying sounds and as she had picked up the baby to quiet it, that part of
his mind that was always on sentry duty had removed her from the potential
threat list. Nonetheless, he glanced her way again to make sure his initial
assessment was still correct, and reassured that she was just what she seemed
to be, he sat down again and turned once more to the man who he hoped to lure
into the Great Game as his personal pawn. "There should be a few hundred
thousand in it for each of us from the sale of the plutonium." He paused
briefly to access Kent's reaction, noticed the slight flare of his nostrils,
the inhalation that was just a little deeper than the one before and the
fleeting dilation of his pupils; all of these reassuring him that the amount of
the pay off was enough to hook his prey.