The Shadowboxer (10 page)

“Donations? Ah, yes, now I recall.” Von Schleiben snapped his fingers and pointed. The girls left the room pulling the doors closed. “That was your phrase, wasn't it? Donations for—now, what was the name of that organization?”

“International Refugee Assistance Program,
IRAP
.”

“Of course. Now, why would I forget a splendid group like that?”

“Perhaps because we're nonprofit.”

“Innuendo, Peppermint? Are you forgetting how many refugees I helped you bring out of Europe? How much assistance and
information
I provided your volunteers? Didn't I singlehandedly get that entire Belgian family you wanted off the Continent? No, Father, when it came to you, I was most charitable.”

“It was never your charity I questioned, it was the additional expenses.”

“Smuggling has a rather high overhead.”

“And profit margin.”

“A man must live, Father. He must think to his future. Tell me, do you think the Americans would be interested in my services?”

“You would have to ask the Americans.”

“I value your opinion in such matters, Peppermint. I know you share many confidences. As an old friend, what is your opinion? Would they be interested?”

“I should think that would depend on what you have to offer.”

“You saw what I could do in the past, before my promotions. You know my present position within the Reich. You know what I could do for them now.”

“And how much money will it cost?”

“Money is immaterial.”

“You being generous? Come, now, Wilhelm, I wasn't born yesterday. You'd sell your grandmother to an ape if there was half a mark in it.”

“My dear Peppermint, is it any secret that Germany will lose the war? I must prepare for the future. The Casablanca accord somewhat complicates matters. My affiliation with concentration camps makes the situation even bleaker. I am already dealing with the Russians. Now, quite simply, I would like to see if I can better my lot.”

“You play the louse with astonishing conviction. Have you been practicing?”

“No more than the rest of mankind.”

The Peppermint Priest scratched behind his ear and smiled a sad smile. “All right, Wilhelm, I will make contact for you, but I must know
exactly
what merchandise you can provide—and what you expect in return.”

“The Americans can have access to all secret information under my jurisdiction.”

“Information is too general a term. You will have to speak in specifics.”

Von Schleiben paused. “Perhaps they would be interested to learn that we are listening in on the transatlantic-cable conversations between Roosevelt and Churchill.”

“They already know that.”

“There is a plan afoot to assassinate Pétain if the Allies attempt to rescue him.”

“They are fully aware of the SD commando detachment waiting in the south of France. I myself passed the information on.”

“I could offer an outline of Kuprov's operation. He has infiltrated German hospitals with low-grade agents, usually wounded or deformed men, who serve as orderlies or menials. The demand for this type of labor is so great that almost no security clearance is required. Once the agents have penetrated the hospitals they report back on the number of wounded soldiers and officers brought in as well as the units they come from. With this sampling the Russians are able to make projections establishing the total casualties of each German division. Needless to say, this information also gives the Russians a rather accurate picture of the Army's order-of-battle deployment.”

“I think the British might be greatly interested in this.”

“No. I want the Americans.”

“Then provide something they will find appealing.”

Von Schleiben paused in obvious concentration.

“Perhaps,” he began confidentially, “the Americans would like to know what I have collected on
G. P. G.
”

“
G. P. G.
?”

“Have you ever heard of it?”

“No—not that I can remember.”

“How odd, dear Peppermint. How very peculiar—since
G. P. G.
is precisely the American operation you are now employed by. Ah, yes,” continued von Schleiben, “your International Assistance group did good work It brought many a refugee out of wartorn Europe and provided for them. It constantly attempted to help even more. In the name of humanity it made contact with various churches, charities, governments, espionage services, resistance groups—anyone who could help. You even dealt with me. But none of this is unusual for a refugee organization, is it?

“The degree of your legitimacy always eluded me, Peppermint. Now I realize that you were a front from the very beginning. American intelligence elements organized you long before that country's entry into the war. You were the perfect listening post on friend and foe alike—but I have a strong suspicion that your main concern was the concentration camps. You were the organization where all camp escapees were cared for—and
interrogated
. Almost all your early contacts had some relationship to the camps. That's how you came across Erik Spangler. You
do
recall Spangler?”

“Spangler?”

“You used him on many occasions then, remember, Father? I think I even provided you with information that was subsequently passed on to him.”

“The name sounds vaguely familiar—but I deal with so many people. Please, don't interrupt your fairy tale. The suspense is killing me.”

“My pleasure, Peppermint,” von Schleiben replied with a half salute. “After America entered the war, you went under the direct jurisdiction of the o. s. s.—even though your main contact appeared to be the British
MI-6
. Then approximately eight months ago the o. s. s. was out of the picture and you were instructed to function independently. It was during this period that your main interest shifted from concentration camps and began to rest on establishing stronger relationships with clandestine resistance groups within Germany, as well as on the worldwide search for exile German writers, technicians and other assorted professions. The motives behind these orders were unknown to you at the beginning, but as your operation grew in manpower, money and equipment you became a much more dominant factor in the project. For all I know, Peppermint, you may be one of the main planners.”

“Am I allowed to know in what?”

“
G. P. G.
”

“Those curious initials again, Wilhelm?”

“Very curious and
very
secret, Father.
G. P. G.
is so secret that the British know nothing of it—nor are they supposed to. In fact, even the United States military is kept in the dark. All that certain privileged generals and admirals have been told is that orders marked ‘
G. P. G.
' must receive maximum priority and dispatch—and minimum questioning. It all sounds very important, wouldn't you say, Peppermint?”

“And mysterious, Wilhelm.”

“Oh,
G. P. G.
has its more human side. Take, for example, Lady Cecelia. The center of
G. P. G.'S
clandestine activities is a country estate on the eastern coast of Britain with the highly Anglo-romanticized name of Westerly. Westerly covers approximately forty-five square miles of land and was rented seven weeks ago from its owner, Lady Cecelia.

“Lady Cecelia is a charming lunatic. First of all, she refused to move from the grounds, so she was installed in the gatehouse near the main entrance. Secondly, she is maniacally inquisitive. When she discovered she had been isolated from her lands by a barbed-wire fence, she took to sitting on her rooftop with opera glasses. When this wasn't enough for her curiosity she took to crawling over or under the fencing.

“With true American ingenuity the fence was electrified, which led to a mass slaughter of the magpies who came to roost on the wires. Lady Cecelia is a wildlife fanatic, so she rushed to the defense of her feathered friends. Large signs were erectd near the main gate calling her tenants murderers. The daily death toll was painted in three-foot-high letters.

“The sophism of American gentility emerged, and behold, the fence was de-electrified. For perimeter protection a second fence, four feet higher, was erected three yards inside the first. The area within the two fences was seeded with electronic listening devices. If so much as a twig should drop on this hallowed strip, arc lights flash on, sirens wail, hordes of half-crazed watchdogs are released and mobile as well as foot patrols rush to the suspicious point. And this is exactly what happened—twigs began dropping. Sometimes branches and often acorns, but mainly twigs. Once they hit the ground, the estate lit up like the Burning Bush.” Von Schleiben paused and uncorked a bottle of champagne.

“Astounding, Wilhelm. This information will bring a record price from almost any comic-book publisher.”

“Here's to comic books.” Von Schleiben lifted his silver goblet. “Our second installment can cover the American exotic machinations
within
their double-fenced sanctuary.

“First the outer fence goes up. The following day the convoys bring machinery and four hundred men up the winding path. In twenty-four hours the gardens are torn out and completely replaced with new landscaping. Capability Brown gives way to Versailles.

“Now the Americans take to working only at night. The main house and the connecting South Hall and Great North Hall are completely refurbished. Heating and air-conditioning units are installed. Intricate electrical security systems are installed. The three buildings are sectioned off into four isolated sections. Each section has its own electrical system and secondary alarm system. Each section has its own kitchens, dining rooms and living facilities. Double passes and identification cards are needed to move from one section to the next. The passes and identification cards change daily. There is one section that no one, so far, has been allowed into. That is the Great North Hall. Work is still going on inside, but, even so, no one from the other three sections has ever passed the guard gates.

“Below the hill, to the rear of the main buildings, camouflage netting has been raised. Underneath are fifty Quonset huts and thirty-two wood frame buildings. An emergency power plant was concealed underneath an ornamental swimming pool. A secret airstrip has been built deep in the woods. The ruins of the abbey above the forest preserve now conceal a steel radio tower twenty meters high that rises at night and retracts at dawn.

“The most interesting fact about all of this construction was the time span in which it was accomplished. Everything I have told you about was completed within twelve days of the Americans' putting up the first fence.”

“And was that all the building that was done?” the Priest inquired.

“Oh, no, there was one last little project. Since Lady Cecelia persisted in observing all movement through the main gate, the Americans have just completed an eighteen-mile double-lane concrete highway leading out of the rear of Westerly. The first convoy up this new highway arrived by night and was under the strictest security. It consisted of eighteen tarpaulin-draped trailer trucks carrying printing presses—the type you publish large newspapers with.” The last of the Dom Perignon trickled into von Schleiben's glass. He reached for another bottle and began to untwist the metal cap seal.

“And what is the meaning of those initials
G. P. G
?” asked the Priest.

“Its cover name is General Preparations Group, but its actual meaning is German Propaganda Group. Well, good Father, what do you think? Will the Americans be interested in what I have just related?”

“Why should they be interested in what they already know?”

“So that their British and Russian allies don't find out, for one thing.”

“Wilhelm, blackmail is hardly the cornerstone on which to build a lasting relationship.”

“What if I revealed my source of information concerning
G. P. G.
at Westerly?”

“That, Wilhelm, would certainly be interpreted as a token of good faith by the Americans.”

“What if I went further and told you where to find this informant?”

Peppermint nodded. “I would say that we then have the beginning of a most appealing package.”

“The informant is Rudi Hecht, one of my undercover agents. He is going under the name of Harvey Leigh and is presently employed as personal secretary to Lady Cecelia. Shall I remove him or will you?”

“If there are no objections, Wilhelm, I prefer looking after those arrangements in my own fashion.”

The cork popped off the champagne bottle. “And now, good Father, why don't I make the offering to
G. P. G.
even more appealing? Why don't I give them exactly what they are after?”

“What is it you think they are after so exactly?”

“German political prisoners. Important political prisoners, not leftovers like Vetter or Hilka Tolan.”

“If
G. P. G.
is a propaganda operation, as you said, what would they want with political prisoners?”

“If we are to enact business, I prefer not speculating on the answer to that question, Peppermint. Would
G. P. G.
be interested in major political prisoners?”

“I didn't think any were still alive.”

“No, Father, no, no, no. You most definitely do think some are still alive, but you don't know which ones, or where they are being kept. That is why you brought out Vetter and are planning to free Hilka Tolan. You reason that if the girl can be freed successfully, our security measures will have to be drastically tightened. You anticipate that the most important political prisoners will be transferred to more protected areas. If this transfer occurs, you might be able to see just whom we are holding and where we are sending them.

“It is a desperate scheme, Peppermint. It reveals how badly you need political prisoners of importance. Why whistle a brash and soundless song? Let me supply
G. P. G.
with men of the caliber they desire.”