The Incidental Spy (4 page)

H
ashem
was punishing Lena. He must be. At some point God must have ordained that she would never be happy for long. Was it because of the kisses she and Josef stole behind the trees in the Tiergarten? Because she had survived and her parents apparently had not? Perhaps it was because she hadn’t put enough faith in Him over the years. She had worked to create her own life, her own happiness. It was clear now that God did not approve.

She endured the funeral, thick clouds of grief fogging her mind. The interment, too. Ursula organized the
shivah
, and for seven days people filed in and out. Compton came several times, sat with her, and held her hand. She didn’t remember his words; all she recalled was that his glasses picked up the reflection of the lamp across the room. The German students from the department, scientists themselves now, came. So did her friend, Bonnie, from the Math Department, and people she didn’t know who said they knew Karl.

Max couldn’t understand where Papa had gone. He must be hiding, he said, and hunted for him under the beds, in the closets, behind doors. He kept asking her when Papa would be back. At one point he asked,

“Papa fight war?”

Lena’s jaw dropped. Max wasn’t even three years old. How was he able to make a connection between the war and his father’s disappearance? She tried to explain.

“No,
liebchen
. Papa has gone to heaven.”

“When come back?”

The lump in her throat was so thick she thought it might choke her. “He’s not.”

She gathered Max in her arms and hugged him tight. At the same time, she couldn’t help thinking how her life had been marked by momentous yet horrific events. Max was born a few days after war was declared. Now Karl had been killed a few days after Pearl Harbor. What was next?

Officers O’Grady and Maywood were replaced by a detective accompanied by a man who introduced himself as FBI Special Agent Lanier. Lena stiffened. Probably in his forties, he was short but muscular with wispy blond hair.

“FBI? Why are you here?”

He smiled. “It’s just a formality. We keep tabs on everyone at the Lab.”

“Why?” Lena asked.

“There are some very special people working there,” he said amiably.

Lena didn’t respond.

The detective told Lena they’d canvassed the neighborhood, but no one recalled a car sliding across 57th Street at three in the morning. Everyone had been tucked up in bed. But they would keep looking, he promised. She saw in his eyes he was lying.

* * *

The end of the year holidays were desolate. Lena remembered how she and Karl would spend New Year’s Eve with the other physicists in the department. They would go up to the Loop to hear jazz or Swing music and dance until midnight. Not this year. Ursula brought over chicken and red cabbage, but it went untouched.

Two weeks later Ursula rang the doorbell. It was well past noon, but Lena hadn’t bothered to dress herself or Max. In her usual efficient way, Ursula made them bathe and put on clothes. Then she cleaned the house and made tea.

When they were seated at the kitchen table, Ursula stirred sugar into her tea. “So my dear, what are your plans?”

Lena looked up, trying to blink away the fog. She shrugged.

Ursula nodded. “Yes. You have been through hell. Still, it is time to think about moving forward.”

Lena groped for a reply, but it seemed as if Ursula was speaking a foreign language. She had no idea what to say.

Ursula went on. “It has been over thirty days since Karl passed. I know you’re still grieving, but it is time to start picking up your life.”

Lena kept her mouth shut.

“What is your money situation?”

“We are scraping by.”

“So,” Ursula said in a matter-of-fact tone, “you will need to go back to work.”

“How can I? What about Max?”

“We will find someone to look after him. Perhaps the lady who lives upstairs. The one whose grandchildren come every week?”

Mrs. McNulty, a blowsy woman with fly-away white hair, lived upstairs. She never forgot to wink at Max whenever she saw him, and she always asked Lena how he was. In fact, Lena remembered her concerned expression among the sea of faces at the
shivah
. She’d brought down a bowl of fruit, Lena recalled. Apples, Max’s favorite.

“But where? How can I make enough to support us both? And pay Mrs. McNulty?”

Ursula stared at Lena for a few seconds in silence then pursed her lips. “Surely, you remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Professor Compton. He sat beside you for a long while one night at the
shivah
. He said your old job was waiting for you if you wanted it.”

Lena shook her head. She had no memory of the conversation.

“I was right beside you, rubbing your back. He even said he understood you could not work late because of Max. He said you and he could work something out. They replaced you with another secretary, of course, but he said he could use a second as well.”

Lena’s eyes widened.

“It’s time,” Ursula said.

A
nd so Lena went back to her job at the Physics department. It had never been a quiet place, but it was positively bustling now, a frantic urgency sweeping the air. Ever since America had entered the war, each day felt like a race against the clock.

Compton was at the helm, spearheading experiments in fission from coast to coast. Each project, from Enrico Fermi’s at Columbia University in New York, to J. Robert Oppenheimer’s at Berkeley, would hopefully forge a path to a nuclear device. Lena and Sonia, the other secretary, kept busy sending frequent letters, sometimes telegrams, to the scientists; typing conclusions and analyses by other physicists; even corresponding with government officials. Lena was thrilled to be interacting, albeit indirectly, with the most famous scientists in the country. Bit by bit, she started to emerge from her shell of grief.

Shortly after she returned, Compton decided to combine some of the research programs into one location. He appointed Leo Szilard head of materials acquisition and convinced Szilard, Fermi, and others to move to Chicago. He snagged some unused space beneath a racketball court under the west grandstand of Stagg Field and created what became known as the Mettalurgical Lab. It was here that the department would build the machinery to conduct experiments with graphite and uranium that, when bombarded with neutrons, would, hopefully, produce a chain reaction.

At home life seemed to fall into place as well. Max enjoyed his days with Mrs. McNulty, whom he called Mrs. M.

“All he wants to eat are apples,” Mrs M said.

“That’s not necessarily bad,” Lena said.

Mrs. McNulty smiled. “And when he’s not munching on the fruit, he plays with Lincoln Logs. I think he’s going to be an engineer when he grows up. Or a scientist.”

“Like his father,” Lena said softly.

She tried to spend as much time as she could with Max after work and begged Mrs. McNulty to let him nap long hours so she could keep him up at night. He was chattering non-stop now, and Lena loved teaching him new words and ideas. But even with a three-hour nap, his little head drooped by nine in the evening, so she would sing him some of the German lullabies her mother sang to her, tuck him in bed, then fall asleep herself.

Between food, rent, and Mrs. McNulty, Lena was barely making it financially. Every week she plunged deeper in debt. The kindly grocer extended endless lines of credit, Mrs. McNulty, too. Still, Lena worried she could never repay what she owed. She feared it was just a matter of time until it all unraveled.

L
ena picked up the phone at work one rainy morning just before lunch. Compton had been expecting a call from Fermi who was in the midst of moving to Chicago. When he called, she was to find Compton immediately. So she was expecting a male voice on the other end of the line. Instead she heard a sobbing woman, whose obvious anguish made her words incomprehensible.

“Hello? Who is this?”

More crying, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“Please, who is there?”

“Mi-Mrs, Stern,” She stammered. “It’s—it’s Mabel McNulty.”

It took Lena a moment to register the caller. They always addressed each other as Mrs. Stern or Mrs. M. But when she realize who it was, a bolt of fear streaked up her spine. “What’s the matter? Is Max all right?”

“The—the police are here.”

Panic surged through Lena. She began to shiver uncontrollably. “The police? What happened?”

“Mrs. Stern, I can’t believe it.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know—I just don’t know how it happened.”

“Mrs. McNulty,” Lena was shouting now, so loud that Sonia looked up from her desk in alarm. “Where is Max?”

A fresh stream of crying filled her ears. Lena jumped up. With her free hand she grabbed her purse. A swish came over the telephone line, and a deep male voice said,

“Mrs. Stern? This is Officer Delgado. Chicago Police Department.”

Lena’s stomach clenched, and a wave of nausea worked its way up to her throat.

“Your boy, Max—has been kidnapped. We’re sending a squad car to pick you up.”

* * *

Mrs. McNulty and Max were on their way back from the Museum of Science and Industry where Max loved to wander through the Coal Mine exhibit, Mrs. M said. She had brought the stroller in case he was tired, but Max wanted to walk by himself. She always held his hand when they walked outside, but this morning Mrs. M was juggling the stroller and an umbrella as well as Max. They had just reached the bend in the road that turned into 57th Street when someone raced up behind Mrs. M, shoved her, and snatched Max.

The movement was so sudden and aggressive that Mrs. M fell to the ground. She screamed and so did Max, but just then a car pulled up behind them and slowed. The man who had Max opened the back door and threw himself and the boy into the back. The car sped off.

Everything happened so fast that Mrs. M didn’t have time to catch the license plate. Not that it would help. It would take hours, if not days, to find the DMV record of the auto. Mrs. M raced home to call the police.

Lena didn’t remember the ride in the squad car, but twenty minutes later, she was talking to two policemen in her living room. Officers were combing the area, they said; they were marshalling all their resources to find Max.

But they were at a disadvantage. They didn’t know the make of the car—all Mrs. M could recall was a dark sedan. They didn’t have a license plate either, or a solid description of the kidnapper. Still, they were canvassing neighbors, and cruisers were parked at 57th Street to stop and question motorists. They sent cops to the Museum to interview the guards and staff. A photo of Max had been circulated and was being posted. No one wanted another Leopold and Loeb.

Lena listened as the officers explained, but their voices seemed to be muffled by a thick hazy blanket. She felt distanced from the conversation, as though she didn’t quite understand what they were saying. In a corner of her brain she knew she was in shock, but she had no idea how to deal with it. She sat on her sofa, hands folded politely in her lap, as if she were listening to a piano concerto.

FBI Agent Lanier, the same agent who’d come when Karl died, showed up thirty minutes later. Mrs. M went through her story again, shooting apologetic glances at Lena.

When Mrs. M finished, Lanier told Lena to stay at home and near the phone. “The chances are good whoever has Max will make a ransom call before long.”

“But I can’t pay. I have no money.” It was the first thing she’d said since Lanier arrived.

“They don’t know that. They probably think Mrs. McNulty is a nanny or governess, and you live in one of those big homes on Hyde Park Avenue. The two of them were perfect marks.”

Lena made a sound that wasn’t quite a sob. “I’m a secretary at the University. It’s all I can do to put food on the table.”

“You’re working at Met Lab again, right?”

“Yes. The Physics Department.”

Lanier nodded, as if he was confirming what he already knew, and changed the subject. He didn’t press her about the work going on there, but Lena couldn’t tell him if he did. She’d signed a strict confidentiality agreement when she went back. She could speak of it to no one, including the authorities.

Time seemed to stop that afternoon. After the police officers left, it was quiet except for the plunk of raindrops against the windows. Lena didn’t move from her spot on the sofa. Agent Lanier stayed but didn’t talk much. Around five he said he was going back to the office, but another detective would arrive. As he opened the door to leave, he gave her explicit instructions.

“When you get the call, call me immediately. They’ll tell you not to, but you must. We’ll be working in the background to get your boy back.” He paused. “Mrs. Stern, there are good reasons to think he will be returned safely. More than one person was involved. Which means it was a conspiracy. They took him for a reason. Probably money. If it had been just one man, we’d be looking at a more ominous situation. Don’t lose faith.”

He left and closed the door softly. Faith? Lena had no faith. Watching raindrops dribble sideways across a window, she knew, again, that she must have done something very wicked to warrant the punishments that had befallen her. Why had God chosen her?

Slowly she rose from the sofa and trudged into the kitchen. She took a tall glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. She drank about half, then examined the glass. She turned around and hurled the glass across the room. It smashed against the opposite wall and exploded, flinging shards of glass and water across the floor. The sound of shattering glass was oddly comforting.

T
he telephone call came after Lanier left but before the police detective arrived. Lena had just finished cleaning up the broken glass, and the ring startled her. She raced to the phone, then hesitated. Why now? Who knew she would be alone at this precise moment?

“I assume the detective has left.” It was a gruff male voice, but it was muffled as if he was speaking through a towel or blanket.

“Who is this?”

“Someone you want to talk to. Is the baby sitter gone?”

Mrs. M, still hysterical, had gone up to her apartment to try and calm down.

Someone had been watching her apartment. Lena started to tremble. “I—I’m alone.” She stammered.

“Good. We have Max. He’s fine. And we want to bring him back.”

“Thank god. Please bring him right away.”

“We will. But we want something in return.”

Her stomach twisted. She bit her lip. “I have no money.”

There was a laugh on the other end of the line. A laugh! “We know. In fact, we will help you change that.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“We want to reimburse you for your pain and suffering. God knows you’ve had your share.”

“How do you know that? Who are you? I want my son!”

“You will get him. But you must agree to our proposition.”

“What proposition?”

“A man will be coming to your home in a few minutes. He will be wearing a policeman’s uniform. But he is not an officer. You will let him in. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Once you have agreed to the proposition, Max will be returned.”

“Tonight? You’ll bring him back tonight?”

“Yes. We have not harmed him. And we don’t want to.”

“What if I cannot accept the proposition? What if I refuse?”

“That would not be a good idea, Lena. For you or Max.”

* * *

The man to whom Lena opened the door was unremarkable in every way. Average height, average weight, average thinning brown hair. Horn-rimmed glasses. His only distinguishing feature was a pair of oversized ears. Dressed in a cop’s uniform, he had a badge pinned to his chest. If she’d been asked to describe him later, she wouldn’t have been able to provide much.

He deposited himself on the sofa where she’d been sitting just a few minutes earlier. She picked up the baby blanket she’d been holding to remind her of Max’s smell, and sat in the chair.

“Is Max all right? What have you done with him?”

He cleared his throat. “He is fine. But I only have a few minutes, Frau Stern, so here’s what we want.” He paused. “Information.” He spoke with an unmistakable accent. It was German. From the South. Probably Bavaria. Reinhard, Ursula’s husband, had a similar accent, and he was from Regensburg.

She folded her arms. “What information?” She said in German.

His eyes narrowed for a quick moment, and she saw in his expression that under the right circumstances he was probably capable of enormous cruelty. Despite the heat in the apartment, she shivered again. He must have realized his effect on her, because he unexpectedly bared his teeth in what she supposed was a smile.

“Information you come by on a daily basis.” He answered in English.

She didn’t reply at first. She was trying to process why he hadn’t answered in German. Then she cast the thought aside. If that’s what he wanted to do, what choice did she have? She wanted her son. “So you want me to spy at my job,” she said in English.

The smile that wasn’t really a smile widened. “They said you were a quick study.”

“Who are you working for?” She asked, although she really didn’t need to. It was clear. “You want me to spy for the Nazis?”

He didn’t confirm it but didn’t disagree.

“Why would I ever do that? After what you—they did to me? To my family? To my life? I’d rather die than help those—you monsters.”

He nodded, as if he wasn’t surprised at her reaction. “I understand. But there is really only one point to consider. If you do not comply, you will never see your son again.”

She stared at the man, then let her head sink into her hands. The tears that refused to come earlier now welled. Her life consisted of a series of events she could not control. Now there was one more.

The fake cop cleared his throat. “Frau Stern, we do not have much time. Another police officer will arrive soon.”

Once more she was trapped. She had to play along. She breathed in the scent of the blanket. Without Max, life was not worth living. She hoped God would forgive her. Then she scoffed at the thought. There was no God. At least for her. That was abundantly clear. She looked over, blinking through her tears.

“What is it you want me to do?”

“We want you to bring us whatever you come across in your daily work. Letters, files, theoretical analyses, observations. Photos of the Lab, if you can. It is clear America is committed to building an atomic weapon, and we know there are several paths to that end. We know Chicago is working on one option. We need to know what your scientists know. As soon as they know it. You will provide it. “

“But what happens if they find out?” She repeated. “Will you help me escape? Find someplace for Max and me to disappear to?”

The man cleared his throat. “We understand this will not be easy. Or risk free. It is quite possible someone at some point will suspect what you are doing.”

The answer was no, she thought. They would do nothing if she was unmasked. She was on her own.
“That is why we are willing to compensate you. Generously,” he went on. “We will pay you two hundred dollars a month.”

Her mouth opened. It was a fortune. Her money problems would disappear. “We know you have had financial problems since the untimely death of your husband.”

Untimely? What did that mean “untimely?” She peered at him, but his expression remained flat. Then he cocked his head.

“A word of warning, Lena. Do not think you can get away from us. We are watching you. We know every step that you take. Once you start down this road, there is no going back.”

Lena hated this man and his words. But she couldn’t go to the authorities. She was a German herself. A refugee. And although she was now a U.S. citizen, every German was suspect these days. They might even decide she was already spying. Then what would happen to her and Max? She couldn’t risk it. She was trapped.

The man looked at his watch. “I must leave.” He cleared his throat. “But there is one other matter. You will need to learn tradecraft.”

“What does that mean, tradecraft?”

“There are many ways to retrieve and exchange information. You will learn the basic techniques. I will teach you.”

“You’re going to teach me how to be a spy!”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it?” She knew she sounded irritated. She wanted him to get that.

“Methods to manage your risk. And ours.” He hesitated. “So. What is your answer?”

She stared and took a deep breath, hoping it would make him uncomfortable. “You give me no choice.”

The man pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket. He opened it and counted out ten twenty dollar bills which he laid on the coffee table.

Her mouth fell open again.

“You need not see me out. We start training tomorrow. You will find a note in your mailbox with the meeting time and location.”

Lena picked up the money. “Since we are to be working together, what is your name?”

“You may call me Hans.”

She nodded. “What about Max, Hans? ”

He rose from the sofa. “Your son will be dropped off shortly.”

The promise was kept. Ten minutes later, the buzzer rang. Lena raced down the steps. As she opened the front door, a car pulled away, leaving Max on standing on the curb. He held a balloon in one hand, and a small cherry lollypop in the other. His lips were stained red, as if he’d been sucking on it for hours.

“Hello, Mama,” He grinned.

She closed her arms around him.