by Larry Loftis
That cutout was Aline.
Edmundo bowed and kissed her hand, saying he would see her in the evening. His gesture was equal parts theatrical and gentlemanly, and it seemed to Aline as though Washington had paired her with Don Juan.
* * *
At nine thirty Aline met Edmundo in the Palace Bar, where he again kissed her hand. They found a table out of earshot of other patrons and Aline asked for details about his cover.
“My cover is that I am Mexican,” he said. “The representative of Walt Disney to Spain. This gives me the possibility of appearing neutral and enables me to see people of both sides.”
He sipped a gin fizz. “The plan is to take you to a reception given by the Marquesa of Torrejón, where you’ll meet Spaniards—foreign ambassadors, a few enemy spies, also many rich, beautiful women from other countries. Only women with influence today can obtain exit permits from the countries at war. This will be the ideal opportunity to introduce you to the social world of the city.”
“Who is the Marquesa of Torrejón?”
“The most popular social leader, and her gatherings are the spiciest. I hope you have a wardrobe to meet the demands of Madrid’s social life. If not, I recommend a visit to Balenciaga. Darling, as much as I love the Americans—and work for them—their social graces don’t hold a candle to the Europeans’.”
Aline had heard of Cristóbal Balenciaga, the fashion designer from Getaria, a coastal town just west of the French border. Trained as a tailor in Madrid, he had started his business in San Sebastian in 1919 and then opened stores in Madrid and Barcelona. Word spread that he was one of the few couturiers in the fashion industry who could actually conceive, pattern, cut, and sew his own designs. In no time, Spanish high society began wearing his latest creations. Aline knew that whereas Hattie Carnegie had a remarkable eye for discovering beautiful clothes, Balenciaga had an unmatched skill in designing them.
When the Spanish Civil War started, Balenciaga moved his business to Paris, where the influence of the Spanish Renaissance on his collections enraptured fellow designers and clients alike. His Infanta gown had been inspired by the costumes of Spanish princesses in Diego Velázquez’s paintings, and his “jacket of light” was drawn from the matador’s traje de luces, the same type of vest that Aline had received from Juanito.
After the civil war Balenciaga reopened his Madrid and Barcelona stores, but he remained in Paris. Over the next few years he became known as the king of fashion, and his reputation lured a number of talented young designers to apprentice for him, including Oscar de la Renta and Hubert de Givenchy.II
Aline made a mental note to visit the Madrid store, and as Edmundo rattled on, she did her best to figure him out. His appearance—immaculate suit with pocket square and polished shoes—suggested diplomat, but his boyish demeanor and irrepressible character suggested otherwise. He was an enigmatic combination of sexy and silly. His chestnut eyes enchanted, right up until he let out a squeaky giggle.
“There will be a smattering of Axis and Spanish personalities at the marquesa’s,” he told her. “Concentrate on the women, the only way to get invited inside a Spanish home.”
He checked his watch. “You must be starved. We have a reservation at Edelweiss.”III
“A German restaurant?”
“Yes. To see more of the enemy.”
* * *
The following evening Edmundo picked up Aline for the reception given by Doña Mimosa, the Marquesa of Torrejón, who lived in a palatial estate on Calle de Ferraz, just north of the Royal Palace. As Aline and Edmundo made their way through the grand salon, Aline noticed that almost all the women were decked out in jewels and elegant black Balenciaga dresses.
They continued strolling and Aline admired her elegant surroundings. The furniture was a mixture of Louis XVI and English baroque, and above the fireplace hung a massive portrait of their hostess.
“El Greco’s most famous painting is of this lady’s sixteenth-century ancestor’s funeral,”IV Edmundo said. “Come.” He led her to another room, where a Goya hung.
Aline admired the painting for a moment and then cast her gaze about the room.
Edmundo had been right about the guest list. Within just a few minutes she had recognized Sir Samuel Hoare, the British ambassador to Spain; José Lequerica, Spain’s ambassador to France;V the Duke and Duchess of Lerma; the Countess of Yebes; the Duchess of Sueca; and Princess Maria Agatha of Ratibor and Corvey.
Aline and Edmundo followed the current of the party guests and ended up before a woman seated at an antique gilt card table. She was petite and frail-looking, with dyed brown hair and a double portion of rouge on her cheeks. This was their hostess, Doña Mimosa, and she appeared to be explaining to someone the meaning of the tarot cards arranged in front of her.
When Edmundo and Aline were close, introductions were made and Mimosa’s face brightened.
“Why, Miss Griffith, do let me give you a reading. I have a strong feeling the cards have something special to tell you.”
Aline didn’t believe in fortune telling but thought it best to keep her opinion to herself. It wasn’t entirely clear if Mimosa believed in it either; it was possible that this was a little performance meant to entertain her guests.
“Come sit by me,” Mimosa said.
Aline stepped forward and she heard Princess Agatha murmur: “Mimosa will try anything to make her parties the most amusing.”
“Be careful, señorita,” Ambassador Lequerica chimed in. “The marquesa is a witch. She reads your mind as if it were her own.”
Aline smiled good-naturedly. Sure she did.
Mimosa shuffled the cards and began flipping them over. “Now, you all know I have never seen this girl before. All I know about you, Aline, is that you are an acquaintance of Edmundo’s and that you are American. Nothing else, is that true?”
Aline nodded.
Mimosa studied the three cards in front of her: a nine, a five, and a seven. After several moments she looked up. “I see that you are going to be famous in this city. For one reason or another you will be in danger. Ah, and I see you will not return to your home for many years.”
She paused and held Aline’s eyes. “Shall I go on?”
Aline nodded again and peered over at Edmundo. He was staring at the cards, and Princess Agatha whispered something in his ear.
Mimosa dealt three more cards: a six, a two, and a five. Again she paused, and then said, “The cards show you are going to be embroiled in some kind of international plot.” She seemed to wait for a response, but Aline gave no reply. The predictions Mimosa had made thus far, Aline knew, were generic enough to apply to anyone, especially in a room full of diplomats, spies, and wealthy adventurers.
Mimosa turned over three more and said, “There is someone whose well-being you are worried about—and with reason. That person’s life is in danger.”
Aline’s thoughts immediately went to Juanito. Indeed, she worried about him every time he entered the ring.
Another three cards.
Mimosa tapped the middle card. “Adventure and intrigue.”
“What kind of intrigue?” Ambassador Hoare asked. “You told me the same thing.”
“And me,” added the Duchess of Sueca.
The comments reinforced Aline’s notion that Mimosa was not really a medium, but was merely entertaining her guests.
Another three cards, and as Mimosa turned over the last one, she said, “There must be some error in the manner in which I have handled the cards tonight. They reveal evil forces are at work around someone you are interested in, Aline.”
She tapped the first card several times and then dealt another three.
“I see a bullfight,” she said. “Oh, how terrifying, all these black cards—a death by murder.”
Mimosa gathered up the cards. “I’m sorry, Aline, I hope I haven’t upset you with my little entertainment.”
Aline assured her that she had not, and that the reading had been quite enjoyable.
Then it came to her. The numbers and the tapping were a code.
She turned to speak to Edmundo, but he had wandered off. A piano was playing in an adjacent room, and Aline could hear the voices of women singing. She followed the sound and was not surprised to see Edmundo listening to three attractive young girls, one playing the piano and two singing. When the song ended everyone introduced themselves. The performers, Aline learned, were three daughters of the Count of Avila: Casilda, Carmen, and Nena Arteaga. Upon hearing that she was American, they began playing and singing “It Had to Be You.” Aline knew the words by heart and joined in.
The sisters were excited to meet an American, and when Aline mentioned that she had brought a small collection of records with her to Spain, they invited her to join them for dinner the following week.
In the taxi on the way home Aline conversed quietly with Edmundo about Mimosa, the cards, and the peculiar tapping. He agreed that it might have been a code used to convey information to someone in the room. It seemed a reach that Mimosa was embroiled in espionage, but there were plenty of communists in Madrid who hated Franco, and a plot to kill him would not have been surprising.
Aline didn’t worry about Mimosa’s warnings of intrigue and murder, but over the next several days there was something else: she had an unsettling feeling, a prickling on the back of her neck, that she was being followed.
I. This was the same route, Philadelphia to Lisbon, that Robert Dunev had taken when he sailed for assignment aboard the SS Serpa Pinto the year before. The number of days it took the men to reach Lisbon (Dunev, 15; Lassalle, 17) reveals the importance that the OSS placed on getting Aline in position quickly by sending her on the Yankee Clipper.
II. Balenciaga would go on to dress not only Aline but Grace Kelly, Ava Gardner, Audrey Hepburn, and Jackie Kennedy. Christian Dior quipped that Balenciaga was “the master of us all,” and Coco Chanel agreed, saying that Balenciaga was “the only couturier in the truest sense of the word.”
III. Still in operation today, Edelweiss is located at Calle de Jovellanos, 7, four blocks from the Palace Hotel.
IV. The ancestor Edmundo is referring to is Don Gonzalo Ruíz, a native of Toledo who had been known for his piety and philanthropy. Posthumously, he became known as the Count of Orgaz. In 1586, Toledo’s parish priest commissioned El Greco to paint the burial of Ruíz, and the painting became known as The Burial of Count of Orgaz. The piece is used as a classic example of mannerism, and art critics regard it as El Greco’s greatest masterpiece.
V. Who became Franco’s foreign minister on August 11, 1944.
CHAPTER 8 PUTTING ON THE RITZ
It had started several nights earlier. The sound of footsteps. Most of the time when she glanced back there was no one. But one time she was sure she saw him, a man behind her stepping into the shadows.
Her training at The Farm now seemed not only valuable but critical. She mentioned the tags to Gregory Thomas, and he didn’t seem surprised. Madrid was a city of intrigue, after all, and both sides were in constant surveillance of the other. How anyone would know that she was an Allied agent, though, was somewhat disturbing. It was time she rented an apartment, they decided, to get her away from any prying eyes. While the Palace and the Ritz across the street were the finest hotels in town, they were undoubtedly teeming with Abwehr and Gestapo agents and informants.
She found a spacious and relatively inexpensive place on Calle Monte Esquina, just a short walk from the office. The rent was only $50 and she was making—salary plus living allowance—$351 a month. Even with a maid, a cook, and a new Balenciaga dress every four weeks, she still had money to spare.
What she learned in her new environment, though, was that each residential building had a portero, and each neighborhood a sereno. Together, these two individuals provided security: the portero acted as a building supervisor by day, the sereno its watchman by night. Apartment buildings were locked from 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m., she discovered, and if you arrived home without your keys, you called the sereno by clapping. In a matter of seconds he would appear, announcing his approach by banging his stick against the curb. On his belt he carried keys for every house and apartment in his district, and it was customary for residents to call for him even when they had their keys, simply to say hello and let him know they were home.
The sereno gave Aline some comfort when she thought she was being followed, but there were times he was down the street opening the door for a neighbor when she needed him.
* * *
Meanwhile in the Atlantic, the Allies launched the largest amphibious landing in history on June 6, invading occupied France at the beaches of Normandy. While OSS Madrid received little attention for their contribution, the daily forwarding of messages from Allied intelligence throughout France to Washington no doubt aided American troops storming the beaches and working behind enemy lines. American OSS and British SOE agents operating in southern France had been identifying German troop and tank locations, as well as enemy arms depots, for months preceding the attack. And every message forwarded by Aline or Robert Dunev, however insignificant it may have seemed to them at the time, added to Allied Supreme Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower’s overall picture. In many cases, no doubt, the intelligence forwarded led to American bombing runs leading up to the invasion.
But D-Day had little effect on the situation in Spain; Madrid papers carried the news, of course, but daily life didn’t change. On June 10, Edmundo moved on to Barcelona and checked in to the Ritz. It was extravagant, particularly on his $7 per diem, but as a Disney representative he felt he needed to play the part of the successful Hollywood executive.
As he had in Madrid, Edmundo wasted no time getting to work. He met with his Barcelona supervisorI and debriefed him on his activities. His boss was impressed and in a report to Gregory Thomas he praised Edmundo’s industriousness: “He has made a remarkable number of good contacts in a very short time. I am sure you will agree with me that all in all he has done very well in such a short period of time and that if he continues this good work he will eventually prove to be a most valuable member of our organization.”
At the end of June Edmundo returned to Madrid, and the first week of July he and Aline decided to have dinner in the belly of the beast: Horcher’s. It was Madrid’s finest restaurant but was known to be a regular hangout for Abwehr and SS officers. The German owner, Otto Horcher, had operated a similar restaurant in Berlin—said to be Göring’s favorite—and had been given special exemption from military service to open a sister operation in Madrid.
What Aline and Edmundo didn’t know was that Horcher’s might also provide the enemy some intel about them. Concealed in the flower vase on each table was a hidden microphone.II Not only was Horcher’s a letter box—a secret venue to drop off and retrieve messages—it was an active counterintelligence hub.
They arrived at Horcher’s at eleven and it was busy but not yet full. The maître d’ escorted them to a table and Aline observed the elegant setting: linen tablecloths, high ceilings with elaborate molding, green velvet drapes, and warm ambient lighting. When she took her seat, a waiter placed a pillow under her feet.
Horcher’s restaurant, Madrid.
As they perused the menu, Aline heard a number of patrons gathering at the entrance and looked up. At the head of the group was a short, stiff-looking man, immaculately dressed. His black suit and the formal starched collar of his striped shirt, together with his pencil-thin mustache and slicked-back hair, gave him the appearance of a film star or a gangster.
Edmundo glanced over. “Hans Lazar. Press attaché of the German embassy.”
Aline nodded and tried not to be conspicuous in her watching.
Lazar passed their table and Aline got a closer look at his face. His skin was soft and babylike, but his eyes were sinister—deep and brooding and set in dark circles. A gangster all right, and one of the four suspects Thomas had mentioned as Himmler’s possible contact.
“Gives lavish part
ies in a palace he has rented on the Castellana,” Edmundo added as Lazar disappeared into a private room.
There was a murmur again at the entrance, and Aline and Edmundo looked over. A tall, sleek brunette, maybe in her late twenties, was turning heads and conversations. Aline had been a professional model and had worked with many of New York’s great beauties, but this woman was exceptional. Her face was like a doll’s—perfectly shaped and smooth as porcelain. She was wearing a black satin gown beneath a floor-length sable cape, with long strands of gleaming pearls around her neck. And she was graceful, a swan in a lake of mallards.
“Who is that?”
Edmundo smiled. Every Mexican knew the face of Gloria Rubio, the beauty from his home country who had married a wealthy German count. “The one and only,” he said, staring and admiring. “The Countess of Fürstenberg.”
Gloria sailed smoothly between the tables, disappearing into the room where Lazar had gone.
Aline eyed the closed door. “We now know who Lazar’s dinner guest is. Do you know her? She must be fascinating.”
“I know her through gossip. The Guatemalan ambassador says he saw her in a casino in Mexico when she was sixteen. Who was it—I can’t remember—took her to Hollywood after one look. She was in Los Angeles only long enough to meet some Dutch financier. Frankly, Hollywood was too small for Gloria’s ambitions.”
German press attaché Hans Lazar and Gloria von Fürstenberg.
Edmundo sipped his wine and told her about Gloria’s second husband, Egon von Fürstenberg. “In Berlin she was famous. She palled around with all the bigwigs—Schellenberg, Göring, Himmler. She’s clever, too, because when no one could travel anyplace, she managed to go to Paris.”
Aline glanced again at the closed door of the private area and pretended to be chilly. Calling the waiter over, she nodded toward a table closer to the room and asked if they could move. When they were reseated, Edmundo complained about the nuisance of changing tables, noting that it was no warmer in their new location. The door to the private room opened and Edmundo followed Aline’s gaze.
