Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  They walked slowly, talking quietly, falling silent every now and then when a passer-by came close, but the weather meant they had few such interruptions. For the most part, Dulles let him talk, and Frank told him everything; there seemed no reason not to. After all that he’d been through, it was somehow a relief to be able to say it out loud.

  It soon became clear that Dulles knew much of what had happened already, but he probed Frank on several points, and was particularly interested in Swift’s admission that he’d killed Jean.

  ‘Poor Miss Ellesworth,’ he sighed, turning away to look out over the silver-grey water for a moment. ‘Did he mention why he stopped her from attending that rendezvous at the ski lodge?’

  ‘He just said that he was doing his best to keep her out of things,’ Frank replied.

  ‘And did he tell you who the courier was carrying messages for?’

  ‘No. He said it was someone who might have been hung for war crimes, but he never told me who it was.’

  Dulles nodded to himself.

  ‘There are so many unpalatable truths on the road to peace,’ he muttered.

  They walked on. Frank stole a sidelong glance at the older man, who appeared to be lost in thought.

  ‘Sir?’ he asked. ‘Do you think Swift was acting on his own?’

  Dulles raised his head and frowned.

  ‘That’s really not the sort of question you want to be heard asking,’ he replied.

  Frank caught the warning note in his voice.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean…’ He shook his head. ‘I was talking about during the war.’

  Dulles very deliberately gazed out across the water.

  Frank lowered his voice and continued.

  ‘Only, when he died, he started screaming out in German…’

  Dulles glanced across at him.

  ‘Did he really?’ he mused. ‘Well, well… I’ve often thought that a man’s true self emerges at the most difficult times. I suppose that, if defeat were inevitable, a patriotic German agent might feel his country stood a better chance siding with the Western Allies, making a common enemy of Russia.’ He held Frank’s gaze for a moment, his eyes twinkling. ‘But you must draw your own conclusions, naturally.’

  A gust of wind blew up from behind them, scarring the surface of the Reflecting Pool with dark ripples. Frank turned up his collar and hunched his shoulders, looking into the distance where the Washington Monument stood proud and white against the dirty sky.

  ‘Swift implied that Molly…’ He took a breath, then stared down at his feet. ‘He said she wasn’t the traitor we thought she was.’

  ‘Ah,’ murmured Dulles. ‘So, we come to it at last.’

  Frank clenched his fists in his pockets.

  ‘I mean… if Swift was the traitor, then I guess it sort of puts her in the clear, doesn’t it?’

  ‘One person’s guilt doesn’t necessarily prove another’s innocence,’ Dulles began, then trailed off as he looked at Frank. ‘You were sleeping with her?’

  Frank slowed to a stop and turned to face the water.

  Beside him, Dulles sighed.

  ‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘We did have our suspicions, of course, but Swift always assured me that…’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose someone you care about, especially when you can’t acknowledge them. I know…’

  Something in his voice made Frank glance up. He recalled Swift saying that Jean’s loyalties were not exclusively his, but… her and Dulles?

  ‘Jean Ellesworth?’ he asked.

  The light in Dulles’ eyes faded just a little.

  ‘Miss Ellesworth and I were… close,’ he said carefully. ‘We spoke quite often, and she did come to believe that we had a traitor in our midst, though she never implicated Miss Pearson. Nor did she suggest that the agent was Russian.’

  ‘So Molly…’ Frank swallowed. ‘Molly was innocent?’

  Dulles paused, gazing up at the grey clouds, then sighed.

  ‘When I finally returned to Washington, after my time in Berlin, her name came up in conversation, quite by chance. It seems that she may have been acting as go-between for… well, for certain British and Soviet officials who didn’t want a war between their two nations.’ He gave a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘If that’s true then she was an extremely brave – and loyal – British agent.’

  Frank bowed his head.

  ‘And I hung her out to dry,’ he muttered.

  ‘No,’ Dulles said firmly. ‘Swift manipulated you into a position where you would be compelled to doubt her. And, whether or not you had the opportunity to deal with her yourself, it was Mr Cavanagh who actually pulled the trigger.’

  Frank looked at him unhappily.

  ‘Poor Rafe,’ he said.

  Dulles shrugged.

  ‘We must hope that he never finds out.’

  ‘You aren’t going to tell him?’ Frank asked.

  Dulles stared at him in horror.

  ‘Why on Earth would I want to do that?’ he gasped.

  Frank shrugged uncertainly.

  ‘You don’t think he has a right to know?’

  ‘I think he has a right not to know,’ Dulles insisted. ‘The truth would bring him nothing but pain, and he’s suffered quite enough, wouldn’t you say?’

  Frank nodded. Rafe had come to visit him a few times while he was in hospital, but it was obvious that Molly’s death had hit him harder than anyone.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ he sighed.

  Dulles turned and began walking again. Frank fell in beside him, brooding on all the things he knew and wished he didn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t ask… but what Swift said, about manipulating intelligence reports to justify using the bomb on Russia…’

  ‘Mr Rye…’ There was a warning in Dulles’ voice.

  ‘I know, it’s just…’ Frank looked at him anxiously. ‘Do you think it’s true? Would the Russians really have taken over half of Europe? Would they really have been able to develop their own atom bomb?’

  ‘Really, Mr Rye!’ Dulles glared at him. ‘I made it quite clear that I wished no harm upon you. Don’t make me regret that position.’

  Frank looked away, shaking his head.

  ‘I… I just need to know if what he said was true.’

  Dulles sighed, as if worn down by continual questions.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he muttered. ‘If you must know then yes, I believe that the world would have been in great peril if the Russians had been allowed to continue. Does that satisfy you?’

  Frank felt a strange sense of relief.

  ‘I was just worried,’ he explained. ‘You know, worried that we’d been doing something wrong – that I’d been doing something wrong – without even realizing it.’

  Dulles frowned as he walked.

  ‘You cannot allow yourself to think that way, son.’

  Frank looked at him.

  ‘But, knowing what we know now–’

  ‘No,’ Dulles said firmly. ‘Fools judge history with the benefit of hindsight, and think themselves wise. But the people who matter, who change the world, have to make the best decisions they can with the information they have in that moment.’ He turned to look at Frank. ‘When Rafe saw Molly with her gun drawn on you, he did what he believed was right. When you shot that German at the ski lodge, when you told me about Molly and the Russian, you did what you believed was right. That’s the only truth there is.’

  Frank considered this and nodded.

  ‘I wish more people saw it that way,’ he said.

  Beside him, Dulles gave a grim little laugh.

  ‘Don’t fear the condemnation of fools,’ he said. ‘Just because there are so many of them, just because they’re loud, it doesn’t make them right.’

  They reached the far end of the Reflection Pool, and Dulles continued on, following the path up and around the fountains. Just ahead of them, parked by the side of the road, was a sleek black sedan. A tall man in a suit w
as pacing back and forth beside it.

  ‘My next appointment,’ Dulles muttered. ‘You know Charles Lindbergh?”

  ‘Of course. The airman. America First, right?’

  ‘He might not agree, but I like to think we’ve all put America first, in our own way…’ Dulles smiled, then turned to face him. ‘So, this is where I say goodbye.’

  ‘It was good to see you again.’ Frank shook him by the hand.

  ‘You’ll be going back to Joplin, I suppose?’ Dulles asked. ‘I understand you managed to patch things up with Chief Kirkland?’

  Frank looked at him, wondering how he knew about that, then gave a wry grin as he remembered who he was talking to.

  ‘Yeah, I’m still a cop,’ he said. ‘Until something else comes up.’

  Dulles nodded.

  ‘One never knows what surprises the future may hold,’ he said. ‘Well, good luck to you, Frank.’

  He turned away and started walking towards the car, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

  ‘What about the young lady?’ he asked. ‘Miss Griffith, wasn’t it?’

  Frank looked at him and sighed.

  ‘Gone,’ he said. ‘I gave her the money we got from Ellis and told her to take off.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I’ve no idea where she is now.’

  Dulles appeared to consider this, then smiled.

  ‘Well, I have,’ he said, touching the brim of his hat. ‘If you should ever want to find her, give me a call.’

  Raising his hand in farewell, he turned and walked back to his car.

  THE END

  Author's Note

  This book is entirely fictitious. However, towards the end of World War II, it’s said that Winston Churchill really did order plans to be drawn up involving large numbers of captured German troops who would be re-armed and sent to fight the Russians. Known as 'Operation Unthinkable', these plans were never acted upon, not least because President Roosevelt didn't share Churchill's mistrust of Stalin and, without determined American military support, the Russians would have proved too strong to subdue. Things might have been different if Harry Truman had been president at the time of the Yalta summit.

  Allen Dulles really was a director of the O.S.S. and spent much of the war in Bern, running a series of vital American intelligence networks. He lived at Herrengasse 23, where he conducted many clandestine meetings despite the attentions of the Swiss police and had a team of people working from a house on Dufourstrasse. He went on to become director of the CIA.

  It is rumored that during the war the U.S. government struck a deal with imprisoned mobster Charles 'Lucky' Luciano. As well as aiding the war effort by blocking dockworker strikes and preventing sabotage in Mafia-controlled ports, the arrangement is said to have involved covert support for the U.S. intelligence community. Shortly after the war, Governor Thomas Dewey (who had secured Luciano's conviction and 30-year prison term) reluctantly commuted the sentence and allowed him to be deported to Sicily.

  Also by Fergus McNeill

  The Detective Harland series

  EYE CONTACT

  KNIFE EDGE

  CUT OUT

  BROKEN FALL (short novella)

  About the Author

  As well as writing crime novels, Fergus McNeill has been creating computer games since the early eighties, writing his first interactive fiction titles while still at school. Over the years he has designed, directed and illustrated games for all sorts of systems, from consoles to mobile phones.

  A keen photographer and digital artist, Fergus lives in Hampshire with his wife and their very large cat. He is the author of EYE CONTACT, KNIFE EDGE and CUT OUT, plus the short novella BROKEN FALL.

  Fergus is represented by the Eve White Literary Agency.

  Read his blog at www.fergusmcneill.co.uk

  Acknowledgments

  This book began its life on my laptop in a Missouri hotel room and, rather like Frank’s story, it became a journey that spanned several years and two continents. I’m deeply grateful to everyone who offered help and encouragement along the way.

  My thanks to Kate Ranger, John Popkess and Liz Barnsley for their feedback on early drafts, to Susi Holliday and Steph Broadribb from Crime Fiction Coach for their structural edits, and to John Rickards for his copy-editing. German translations were provided by Dr. Kat Hall and Alyce von Rothkirch via Peabody Ink. You all made the story so much better.

  A special clandestine nod to my fellow crime writers (you know who you are) for your daily encouragement, support, and that wonderful sense of belonging.

  Thanks to my family for… well, everything.

  And finally, thanks to you, for reading.

  Copyright © 2018 by Fergus McNeill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.