“Wesley Waterman. I.C.E.”
“Exactly--International Calculating Equipment.” Weintraub said. “It is no secret I.C.E. is behind the SS terror campaign against NBM. You may be the only ones who don‘t know.”
“We do now,” Sullivan answered.
Cockran was struck by a thought. He reached into his jacket for the envelope he lifted from the Nazi who tailed him the night before. He glanced at the letters in the upper left hand corner. I.C.E. He pulled out the sheet and gave it to Weintraub who leaned forward again, intrigued enough by the paper to warrant the exertion. He glanced at it for a few moments.
“Where did you get this?” he said.
“I took it from a Nazi who was following me. Do you recognize any names?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I do!” Weintraub said, his voice rising. These men—with one exception—they are all government officials. Many of whom I‘ve suspected for months.”
“Who are they?” Cockran asked.
“V-men!” the captain shouted. “These are your V-men! At least the ones that matter to I.C.E. and NBM. Yes, here is Dieter Hassenbach, Deputy Bavarian Minister of Trade. You get these gentlemen off my back and I can toss every one of those SS thugs into prison cells!”
“Not so secret after all,” Sullivan said.
Weintraub‘s face began to sober. His finger pointed to a name. “This man,” he said. “I know this man. He is the only bona fide, cardcarrying Nazi on this list. This man is no government official. He is no V-Man,” the captain said, turning the paper around to face them. “This man has to be their ring leader. He works directly for Himmler himself in SS Intelligence.” They all leaned in closer to read the name printed in crisp black strokes: “Reinhard Tristan Hoch.”
35.
Traitors Within Geneva
Berlin
Saturday, 6 June 1931
THE atmosphere in the White Mouse cabaret at 1:00 a.m. was pure Berlin. Wesley Waterman loved it. Loud and smoke-filled; halfnaked women dancing on the stage; a telephone on each table along with a small lamp topped by a red shade. It was like nothing at home.
“What was Himmler‘s reaction?” Waterman asked, as he lit another cigarette.
“When I told him where Sturm would start his search for the Spear?” Munich replied.
You idiot, he thought. What else have we been talking about? “Yes. What did he say?”
“When I told him where the Kaiser‘s expedition would begin, his entire demeanor changed. He is a humorless man but he couldn‘t stop talking. I gave him all you suggested, including the three locations Sturm believes are most probable. The man is such a crashing bore. I had to listen to a history of who possessed the Spear from Constantine to Frederick the Great. He thinks he‘s the reincarnation of Henry the Fowler. He‘s delusional. Worse than Göring.”
Waterman smiled. “But useful. Make certain he is kept informed of Sturm‘s progress.”
“He‘s already well-informed. He learned nearly two weeks ago of the Kaiser‘s quest and had Reinhard Hoch, one of his best men, assemble an SS team to shadow it. But with our new information, Hoch will sign up with Sturm‘s expedition himself. It will be easy for the SS now.”
Perhaps the man was not as stupid as he sometimes seemed. “Excellent. Well done, Munich. Here,” Waterman said, handing him a slip of paper, “is the name and hotel room of the American journalist I want you to see. He‘s a stringer for the Hearst papers. Don‘t contact him at his office. Make him work. Send a note to his hotel. It will appear all the more authentic.”
“I am to tell him everything? Even the Hindenburg assassination plot?”
“Yes, my friend. That is how we do things in America. Your enemies must never see you coming and they must always think someone other than you is responsible.”
Waterman picked up the telephone and dialed two numbers. “Now, please excuse me while I enjoy that famous Berlin nightlife.” As Munich left, he turned away and spoke into the telephone. “Ah yes, Fraulein,” Waterman said, as he raised his hand and waved at table 27 where a bottle of champagne had just been brought by a waiter. “Will you join me at my table?”
The woman at number 27 smiled and waved back, her jet black hair, rouged cheeks and painted lips disguising a 19 year-old girl, the only support for her war-crippled father. Waterman named a price and the girl at table 27 rose and said goodbye to the two women sitting with her, her low cut dress nearly exposing her young breasts. The girl sat down beside him just as the lights were darkened, a small band began to play and a chorus line moved onto the stage—eight German blondes, natural or otherwise, naked to the waist and flanking a tall American negress, her hips encircled by a string of bananas which did nothing to hide her nakedness beneath. “Welkomin,” said the short master of ceremonies, a leer in his voice, a grin on his face.
THE man three tables away from table 27 put down the telephone. It was not well known, but the White Mouse cabaret had tables which, for a price, allowed a patron to eavesdrop on another table via a transmitting device hidden in the telephone‘s base and a receiving device at another table, all controlled by a central switchboard. Everything in Berlin had a price.
The man signaled for his check, the Celtic cross tattoo on his left wrist exposed for a moment as he did so. So Himmler will be looking for the Spear also, the man thought. The Prior would have to be told. It would complicate their mission, but God‘s will would be done.
36.
Speechless
On Board the Graf Zeppelin
Saturday, 6 June 1931
MATTIE was unsettled as she sat in her cabin after breakfast with Sturm and the Professor. She looked out the window as the Graf reached the eastern shore of Lake Constance, barely 30 minutes from landing in Friedrichschafen. She vividly remembered her nightmares. Being shot in the alley was not new but losing her head at the villa was. So too was the erotic dream which followed. Her subconscious had never before picked an unknown man to make love to her, possibly a stranger. What the hell did it mean? She wasn‘t sure. Her erotic fantasies for the past few years had been of Cockran, all of them during their absences when she was in the field. But with a stranger? At a minimum, the dream was more proof that she badly needed Cockran back in her bed. She missed him and still regretted their arguments. It seemed important at the time but now it seemed trivial. Life was short. She wished she were in Venice.
But Mattie knew she couldn‘t do that. No matter how much she loved Cockran. No matter how much there was to work out between them. The Spear was too important, too close to her father, to walk away. Sturm and Professor Campbell were right. They had to move fast if they were going to stay ahead of those guys in Alexandria. Venice would always be there. She hoped Cockran would be too. But she was increasingly uncomfortable with his beautiful blonde client spending entirely too much time making herself at home in his hotel room.
Worse, Mattie would have to come up with a good cover story to explain to Cockran why she was blowing off Venice. She couldn‘t very well tell him what had happened to her in Alexandria. He had enough ammunition for their arguments. She didn‘t need to give him more.
Once the zeppelin landed and they returned to their small hotel in Friedrichschafen, Mattie placed the first of several phone calls to Cockran‘s hotel in Munich, the Bayerische Hof, leaving the same message each time. “I miss you. Please call me. Love, Mattie.”
After arriving in Innsbruck in the afternoon, she called Cockran twice more but each time the ringing phone went unanswered. Mattie faced a dilemma. They would be spending only one more night in civilization where she would have access to a telephone. Once they left Innsbruck, there would be no opportunity to talk with Bourke. On the train to Innsbruck, she had begun to compose a letter which she completed after their arrival.
Dear Bourke,
I hate when we fight. I love when we make up. The weather in the Alps, however, is conspiring to keep us apart. Things can change suddenly in the mountains, I am told, but an extended f
orecast from the Zeppelin Company’s chief meteorologist suggests more favorable weather conditions where we are heading if we start now rather than if we wait to begin our trek in two weeks.
Two pages later, she concluded:
So please leave a message at my hotel in Innsbruck as to where I can reach you if you are no longer in Venice once I return to civilization, hopefully no more than a week from now. While it would be delightful if we could still have Venice together, I really just want to be alone with you anywhere.
All my love,
Mattie
Joey Thomas was easier to deal with. For one thing, he was there in his Berlin hotel room when she called. For another, he had no choice but to do exactly what she said.
“Look, Joey, I worked a long time to get him to agree to an interview. I wanted you to interview him first. He could unlock the door which would lead to all the others.”
“I know, Mattie, I know,” Joey said. “I did everything you told me, but he‘s never returned my calls. I phoned the number you gave me. I said the right words. But nothing.”
Mattie sighed. This was not good. “Have you interviewed the others?” Mattie asked.
“All but two. I‘m meeting one for lunch today and the other tomorrow. You know what else?” Joey said, an eager tone in his voice.
“No, I don‘t.”
“I‘ve got an interview tonight that I‘ve lined up myself.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Out of the blue there was an envelope waiting on the desk in my hotel room this morning. I don‘t know where it came from. Whoever it is knew all the people on your list that I had talked to by that time. The note said that talking to them was a waste of time but if I came tonight to the Club Kakadü, I wouldn‘t be disappointed.”
“They actually identified all the people you interviewed?” Mattie asked.
“Yeah, spooky, isn‘t it? It‘s almost as if someone were tailing me.”
“Have you been followed?”
Joey laughed. “How would I know? I can‘t tell these things. I‘m not a spy.”
Mattie didn‘t like it. It smelled like a set-up to her. Should she call it off? Or would that make Joey less enthusiastic about her story if she promptly squelched his first initiative? Would he think that she was trying to deprive him of a byline? Everyone had to grow up some time. It was Joey‘s turn now. “Well, be careful tonight.”
“Don‘t worry. I may not be a spy, but I‘m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
Innsbruck
Saturday, 6 June 1931
THAT evening in Innsbruck, Mattie placed a last call to Cockran‘s hotel in Munich. If she didn‘t reach him now, she would post her letter in the morning. When she asked for Cockran‘s room, however, she was astonished to be told by the hotel operator that Cockran had checked out and left no forwarding address. She immediately thought of Venice and the possibility he had finished sooner than anticipated and had gone on to get a head start on their holiday. But a call to the Contessa at the palazetto in Venice turned up nothing. Next, she called the Hotel Adlon in Berlin to see if he had returned there but no luck there either. Finally, she called Churchill‘s suite at the Adlon, hoping he had not left as well because she had not made a notation of the hotel where he would be staying in Vienna. She was in luck.
“Mattie, my dear. How good to hear from you,” the familiar voice said.
“Winston, I am so glad I found you. Where in heaven‘s name is Bourke? He told me he was staying at the Bayerische Hof, but I just telephoned there and they told me he checked out.”
“Ah, well, yes, I have heard from him. Bourke ran into a spot of trouble. I talked with him yesterday. I‘m uncertain as to exactly what has happened. Gangsters attempted to run him and Mr. Sullivan off the road near Munich the other night and he left word for me at the Adlon that because of the trouble, he was switching hotels to a smaller one, the Hotel Leinfelder. He and Harmony are registered there under the name of Mr. and Mrs. William Donovan.
Gangsters? What in hell had Cockran gotten himself into? He was a lawyer for God‘s sake! Then it hit her. “Husband and wife? Whatever the hell for? What‘s going on?”
“Incognito. Nothing to be concerned about. He has Mr. Sullivan there to protect him. I believe more of Mr. Sullivan‘s former colleagues have joined them also. All will be well.”
Mattie was comforted to hear that the Apostles were now with Cockran and Sullivan. From her own experience, she knew they were in good hands. But Churchill the politician had avoided her question. In some ways, politicians were all alike. Her father had on occasion done the same thing, not to mention all the other politicians Mattie had ever interviewed.
“Look, Winston, my question wasn‘t about his safety, not with Bobby along. I‘m pleased the Apostles are there but my question was why he registered with Harmony as man and wife?”
Churchill chuckled. “Oh, that. Don‘t worry. It‘s all part of a cover story to help him keep her incommunicado. To keep her safe and away from their enemies.”
Mattie could think of many other ways to keep Harmony safe, other than sharing Cockran‘s hotel room registered as husband and wife. Like putting her on a train or airplane back to England. But she said nothing of this to Churchill.
“The Hotel Leinfelder, you say?” Mattie asked.
“That‘s the one,” Churchill replied.
“Thanks very much, Winston. I appreciate your help.”
After Mattie hung up, she placed a call to the Leinfelder and asked for William Donovan.
“Hello, Mrs. Donovan speaking,”
“Harmony! It‘s Mattie McGary. Is Bourke there?”
“I‘m sorry, no. He and Bobby haven‘t come back yet.”
“Where did they go?” Mattie asked.
“They didn‘t tell me.”
“What the hell happened that caused you to change hotels?”
Mattie waited and thought she heard Harmony sigh before she spoke. “It was so terrifying,” Harmony said. “We were on our way back from a nightclub and two big black motorcars ran us off the road. Bourke saved my life. He decided to move from our hotel and check in somewhere else under an assumed name. We are supposed to be on our honeymoon. ”
“Well, you‘re not exactly on a honeymoon now,” Mattie replied. Harmony laughed sharply. “No, I suppose not, but with all the intrigue and danger, it‘s easy to be swept away by the romance of it all.”
“Romance?” Mattie asked.
“Well…” Harmony began and then hesitated as if she were not sure what to say next. “The two just seem to go together, don‘t they?”
“Were either of you hurt?” Mattie asked.
“Just a few scratches, nothing serious. Bourke had a rougher time of it than I did, but I must say he has a great body. I‘d love to do a sculpture of it some day. He‘s really much more muscular than he looks with his clothes on. But then, you‘re his girlfriend, you‘d know all about that, wouldn‘t you?” Harmony said, as if she were inviting a womanly confidence from Mattie who remained silent.
Harmony giggled. “And don‘t you think he has the cutest little birthmark?”
Bitch, Mattie thought. “Excuse me. The connection must be bad. I didn‘t catch that.”
“Oh, don‘t worry. It was all perfectly innocent. I was just patching up his wounds. You must know how it is to be in a life and death situation with someone. It really brings you closer. You form a bond.”
“No, I don‘t know what you mean,” Mattie said.
“Well, it‘s not important. I admit I find your boyfriend to be a very attractive man.” Harmony said and paused. “And he is so wonderfully protective of women, don‘t you think? I love that in a man.”
“So, you have no idea when he‘ll be back?” Mattie asked as she struggled to keep her composure and process what she was hearing.
“No, but I expect him any minute now and I really must take a bath before he returns and catches me standing here starkers. A girl has to look her best, afte
r all,” Harmony said.
Bitch, Mattie thought again, but her heart wasn‘t in it. Not when the other woman was standing naked in Cockran‘s hotel room. “Yes, well, please tell him we need to talk. I‘m in Innsbruck. I‘m leaving on a train tomorrow for the Alps. Please tell him I‘ll call before I leave.”
“I‘ll tell him. You can count on me. I know you‘re his girlfriend and all, but it‘s nice that we can share him like this. If only for a little while.”
Mattie was speechless. It was all she could do to hang up the telephone and sit down on the bed. It hit her with the force of a body blow, leaving her legs rubbery, the wind knocked out of her. Cockran had only one birthmark. Even Mattie had not noticed it until the third time they slept together. Cockran‘s unreturned phone calls were beginning to make sense. The signs were all there but she had been too caught up in herself and her quest for the Spear to see them. It was like a physical ache. She could feel the hollowness in her stomach. Not only was Harmony blonde and four years younger than Mattie but, unlike her, she seemed appreciative of Cockran‘s protectiveness. She walked over to the desk and picked up the letter. She would wait for it all to sink in before she wrote a new letter, one composed not in haste or in the emotion of the moment. But this one definitely wouldn‘t do, she thought. Definitely. Cockran could be an infuriating man but, whatever else he was, he wasn‘t a one night stand kind of guy. Serially monogamous, he assured her, offering their mutual New York friend Anne Darrow as a reference. But Anne had already told her as much earlier. If he was sleeping with Harmony, then he was serious about her even if she might not be about him.
Mattie carefully tore the letter in two and dropped it into the hotel wastebasket. She repressed a sob but then gave into it and began to cry, the tears streaming down her face and dropping onto the torn halves of the letter below. She was still crying as she slipped beneath the sheets. The same two nightmares came again that night but this time no one came to save her. No one came to make love to her.
The Parsifal Pursuit Page 26
