ENEMY WITHIN

by Mick Bose

  *****

  “Are you ready?” Tunney asked Sergeant Lindquist. The sergeant stood up from the telescope lens and put on his hat.

  “No, take the hat off. Remember we’re going in as ordinary Joes. Check your weapon.” Tunney himself chambered a round into his Smith and Wesson pistol. He picked up his trusted weapon for range shooting, the Springfield M1903 bottle action rifle. Its varnished wooden butt gleamed, smooth with use. Tunney chambered a round and leaned the rifle up against the table. He looked out the window. Directly opposite, the two men had been seen speaking on the handset of their wireless radios. The itinerant radio operators. Finally, Tunney had caught up with them. Following his promise to Walsingham, he had decided to take this into his own hands. Corell was in charge for the time being in New York.

  Outside the radio operator`s house, Lindquist remained flattened against the back fence as Tunney went up to the front door. Tunney’s heart beat in his mouth. Lindquist would have to stop, or shoot, anyone trying to escape from the back door. He already knew from the one-week surveillance report that no more than two of them lived in the house. Tunney knew exactly what he was going to do. He knocked on the door.

  After the second knock, he heard the padding of footsteps down the stairs. A sliding bolt grated, then a chain lock was released. The door opened a fraction. A sallow, pale face peeped out. The man was in his late twenties, with sparse hair and a week-old beard growth on his cheeks.

  Tunney said, “Hi there. We just moved in three doors down and came to say hello to our neighbours.”

  The man didn’t smile. “Hello. I’m sorry, but we’re busy right now. Please come back later.”

  He began to shut the door. Tunney kicked with all his might. The door slammed against the man`s face. He was caught by surprise and fell backwards. Tunney drew his weapon and was inside the house in an instant.

  The man screamed as he went down. “Gunter!” He was lying on his back on the carpet, but a weapon appeared in his hand and he was trying to aim at Tunney. Tunney didn’t waste time. He fired, the bullet slammed into the man`s chest. The man jerked, but he didn’t drop his weapon. Tunney fired again as he jumped over the man into the hallway. From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement on the staircase. A pistol banged and the bullet thudded into the wall where he had been standing. Tunney dived into the kitchen and shielded himself against the doorway. In the sudden silence the staircase creaked.

  Tunney listened, gun arm extended. The footsteps weren’t coming down the staircase, but going back up. Tunney waited for a few seconds, straining his ears. He could hear someone moving around above. Tunney crouched and crept towards the staircase.

  Suddenly there was a shout from the back and the explosion of a pistol. Lindquist. Tunney heard a scream, then another pistol shot, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Tunney ran up the stairs to a landing, then he burst into the back room. The window was open, the glass lying in pieces on the floor. Tunney hurried across to the sill, crunching glass under his flat shoes, and looked over. Lindquist stood below, a body at his feet.

  “It`s me,” Tunney shouted down.

  “He was coming out the window. Tried to shoot me, so I shot back,” Lindquist said, squinting up against the sunlight. Tunney nodded. He didn’t holster his weapon. Keeping it raised, he checked the front bedroom. On a large wooden table stood the wireless radio apparatus. Tunney breathed out. Two machines altogether, the suitcases for transporting them behind the desk.

  Lindquist appeared at the door.

  “The house is clear,” he said.

  Tunney holstered his weapon. “Go back and call New York. We got them.”

  There was a scrambling sound from below. Before the men could react, they heard the front door being opened and slammed aside. Tunney and Lindquist rushed to the window. A man had run out of the house and was heading straight for the rim of the hill. Their intelligence had been wrong. There were three spies, not two. Lindquist swore. Tunney grabbed his sleeve.

  Lindquist said, his eyes bulging, “I can get him, Major. Let me run him down.”

  “No, you won`t.” Tunney spoke quickly. “Get my Springfield rifle. It’s loaded, so be careful. Bring it here, double quick.”

  Lindquist started to speak, then understood. He ran out of the room. Tunney pulled the desk back. It was heavy with the radio machines on top, but he managed. He looked at the figure of the running man as he headed straight down to the beach. He was obviously in a panic, otherwise he would have turned a corner or taken some evasive action. But sooner or later he would turn left or right, and Tunney would lose him. Tunney took his jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He drummed his fingers on the window frame. The escaping spy`s figure was getting smaller.

  He heard Lindquist run back in through the door. He kept his eyes on the figure. A lot of sniper work, Tunney knew, depended on getting used to the atmospherics. The light, the strength of the breeze. Sunlight was glinting off the blue water. There would be a draught coming in from the sea. From here, he couldn’t tell which direction the wind was blowing. He checked the trees. South west, most likely. He was facing north east, so the wind would work against him. The target was moving, too. He would get one shot, may be two.

  Lindquist handed him the rifle. Tunney flipped up the rear sight. The maximum range of the rifle was more than 5,000 yards, but after half of that the weapon lost its killing power.

  The target was now a dim figure against the backdrop of the sea. Tunney crouched and rested the muzzle of the rifle on the window ledge. He squinted down the sights. The man was a thousand yards away, he figured, and getting further away by the second. Tunney eased his breathing, letting it become loose, then uniform. His finger caressed the cold metal of the trigger. The man zig-zagged and stumbled as he got to the sand. Then he found his step and began to run, but slower. Tunney timed his movements. One, two, three, four…

  “Sir.” There was hint of panic in Lindquist`s voice. “Sir, he`s getting away. He`s turning left, he—”

  Lindquist`s words were lost as Tunney pulled the trigger. The butt of the gun slammed against his shoulder. In the distance, he saw the target suddenly stop as if he had hit an invisible wall, and throw up his hands. Then he tumbled down to the sand and lay still. Tunney kept his gun trained, but the man didn’t move.

  “Get on the phone,” Tunney told Lindquist. “We need search warrants for all these houses. God knows how many are hiding around here.”

  “Yes sir,” Lindquist was out the door fast.

  “But don’t get down to the beach as yet,” Tunney yelled after him. “There could be others. Wait for back up!”

  “Got that, sir!” Lindquist yelled back.

  CHAPTER 20

  At midday, Becker came out of the subway at the Hoboken Terminal, next to the ferry and Union Railway Station. He had taken the morning ferry down to purchase his return tickets for Cleveland and was looking forward to the journey back west.

  Two military policemen were checking the tickets of every passenger before they were allowed into the portico of the ferry station. Becker crossed the road and pressed himself against the shadow of a bus station. From here, he could see the ferry station. A family of two children, a man and a woman were waved on by the MP after a cursory glance. A few more passengers boarded. Then a tall, wider man came up alone. The MP stopped him, while the other stepped back, rifle ready, and kept a sharp lookout.

  Becker caught his breath. The tall passenger was wearing glasses. The MP asking the questions gestured at him, and reluctantly, the man took his glasses off. The MP looked into the man`s eyes closely. After a few more questions, he let him through. Becker had seen enough. He walked slowly from the bus station—quick movements attracted attention. He affected a limp, shuffling along. When he turned the corner out of the MP`s line of vision Becker moved faster.

  He was three blocks away from his apartment. He thought furiously. He had slipped up somewhere—they knew about his left eye. Someon
e had told them… he stopped. The waiter. At the Best Welcome Hotel in DC. It had to be. Unless it was Riordan or Dr Kiezle. Unlikely, unless they were double agents. Was that even possible? Anything was possible. The most loyal German soldier could turn out to be a double agent. Becker trusted no one. It was how he had stayed alive.

  The waiter he could do nothing about. But if Riordan or Kiezle had ratted on him… anger surged in him briefly, before he pushed it down. Getting angry never served any purpose. It clouded judgement. An emotional decision was nothing but a gamble.

  He needed to get more of those explosives—he’d already arranged to meet Riordan and Kiezle at their apartment.

  Was he walking into a trap? He didn’t have any other way of getting the explosives. Neither did he want to keep two men alive who could identify him. Especially if they were double agents. But Kiezle`s uncle was a Fuhrer in Staffel 18 at Konigsburg. He came highly recommended. And Riordan was too deeply involved with the Irish and Jewish underworld of New York to be a double agent. If those kinds of people ever found out, he was worse than dead. Becker jerked his head up at the sudden thought. Wasn’t that the perfect cover for a double agent? Someone trusted implicitly by both sides?

  Becker shook his head. Maybe he was over-thinking this. Enough. He needed to act. Quickly. He stopped at the beginning of Washington Street and faded into the doorway of a tenement. He stayed still and watched. His left eye ached, as it often did when he was stressed. He put his glasses on and stared at the corner of Washington and River. He could see the first-floor apartment facing the street.

  Nothing. He searched opposite the apartment. Another flash of light in one of the windows. He watched, and it happened again. Sunlight reflecting off metal. A gun, or a telescope. So, he had been right. The apartment was under surveillance. He couldn’t approach the front or the rear.

  But there was another way.

  He took his hat and glasses off. If that was a telescope in the window opposite, the angle wouldn’t reveal his left eye. He stuffed his hat and glasses into his shoulder bag and began to walk in the direction of the building. He limped, drooping his shoulders as well. The effect for someone watching from the window would be that of a wounded or older man walking down the street. He stopped at the tenement before the apartment. It was derelict and the door was open. He stepped in casually and shut it behind him. He let his eyes get used to the dark and listened for a few seconds. It was quiet.

  Then he padded over to the staircase. A shaft of sunlight fell from the skylight. He looked up. No one stirred. He listened, but couldn’t hear anything. Swiftly, he ran up the stairs and found the door to the roof locked. He kicked it with the flat of his boot. At the second attempt the rotten wood of the door gave way. He stepped out into the open air. Using the wall for protection, he peered over the side of the parapet. From the higher angle, he could see the two men in the room clearly now. One of them was standing to one side, while the other was looking through the telescope.

  He scurried over to the chimney. From here, he easily swung over to the next tenement. He kept low and ran over to the doorway for the roof. Here he gently shut the door and waited. This building wasn’t derelict, and it was possible someone would step out from one of the apartments and see him.

  When nothing happened after a few minutes, he descended the stairs and knocked at the door of the fifth floor apartment.

  “Who`s there?” He recognised Riordan`s voice.

  “Paul.”

  Silence for a few seconds, then Dr Kiezle`s voice. “What`s the password?”

  “The Gutenberg Bible has been found.”

  “Are all the pages intact?”

  “No, the middle two are missing.”

  The door opened a fraction, but Kiezle didn’t remove the chain key. His expression changed when he saw Becker`s face. “Come in,” Kiezle said.

  Becker stayed where he was. “You need to shut the windows and pull the blinds down.”

  “Why?” Kiezle suddenly looked worried.

  “The police are watching the front and probably the back of this apartment. I came in from the roof. Pull the blinds or I’m not coming in.” Kiezle spoke briefly to Riordan behind his back. Riordan pulled the blinds down. When the room was darker, Becker stepped in.

  *****

  Inspector Corell shifted on his knees, bending over the wide angle lens fitted on the hole in the ceiling below. The light fitting obstructed the view, so Corell had to keep moving the lens.

  “Someone just came in,” he whispered urgently to Giuseppe. Giuseppe came forward nervously.

  “Here,” Corell gave him the handle. “You might have to move around or you’ll miss his face.”

  Giuseppe looked. When he sat back, the blood had drained from his face.

  “It`s him. That`s the man I saw at the hotel. In that room. He’s the one who asked me about the back door.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, positive.”

  “Have another look.”

  Giuseppe did as he was told. He tracked the movement again, going around in a half-circle. Then he stopped and exclaimed.

  “What?” Corell asked. “What is it?”

  Giuseppe spoke without removing his eye. “They are fighting…” He looked up at Corell, his eyes wide with fear. “He just killed someone.”

  Corell could hear the sounds from below anyway. He pushed Giuseppe away. “Let me have a look.”

  *****

  Becker made his mind up when he entered the flat. Only one person was walking out alive. But first, he had to get what he needed.

  He stepped into the apartment and walked down the landing. It led onto the main sitting room, a large space framed by three large windows with the blinds drawn. The yellow bulb glowed in the ceiling. Riordan was there already. He lifted his arm in greeting and Becker nodded back.

  “It`s all in here,” Riordan said. He had a rucksack on the floor. He gave it to Kiezle, who lifted it on the table. Becker stood close to Kiezle. He looked through the bag and counted another twenty of the bombs. He put the bag down and in the same movement drew his kukri out.

  The position was awkward and the kukri`s blade, intended for slicing, ripped through Kiezle`s neck, spurting out blood.

  Becker saw the movement before he felt Riordan`s body crash into him. Riordan aimed for Becker`s hand holding the kukri and he caught it in a vice-like grip. Becker brought his free hand in a karate chop to the side of Riordan`s neck. He heard the sharp crack as his hand hit below the mastoid bone, and his neck caved in, but the man kept boring into Becker`s midriff. He was still holding onto the kukri, rendering it useless, and his grip was strong. Becker pulled Riordan`s hair back. Fearful eyes stared into his for an instant. Then Becker`s broad forehead smashed into his nose and teeth flew out of his mouth. Riordan went limp and Becker threw him to the floor. He stepped forward, leaned over Riordan and sliced his neck with the kukri. He was standing up when someone pounded on the front door.

  “Police! Come out with your hands in the air! We know you’re in there. Come out and we won't shoot.”

  Becker hurried to the front wall. As he expected, a kick smashed the door open from the outside. He was behind it, crouching on the floor. The door bounced harmlessly off his back. Inspector Corell walked in with his pistol ready. Becker hooked Corell`s wrist and smashed it against the door. Corell screamed as the small bones in his wrist broke, but he didn’t let go of the gun. He fired two shots in the air and one went out the window, breaking glass. Then the kukri sliced into Corell`s belly, ripping through his coat. Before Corell could move, the blade swept across his neck, making a mockery of the neck`s blood vessels and nerves. Corell clutched his throat with both hands, made a strangling sound and dropped to his knees.

  Becker found himself staring at the frightened face of the waiter. Giuseppe`s mouth opened in horror as he watched Corell slide to the floor, blood spilling out in spasms from his neck. He looked up and for a fear-crazed instant, his eyes met Becker’
s.

  Becker watched the man patiently. Giuseppe turned and ran as fast as he could down the landing. Becker was faster. In two long strides he caught up with the Italian, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and banged his head viciously against the wall. Holding up him up by the hair, he punched Giusepp`s windpipe, smashing the soft cartilage tissue, before letting him go. Giuseppe clawed at his neck and chest, tore at his hair and kicked with his feet. Becker stepped back and watched him for a second, like he was watching an insect dying on the floor.

  Then he swiftly went back into the sitting room. Stepping over the dead bodies of Corell, Kiezle and Riordan, he grabbed the bag from the table and swung it on his back. He ran outside the apartment, stopped on the landing and listened. No one was coming. But soon they would be. Soon, more policemen would come running.

  Becker ran up to the roof.

  CHAPTER 21

  Major Thomas Tunney saw the wide-eyed, pale face of Sergeant Lindquist and knew it wasn’t good news. His mind scanned the possibilities quickly. Lindquist and Bertram had been on the street opposite the apartment in Hoboken. Corell and Giuseppe were in the apartment above…

  Lindquist had rushed in without knocking. He leaned over Tunney`s desk. A muscle was jumping in his temple and the veins stood out on either side. He struggled to breathe.

  “They’re all dead. Corell, the Italian waiter, the men in the apartment, all, all—throats sliced, just like the others…” his voice trailed off as Tunney jumped up and put his cap on. He was pulling on Lindquist`s arm at the same time as he yelled down the corridor:

  “Get me Colonel Walsingham. And two jeeps ready with four constables. Now!”

  Half an hour later, Tunney stood silently in the Hoboken apartment. As the medical orderlies turned Chris Corell`s body over, Tunney`s face creased with pain. He bent over his long-time colleague`s body. The wide gash in the throat was beginning to become a familiar sight for him now, but it looked outlandish, weird on Chris`s neck. He felt a lump in his throat. He’d walked the beat with this man twenty years ago. Numerous times, they saved each other`s life.