ENEMY WITHIN

by Mick Bose

“Yes sir,” Tunney said. His mood lifted. That was one thing they got right. “We caught them. Two men who used to work at the Telefunken Station in Sayville, before we shut it down. They were in Bayport, where we had them under surveillance. They had a third operator as well. All three are dead.”

  Rear Admiral Sims spoke up. “The waters off Long Island and Cape Cod are being patrolled by a convoy of dreadnoughts. No U-boat sightings have occurred. But it’s a threat we need to be alert to.”

  “What are the chances of him escaping on a boat and making a rendezvous with a German ship or U-boat in the Atlantic?” asked Lansing.

  “Minimal to non-existent,” Admiral Sims said. “First, he has to find a seaworthy boat. You can’t take a tug or a twenty-foot dinghy out to the open ocean. For that, he has to ask around in the right boatyards. We’d hear about it, because the Navy commandeers such boatyards.”

  Tunney nodded. “Yes sir. The Long Island PD is also conducting surveillance of the boat yards.” Tunney was going to continue, but he hesitated. He didn’t feel awed by the powerful company he was in anymore. But neither did he want to come across as over-confident.

  Lansing said, “Is there anything else you would like to add, Major Tunney?”

  “He won’t use the water, sir. As Admiral Sims said, he can’t get very far without the right transport. If you look at what the German agents have done so far in our country, one thing becomes clear. They use their knowledge of our country to sabotage it from inside. This man knows we can’t have eyes everywhere in America. And it’s my belief he will use that weakness to wreak havoc. Where or when, I don’t know.”

  In the silence that followed General Marshall uttered one word. “Willoughby.”

  “Oh my God,” said General March.

  Colonel Walsingham spoke on behalf of those in the room becoming increasingly confused.

  “With all due respect sir, what are you talking about?”

  “Colonel Walsingham, in February we took the step of moving the storage site for the new chemical Lewisite from Camp Manhattan to a town in northeast Ohio, called Willoughby.”

  “Why was that, General?”

  “We had to, Colonel. We had an accident in Camp Manhattan in January this year. A senator and his wife got ill by mustard gas fumes carried across the fields into Washington Heights. A lot of politicians have their homes there. Lewisite was conceived and manufactured at Camp Manhattan, but we had to move storage and manufacture facilities to Willoughby.”

  General Marshall added, “Regrettably, among the documents stolen, Willoughby featured prominently.”

  Admiral Sims looked aghast. “So this man could be on his way there now?”

  General March held up his hands. “Gentlemen, please. Willoughby is now more closely guarded than a military fort. The actual camp is in the town, and it’s close to the waters of Lake Erie. There is no conceivable way anyone can get in without a pass. The Army staff working there aren’t allowed to leave Willoughby or have contact with their families. They’re not even allowed to visit Cleveland. There are tanks at the town borders and three layers of electrified barbed fence wire surround the camp. Everyone has a photographic identity card and is searched thoroughly before they enter or leave. There’s a forty-bed hospital on site with doctors and nurses. In summary,” General March took a breath, “Willoughby is self-sufficient. It’s guarded better than Fort Knox. No intruder will get in there, I assure you.”

  “How much of this chemical is being manufactured there?” Colonel Walsingham asked.

  “One hundred and fifty tons have already been made. Another one hundred tons is in preparation,” General Marshall said.

  Lansing whistled. “That is a very large amount, Generals.”

  General Marshall’s tone was gruff. “If used en masse, it will be enough to stop four out of the eight armies the Germans have. It will bring us victory.”

  A slow fuse was burning at the back of Tunney’s mind.

  “General,” Tunney`s voice was a whisper. “Please tell me something. If this plant, this factory in Willoughby was blown up, what would happen?”

  General Marshall took a moment to answer. “Death. Destruction on a vast scale. I…” his composure was gone. The fear was reflected in every face.

  “Would everyone know?”

  “What?”

  “Everyone will know,” Tunney said, then his voice became louder. “Everyone will know.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Major?” General March shouted.

  Tunney hands were busy. He sorted through the pile of folders on the desk in front of him. Papers flew out of them, landing across the table in a jumbled heap. One piece of paper landed on General March`s face, who removed it with a heavy frown. Finally, with a triumphant look, Tunney picked up a single sheet.

  “It`s the message you showed me, sir. Transmitted by the wireless team in Long Island and decoded by the Brits.” Tunney read the message out. “The Gurkha is going on vacation. Harvest has been good this year. Soon, the whole world will know.”

  Tunney looked at the gaping faces around him. “Can`t you see? This man works on his own. He knows he won’t be able to radio any news of what he achieves. He also knows we’re listening on the airwaves. This is his code. An explosion like Black Tom Island in 1916. Think what that will do. The newspapers will have a field day. This,” Tunney jabbed the paper in his hand, “is him telling his command that he’ll do something similar in Willoughby.”

  Tunney turned to Walsingham. His eyes were bulging, and his breath came in a gasp. “The trains,” he said in a strangled voice. “We missed a train going to Cleveland two days ago, when we chased him. He`s already there!”

  CHAPTER 25

  Becker heard the drone coming from behind him. He went closer into the shade of the knoll and looked up at the sky. A Curtiss JN-4 biplane was coming in. He calculated it to be less than five hundred feet off the ground. It was decelerating. Briefly, his flying days came back to him. It was an exciting, heady feeling.

  The aircraft swept over him, momentarily blotting out the blue sky. The engine`s roar filled the air, deafening him. Then he watched the plane go into a steep bank below the hill. The wings wobbled then steadied. He could see the pilot with his goggles and leather cap, leaning forward, holding the joystick. The back seat was occupied by the gunner, and he could see the mount for the Parabellum machine gun. Not many of the JN-4`s had been converted into gunnery training aircraft, but this, Becker realized, was one of those that had. The wheels bumped onto the runway, then the tail thudded down.

  On the closest hangar a windsock was placed on a tall mast. Two men came out. Both wore brown army uniforms. The second hanger, filled by another plane, didn’t show any activity. It was possible they had only two planes, he thought. The airstrip was new, recently built due to Cleveland`s expanding township. Becker checked the airfield gate, but couldn’t see any guards.

  Not for long. After helping the pilot and the gunner out of the plane, one of the men sauntered off towards the gates. The uniform was khaki grey, not dissimilar to the Army uniform. The man sat down on a seat at the gate, took out a newspaper and start to read. The gunner was dressed in a leather coat and he appeared to be a civilian. He stayed near the hangar.

  Becker got up and set off around the hill. He took care to walk far from the hill`s edge. After half an hour, he had almost gone to the end of the hill where it began a steep slope down to the gates. He flattened himself against the grass and looked down at the solitary guard.

  It was late afternoon. Planes didn’t fly at night. Chances were these three men would lock up and leave. He pondered his next course of action. He didn’t know how many men worked in the makeshift airport. If there was more than these three, then he could be in trouble. The office next to the first hangar almost certainly had a telephone. Someone could raise an alert. He needed more time to scope the place out.

  The pilot was standing outside the hanger, stretching. The man was tall,
heavy. About his size. The guard was similar in height and size. From his vantage point, Becker could see the guard clearly. He had blond hair, which he showed when he took his cap off. Becker put the binoculars down and thought to himself.

  Willoughby hadn’t looked good. The place was a hive of army trucks, armoured cars, even three tanks. He hadn’t expected to see tanks here. He couldn’t even get close enough to the gates of the compound to throw his explosives.

  Five hundred yards out from the three layers of barbed wire fence, nervous gunners sat on their open jeeps with Vickers machine guns ready. The small town of Willoughby wasn’t quiet any more. The soldiers had made it their base and the three bars in the tiny main street seemed to be thriving. In the afternoon, too. People got to know each other quickly in such a town and Willoughby was smaller than most. Staying there was out of the question. How easy would it be to make a getaway? He needed an automobile. Cleveland had dealerships, but he didn’t want to spend his money on buying an automobile for a thousand or more dollars. The five thousand left was all the money he had. After this mission, he couldn’t stay in America. He needed to stick to his plan. It was the only option he had.

  Becker was about to get up and leave when he heard the noise of an automobile. He flattened himself on the ground. An armoured car rumbled in through the gates, stopped in front of one of the hangars and the gunner from the plane, now dressed in an army uniform, got up on the car. It rushed back out the gates again.

  *****

  Major Tunney hung on grimly to the sides of the armoured car as it careened around the bend outside the gates. He’d never thought he would ride in an aeroplane. But his Special Agent status, along with a telephone call from General March, meant he was whisked off to the Mineola Airport in Long Island as soon as the meeting ended. Lindquist, now promoted to an Inspector, was coming down later with four other agents. Phone calls had already been made to the Cleveland Police Department, whose chief was the first person Tunney was going to meet.

  As the car bumped and staggered on the dirt road, Tunney remembered the exhilaration of being on the flight. He had felt quite safe, cocooned inside his seat, staring out as the country spread out beneath him in colourful patches of farmland and silver rivers. In a way, it was strange being back on land. He gritted his teeth as the heavy automobile swerved to avoid a hole in the road and bumped into something else. It was astounding, he thought to himself, how they could fly freely in the open air, but travelling on these roads was still the stuff of nightmares.

  Cloaked in dust from head to foot, he was shown into the office of the Police Chief, Jonty Puller. A short, pot-bellied man, Chief Puller didn’t waste any time in getting to the point. He had been briefed about Tunney`s arrival.

  “We run a steady ship here, Major Tunney. Cleveland is a growing, thriving city. If there’s an outsider coming here to cause trouble, I assure you, leave it to us. We will catch him in no time.”

  Tunney shook his head. “I’m not doubting the abilities of your department, or yourself, Chief Puller. But this man is a seasoned killer. He’s murdered one woman and seven men already. In addition, we suspect he is here, armed and dangerous, for a more dangerous mission. Which he will carry out, if we don’t apprehend him as soon as possible.”

  Chief Puller narrowed his eyes into thin slits. “Say, what is this about?”

  “That information is classified, Chief Puller. As a Special Agent of the State, I have to inform you that this is a matter of national emergency, and I need all the support you can give me.”

  Tunney took out the letter from Robert Lansing`s office and slid it across the desk to Chief Puller. He read it.

  “What is it exactly that you want?”

  They started with the railway porters and ticket collectors. It was two days since Becker escaped. In all, that meant six train loads of passengers to deal with. It was an almost hopeless task. From Cleveland, Becker had to take an automobile or a horse-drawn coach. Willoughby didn’t have a train station.

  Becker had to come here to Cleveland first, Tunney figured. But he could already be making his way into Willoughby. Willoughby was on high alert. The entire town, never mind the new base, was under US Army control, and further security had been added in the form of machine gun patrols and extra sentries.

  With the massive army presence, would Becker try to hide in Willoughby? Or would he wait and bide his time in Cleveland?

  The National Guard were already searching bars, hotels and houses in Willoughby for a man who matched his description. They didn’t know why, but they knew their orders—never approach the suspect alone or without a weapon. If verified, shoot to kill. Willoughby didn’t have a large civilian population and it wouldn’t be difficult to find a stranger in town.

  But Cleveland was different. It was one of the largest cities in Ohio, a transport hub, and being on the banks of Erie and close to the border with Canada, also of strategic importance. The more Tunney thought about it, the more it made sense Becker was hiding in the city. He could melt in with the crowds, perhaps pick-pocket someone and get a new identity. The thought of the killer running loose anywhere was terrifying. Even more so with the explosives made by Dr Kiezle. And he was planning an attack on Willoughby.

  Imminently. An attack that would cause…

  The light began to fade from the skies. Tunney looked up at the streaky purple and grey shadows of dusk in the horizon and realised how tired he was. His entire body ached. He was starving as well, having survived the entire day on coffee and a salt bagel he’d munched on the way to Mineola Airport. More than food, he realised, he wanted a long, cold beer.

  A sergeant came up to him. “Major Tunney.”

  “Yes, sergeant.”

  Sergeant Macarthur had been asking taxi drivers if they recalled anything. He had a team of five men with him, but the work was slow. Cleveland had many automobile taxis. The train station ticket collectors, porters and station master had been vague and useless—as Tunney had known they would be. Scores of passengers matched the description. It was better asking the taxi drivers.

  “One of the drivers said he had a passenger who matched the description. Said his hair was brown, he wore a hat, black coat and pants. He also had a shoulder bag.”

  “Anything else?” Tunney asked impatiently. This was sounding like what the porters in the station had said.

  “Yes sir. He said as the man bent down to get in the car, his glasses fell off. The driver said his eyes were odd.”

  “What do you mean, odd?”

  Sergeant Macarthur hesitated. “He said the right eye was brown, but the left eye was yellowish, which he found strange. It stuck in his mind.”

  Tunney grabbed the sergeant`s coat. “Where is the driver? Quickly, man!”

  “Down there, sir.” The sergeant pointed up the road. Tunney was sprinting before he had finished speaking. “Come on,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  The thin, almost emaciated driver was just getting out of his Studebaker automobile when Tunney almost collided with him.

  “Yes that one, that one,” Macarthur called from behind. Cars were veering aside as the two uniformed men pounded down the road.

  Breathless, Tunney faced the driver. The man was scared and sank back against his car. Tunney towered over him.

  “My name is Major Tunney, US Army. Now tell me about the man you picked up.”

  “What man?”

  “Yesterday. You picked up a man who was tall, wide-shouldered and you noticed his eyes.”

  “Oh that,” the man`s face cleared. “Yes, it was kind of strange. When he picked up his glasses, I saw his eyes. The left eye was like a glass eye, you know? But then it moved. The colour as well, it was different to the right eye.”

  “Did you see a weapon on him? Like a knife?”

  The man shook his head. “No. What’s all this about?”

  “It`s something very important. Where did you take this man?”

  The driver tapped his forehead. �
�Somewhere downtown. Hang on…” He shrugged. “Sorry—downtown, but I’ll be damned if I can remember the address.”

  Tunney swore under his breath. “Can you remember which direction downtown?”

  “Yes, towards Mentor, lakeside.”

  “That`s northeast, sir,” Macarthur said. The direction of Willoughby, Tunney thought. Mentor was near the lake shore, not far from Willoughby. A thought struck him.

  “Did you drop him anywhere close to the railway tracks?”

  The driver narrowed his eyes. “I got it. Yes, near the railway tracks. You can see the lake from there, too. Davenport, that’s it. Small cul de sac from Lakeside Avenue East.”

  Tunney turned to Macarthur. “Place sentries all along the railway tracks in and out of Cleveland. If we have enough men in the station, he could try and board a train as they slow on approaching or leaving the station. He might use that as his escape route. How many men do we have here?”

  “About ten, sir.”

  “Are they all armed?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Bring three men with us. Send one back to Chief Puller. We need more reinforcements at Davenport Avenue, right now. Tell Chief Puller that we’ve found our man and that he needs to act immediately. Now hurry!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Becker got off the automobile taxi two blocks away. He had visited a tailors shop that specialised in uniforms and found one identical to the airstrip guard’s. He made the tailor sew the words “Airport Guard” above the left breast pocket.

  He always walked the last few blocks to his hotel. It helped him to observe anything new on the street. His bag, with the explosives, was slung on his back. He was on a wide riverside path, the water of the windswept lake glittering, the birds crying as they glided in the warm air above. He could feel the humidity on his face and a trickle of breeze. It felt good.

  The small hotel was secluded, in a cul de sac, but he could escape in an emergency, as the railway tracks were only separated from the hotel car park by a flimsy wire fence. He could hitch on a slow-moving train if needed. Beyond the tracks lay Lake Erie. A small pier stood nearby with some row boats moored—he could steal one of those too, if needed. It might not get him far, but halfway across the water it became Canada. Another enemy country, but a foreign one where Americans couldn’t follow.