by Bonnie Toews
“But Grace loves Guild Oaks and her horses.”
A thought struck her.
“Has she lost her inheritance because she has been declared dead?”
“No. We’ve sold most of her father’s art treasures and Radcliffe House for a handsome sum. That and her inheritance from her grandmother Radcliffe are being laundered back to her through an investment foundation funded by her estate. Guild Oaks and the stables she has let go to King George.”
Lee looked down at her hands.
“Morgan, now I know what I have to do.”
When she dared to look up into his face, she saw acceptance. Only Grace and Rolf ever accepted her without conditions attached. For the first time, she considered Morgan may be the best of her three friends. He had certainly seen her through the worst period of her life.
“Kendra needs the love of parents who want her. She belongs with Grace and Erich. They will give her what I never can. Family roots. I’m a tumbleweed. Ruined goods. Do you see?”
Morgan said nothing. His facial expression did not change.
“I can’t give Kendra the normal life she deserves. I belong to a world, which has no place in it for her. I need to be absorbed in work again… to be with other agents who have known the hell of war and survived … to feel the rush of adrenaline through my veins … to have challenging problems to solve and exciting ideas to explore. To write again.”
Still Morgan said nothing.
“I know. I’m doing to Kendra what my mother did to me. I guess we weren’t cut out for motherhood. I feel badly about that, and I have tried, Morgan. For months, I’ve tried. Gawd! How I’ve tried! But it’s not working.”
“You’re right,” he said at last. “It’s not working.”
A sigh of relief engulfed Lee. Of course Morgan understood.
“We do it your way on one condition,” he said. “You have to hand over your baby to Grace yourself.”
She fidgeted. He and Grace were forcing her out of hiding. For Kendra, could she do it? There was no choice. She must.
“Agreed.”
But, she couldn’t face making specific arrangements right now.
“You said you had other news.”
“Sir Fletcher’s dead. He died last August.”
“He’s dead?”
She was astonished. “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”
“You weren’t in any shape to handle it.”
“How did it happen?”
“An apparent suicide. He took an L-pill.”
Quinn, she thought. He did it!
“Morgan, I want to go outside. Can we sit on the terrace?”
His brow lifted in surprise. How long had he been trying to get her to go outside? No doubt he found her switch in behavior baffling, but to his credit, he said nothing and followed her bidding.
There was no one on the terrace, and Lee rushed to the rail and breathed in the pristine air. The blooming Edelweiss in the terrace garden caught her attention. She focused on its puffy parasols so like the amanita Quinn grew in Poland. Each flower was like a cluster of frothy toadstools or cauliflower buttons erupting out of plants with large pointed leaves. They looked good enough to eat: delightful, delectable, deceptive and deadly. Wild poisonous mushrooms. The amanita fungi. Her jaw flinched.
Morgan stood beside her.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“The amanita,” she said in a faraway voice.
“Sir Fletcher’s project?”
“No, the poisonous mushroom. How deceptive and very deadly it is. How very deadly…” she said with low-pitched venom.
Morgan remained calm in response to her sudden switch in mood.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” he suggested and waited for her to begin.
Instead, she watched the slips of bright sunshine dapple his fine gray hair and the ridge of his nose. They splashed his pale skin with the first blushes of alpine color. It was then she realized how basically kind he was, and wise. He directed her to the lounge seat, while he took the armchair fashioned from local pine.
“He betrayed Grace,” Lee blurted out with no preamble. “Sir Fletcher betrayed us all,” she said with bitter disgust. “I’m glad he’s dead. I wanted to see his face for myself, and then I would have known for sure he was the traitor.”
She could see the thrust of her revelation startled Morgan.
“You think Sir Fletcher was Amanita’s traitor! Why?”
“He was the Abwehr’s contact. Ketmann admitted it when he decided to execute me. NO,” she checked herself. “He didn’t admit it. He revealed it. LEON was the Germans’ London contact. That was Sir Fletcher’s code name, you know. LEON!” She spat the name out.
“LEON, LEON, LEON.”
The crazy ditty she had made up in prison, while waiting to be executed, came spilling out in a rush of anguish.
“LEON… LEON… LEON… is an imbecile and a poop is … he cuts off your leg and says, ‘What a bag!’LEON, the poop, is a gag.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I wanted to kill him myself,” she moaned.
“Lee, is this what you held back in our debriefing?”
She nodded miserably.
“Good Grief!”
Saunders shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have saved you so much …”
His eyes mirrored her misery.
“Lee,” he said quietly and evenly, “Sir Fletcher was never the traitor. He was framed.”
“Ketmann said …”
“It doesn’t matter what Ketmann said,” he interrupted. “I’m sure LEON was the name of the Germans’ London contact precisely to point suspicion at him. Think for a moment. If you were Sir Fletcher, could you destroy what you gave your life to build?”
Confusion entered Lee’s voice. “I asked myself that.”
She sat upright. “But if it wasn’t Sir Fletcher, then who betrayed us? Who betrayed Project Amanita?”
“Most likely the same person who murdered Sir Fletcher.”
“You said it was suicide. He took an L-pill.”
“I said apparent suicide. I’m convinced he was murdered. And now I think you know who did it.”
Lee’s heart throbbed wildly. She had told Quinn. She gripped her head in her hands and began rocking.
“We’ve been investigating the betrayal of Amanita agents since Rolf’s death. We’ve come across one piece of evidence, which helps isolate the traitor.”
She stopped rocking. “What’s that?”
“We have tracked down prisoners who served in the SS unit that hanged Rolf. Ketmann was their commander. The radio man said he received a coded message giving Rolf’s exact position.”
“Ketmann? He killed Rolf!”
The impact of Morgan’s information ripped open an old wound like the jagged edge of a tin can tearing flesh away from bone.
“Yes” he confirmed. “The same man who tortured you. I then went back over all our debriefing files with surviving Amanita agents and Resistance groups working with them. Something of interest popped up in the Denmark file.”
“What?”
Morgan had Lee’s total attention
“Mme. Orsted sponsored a group of Spanish Civil War veterans before the war. I pursued that and tracked down some of the underground leaders who knew her. Understand, she’s a national martyr. I had to be discreet with my questioning, but I unearthed something quite unexpected.”
“Go on,” she urged him.
“Mme. Orsted was the leader of a secret cell of Communist Resistance Fighters known as the Red Orchestra. They were mainly formed from a band of Spanish Civil War vets.”
“Frankly, Morgan, out of this whole mess, that makes the most sense.”
Morgan squinted. “I don’t understand.”
“Were you there … in Spain, I mean?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, I was.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t know wh
at it was like. Quinn and I gave the League of Nations evidence Hitler and Mussolini were providing Franco and his Fascist rebels with military advisors, trained reinforcements, air cover and their best arms technology and equipment. Yet we, and the Spanish people’s plea for help, were ignored. It was a bitter pill to swallow, let me tell you. The only real help I saw the fighting Republicans get was from the Communists. Though the weapons Russia sent were antiquated issue and far too few to be effective, it was the Communist leaders who recruited and trained the International Brigade. They taught the Republicans how to use what they had to fight with. They taught them how to harass Hitler’s hordes with guerrilla terrorism. Yes, Spanish Civil War vets joining the Red Orchestra to resist Nazis invading their homeland makes a lot of sense to me.”
“Is that how Quinn felt?”
“Quinn …?” She thought back and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
And then she slowly nodded.
“Maybe … maybe. We had hard evidence. We could prove Nazi Germany was breaking the Nonintervention Pact in Spain. The League of Nations knew the truth, yet they did nothing to discipline Hitler. How do you accept something like that? We felt betrayed, just as the Spanish people felt betrayed.”
Lee scoffed. “Where were their good neighbors when they needed them? Double talk does not save the man choking to death, you know,” she added with a dry laugh.
“No doubt Mme. Orsted was disillusioned with the Allies for precisely that reason,” Morgan admitted, “but there’s no point thinking Stalin was a hero in that civil fight, Lee. The Madrid government emptied its gold treasury and secretly delivered it to Moscow to pay for all those outdated and useless weapons you praised Russia for sending to Spain. Who betrayed whom, eh? Believe me, the Communists were not the Republicans’ benefactors either.”
Lee gripped her stomach. She felt sick. “Is nothing we believe in sacred?”
He ignored her question and went on.
“The Underground leaders I talked to believe the Red Orchestra assassinated Pia Orsted solely to make her the public martyr she became. Her final act drew the Danish people into one giant fist of resistance against the Nazi occupation forces.”
He paused. “Did you know, after Rolf was arrested and hung, Sir Fletcher asked me to help him track down the traitor?”
Lee shook her head.
Morgan went on. “By this time, he was sure the traitor was a triple agent, for the political and diplomatic damage was extensive. The Americans had lost confidence in Amanita’s capabilities. They were refusing to co-operate with the British team of refugee scientists.”
“That’s right. I remember. That’s why Churchill persuaded Roosevelt at the Quebec Conference in Canada to sign a formal agreement assuring both powers they would not use atomic weapons against each other, they would not use atomic weaponry without the other’s consent, and they would not give their shared knowledge on nuclear development to a third party, which obviously meant the Soviet Union.”
Morgan nodded. “You bet they meant to cut the Russians out of any nuclear breakthrough. But when the string of Gestapo arrests in Amanita’s espionage networks continued, the Americans, in spite of this formal agreement, still did not trust the British. In reality, the ones who most benefited from this bickering were the Russians.”
“How?” Lee asked.
“The Americans’ distrust of the British strengthened Stalin’s bargaining position at Yalta. He got the part of conquered Europe he wanted from the Allies. Roosevelt didn’t rely on Churchill’s warning Josef Stalin was treacherous because he had lost faith in British Intelligence.”
Lee clenched her jaw as the impact of what he was explaining struck her.
“And today, we’re plunged into a cold war with the Soviet Union exactly as Churchill predicted we would be. As long as the intelligence networks of the two western super powers remain suspicious of each other, Stalin benefits again.”
Morgan rubbed his right ear lobe.
“He’s seen what the atomic bomb can do at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. To gain the upper hand, he’s playing for time to develop a more devastating hydrogen bomb.”
Lee shivered. “What about Grace?”
“There is no doubt in my mind Stalin wanted Churchill out of the picture. Grace’s capture would have ruined him politically.”
Morgan stopped to clear his throat.
“That was my conclusion too,” Lee commented dryly, “once Ketmann made me realize the traitor had to be a triple agent working for Moscow.”
“It has to be,” Morgan agreed. “Since Roosevelt wanted Stalin’s help to fight the Japanese, he could be duped into an agreeable bargain, but Churchill… NEVAH! What better way to throw out his influence at the negotiating table than to discredit him? The possibility our traitor is a deep-cover Red agent makes perfect sense.”
“But, how does all this tie in to Sir Fletcher’s death?”
“I think there’s a connection between Mme. Orsted’s death, your Rolf’s execution and Sir Fletcher’s murder.”
Lee doubted it.
Seeing her look of skepticism, Morgan argued, “Sir Fletcher’s death creates more hostility between British and American Intelligence. You know it could be the traitor’s intent to prevent these two formidable organizations from joining forces in an international program of post-war intelligence.”
“Does the Special Operations Executive blame the Americans for Sir Fletcher’s death?”
“No, of course not. But, that’s immaterial because SOE is being dismantled. The amateurs are being moved out and the original British Secret Service brought back in, along with their petty pre-war rivalries and power struggles.”
“I see,” said Lee. “They didn’t mind the volunteer organizations assuming all the risk in the heat of war. We were convenient scapegoats for operations gone sour, but now that the war is over, they want both their power back and the glory of our accomplishments.”
“That sizes it up. Now that the Pacific War is over and Hitler’s ashes, President Truman is giving in to Hoover and has ordered Donovan to dismantle the OSS too. He’s always believed Donovan trespassed on FBI turf.”
“How nice!” she said sarcastically. And then alarm seized her. “What are we going to do? And what is the British Secret Service doing about Sir Fletcher’s murder?”
“The obvious,” said Morgan. “Nothing. Failure of Project Amanita is an embarrassment to them. With Sir Fletcher dead, he can’t point the finger at anyone, and he can’t answer any questions. His murder becomes an unsolved mystery that does not reveal uncomfortable secrets.”
“So, it is up to us.”
“You’ve got it. Now think back. Who knew Rolf’s position on the mountain, Lee?”
“Sir Fletcher, Quinn and, of course, Grace and me.”
“Sir Fletcher’s dead. That leaves only three possibilities. Who knew you kept your own special file of drawings?”
Lee stared at the sky.
“Other than Grace, Quinn was the only one. When we worked together in Spain, I drew pictures of Guernica. He knew.”
With a giant groan, she buried her head in her hands.
“I killed Sir Fletcher.”
Morgan shook his head. “Lee—”
She cut him off. “You don’t understand. I told Quinn. I told him Sir Fletcher was the traitor. I asked him to terminate him because I wouldn’t be going back to London to do it myself. ME. I did it.”
“Now everything fits.”
Morgan Saunders rose up from the chair to gather Lee in his arms. “You didn’t kill Sir Fletcher. Quinn set him up from the beginning for execution if he succeeded with his mission. We’ve all been pawns in his game plan.”
Lee gripped Saunders’ sleeve. “Ketmann!” she cried. “Did the Resistance ever find his body after the raid?”
“Von Lohren saw him when he was looking for Grace. He assumed he was dead, but the Resistance never found his body.”
She shuddered.
Morgan
patted her hand on his sleeve. “If Ketmann is still alive, he’s too busy trying to escape from the Allies because, if caught, he will be tried as a war criminal and executed.”
The thrum of a humming bird hovering over the floral bed twanged in the quiet like a violinist tuning his strings.
“Lee,” Morgan said softly, “I have an idea. Are you game?”
Lee looked past him to the mountain peaks beyond. In the vivid blue sky, an eagle soared, free and alone, sailing above the pistachio slopes. For a fleeting moment she envied the eagle, so majestic in his natural habitat. She looked across the valley’s table spread of lush green peppered with gingerbread chalets and garden flowers spraying the air with their alpine perfumes.
This was the sanctuary I longed for, and I didn’t even know it. Now she would have to leave.
FORTY-NINE
Sunday, June 14,1946
The scent of roses filled her nostrils. It was a hot June day, and the air over Epsom Downs was melting like warm wax. Looking through it, Lee became dazzled with the shimmering green turf beyond which hazy images of hedges and ponds seemed to float with dreamy grace. Over the fairgrounds poured a human sea, and above it, like a ship’s pennants, fluttered gaily-colored flags. As far as her eye could see, cluttered assortments of rainbow cones arched skyward, while below, refreshment stands, mainly selling cockles and mussels, and bookies’ booths waved between the bulk of tents and stalls offering palm reading and fortune telling.
Lee drew her eyes back to the serene face of her sister-in-spirit. She hadn’t expected this likeness, as if she were seeing into the past and confronting herself. She focused on Grace’s flawless skin and glowing English complexion and resisted the need to finger her own cheeks, newly healed, a habit she had developed when the scabs pitted her face.
In truth, Lee feared the moment they now faced, the rejoining of their spirits before their separation again. When they were together, Grace’s serenity reached out to her and embraced her, and she felt protected, and loved, but for all Lee had done and been through, she did not feel worthy to stand in the light of Grace’s faith, or God.
