“No, this isn’t good. He came by the office?” asked Zacharie.
“Yes! Into my office. Moreover, this one is nothing like Phillips. Oh, he was a gentleman and all, but there was something different about him. I could see it in his eyes. He was dressed well, was well spoken, but he had an edge to him. Not like Phillips at all.”
“A much unexpected development,” said Zacharie.
“Is that all you can say, an unexpected development? Don’t you see? It’s all starting to add up. Phillips carrying a gun, the heavily guarded warehouse with all the radio towers. Phillips wasn’t a simple clerk, and neither is this Ferguson. If that’s even his real name. No, Zacharie, we have unexpectedly opened the door to some very dangerous men. The question is, what do you propose we do about it?” asked Jacques loudly, nodding his head and opening his hands toward his friend.
“For starters, you can keep your voice down. Do you want half of Calcutta to know what we’re up to?”
Simone could see a rage building inside Jacques. She put her arm around him and pulled him back into his chair.
“Tonight, we do nothing,” Zacharie continued. “Besides, there isn’t much we can do about it. Listen, the police haven’t been by to talk with any of us. I’m sure they have listed Phillips’ death as an unsolved crime. If this new American comes back, we’ll deal with him then. For now we keep moving forward with Kruger. He’ll be here to join us after dinner, by the way. He told me he has some good news for us.”
“With what Jacques just told us, are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Margaux.
“We have no choice. I think Kruger is going to come through with what we need, and we can’t back down now. No telling how long it would take to develop another contact, if we could do it at all. Besides, our friends back home are depending upon us. Not only are their lives in jeopardy, but so is the organization we’ve built.”
Between the whiskey and Simone’s presence, Jacques had begun to calm down.
“Tonight we meet as planned with Kruger,” Chevalier told them. “It would be foolish not to. However, tomorrow we all need to develop a plan to get to the bottom of who Ferguson is, who Phillips was, and what’s going on at that warehouse. All of it has to be tied together.
“Are we all in agreement?” asked Jacques. “If so, let’s order. I’m famished.”
After finishing their meals and ordering Cognac and coffee, Zacharie excused himself from the table. “I’ll go to the bar and see if Kruger has arrived.”
A few minutes later he returned. With him was a very tall man of muscular build. His hair, slightly graying at the temples, was full and blond. He approached the table with an air of confidence about him.
“He’s tall,” whispered Margaux to Simone.
“No, Margaux, he is a mountain,” replied Simone.
“Ladies, I would like to introduce you to Conrad Kruger. He is helping us with our acquisitions,” said Zacharie as he made the introductions.
Kruger sat down at the table and, after accepting a cup of coffee, said, “We can talk business?”
“Of course,” replied Jacques. “Simone and Margaux have been a part of our plans from the beginning. Anything we know, they know.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll get right to the point. I have good news for you. Beginning with the rifles, I’ll be able to get you everything you asked for.”
“They’ll be new?” inquired Jacques.
“Brand new Lee-Enfield Number Four Mark One rifles, in crates and direct from the factory.
“The bolt action isn’t as fast as the American Garand, but trust me, the three-oh-three is a proven weapon.”
Kruger moved in closer to the table. “I’ll know in a few days when you can take delivery. At our next meeting, I expect half payment. The balance on delivery. Be ready to move on this because once I have the merchandise, I want to transfer it as quickly as possible. So have your lorries and a hiding place ready. What you do with them after that’s up to you, but if you get caught with them, you don’t know me. Is that clear? I don’t have to tell you we’ll all end up in prison if we’re not prepared. Does anyone have any questions?”
No one said anything.
“I think we’re in agreement,” said Zacharie. “We move forward.”
“Good,” replied Kruger.
“This is unrelated to our business, but maybe you can, how do you say, illuminate something for me,” Jacques said.
“I will if I can.” replied Kruger.
“When you met with Zacharie the other day, he asked you about a warehouse I had seen. It is well guarded by American MPs and looks like some sort of communications post. Why I’m asking is that I pulled my car in and asked for directions. Most of the Americans I’ve met here have all been easy going and friendly. Not these gentlemen. Rude is putting it politely. I’m just wondering what’s so important about that place that it justifies their attitude.”
“Interesting you should ask. After meeting with Zacharie, I had some of my contacts look into it further. The Americans have formed an organization called the OSS.”
“OSS?” asked Simone.
“Office of Strategic Services, similar to the British Special Operations Executive. All clandestine and very secretive. So far all I know is they’re using the warehouse as a sort of staging area for supplies. Where it’s all going, I have no idea.”
Jacques laughed. “I guess that explains why they weren’t helpful with directions.”
“Anything else?” asked Kruger.
“No. We’ll be ready for your call, Conrad,” said Zacharie.
Kruger looked the group over sternly and said, “Just one more thing. Have the money at pickup.”
“Don’t worry, as we agreed, it will be there,” Jacques assured him.
Kruger rose to his feet. “Ladies, it was a pleasure meeting you. If you don’t mind, I’ll excuse myself, as I have another engagement this evening.” As he shook hands with the men, he said “I’ll be in touch soon.” Then he turned and left.
“Can we trust him?” asked Simone.
“I think we can,” answered Zacharie, “This is a seedy world we’ve entered into though, and unfortunately, we have to deal with seedy people. But all of our diligence has paid off, and we’re close to our goal.”
Jacques finished his Cognac in one gulp. After swallowing hard, he flagged the waiter down and ordered another. “So it looks like our friend Phillips was part of a covert group,” he said.
“We don’t know that for sure,” replied Zacharie.
“You’re in denial of the facts. All you can think about is the deal with Kruger.”
Zacharie glanced at Simone then addressed du Maurier in French. “Jacques, I think you’ve had too much to drink. This is not the time or place to discuss Phillips. I wasn’t in the office today when you were visited by his friend. We need to talk about it, just not here and not tonight. Believe me, I know this is serious.”
“We will discuss it?”
“And figure out a solution to the problem. We will. Trust me,” Zacharie assured him. He looked at his friend then flagged down their waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne. When it arrived he rose from the table and took Margaux by the hand. “It’s time for us to leave. You two do some dancing and enjoy yourselves. Come in late tomorrow, Jacques, you deserve it.”
In their car on the way home, Simone stared out the car window at the homeless families gathering in the doorways of buildings for the night. “What we found out tonight from Kruger makes sense,” she told her husband. “Phillips had to be OSS. They’re not going to let what we did to him pass, and now they are here.”
The next morning, before breakfast, Emma was busy with Captain Preston’s journal when she was joined by Bunnel and LaCroix.
“What is the plan for today?” asked LaCroix as he poured a cup of coffee for himself and Bunnel.
“We’ve made contact with the café owner and the man Preston was to have dinner with the night h
e was killed. Today I want to start contacting the Indians Preston met with and see if I can use my L.A. Times cover to get an interview. It will take some time, as I don’t have telephone numbers for a lot of them, so I’ll have to send a telegram or use a messenger service. Vern should be back shortly. He received a call from O House this morning, something arrived from Washington for us.”
“What do you want Henri and me to do in the meantime? We all can’t go on the interviews with you,” asked Bunnel.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and you’re right. I’ll have Vern drive me, but he won’t attend the interviews. Gasoline isn’t a problem for us. We can get as much as we need. So what I would like you two to do is take the car and the photo of Preston. Get a map and map out several routes from here to the café where he was to meet du Maurier. Go up and down the streets and circulate the photo. We might get lucky and someone might have seen something that may turn into a lead.” Emma softly tapped her fingers on Preston’s journal before continuing. “He had been in Calcutta long enough to know people. Maybe on the way to the café he saw someone he knew. It could have been anybody, American, Indian, or Brit. Someone he knew well enough to decide to change his plans.”
“We’ll talk to everybody, shop owners, street vendors anybody we see,” LaCroix assured her.
“Someone’s at the gate, I’ll make sure it’s Miller,” Bunnel interrupted.
Emma and LaCroix sat silently in the kitchen until they heard a car pull into the driveway and the gate being closed and locked again. A few moments later they were joined by Miller and Bunnel. Miller wasted no time handing Emma an envelope he had retrieved from O House.
“I don’t know what is in it Captain, but I thought it must be for you.”
Emma looked at the envelope and saw it was addressed to Miller. “No one knows we are here?” asked Emma.
“No one other than me, Colonel Wyman, and maybe a few in Washington. No one at O House or in India knows any of you exist.”
“I know you have a priority code to use if you need or want something, but don’t they ask questions?” asked Emma.
“Oh, I think their curiosity is up, but the orders are coming straight from Washington. Nobody is asking me anything.”
Emma thought for a moment and handed the envelope back to Miller. “Go ahead and open it, Vern.”
He opened the envelope and handed it back to Emma. “It’s a newspaper clipping.”
The clipping was from the Los Angeles Times and dated the day they had all left for India. The short article was an account of how one of their columnists, Katherine Williams, was about to go to India to report on the welfare of the troops and other things of interest to the readers of the Times.
“This will come in handy. The timing couldn’t be better,” said Emma as she passed the article to the others to see.
“What a coincidence,” observed Bunnel, smiling.
“Jimmy, I don’t believe in coincidences. What do you say we all get busy,” Emma replied.
While Bunnel and LaCroix began working the streets for potential witnesses, Emma’s task of interviewing the contacts among Indian independence groups Preston had made proved more difficult. Many had no telephone and others were skeptical of talking to a reporter, even an American one, and refused to say a word.
The first Indian with whom she was able to secure an interview was Baladhi Sarkar of the West Bengal Hindu Alliance. Miller drove her to the location, parked a few blocks away, and waited in the car.
The office of the Alliance was nothing more than a storefront, but Emma immediately felt an energy about the place. Desks were staffed and the telephones were all in use. The filing cabinets seemed to be bulging with paper. No one seemed to notice her or immediately come to ask if she needed assistance. Then, a few moments later, she was greeted by Sarkar himself. Emma extended her hand to him. After formal introductions were made, the interview process began.
“I hope I didn’t come at a bad time. You seem to be busy today,” said Emma.
“I am afraid every day is busy. Since the Japanese have taken Burma, it has created a food shortage in West Bengal. Many people are starving. Calls for help keep coming in. We are doing what we can, but I am afraid it is not much.”
Emma took down a couple of notes. “There isn’t anything the government can do?”
“Unfortunately, no. Everything is going toward the war effort, and that is understandable. And here in Calcutta, there is plenty of food. So, the problem is not a priority.”
“I see. When you’re not trying to feed the hungry, what is the goal of your organization?” asked Emma.
“We want to make sure the West Bengal Hindu voice is heard and our concerns are met.”
“And what might those concerns be?”
“Miss Williams, change in India has been coming for a long time. For now, the war has interfered with that, but colonialism is coming to a close here in India and all over the world. It is only a matter of time. When that time comes, it is our goal to make sure the people of West Bengal are adequately represented and have a hand in the direction of the change.”
“So, for now you support Great Britain and the war effort?”
“Of course we do. We would be a lot worse under the control of the Japanese than we are under England. What we want most of all, and I think what most Indian people want, is a peaceful transition of political power after the war.”
Sarkar was interrupted and taken aside by an aide. After a brief discussion, he addressed Emma. “I’m very sorry, I have a telephone call I have to take. There is a possibility we can obtain a train car full of rice. If you can come back at another time, I will be happy to answer any questions you have.”
Emma thanked him for his time, closed her notebook, and walked back to a waiting Miller, who asked her how the interview had gone.
“I think we can scratch him and his group off the list. But there are bigger potential problems out there for the Brits. Hopefully, we’ll all be gone before they get in our way.” Emma then went on to relay to Miller the shortage of food in the region. “If there’s a famine in West Bengal, people are going to be coming into the city looking for food. The last thing we need to have to deal with is riots or to be looking over our shoulder, worried about being hit over the head for a sack of groceries. I think it’s something Washington should be advised of.”
“It’ll be in my next message to Colonel Wyman,” said Miller.
Bunnel and LaCroix had done their best for several days and had shown Preston’s photograph to hundreds of people. At times they too had been met with suspicion. At other times people genuinely tried to help them but simply hadn’t seen Preston or, if they had, didn’t remember him. They decided to cover the area again. This time they would go back over the same routes but at different times of day. They decided on late afternoon and evening hours, the same time Preston had left for his meeting with du Maurier. Possibly a shopkeeper or someone coming or going at that time—someone who had escaped them the first time—might have seen something.
Emma too had been without luck, although she had worked very hard. The logistics of tracking her leads down had been difficult. Everyone she interviewed had resulted in a dead end. She had one more person to interview, Kaakiya Gurjar of the Confederation of Indian Workers. Preston had noted in his journal he was probably a communist.
Miller parked the car on an adjoining side street, as the street where Gurjar’s office was located was narrow and there was no street parking. Emma had to walk the short distance in the street because the sidewalk was taken up with the overflow of the many craftsmen’s trades. She could smell leather as she passed a shoemaker and hear the pounding of metal coming out of another shop where the proprietor was making brassware. She easily spotted the building number and turned into a doorway to reach Gurjar’s office, which was on the second floor.
The office itself was small, clean, and consisted of a few desks and telephones. Walking in, on a table she noticed pamph
lets illustrated with the picture of an Indian working in a field. Two men were in the office, one seated behind a desk. Both took their time acknowledging her presence. Emma took the initiative and introduced herself. Rather than greet her, the man sitting behind the desk looked her up and down with disdain. Emma surmised this was Gurjar and immediately felt the interview was probably off to a bad start, but she kept her composure and was even more determined to move forward with it. Seeing she was not leaving, Gurjar dismissed the other man and told Emma to have a seat at his desk. Sitting down, she heard the door close behind her and the other man walking down the steps.
“What is it that I can do for a Los Angeles newspaper?” asked Gurjar, a tone of contempt in his voice.
Emma wasn’t intimidated. She closed her notebook and placed the cap back on her fountain pen. “Mr. Gurjar, it isn’t what you can do for a Los Angeles newspaper, it’s what you can do for you.”
Gurjar was surprised by her demeanor and her reply. “How is that?”
“It’s rather simple. I work for an influential newspaper in the state of California. There are a million and a half people living in the city of Los Angeles and more in the surrounding cities and counties. Through my paper you can have your story told at no charge to you, with the exception of a bit of your time. You obviously thought it important enough to see me. What do you say we knock off the posturing and get to work? That is, unless you don’t want your story told. In that case I will bid you good day, sir, and be on my way.” Emma began to rise from her chair.
“What is in it for you, Miss Williams?”
“I get a story. A story unlike any that’s being sent back to the States. We’ll both be helping each other. That is, of course, unless you just invited me up here to waste my time.” Emma handed him the clipping that had been sent to her by Colonel Wyman.
Operation Blue Sapphire Page 11
