Operation Blue Sapphire

by David B. Gilmore

  “Two things, it’s Friday, and my husband got a promotion of sorts today.” offered Margaux.

  Zacharie summoned a waiter who took Kruger’s drink order. After the waiter left, Zacharie observed, “You seem a bit anxious tonight, Conrad.” Pointing down at the table he added, “We have your down payment.”

  Kruger hesitated. “That’s good, but I’m afraid there’s going to be a delay.”

  “A delay? How come?” asked Jacques.

  “Have you heard what happened late this afternoon?” asked Kruger.

  “No. What are you talking about?” replied Jacques.

  “Someone set off a bomb. I don’t know any more details than that, but from everything I’ve heard, it was a powerful explosion and may have leveled a city block.”

  “That’s awful,” said Margaux.

  “It is very awful, but I don’t see how this should have an effect on our arrangement,” said Simone.

  “Ultimately, it won’t, but right now I want to wait. Something like this doesn’t happen in Calcutta. I want to see how the British are going to react. They may put up roadblocks and start inspecting all traffic. If that happens I’m not going to be caught with your cargo. It’s not like I’m delivering a load of furniture to you.”

  “Do you really think that will happen?” asked Jacques.“I don’t know, but if it does I don’t want to first find out about it when I’m our making your delivery.”

  “How much time do you think you’ll need?” asked Zacharie.

  “A week. By that time, if the British are going to do anything, they will have done it.”

  “A week? And what happens if all these things you fear come to pass?” asked Jacques.

  “Then we reassess the situation and make other plans.”

  “You still want to go through with the deal, Mr. Kruger?” asked Simone.

  “Most definitely. I’m just being cautious. There’s a lot of risk in something like this. I think you can understand my position.”

  “Then you will understand if we defer our down payment today. When you’re sure you’re ready to go through with the deal, as we agreed, the money will be waiting for you,” said Jacques.

  Everyone was quiet at the table and waited for Kruger’s reaction. “I don’t like it. We had an agreement,” he said after a moment.

  “And you’ve come here tonight and told us you are unwilling to make delivery. So you have to understand our position too. We went through a lot of effort and expense converting your payment to dollars. For now, we’ll hold on to it,” said Zacharie.

  “Maybe we should look elsewhere for what we need,” added Margaux.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll deliver. What do you say we meet next Friday evening? That’ll give things time to calm down. If the British get active, roadblocks, searches, that sort of thing, we’ll know about it by then.”

  “Very well, Conrad. If you decide to move forward before that, let us know. This is important to us, otherwise we wouldn’t have sought your services. This bombing is most unfortunate and unforeseen, but we too have things we want to accomplish,” said Zacharie.

  “I will see you all next Friday. If something breaks before that, I’ll be in touch. And congratulations on your promotion,” said Kruger as he got up from the table.

  “What do you think?” Zacharie asked after he was sure Kruger was gone.

  “He either hasn’t got the weapons yet, or he has them and is afraid to move them right now. If he has them, he doesn’t want us taking delivery where he has them hidden. I think he’s being cautious. It’s not like he robbed a bank and the money can be easily hidden. If they do put up checkpoints, we all need to know about it. And I don’t think he liked not getting his money tonight,” said Jacques, “but, a deal is a deal. Half when he’s ready to deliver and half when he does. If he’s right, and the British make it difficult or impossible for him to deliver, we’d never see the money again.”

  “In your next transmission to Hanoi, tell our friends there has been a setback. Inform them of the delay.”

  “Zacharie, they’re not going to like this,” Jacques warned, “and I think they’re starting to lose patience with us.”

  “It isn’t our fault. It’s only a week. Kruger wants the money and I think he wants to do this. Be as reassuring as you can. Let them know about the bomb going off and the potential of higher security,” said Zacharie.

  “I will.”

  “Just don’t tell them of our troubles and who set off the bomb.”

  LaCroix and Miller returned to the house shortly after 11:30 to find Emma and Bunnel in the living room. Emma rose from the sofa and turned off the radio.

  “I guess by now you’ve figured out that du Maurier didn’t show up for his appointment at the café,” said LaCroix.

  “We’ve surmised that. Tell us everything you saw,” said Emma.

  “We waited outside the men’s office.” Miller told her. “Around five twenty-five or five-thirty, two women pulled up outside. One had long black hair and the other auburn. Anyway, they went in and about fifteen minutes later all four of them came out. The ladies had changed clothes and were dressed to the nines. They all got into one car and went to a place called the Three Hundred Club.”

  “Go on,” said Emma.

  “Well, we waited outside for a bit, probably half an hour or so. It’s a private club and we’re not members.” After a while we decided to see if we could get in. We spoke with a manager and told him we worked for the War Department. When we showed him our credentials, he gave us a tour and a couple of applications, and he let us have a drink at the bar. As we were walking through the place, we noticed they have a section of alcoves that are quiet and more private than the main dining area. Our four were seated in one of the alcoves and were talking with a fifth person. It looked like some sort of business negotiation. There was a briefcase under the table.”

  “We had our drink at the bar and watched the man they were talking to leave,” LaCroix added.

  “Would you remember him?” asked Emma.

  “Most definitely,” LaCroix assured her. “He was at least six-four and built like a linebacker.”

  “What else did you see?”

  Miller continued the story. “After our drink we went back out to the car and waited. They finally all came out around ten. Du Maurier dropped Chevalier and his wife off at their office, so they could pick up their car, and then drove home.”

  “What about the briefcase?” asked Emma.

  “Du Maurier was carrying it.”

  “I’m assuming they went there for a business meeting and then stayed for dinner, drinks, and dancing,” LaCroix said.

  “Have you been listening to the radio tonight?” asked Bunnel.

  “No. We didn’t want any distractions that might end up causing us to miss them when they came out of the club. Why?”

  “Then you haven’t heard about the bomb that went off.”

  “What bomb?” asked LaCroix.

  “Shortly after five this afternoon a bomb went off in Damini’s Café.”

  “That’s where you were supposed to meet du Maurier,” said Miller.

  “It is. The bomb almost got Emma. She was knocked down by the blast, but fortunately, other than a cut on her knee, she was unharmed. The only thing that saved us both was that we were running late.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Are you sure you’re all right?” asked LaCroix.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Emma, “but I wish I was. It was massive. The entire café was destroyed and the buildings next to it caught fire. It scared the hell out of me, but I’m fine.”

  “Then it was meant for us. But unless they have an accomplice working with them, they couldn’t have set it off. There’s no way du Maurier could be in two places at the same time. After lunch neither he nor Chevalier left the office building. Not until their wives came,” said Miller.

  “It looks that way, but I’m not one hundred percent positive,” said
Emma.

  “But how can you not be? Jimmy had a meeting with du Maurier at five—which the guy fails to show up for—and at a little after five a bomb goes off. Those odds are too great, and I wouldn’t bet on them,” said LaCroix.

  “The only reason I’m hesitant is because of what we’ve been hearing on the radio,” said Emma.

  “And what’s that?” asked Miller.

  “The news reports are saying there’s a possibility that a government official was killed in the blast. They haven’t identified who it was or what post he held. With the force of the explosion, and the fire that came after it, it’s going to take the authorities awhile to identify any of the victims. They may never be able to and will have to rely on missing persons reports.”

  “I still don’t think it was a coincidence,” LaCroix argued.

  “Let’s not be hasty,” said Emma. “I guess what I want is positive confirmation that du Maurier was responsible for, or had a hand in, setting it off. If he did, it changes everything.”

  Emma held up her hand and began ticking off points with the fingers. “First, if du Maurier did set it off, or had someone else do it, we need to know who it was and how big of a network du Maurier has. We need to know what we are up against.”

  She straightened a second finger. “Second, let’s not forget about the Indian who followed us the day I met with Gurjar. Remember, Jimmy and I saw the guy later at the Great Eastern Hotel.”

  Holding up another finger, she continued. “Third, if a government official was killed, the local police and authorities are not going to stop until they get results. They’re not going to let it go like they did with Captain Preston. So, if the bomb was meant for Jimmy, it means we’re going to be in a race with the local police to get to the bottom of this.

  “We have to find out first. Otherwise, our entire mission here will have been a failure. We can’t take the risk of letting it somehow leak out what Preston was doing here, and if it comes out this bomb is connected to Preston’s murder, then it will be more than a potential disaster. Gentlemen, if that happens, we’ll spend the rest of the war, and possibly our lives, cleaning latrines somewhere. So, from now on, we’re going to have to move very carefully.”

  The next afternoon Emma and LaCroix found a parking space a few blocks from where, until yesterday afternoon, Damini’s Café had stood. As they approached the cafe site, which still smoldered, Emma stopped and showed LaCroix where she had been knocked down by the explosion. When they turned the corner, the street was still blocked off, but they could see the devastation.

  “Lord, have mercy on their souls,” murmured LaCroix. “They took out the whole damn block.”

  “If this were London,” said Emma, “you’d think the Luftwaffe had blitzed the neighborhood.”

  As they approached the café, the air was filled with the smell of charred wood and burned building materials. Emma and LaCroix could see the sun shining down on where the tables and counter used to be, and they could see birds perched where yesterday it had been enclosed by a roof. Even though the authorities, police, military, and firemen were still working at the site, Emma could sense the absence of what had been a thriving small business but was now void of its owner and patrons. The burnt hulk of the building projected an eerie quietness.

  “It looks bad, Emma, real bad. We need to get closer.”

  “Come with me. The worst they can do is turn us back.”

  Stepping over rubble they walked into the café.

  “What are you two doing here? Didn’t you see the barricades? Now get back and stay behind them,” one of the policemen said gruffly.

  Emma quickly produced her Los Angeles Times press credentials. “I was hoping maybe someone could tell us what happened. A gas main go up?”

  “Look, like we told all the other reporters, a statement will be given out at headquarters after we’ve finished. Until then, go back behind the barricades. Now! I’m not telling you again. It’s still not safe. These walls could come down any minute.”

  “We’re leaving, we’re leaving,” said Emma.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll still get your story.”

  As Emma and LaCroix walked away, she could hear the policeman muttering in a low voice, “Asinine reporters, they’re worse than bloody vultures.”

  Emma and LaCroix walked across the street and, as inconspicuously as they could, took another look at what had been the café. They also took note of the damage that had been done to the businesses on the opposite side of the street. Satisfied, they made their way back to the car. Emma started the engine and began to drive. “Well, Henri, what do you think?”

  “I can see why you were knocked down, and you’re lucky that’s all that happened to you. Whoever made it knew a thing or two about demolition and explosives.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “We weren’t able to examine the rubble as much as I would have liked. It could be TNT. If you know what you’re doing, it’s easy to make. But you better know what you are doing because, until it stabilizes, it’s pretty volatile.”

  “Dynamite?” asked Emma.

  “From the looks of things, I’m thinking eight-oh-eight.”

  “Plastique?”

  “Plastique. The mechanics of it are a bit more complex and controlled. Basically, when it’s ignited you have two explosions. The first is outward, creating a vacuum. Then the air comes rushing back in and creates another. Of course it all happens simultaneously, so it looks like just one big explosion.”

  “A fast burning fire?” Emma asked.

  “Extremely fast.”

  Emma nodded, thinking, Just like the old woman in Liberia said.

  “Plus, as you probably know from your training in Canada, plastique is very safe to handle,” LaCroix continued. “That’s the beauty of working with it. It can be molded into any shape you want, and it won’t go off until it’s detonated. With all the military activity and construction going on here, I don’t think it’d be too hard to find. I would put my money on it being plastique.”

  “Given the blast and what you saw, how much of an area do you think they were trying to destroy?” asked Emma.

  “Easily forty-five hundred, maybe five thousand square feet. How big do you think the café was?”

  “With the kitchen, probably six hundred square feet.”

  “Then it looks like they wanted to make sure nobody walked out of there. Little bit of overkill.”

  “Just a bit,” agreed Emma.

  “What next?”

  “We wait a couple of days until the police are finished with their investigation then come back and start one of our own.”

  “That was a wonderful lunch, Margaux, and a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon,” said Jacques as he took a seat in the Chevaliers’ living room next to Simone on the sofa. Savoring the cognac Zacharie had poured for him, Jacques didn’t notice when Simone moved away from him.

  “The news reports about the bombing still haven’t confirmed who the government official was or how important he was,” commented Zacharie.

  “I heard that when I got up this morning. The bombing’s the only news story on the radio. I was sure to include the part about the official in my transmission to Hanoi this morning, Jacques replied.”

  “Good. They won’t be pleased about the delay, but they’ll understand us being a bit cautious right now. The last thing they’ll want to hear is that we obtained the weapons and then lost them at a checkpoint. Initially, I didn’t like Kruger delaying the deal, but it’s probably not a bad idea. One week isn’t going to hurt anything.”

  “Do you think he still wants to make the deal?” asked Margaux.

  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” Zacharie assured her. “He knows we’ll want more, and I’m sure he wants the business.”

  “We’ve all had a nice afternoon, so I hate to bring this up,” said Jacques, “but I stopped by the office this morning and received a call from Rurik.”

  “What did
he want?” asked Zacharie, a surprised look on his face.

  “He wouldn’t talk about it over the telephone. All he said was he wanted to see me as soon as possible. Tomorrow, while you too are having lunch, Simone and I are going to take a drive out to his place and find out.”

  “I’m not looking forward to it, but I think it’s best if I go with him,” Simone added.

  “The only thing I can think of is the bomb we set off yesterday,” Jacques said thoughtfully. “Everything else should be fine.”

  “Be sure to let me know what happens,” Zacharie instructed. “Drop by here on your way home. I think from now on we all need to know what’s happening.”

  After Zacharie had poured himself and Jacques another drink, Margaux asked, “Do you think there are more?”

  “More what?” asked Jacques.

  “More Americans. I guess what I’m wondering is if Ferguson was acting alone or if he had help.”

  “Why are you wondering that?” asked Simone.

  “I don’t know. Maybe just being cautious, but follow me for a minute. If Phillips did work for this OSS, he was important enough to send Ferguson here to find out what happened to him. And if Phillips worked for the OSS, I imagine Ferguson does too. So who’s to say there isn’t another one out there somewhere in Calcutta right now.” She stopped to take a sip of her drink before continuing. “Think about it. It didn’t take long for Ferguson to get here. And if Phillips was that important, why would they not send more than one to investigate his death?”

  Conrad Kruger had spent the day north of Calcutta watching and following trucks that rolled out of the Ishapore Rifle Factory. At least for today the schedule had not changed. He had been out of the city, but driving around, he hadn’t observed any roadblocks or checkpoints.

  Tonight he again waited in the shadows across the street from Edwin Tillerman’s boarding house. He checked his watch, figured Tillerman’s landlady had just finished serving dinner, and was confident he hadn’t missed him. Kruger was correct. A few minutes later he saw Tillerman leaving the house and walking toward the bus stop.