“Oh, that thing,” Susan said, laughing. “She came over a few weeks ago asking if we had one she could borrow. We didn’t, of course. I don’t think anybody has one of those anymore. So she went online, and the nearest place you could buy one right away was at some specialty audio store down in Baltimore, fifty miles away. So off she went. She never did say why she needed it.”
But Henry and Anna had stopped listening to Susan. They were too preoccupied by the idea that Claire had suddenly needed a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
“The parcel, don’t you think?” Anna said. “It must be a tape.”
“And the timing’s perfect.”
“Let’s keep looking.”
They checked inside the box for the recorder. But there was no tape mounted on the spindles. Nor did they find any tapes—or any nine-by-thirteen padded envelope—down in the basement, or up in the attic, or anywhere else. Like Helen Shoat, Claire Saylor must have kept her correspondence with the Sisterhood in a safer and more sacred space.
They were about to give up when Henry said to Susan Turner, “You mentioned that you had a spare key. Did she have one for your house?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know where she keeps it?”
“Sure. She showed us.”
They followed Susan into the kitchen. She rummaged through a wicker basket where keys and other odds and ends were piled together, and quickly located a key with a red ribbon attached.
“Right here.”
Henry pulled the basket across the counter and poked around. Seconds later he plucked out a small, numbered key that looked exactly like the one for Helen Shoat’s UPS letter box.
“Look familiar?” he said.
Anna smiled.
“Henry and I have an errand to run. But we may need to get back in a little later to use that new tape recorder. Would it be all right if we borrowed your key to the house?”
Skip looked hesitant, but a smile from Susan did the trick.
“Just drop it off in our mailbox when you’re done. But only if you promise to tell us later what you found.”
“Deal.”
They looked up the nearest UPS Store, which was only a few miles away. The mailbox was the same size as Helen’s. The key fit. The only item inside was a nine-by-thirteen padded envelope that had been shipped from Stevensville, Maryland, about two weeks earlier. The parcel. Claire had either stashed her Sisterhood letters somewhere else or had taken them with her, in which case they might be gone for good.
Inside the envelope were two documents, one of them folded and rubber-banded to an old cassette tape, plus two smaller padded envelopes, both labeled “Alt-Moabit Safe House,” and both marked with the same date from October 1979. “Afternoon” was written on one, and “Night” on the other.
“My mother’s handwriting,” Anna said. She opened them. Each held a reel of audiotape. They ran to the car.
“What are the documents?” Henry said, as they made their way back to Claire’s house.
“The one that was clipped to the cassette looks like a transcript from an interview, probably from the cassette. It’s dated about ten days after those others, from October of ’79. Good God!”
“What?”
“The transcript says the interview was recorded in Paris. And my mother did the interview. With somebody named Marina. No last name.”
“A cryptonym, maybe? The right people would probably know exactly who she was. What were they talking about?”
“Robert, it looks like. Kevin Gilley. From something that had happened earlier that year.”
“An assassination?”
“No.” Anna’s voice trailed off. She had turned to the second page and was scanning the words as fast as she could. “Looks like it’s about something that happened to Marina personally.”
“Something Gilley did?”
“Yes, she…This is terrible.”
“What?”
“He raped her. In a safe house in Marseille. She says it here. Oh, God, and it’s very graphic. He fucking raped her! One of his own agents, and in a CIA safe house.”
“That would explain why he’d go looking for your mom. Killing people with Agency sanction? They’ll cover for you on that until your dying breath. But raping your own agents as a personal sidelight?” Henry shook his head. “This stuff must be the ammunition they were talking about—Claire, Audra, and your mom. They were just waiting for the right moment to use it.”
Anna’s eyes got wide, and she turned to look out the back window of the car.
“Anything interesting back there?” Henry asked.
“No. But I’m not sure I’d know the difference. We need to find someplace safe for all this stuff.”
“We need to find someplace safe for us, don’t you think? And what should we do about the Turners, not to mention the cops? If all of them start yakking, then everybody will know exactly what we’re up to.”
“And we’ll be as dead as my mom and dad.”
They drove on in silence a few seconds longer.
“You know,” Anna said, “when we were sitting around Claire’s house with the Turners, all of this felt like a big treasure hunt, or a manhunt, my chance to even the score. I’ll bet my mom and Claire felt that way, too. They probably took a lot more precautions than us, and look at what it got them. Audra, too, for all we know.”
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
“What’s the other document?” Henry asked.
She shuffled through the papers, trying to refocus.
“It’s a field report from Claire, from March of ’79. She seems to have walked in on a rape. Gilley and some agent at another safe house, this one in Paris.”
“So he was a serial offender.”
“And from the looks of it, no one ever did a thing about it.”
They were in a somber mood as they pulled up in front of Claire’s. Henry drove around the corner to park out of sight like the cops had done. They doubled back on foot, and crossed through the Turners’ backyard.
“Don’t open any blinds or curtains,” he said. “We’ll play the tape in the basement.”
They set up the recorder on top of the washing machine. It was a little spooky down there, with deep shadows and a few cobwebs, plus a damp, earthy smell. The only light was the glow of an overhead 60-watt bulb with a chain pull.
They decided to proceed chronologically. Anna took the reel marked “afternoon” and set it on the spindle. She threaded the tape through the channels and onto the uptake reel, which, in her nervousness, led to some fumbling and swearing. Finally, everything was ready to roll.
Anna drew a deep breath.
“Here we go.”
She pressed the button for play.
54
Paris, 1979
The man in black pressed his knees to Helen’s sternum, and he again showed the blade of the knife.
“Let’s have a better answer this time. Tell me where you went this afternoon, after you ran from us.”
“To the Parc de Belleville.”
He lowered the blade to her cheek, placing the point near the base of her nose.
“That is a large place, Helen. Many acres. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“A bench.” He pressed the point harder.
“Speak up! I told you, whispering is insufficient!”
“I said a bench, near the vista point at the upper end along the Rue de…” She couldn’t remember the name of the street. What was the name of the goddamn street!
“The Rue Piat?”
“Yes.” She exhaled with relief, and immediately felt worthless for doing so. At this rate, she wouldn’t last ten minutes.
“Much better, Helen. And the name of this contact?”
“It was a cuto
ut. I don’t know her name. An old woman.”
“Describe her.”
“Old. I don’t know. Heavy. I made it a point not to look at her directly, and I didn’t care once she told me what she came there to say.”
“Describe her!” He pressed his knees again, and moved the blade within inches of her eyes. “Tell me what you observed or you will observe nothing, ever again.”
“Gray hair, wrinkles. I told you, she was old and heavy. Her coat smelled like mothballs.”
“Good. Like mothballs.”
He shifted slightly to relieve the pressure on her chest and leaned away again. He then frowned and glanced to his left, as if something had just distracted him.
That’s when the wooden shutters of the French doors crashed open in a hail of splinters. He looked over in alarm as someone vaulted toward the bed from the terrace. He tried to react, but his awkward posture rendered him momentarily helpless as the intruder knocked him off of Helen and onto the floor.
It was Claire.
“He has a knife!” Helen shouted.
He scrambled to his feet, but by then Claire was nearly on top of him, and in quick succession she rammed a knee to his groin, kicked a shin, and grabbed his right arm. In an instant she had knocked the knife out of his hand and had put him on the floor.
But he was not so easily defeated.
He quickly sprang onto the balls of his feet and deftly struck Claire with a kick that knocked her off balance. A second kick put her on the floor, while Helen watched helplessly from the bed. The tide turned in a series of thuds and grunts, and he pounced forward, climbing atop Claire to achieve the same position he had earlier taken on Helen, with his knees pressed to her chest.
They were too close to the bed for Helen to see Claire any longer, and for a few seconds the man also disappeared from sight as he bent lower in their struggle. Helen heard only grunts and gasps and then, incongruously, a crinkly rustle of plastic, followed by a resounding, thudding crack, like that of bludgeon against bone, or sledgehammer to skull. The man’s torso reeled slowly backward, like a falling timber. Helen saw his eyes roll back in his head, and then he collapsed.
Claire grunted as she extricated herself from the tangle of his limbs and struggled to her feet, victorious. In her right hand she held the hideous snow globe, its base now chipped at the edge.
“The perfect souvenir,” she said.
She bound the man’s wrists behind his back with a pair of plastic handcuffs that she seemed to produce from nowhere. Then she bound his ankles. She walked toward the door, returned with his knife, and cut the bindings from Helen’s hands and ankles.
“There’s at least one more,” Helen warned. “He might even be on his way upstairs if he saw you go through the window.”
“Not to worry. Someone else has already taken care of him, and also the one in the van. While you were out seeing Marina I was able to recruit an ally.”
“Who?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Take a deep breath. You’re safe now.”
Helen tried to stand, then faltered as she realized she was shaking.
“Sweet Jesus,” Helen said, “am I ever glad to see you!”
Claire gave her a bear hug, and tears sprang to her eyes, which Helen blinked back. Claire touched a congealing trail of blood on Helen’s neck, and inspected her closely for further damage.
“We’re putting you on a seven o’clock train back to Berlin.”
“But if more of Gilley’s people are—?”
“They won’t be a problem now, not after he hears from those two friends of this fellow. I’m also making a phone call. We’ll keep moving for a few hours while the dust settles.”
There was a groan from the floor.
“Good,” Claire said. “I was hoping he’d come around.”
Helen sat up to watch. When the man tried to raise himself, Claire placed her right foot on his chest and pinned him like a butterfly. She crouched low enough to speak into his ear.
“Your friends out front are gone. They’re taking a message to Robert, and you’re going to do the same thing. Are you listening?”
He nodded slowly.
“Good. Because you need to remember all of this. Tell Robert that he is never to fuck with us again. None of us, not if he ever hopes to walk free anywhere again on this planet. Operationally or otherwise. Do you have that?”
“Yes,” he rasped, barely audible
“Louder!” She pressed her heel deeper into his chest.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’ll tell him. Tell him not to fuck with you.”
“Any of us. And there are three of us, and he damn well knows it. Plus Marina, which makes four.”
“Three of you, plus Marina. Okay.”
She removed her foot.
“C’mon,” she said to Helen. “Grab that report off the table. We’ll wash that cut and get you packed. I’ll gag him and put out the ‘Do Not Disturb.’ We’ll leave him for the maid.”
Helen laughed, a release from deep inside that lasted for only an instant.
“Okay,” Claire said, nodding to signal she was ready. “Let’s finish this.”
55
At the Gare de l’Est, Helen bought a ticket to Berlin via Mannheim. They had thirty minutes until departure They ordered a pair of double whiskies at the station café while everyone else sipped coffee. The waiter didn’t bat an eye.
Helen felt stretched as tightly as a rubber band on the verge of snapping, but the first swallow of whiskey helped. The second, more so.
“What will happen to Marina?” she asked. “I didn’t have time to tell them much, thank God. But I would have. I was about to. That damn knife.”
“Stop. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Where were you all that time? How did you even know?”
“I didn’t. It was a hunch.”
She told Helen about her earlier trip to the room, when she’d discovered the tracking beacon.
“I grabbed the copy of Paris Match on my way to warn you off. Later I saw that you’d removed the report, and figured you must have hidden it in the room. When I remembered how you gave them the slip in Berlin, I thought you might try the same thing in reverse here.”
“Good God. We even think alike.”
“Here’s to that.” They clanked their glasses.
“I dressed up like an old charwoman, broke into a vacant room next door, and sat tight. Once the fun started, I waited for the van to be taken care of out front. Then I climbed over to your terrace and body-slammed the shutters. Here’s to shabby French construction.”
They tapped glasses again. An educated guess, a single act of daring. Without either of them, she’d be dead.
“As for Marina, she’s getting a fresh set of documents and a passage to somewhere safe. My understanding is that she was pretty much fried.”
“That’s how she seemed to me. A refugee with a price on her head.” She paused, sipped. “What about you? Won’t this end badly for you, once everyone finds out what happened?”
Claire smiled.
“That call I made an hour ago? It was to my COS, to let him know I’d bagged the wayward clerk from Berlin. He’s bursting with pride. If anything he’ll probably advance me a pay grade, and now that word is out that you’re back in Agency hands, Gilley has no choice but to back off. All the same, it’s probably best if you show up at Berlin station unannounced.”
“The goon with the knife, do you think he’ll really deliver the message to Robert?”
“Damn right he will.”
“But did we really need to send it? I mean, I guess I’m thinking that as long as I make it back to Berlin with the goods, Robert will soon be out of business. Right?”
“Oh, Helen.” Claire frowned
with concern.
“What?”
“I hope we’re not expecting too much from all this.”
“Why shouldn’t we? We’ve built a foolproof case against him.”
“Yes, it’s great work, all of it. Something the three of us can always be proud of. But these reports, these tapes and eyewitness accounts, well…”
“Well what?”
“I’ve done some thinking about the realities here—with a man like Gilley involved, and what he does for a living.”
“What do you mean? Who have you been talking to?”
“Look. Of course we’ll try to bring him down. Maybe we’ll succeed. But our only chance to do that is if you can first work a deal for yourself, and these materials will help you. They’re your ticket back to freedom, so use them that way.”
“Well, sure. But once they’ve seen everything…”
“You don’t get it, do you? Our evidence is the very reason they’ll be willing to give you a pass, by making you agree to hand everything over and keep your mouth shut. My guess is that they’ll get lawyers involved, for him as well as for you. You’ll want that. The first thing you should ask for, in fact, is a lawyer. You’ll probably have to sign something fairly disagreeable. But don’t give it up for nothing. Make them pay, one way or another.”
“I don’t want them to pay, I want him to pay.” Claire’s expression told her exactly what the chances were for that. “Oh, Claire, I fucked this up for all of us, didn’t I? For Marina, too, and for Anneliese. If I hadn’t just taken off like that…”
“No. You didn’t. We put together what we wanted to put together, and now more people than ever will know. One way or another, word of this will creep into more corners than it ever would have otherwise. Okay, so maybe it won’t take him down. Given what he does for the Agency, maybe nothing could take him down. But they’ll watch him closer. They’ll tighten his leash.”
“How can you know that?”
“I can’t. But it makes operational sense. He’d be jeopardizing everything if he doesn’t clean up his act. They’ll know that now, and so will he.”
Safe Houses Page 37
