Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  “It hasn’t arrived yet, Herr Colonel.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Yes, sir. I am actively trying to locate the radio man in Liverpool and determine why the report is late.”

  “Why haven’t you already done so? That’s the kind of thing that demands a special note and not just a blank entry.” Herr Colonel leaned on his desk. “There are others who would kill to take your spot on my team. Would you like to fight one of them?”

  “No, Herr Colonel,” Wilhelm stammered.

  “In our business, the absence of a report is often a signal that something is wrong,” Herr Colonel snapped. “Was there anything of note from yesterday’s report from Liverpool?” He asked the question to cover the fact that he had not yet read the communiques from England, so preoccupied was he about the invasion.

  Wilhelm stepped closer to the desk. “It’s in my summary, Herr Colonel.”

  “I’m asking you to tell me yourself!”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel. Our activities in Liverpool are going along normally based on last report, which was yesterday. If something happened last night, we don’t know about it yet. The only thing our assets in Liverpool were expecting was the arrival of the Queen Mary. It was due last night. Yesterday’s report indicated it had arrived on time. On board, there was an American our agents followed in Washington. He and his traveling companion arrived just as the report was sent yesterday.”

  “And there is no news since then?”

  “No, Herr Colonel.”

  “Who was this American?”

  “I’m not sure. He wasn’t yet in my jurisdiction.”

  Herr Colonel jabbed a finger at Wilhelm. “Find out and report to me as soon as possible.” When Wilhelm didn’t move in a split second, Herr Colonel snapped his fingers.

  The younger officer saluted and exited the room.

  Sighing, Herr Colonel drained the rest of the cognac. He lit another cigarette and picked up the telephone. In a matter of moments, his wife answered.

  “Good evening, my dear.” Herr Colonel’s voice took on a new timbre, one that his underlings would never have guessed he possessed. He poured another glass of cognac. “I’m afraid I won’t be home for supper right away.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Lillian stepped into the room. She performed a quick once-over. No, Ludlow did not seem to be in distress. Yes, the man she fought was not manacled. No, there were no other guards in the room. Her brows furrowed, trying to determine what was going on.

  “What the hell is he doing?”

  Ludlow gestured to an empty spot at the table. “Please, Sergeant, sit down. I’ll get you a plate and you can join us.” He stood and held his chair out for her. “There you go, dear.”

  Dumbly, Lillian moved to the chair and sat, all the while staring at the other man. For his part, he had stopped eating and bore his eyes into hers. Anger flashed behind them.

  Noticing the man’s anger, Ludlow said, “On second thought, I’d better stay and explain.”

  “That would be a good idea,” the other man snarled. “Otherwise, I might have to take out my frustration on her!”

  Getting fire in her backbone, Lillian leaned on the table. “You can try. You won’t win.”

  Ludlow stepped to the table and placed his hands on the shoulder of both people at the table. “Calm down. There’s no reason for any of this.”

  Lillian jammed a finger at the man’s direction. “His people killed my friend.”

  The man retorted, “She screwed up months of undercover work with her reckless invasion of the antique shop.”

  His words processed in Lillian’s mind quickly. She cocked her head and glanced up at Ludlow. “Undercover?”

  Ludlow nodded.

  “He works for you?”

  Another nod. “Us. British intelligence.”

  “You were gathering intelligence?” This she directed at Henry.

  “Key word there: ‘were.’ Until you had to stick your nose in there.”

  “What about you?” Lillian asked Ludlow. “If this was your operation, didn’t you know he was in there? Why the hell did we even stage all that?”

  Ludlow held up a finger to halt any further conversation. He stuck his head out the door and yelled down the hall. A disgruntled police officer answered his call. Ludlow asked that the officer bring another plate of food, water, and tea. The officer shuffled away, clearly upset to be playing waiter in his own police station. Ludlow, satisfied, sat back at the table.

  “Now, Sergeant, please understand that, while I work for British intelligence, I’m not privy to every operation in existence. I was unaware of Henry’s involvement until I began to question him here at the station.”

  Ludlow took out his pipe and worked tobacco into the bowl as he continued to speak. “Be that as it may, there are always eyes watching everyone and everywhere. It’s true: Buckley’s Antique Shop was a front for a local Nazi spy ring. You’ll be glad to know the man you shot and killed really was a German.”

  That didn’t bring any happiness to Lillian. She had a job to do here in Britain: get to Belgium, get the codebook, and get back. If she could do that without any loss of life, that would be just fine with her. She knew, understood, and accepted that part of her job involved violence and bloodshed. She didn’t particularly enjoy it, but she was good at it. She comforted herself with the belief that deaths by her hand and others of her team prevented even more deaths later on. This philosophy won her harsh stares and derision from her fellow American soldiers—mostly men—so she held back speaking that at the present time. She needed to know how these two felt about their jobs.

  Instead, she merely nodded.

  “The shop owner is a British citizen. He has some rather unfortunate beliefs about our government and that of Germany. He’d be perfectly fine with Hitler’s setting up shop at Ten Downing Street. He thinks the country would be better off with a little national discipline and order. Obviously he knew about the secret room. Turns out he actively sought a role like that among like-minded British citizens. He got his wish. Now, he’ll get a cell.”

  “Or a firing squad,” Henry mumbled. At a glance by Ludlow, he said, “It’s what traitors like him deserve.”

  “Maybe.” Ludlow puffed on his pipe. “But we have the luxury of holding off on that for the time being. Perhaps he’ll talk, and that’s far more valuable than a corpse.”

  “Give me a go at him,” Henry said. “I can still play my part, get him to talk.”

  “Maybe,” Ludlow conceded through a plume of pungent pipe smoke, “but we have a more pressing issue.”

  “What?” Henry said.

  “Miss Saxton’s mission.”

  Henry stared at Ludlow, then at Lillian. “What’s so bloody important that she takes priority?”

  Until that very moment, Lillian hadn’t realized the predicament she was in. She gasped at the realization.

  “It’s Frank.”

  “Who?” Henry blurted.

  “My friend who’s dead,” Lillian snapped at him. She turned to Ludlow. “James is expecting the both of us in Belgium. Now, without Frank, the mission is in jeopardy.”

  “Not any more,” Ludlow said, grinning teeth showing around the pipe stem in his mouth.

  “What do you mean?” Lillian said.

  With a flourish that would make a used car salesman proud, Ludlow said, “Lillian Saxton, meet Henry Clark. He’s your new partner.”

  ***

  Herr Colonel gnawed on a link of dried beef he kept in his office for times such as this: working late and unable to get home to his wife’s wonderful meal. It infuriated him when this happened. He knew his wife was a steadying influence on him and he cherished it. Herr Colonel sighed. Considering how long it was taking Wilhelm to locate the information and return, Herr Colonel could have just gone home and enjoyed the meal.

  Herr Colonel rubbed his eyes. His reading glasses rose and fell with the movements. Reading. All he did was read reports
and offer suggestions to his commanding officer and others. That was what the German army generals considered best for Herr Colonel. With a civilian job as a university professor of history, Herr Colonel was used to dealing with higher-ups not as smart as he was. Politics and inter-office squabbles always got in the way of the important things: research and teaching.

  The students weren’t much better than the other professors in the university. So focused were the young people that they often regurgitated the answers they knew Herr Colonel wanted to hear rather than actually thinking for themselves. That kind of lock-step thinking manifested itself in the German Army and his current position. Herr Colonel’s junior officers and staff modified their behavior and thinking to accommodate him. He didn’t want that. He wanted them to think on their feet. He expected someone like Wilhelm, two decades younger than Herr Colonel’s fifty years, to notice the report from Liverpool was missing and find out ahead of time, not just leave a blank on a daily report.

  It’s what Herr Colonel would have done.

  He heard shuffling footsteps hurrying to his door, then three short knocks.

  “Come in.”

  Wilhelm entered the office. He forgot to wipe off the beads of sweat on his forehead. They ringed his face and looked like a beauty pageant crown. The younger man passed some papers to Herr Colonel, who ignored them.

  “Report.” Herr Colonel took a cigarette out of the gunmetal case on his desk and lit it.

  Wilhelm cleared his throat. His eyes darted to the papers on the desk.

  “Please tell me you don’t need to read the report to me.” Herr Colonel kept his voice even instead of blasting Wilhelm with it. His wife would be proud of him.

  “No, Herr Colonel. I cross-referenced our latest reports from America and Liverpool. We’ve been keeping an eye on him since he landed in Belgium a few weeks ago.”

  “What did he do in Belgium?”

  “Apparently, on a business trip, he met with another American who now lives in Berlin and is married to a German woman.”

  Herr Colonel grew thoughtful as he smoked his cigarette. He knew some Americans who had chosen das Vaterland over their ancestral home, but not many. There were famous ones who thought what Germany was doing was not wrong, namely Charles Lindbergh. If he kept talking the way he was, Germany might not have to face off against the United States. Despite what der Führer and his high command thought of their prospects against America, Herr Colonel would rather not put the confrontation to a test.

  “What did these two Americans do?”

  “Have supper.”

  Herr Colonel’s eyebrows rose. “Supper?”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel. From what I have gathered, they met in Amsterdam, spent the night, and departed.”

  “Why?”

  “Sir?”

  “Why did they meet?”

  “Apparently, they are old friends.”

  Herr Colonel waved his hand. “I understand. Who ordered that the American from Berlin be followed?”

  “General Siegfried.”

  Herr Colonel grunted. General Hans Siegfried was two rungs above him in the chain of command. He had a temperament that made Herr Colonel seem downright pleasant. “Any idea why Siegfried wants the American in Berlin followed?”

  Wilhelm shrugged. “Not sure. He’s mentioned he doesn’t trust any foreigners, even ones who are actively helping our cause.”

  Herr Colonel had heard sentiments such as that through his time in the military. He didn’t always agree with that opinion, but understood why the thought persisted. “What’s he do?”

  “He helps out with our codes.”

  Herr Colonel pulled the paper report to him and glanced at it. He frowned. “Is this report from Liverpool accurate?”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel. Frank Monroe is the American we’ve been following. He’s a banker. Travels to multiple countries.”

  “Who is the man we’re following who lives in Berlin?”

  “His name is James Geiger.”

  Herr Colonel set the report on his desk. He picked up the receiver again to call his wife. To Wilhelm, he said, “Have the secretary make a pot of coffee. We’re in for a long night.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “Are you out of your mind?” Lillian Saxton blurted to Ludlow. “His people killed Frank.”

  “Hey, they weren’t my people,” Henry retorted. “I was undercover. It was my job.”

  “Well your job got my friend killed and basically has killed the mission.” To Ludlow, she said, “James is expecting me and Frank, not me and some other man. It can’t work.”

  “It can and it must. What’s the alternative?”

  Lillian thought about that. It was true that most of the mission had been compromised, but there was always a contingency plan. She wasn’t sure why James wanted both her and Frank, but that was out of the question now. Perhaps this could work.

  The other issue still existed, the one about her brother’s killer. Lillian had kept even Frank in the dark about that part of the message. She had never told Donnelly or Honeywell and she was certainly not going to tell Ludlow. Henry, on the other hand, would be a problem. How would she be able to get the information she needed without tipping him off?

  “Sergeant,” Ludlow said, “I hope your silence doesn’t mean you’re trying to wiggle your way out. The solution to our problem is simple. And, if I might remind you, your commanding officer basically lent you to us. For better or worse, that makes me your commanding officer.”

  Lillian bristled. “You don’t have to get ugly about it. I’m not wavering. I’m merely thinking through the situation. I’m not sure Pretty Boy here is my best option.”

  “‘Pretty boy?’” Henry said. “I could have bested you.”

  “You didn’t. And, believe me, you couldn’t.”

  Henry opened and closed his mouth. No words came out. He turned to Ludlow. “Sir, despite what this American thinks,”—he let clear derision drip from his words—“I don’t think accompanying her is the best option for me.” He put his fork down and slid the plate aside. “I’m in deep here in Liverpool. The Nazis and Nazi sympathizers here in England trust me. They think I’m one of them. It’s why I spoke German when the police arrested me. They don’t know what’s going on here, with all this nice food and a shower.” He leaned forward. “Sir, let me go back to them. I was this close”—he put his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart—“to learning the name of the person on the other end who is coordinating these subversive activities here in this country.”

  Ludlow puffed on his pipe in silence for a few moments, long enough that the silence became pregnant with possibility. “Henry, first let me say you’ve been a keen asset in our war against the Nazis and subversives. And even before that with all the business down in the Caribbean. Excellent work. Your record is spotless. But you’ve been under for too long. You’ve lost sight of the bigger picture.”

  He gestured to Lillian. “Take the sergeant here. Her friend, may he rest in peace, was a civilian. Granted, this James person in Belgium is expecting Mr. Monroe to arrive with Lillian, and while we don’t know why right now, it’s clear there’s a reason. Now, we are faced with filling his vacancy. And we can fill it with a man trained in combat and espionage. That way, the both of you, both trained, both looking for the cracks in the enemy’s armor, both looking in the shadows, are, frankly, a better option than we had before. No offense, Sergeant.”

  Lillian kept her mouth shut to avoid saying anything impertinent.

  Henry grabbed his fork and shoved another mouthful of food into his mouth.

  “So, it’s settled. Henry, you will accompany Sergeant Saxton to Brussels, retrieve that codebook, and return it to me or other members of British intelligence. Since you’ve been undercover for so long, I’m not too sure you need a cover. We’ll just let you go as yourself.” To Lillian, he said, “You have the tickets?”

  “They’re with Frank,” she mumbled. “They’re not in either name, just ba
sic tickets.”

  “What tickets?” Henry asked.

  “The ferry that crosses the Channel,” Lillian replied.

  Henry shook his head. “Look, my pop’s down in Dover. Let’s just get him to take us across.”

  Ludlow demurred. “No. This is an out-in-the-open operation. While the mission itself is clandestine, the fact that you and the sergeant are traveling to Belgium to see an old friend of hers is your best cover because it’s the truth.”

  Ludlow made to stand but Lillian cut in. “Who’s in charge?”

  “I’m sorry?” Ludlow said, sitting back down.

  “Who is in command?” Lillian persisted. “I think it should be me.”

  “Like hell it should,” Henry blurted. “This is a British operation. I should be in charge.”

  Lillian leaned forward toward Henry and tapped her chest. “But the message was to me. Not you or any British person. When it was Frank and I, it was an easy call: I was in charge because I was the military person. Now, with two of us, I need to know who’s in charge.”

  Ludlow blew air out of his mouth. His lips flapped in a rather comical way. No one laughed. “I see your point, Sergeant. How much field experience have you had?”

  “Enough. More than enough.”

  Henry shook his head.

  Ludlow looked at both of them. “Why don’t you both share command? Sergeant, you can be in charge of talking with your friend and getting the codebook. Henry, you can be in charge of operations, getting to and from Brussels. Does that satisfy you both?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  “Good.” Ludlow stood. “Sergeant, you will need a place to sleep tonight. I’m not sure the Adelphi will want you back, so we’ll find a place for you. Henry, you need to go home and pack. You’re both leaving in the morning.”

  “Sir,” Lillian said, standing next to Ludlow, “would it be possible to see Frank, pay my respects to him?”

  Ludlow nodded. “He’s already in the morgue. You can see him there.”

  “Sir,” Henry said, “since we’re in the business of granting personal requests”—he sneered at Lillian—“might I have some time to visit my father on the way to Belgium? My mum, well, she passed on while I was undercover and I’ve not been able to visit her grave.”