Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  “I know you don’t always know how we operate,” Klein began—Herr Colonel bristled at the insult—“but I would say that Monroe and the other American are spies. Something was passed between them and it’s in that book.” He paused. “Would you like to have me to look around, find out what happened to Bauer? And locate Monroe?”

  Herr Colonel thought about it. He didn’t like not knowing where Monroe was. He didn’t relish delivering the news to his commanding officer that an agent was missing. He needed to know.

  “Yes. See what you can find and report back to me.”

  “Yes, Herr Colonel.” Klein hung up.

  Herr Colonel put the phone back on its cradle. He scanned his notes. Liverpool station down. Otto dead. Becker a British agent undercover. Buckley arrested. No word from Bauer. No known location of Monroe. Klein still active. Soon, he knew Klein would have answers for him.

  “Turn off the light if you’re done,” Wilma mumbled from under the pillow.

  “Apologies, my dear.” Herr Colonel complied. He slid back into bed next to his wife. He pulled the sheet up to cover them both. He stared at the ceiling and the shadows of the window panes. Sleep did not come soon.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lillian Saxton awoke to the sight of headlights coming straight for her.

  She screamed. The lorry’s driver blared his horn.

  Henry Clark started. He noted the situation and swerved. The automobile caromed off the paved road and into the adjoining field. He brought the car to a halt. Dust motes swirled in the headlight’s glare.

  “What the hell were you doing?” Lillian yelled. Henry stammered a response but Lillian cut him off. “You were sleeping.” She pointed back at the lorry which had stopped. The driver was hustling over to them. “We can’t complete this mission if you keep slacking off.”

  Henry held up a finger. “I wasn’t slacking off.”

  “You fell asleep while driving!” She shoved him. “Get out. I’m driving.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  The lorry driver arrived. His scruffy face and jowly cheeks made him look like a bulldog. “Everything okay here?”

  “No.” Lillian reached over and snagged the keys from the ignition. “My friend here just fell asleep at the wheel. Can you help me trade places?”

  “Sure thing.” The lorry driver opened the driver’s door. “C’mon, mate. Let the lady drive.”

  In the semi-darkness, Henry glared at her.

  Lillian met his gaze evenly. “Get out.”

  Henry shook off the lorry driver’s attempts to help him. He stormed around the rear of the car.

  Lillian got out and walked around the front. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “Are you okay to drive, miss?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “As rain, miss. Thanks for asking.”

  “Good. My apologies for my traveling companion. Maybe he needs some remedial driving courses.” She and the lorry driver chuckled. They shook hands and Lillian climbed behind the wheel. She glanced at Henry.

  He glared at her.

  Lillian ignored him. She started the engine and familiarized herself with the controls. “If we’re going to meet your dad, don’t you think it would be better in this car than in a morgue?”

  Henry grunted.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I bet you don’t even know how to handle a car like this,” Henry challenged.

  Lillian placed her hands on her chin and imitated a damsel in distress from a Hollywood movie. “Oh my, this is a car and I’m just a lady. How could I ever hope to drive this thing?” She arched an eyebrow and threw the car into gear. Dirt flew up behind them as she guided the Armstrong Siddeley back onto the road.

  Henry grunted again, this time, not as deep. He made to sleep.

  “No way, mister.” She elbowed his side. “You have to stay awake and make sure I stay awake.” She indicated the alarm clock on the floorboard. “That never went off. If we’re going to do this mission, we at least need to help each other. Right now, let’s chat.”

  “About what?”

  “Anything you’d like. Tell me about your undercover work. How long were you with them?”

  Henry settled into the seat and began talking. He had volunteered for the undercover mission because he spoke fluent German. When he said that, Lillian, who also spoke German, tested him. After a few minutes, she had to admit he was good.

  But so was she.

  Henry had infiltrated the spy ring eleven months ago, just before the Nazis invaded Poland. Ever since then, he had been relaying information back to the home office via coded messages at the local grocery store. It was the one place Henry could convincingly go alone. None of the other members of the spy ring liked the drudgery of buying food and cooking. Henry became that man.

  “You cook?” Lillian put a false mocking tone in her voice.

  “Yeah. You’re a spy?” He mimicked her tone.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “How many other lady spies in your government?”

  “Not sure. We like to keep secrets. I know a few. None like me.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Detached in Britain. Near the front lines. Most of the other women I know are not part of the Army. They’re all attached to the State Department. That makes me unique.”

  Henry continued his story. Every three days, he would stock up on food items. When Otto had asked why he didn’t just buy more food, Henry had told him about spoilage and reminded the German that he, Henry, was the cook. In the grocery store, Henry always bought fresh bread. While standing in line, waiting, he would surreptitiously pass a report to another patron. Always one of two men so any onlookers wouldn’t get suspicious. In exchange, Henry’s contact would deliver new instructions from the home office. That was how Henry came to know about Frank Monroe. “He was your friend?”

  Lillian loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Yes. He and I attended Oxford together.”

  “You came over here for school?”

  “I did. It was as far away from California as I could get.”

  “Bad memories there?” Henry asked.

  “You could say that. Anyway, he and I were part of a tight group of friends. The man we’re going to meet, James Geiger, was also a member of the group. James and I were an item.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Henry cut in. “The man we’re meeting is an old flame?”

  Lillian nodded.

  “That puts a whole new spin on things. Why’d he ask you to come?”

  Lillian shrugged.

  “Gonna get back together with him?”

  “Not at all. He’s married.”

  “That doesn’t always mean anything.”

  “It does with me.” She put a lot of emphasis on her words. “I don’t know why he asked for me,” she lied. In her mind, she re-read the second coded message from James: “I know who killed Samuel.” She remained mum on that subject to Henry. All James was going to provide was a name. It would be up to her to do something about it.

  But now she had a second ulterior motive: she wanted to see if she could find out who ordered Frank killed. And her, for that matter. The man, Bauer, she had taken out in Liverpool was only following orders. There was a higher authority involved. And she damn well was going to find out who.

  And make him pay.

  Frank’s voice drifted into her mind. “Judge, jury, and executioner?”

  She shook her head to clear that voice.

  “So,” Henry said, “we’re going to see your old lover with his new wife?”

  “I don’t think she’ll be there. He didn’t say anything about her.”

  Henry barked out a laugh. “Of course not. Why would he tell his wife he was to meet an old girlfriend?”

  Lillian had no comment on that subject. She had never even thought James’s wife—what was her name?—would be there. All she expected from him was the delivery of the codebook and the name
. Then they’d part ways again, likely never to see each other again. If it hadn’t been for the second coded message, Lillian might not have even been going to Belgium.

  No, check that. She would. It was now a military mission. She was in the Army. She followed orders, no matter her personal feelings. Except this time, orders and personal feelings merged.

  They continued talking and chatting until they saw the dim line of dawn peek over the horizon. Just before they reached the outskirts of London, they switched positions. This allowed Lillian to get a sense of the great city she had never seen. Henry steered them around the capital, regaling her with interesting tidbits about the landmarks and his upbringing.

  Soon, London faded into the distance and the gentle green countryside of southwest England emerged. By the brightness of early morning, they arrived in the coast city of Dover. Henry skirted the coastline and drove north. The English Channel was a gorgeous blue that reflected the sun’s rays. Before Lillian knew it, Henry slowed the car and pulled into a small neighborhood. The houses were old but well maintained. He came to the end of one street and pulled up in front of the last house. He killed the engine.

  “This is it.” He opened the door and got out.

  Lillian gazed at the little bungalow. Flowers in the beds were in full bloom. The yard was neatly maintained. Even the house itself appeared to have a new coat of paint. She got out.

  An older man emerged from the side of the house. He carried a bag full of garden tools. He wore brown work pants and a work shirt dirty with soil.

  The old man took one look at Henry and dropped his bag of tools. “As I live and breathe.”

  Henry walked to the old man. Lillian heard the word “Pop” emerge from Henry’s mouth before the two embraced.

  ***

  By noon, Herr Colonel was in a foul mood. He noticed his underlings going out of their way to avoid him. He didn’t care. He had had precious little sleep the night before and, despite the romantic detour, still felt restless.

  He waited all morning for any news from England. The lead agent in England, a man named Erwin stationed in London, had scoured all the available newspapers and listened to all broadcasts. Finally, just as he was leaving for lunch, Herr Colonel received a special message. According to news reports, an American had died of food poisoning at the Adelphi Hotel. The name was withheld pending a formal inquiry. Local police were also investigating the beating death of another man outside the hotel.

  Herr Colonel read the message in disbelief. He didn’t dare jump to the conclusion that this American was Monroe. He had no data to go on. But something in his gut told him it was true. Bauer had been assigned to intercept Monroe and get the book by any means. Would he have been so brazen as to poison a foreign national in the middle of a restaurant?

  The food Herr Colonel ate for lunch was tasteless and uninspiring. He consumed it only because his body needed nourishment. He ate at his desk, reading report after report but not the one he truly wanted. He barked at all his subordinates who disturbed him if they didn’t bring what he wanted. He longed to find the notes so he could figure out what to do next.

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that the message he wanted finally arrived. Wilhelm delivered it. He wore a grin on his face. “I think this is what you’ve been waiting on, Herr Colonel.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He snatched the printed paper out of Wilhelm’s hand and read.

  “Monroe dead by Bauer. Bauer dead by Monroe’s friend. Monroe’s friend gone. Murder of Ludlow discovered. Assume Monroe’s friend is same woman I saw leaving with Clark. Orders?”

  Herr Colonel re-read the communique three times. The implications startled him. Frank Monroe was dead, but the book was unrecovered. It was clear that this woman with whom he traveled was part of this. Last month, Monroe and Geiger met in Belgium. Monroe went to America then returned to Europe, this time with a woman. The obvious conclusion was that Monroe and Geiger were going to meet again, perhaps in Belgium.

  And yet Monroe and this mystery woman were intercepted by Bauer in Liverpool. Monroe was killed but the woman took out Bauer before he could deliver a report to Berlin. Now, Monroe’s friend was traveling with Henry Clark, a known British intelligence agent, presumably to complete the meeting with Geiger.

  Why?

  Herr Colonel stood. “Get me a meeting with General Siegfried. I need to alert him of a new development.”

  Wilhelm saluted and scurried to comply.

  Herr Colonel pulled a cigarette out of his desk case and lit it. With what he knew about James Geiger, Herr Colonel couldn’t be positive the American was delivering secrets to their enemies, but the likelihood was there. Frank Monroe was called in to help. Now Monroe was dead, but his friend—a woman no less—was carrying on the mission.

  He buzzed the intercom. “Come.” An adjutant entered the office.

  “Yes, Herr Colonel?”

  “I need everything we have on an American, James Geiger. He’s living in Berlin and working for der Führer. On the jump!”

  The adjutant saluted and left.

  The wheels were turning, Herr Colonel thought.

  He only wished he knew who was driving.

  CHAPTER 23

  One of the talents Lillian Saxton had learned in her stint in the Army involved the ability to sleep anywhere. Anywhere, on this day, turned out to be a small guest room in the house of Henry’s father, Simon. He and his late wife, Mary, were part of big families. Cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents all came to visit this home by the sea. Simon had built the add-on to accommodate the constant flow of people. Lillian was just the latest to arrive.

  When Henry had introduced Lillian to Simon, the older man smiled warmly. Simon’s hand was dry and leathery, but he held hers delicately, as if she might break. He gave his son a questioning look, to which Henry shook his head. “She’s a work colleague.”

  “A woman?”

  “An American woman, Pop.” Henry added emphasis to the word American.

  Simon then gave Lillian new appreciation. “Love Americans. They saved us in the last war. You’ll probably have to do it again.”

  They had gone inside and eaten a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and bread. The coffee was hot and stout. The kitchen was small and still possessed the womanly touches with which Mary had adorned her domain. The three talked about the war, when the Nazis might make their next move, and London’s response. Simon didn’t think Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain was going to do anything worthwhile.

  “There’s another up there, named Churchill. He’d be a good one.” Simon’s accent sounded distinctly English to Lillian’s ears.

  “But he’s not the PM, Pop.”

  “He should be. The speeches he’s given make me think he sees the world as it is, not how folks want it to be.”

  The conversation grew quiet. Henry circled a finger around his coffee cup, gazing down at it. “Pop, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come down when Mom died.” His voice was small, apologetic, and childlike.

  Simon’s lower lip quivered. He inhaled deeply and put on the best smile he could. “That’s okay, son. I know you were working for the king. That kind of service always gets in the way of personal lives.”

  “My condolences, as well,” Lillian said.

  Simon reached over and patted her arm. “Thank you, miss.” He looked up at a photograph of him and his wife on their wedding day. “My Mary was a remarkable woman. Cancer took her too soon from me. The last war took one of my nephews. Do you know I pray every day that my boy only goes to sleep at night, that he doesn’t sleep with the Lord? I’m not sure what I’d do if I lost you, son.”

  The two men, stoic up until that moment, wept together. Lillian, as quiet as possible, eased out of her chair and walked outside. She made her way down the street. Her thoughts traveled back to California. It was true her parents loved her, but they never understood her. They didn’t understand why she wanted to go to college, get away from their homely life,
and do something grand. They especially didn’t understand when Lillian moved out of their home and started living at the estate of Kenji Tanaka. The day that happened was an ugly day for the Saxton family. Her father, Todd, showed his true colors by making racist slurs against Tanaka. Lillian, young and impetuous, still recovering from the double broken heart delivered by Frank and James in Paris, lashed out verbally.

  It was the kind of phrase that resonated long past its utterance and hearing. She had seen her parents sporadically since then, and the after effects of that day still dominated the silences between them.

  Henry Clark, on the other hand, seemed to come from a happy family. Well, sad without Mary, but a family that loved each other and wasn’t afraid to show it. What a way to grow up.

  She reached a small rise. The view over the hill was breathtaking. The famous cliffs of Dover down to the south gleamed in the morning sunlight. Boats and people worked the waters and the ports down below. The grass in the nearby fields was as green as she’d ever seen. It was a beautiful sight. She breathed deeply the lush fragrance of peace.

  Henry ambled up to stand beside her. “Sorry for all that crying back there.” He sniffed and tried to pass it off as allergies.

  “It’s perfectly fine. You grew up here?”

  “All my life until I left for the service.”

  “It’s magnificent.”

  He shook his head as he took it all in. “I don’t get down here much, and not at all since the last assignment. But I love it here. Reminds me of why I do what I do. To protect this, these people, this land, this way of life. Hitler’s version of life is a prison. You seem to know it. Wonder why it’s taking your country so long to see it.”

  Lillian blew out a long gust of air. “Hell if I know. Well, no, I do know. We’re safe with both oceans surrounding us. Germany’s certainly not going to mount an invasion of New York and Japan’s so far away, they’d never invade L.A. Mexico’s on our side, or, at least, not with the Nazis. It’s a tranquil paradise.”