Ulterior Objectives: A Lillian Saxton Thriller

by Scott Dennis Parker

  “Ow,” she murmured.

  Henry sat up in the bed. “What is it?” he whispered.

  Despite being heavy with sleep, Lillian remembered the room was bugged. She snapped her fingers. In the next moment, Henry came to her side.

  The light flashed again.

  “It’s the cavalry.” Henry crept to the writing table and jotted a quick note. He returned to the window and stuck his hand out. The person holding the flashlight took it.

  Henry and Lillian waited. After a minute, the person on the roof stuck his hand over the top of the roof. Henry yanked the paper from him. Lillian crowded next to the window to read the message with the ambient light. At the top, she read Henry’s note: “Room bugged. What’s the plan?” At the bottom, in messier handwriting, was the response: “Still working. If necessary, deliver codebook and we’ll come back for you.”

  “Figures,” Henry murmured.

  He used the windowsill as a desk. “No codebook. Have to get asset and wife out of Belgium. He will tell all once in UK.” He stood on the sill and passed the message back to the agent on the roof. They heard him swear under his breath. A minute later, his hand reemerged and passed the paper back to Henry, who spread it on the sill for them both to read. “Brilliant. Requires more planning. Will be back later tonight with new plan. My name is Arnold.”

  Henry wrote a last response: “Understood. Name’s Henry Clark. Have American with me. Lillian Saxton. Asset is James Geiger and his wife, Elsa.” He passed the note back to Arnold.

  The next thing they knew, Arnold’s arm was back in their view. In his hand was a shape they both knew all too well: a pistol. Henry gripped the weapon and pulled it through the window, carefully avoiding scraping it against the windowsill. He turned it over. The barrel was long, about twelve inches.

  “It’s a Welrod,” Henry whispered. “The barrel acts as a suppressor.”

  Lillian nodded. She wondered if Arnold was going to pass down another gun. They waited another five minutes before assuming the British agent had left to form a new plan.

  “Well,” Henry whispered, “you get the bed. I’ll keep watch here.”

  Lillian didn’t argue. She climbed into the bed, but sleep didn’t come easily.

  CHAPTER 43

  Turned out, Lillian slept soundly enough that she didn’t wake until one of the Nazi guards banged a cart into the room to bring breakfast. Lillian sat up in bed and whirled on the Nazi. The gun he raised and aimed at her heart froze her.

  “Guten morgen.” Henry stood across the room, leaning on the writing desk.

  The German sniffed and unloaded the food. Eggs, toast, and water. A newspaper was folded on the cart.

  At the door, Colonel Graf stood. “It won’t be long now. Our troops are making excellent progress. They’ve broken through at Maastricht. Louvain is next. Then Brussels.” He strolled into the room, admiring the decor. “I rather like this hotel. I’m having a splendid time. I think I might suggest we make it our headquarters when Brussels falls.”

  “It even has a movie theater,” Henry commented. “That way, you can enjoy your Nazi propaganda in an intimate setting.”

  Graf regarded the British agent with a cock of his head. “Your tune will change when we put you in a camp.” To Lillian, he said, “I’ve not determined what to do with you. I’m thinking you would make an excellent prisoner of war for a country that’s supposedly neutral.”

  “Like hell I will,” Lillian blurted.

  “You won’t have a choice. Come on, Kurt. Let’s let the prisoners eat in peace. It might be their last day of relative freedom.” Graf led the way. The Nazi guard named Kurt wheeled the cart back out of the room and locked the door.

  Henry said, “Well, that was cheery, wasn’t it?”

  Lillian chuckled. She liked the way Henry kept up his humor even in the midst of their current situation.

  They sat on the floor, ate, and placed the newspaper between them. They read the latest. Henry used a map printed in the newspaper to illustrate the dire situation the Belgians faced. Maastricht was located about 125 kilometers from Brussels. Louvain was just about thirty. If the Nazis were covering almost a hundred kilometers in a day, then Graf’s words would prove to be accurate. To punctuate the newspaper story, air raid sirens sounded throughout Brussels. Lillian and Henry got up and watched the people on the ground. There was a combination of panic and disbelief. Up on the eastern horizon, billows of black smoke snaked into the sky.

  As Sunday, 12 May, wore on, the more they watched the city prepare to make a last stand against the blitzkrieg of Nazi Germany. Troops scurried through the streets, setting up installations for combat. Civilians lined up in front of banks which had opened despite the day, trying to get their money before they fled. Street vendors sold food to anyone who would buy. By the end of the day, the sidewalks had become clogged with people.

  Lillian wanted to do something, but she was powerless. Every military mind knew the best time to escape an approaching army was long before they breached your defenses. If Henry’s friends took too much time to form a plan, the Wehrmacht would end up in the Hotel Le Plaza lobby.

  “You know,” she whispered, late in the afternoon as they watched all the people and the preparations, “if we could just get down there, amid all of that, we could blend in. Graf would have a terrible time finding us.”

  “You may be right. How do you propose to get down there?”

  “We’ve got the one gun. We take out one or two of the guards. I’ll get their weapons. After that, we don’t need to bother with a suppressed weapon.”

  Henry gave her an amused look. “Sounds like one of the cowboy movies out of Hollywood where the heroes blast their way out of a saloon.”

  “Beats the hell out of just sitting here.”

  Henry put his hand on Lillian’s arm. “We’re sitting here to bide our time and gather our energy. Once we escape, we’ll be hunted mercilessly.”

  Lillian put her hand over his. “I know. I just hate waiting.”

  Dusk fell but the tension in the streets didn’t. Half the city was in blackout, fearing more air attacks. The air raid sirens stopped. A silence descended over the city.

  Lillian and Henry remained on alert into the night. They waited for Arnold to return. Shortly after midnight, he did.

  Just like the previous night, Arnold flashed a light into the room. Henry already had his message ready: “Asset and wife likely on this floor. All guards still in hallway. Can you verify? Do you have another gun?” He slipped the folded piece of paper up.

  Arnold snatched it. He also delivered one to Henry: “B.E.F. otherwise engaged vs. Jerry. Only three of us to help. Determined you four and Nazis only people left on eighth floor. Will attempt roof escape.”

  Henry and Lillian exchanged glances.

  Roof escape? Lillian mouthed.

  Henry nodded and slipped the paper into his pocket. He had changed into trousers and shirt more accustomed for the streets than his formal wear. Lillian picked up her jacket and slipped it on. Graf had taken her gun, but she still had the gun belt and holster.

  “This is the top floor,” he whispered in her ear. “Our window’s already open. We can snip the cuffs and open it all the way. The trick will be getting the Geigers’ window open without the Nazis hearing.”

  “You think they bugged their room?”

  “Have to assume yes.”

  Off in the distance came the sound of bombs.

  “Or,” Lillian whispered, “the war could camouflage our movements.”

  Arnold’s light flashed again. He handed down another message: “Asset and wife in next room. Suggest we get you out, then get them. Yes?” The next moment, Arnold handed down another pistol. Like Henry’s it was a suppressed pistol.

  The feel of a gun in her palm soothed Lillian’s fast-beating heart. She was ready for action.

  In the long hours of waiting, Lillian and Henry had worked out strategies for escaping the room. Naturally, a roof attemp
t was in the mix. The top two floors of the Hotel Le Plaza were set back from the main facade of the first six floors, with the eighth floor set back even farther than the seventh. The end result was that the top three floors resembled a tiered wedding cake. Each floor had a small ledge ringing the building. It was enough to scoot around provided you kept your back to the building.

  Getting up to the roof might prove problematic. Without additional resources, Henry had devised a plan where he would boost Lillian to the roof. She would carry sheets tied together and help Henry up on the roof. Then they’d have to repeat the process with the Geigers. Knowing James and Elsa were not trained for situations such as this, Lillian would climb back down to the eighth floor and boost them up before rejoining everyone on the roof.

  Now that they had other assets, it might be easier. Henry hurriedly scribbled that plan on another piece of paper and handed it up to Arnold. A minute later, two flashes of his light indicated approval.

  The long-barreled pistol would not fit into her holster so Lillian stuck the gun inside her belt. Henry put his in a front pocket. Next they needed to prepare the room for the eventual entrance of the Nazis. Together, they lifted the writing desk and scooted it across the room. The trick was not to make a sound to alert the listeners.

  Lillian was strong, but the desk was heavy. Twice she nodded at Henry to set the desk down and allow her to catch her breath. On the third try, they managed to navigate the small entryway without banging into either wall. With her back almost to the door, Lillian signaled a halt. She slipped under the table, barely swishing her clothes on the door. She froze and waited.

  Outside in the hallway, no one moved.

  Satisfied, Lillian crept back under the table and emerged in the main room. The first step was done.

  They walked back to the window. Arnold’s head appeared above them. Henry gave a thumbs up sign. Arnold passed down a pair of metal clamps.

  In the plan Henry had delivered to Arnold, it was suggested he and Lillian escape out the window by clipping the handcuffed chain. To dampen the sound, Lillian brought the blanket from the bed. Henry took the clamp in his hand and positioned it across the chain. Next, Lillian took the blanket and wrapped both Henry’s hand and the chain three times. She held one of the two panes. Henry, with his free hand, held the other. That was going to have to do.

  Henry looked up at Arnold who gazed over the top of the building and nodded. He looked at Lillian. They both nodded. None of them knew how loud the sound would be. She held her breath.

  Squeezing the clamp, Henry broke the chain. A muffled snap was barely audible. Henry adjusted for the weight of the blanket and slowly lowered his blanket-covered hand to the floor. He released his grip on the clamps. Together, he and Lillian opened wide the windows. Earlier in the day, Lillian had taken some of Henry’s hair cream and coated the hinges to dampen any potential squeaks.

  Now, came the difficult part: stepping outside. Lillian examined the ledge. She looked for loose gravel or anything that might make a sound. She wiped the area free from debris.

  To avoid making any sound directly near the window, Henry’s plan called for them to step out onto the ledge and climb up the side of the building away from the window. That meant scooting about six feet away from the window on a ledge that proved to be about seven inches wide. Lillian wasn’t scared of heights, but there were much better plan than that. An idea struck her. She leaned in close to Henry.

  “Shoes off. Less sound and more grip on the ledge.”

  “Lillian, are you saying I’m a monkey?”

  She cracked a grin. “It would certainly make this part of the escape easier.”

  Lillian removed her shoes and emptied her purse. There wasn’t anything she needed in there any more. She put her shoes in the purse and slung the bag over a shoulder.

  Henry took off his shoes and managed to cram them in his pockets after he transferred the pistol to his belt.

  The moment of truth was at hand.

  Using the chair as a step stool, Lillian got up on the sill. The wind kicked up and the breeze blew through her hair. The smell of gunpowder and burning wood mixed with the fragrance of flowers and trees. She didn’t particularly like the combination.

  On impulse, she decided to face the building and use her toes rather than her heels to traverse the ledge. Glancing to her left, she noted the position where the rope hung over the top of the hotel. Never had six feet seemed so far away.

  Lillian moved, only about six inches, then brought her feet together. She looked down. She noted that, even though the seventh floor jutted out from the eighth, there was nothing to grip and hold on to. If she fell, that was it.

  Her purse put her slightly off balance, but her prescience about bare feet providing better control was accurate. She kept her big toes up against the building, using them as guides. The exterior was fairly smooth, something she thanked the architects for.

  Finally, she reached the rope. She gripped it with her left hand and pulled down on it. The rope was solid. She took a deep breath. To climb the rope effectively, she was going to walk up the side of the building. That meant she was going to have to put her back to the ground. Her stomach flipped at the thought of it, but she got it under control. Gripping the rope now with both hands, she swung out.

  The rope moved. Her position sank lower to the ground. She cursed to herself and clung tightly to the rope.

  A single small yelp escaped from Lillian’s mouth.

  CHAPTER 44

  Wilhelm Lang’s assignment was listening. Not being an expert in hand-to-hand combat, he was a natural choice to be the man to listen in on the room where Lillian Saxton and Henry Clark were staying. He had a notepad at hand and a sharpened pencil. Other than the weather or random talk from the prisoners, Wilhelm’s pad was mostly blank.

  Saxton and Clark just didn’t talk much.

  Wilhelm fancied himself an important member of Colonel Graf’s team. He would be the one to alert everyone if something happened.

  But nothing had happened yet.

  Sitting in the room across the hall from the bugged room, Wilhelm wore headphones while he listened. The prisoners were often very quiet. He was sure they weren’t sleeping. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if he was in their position. Sometime during the day on Saturday he got the idea that Saxton and Clark might be whispering. To test his theory, he turned up the volume on his receiver.

  Still nothing for the rest of the day and into the night. When they were fed, he had to turn down the volume since Kurt often banged his way into their room. Once night fell, he turned up the volume again and waited.

  He waited so long with nothing but static and hiss on the line that the ambient sounds lulled him into a semi-doze. Kurt Schmidt typically assumed a position on the bed and read the newspaper. His job was to make sure Wilhelm stayed awake or they took turns listening in.

  Kurt Schmidt was fast asleep on the bed.

  Wilhelm’s semi-sleep phase was punctuated by a single, sharp cry. Distant but clear.

  He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. He glanced over at Schmidt to verify his fellow team member hadn’t caught him napping. Still asleep.

  Wilhelm leaned forward and operated the dials on the receiver. He turned up the volume still more, to its highest setting. He stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing, trying—no willing his ears—to identify the sound.

  Had he imagined it? In his near-sleep state, had his own foot or some perfectly normal hotel event caused the sound? He couldn’t say.

  The noise didn’t repeat.

  But something else came through. It made no sense. The sound he heard resembled scuffling feet on pavement. It was so faint that Wilhelm nearly attributed it to the hotel staff coming up to check on the rooms.

  But the hallways were carpeted. All footfalls in the hallway were silent.

  What could be making those sounds?

  “Kurt.” Wilhelm repeated the name until Schmidt woke.

  “Wha
t?”

  “Check the room.”

  “Why?”

  “I think I heard something.”

  “You probably heard your own snoring.”

  “No. I heard something from their room.”

  Schmidt grinned. “Maybe they’re spending their last night together with a little beischlafen.”

  Wilhelm shook his head. “They didn’t strike me as intimate. Go check.”

  “You go check. I’m tired.” Kurt closed his eyes again.

  “If I check, you have to listen.” Wilhelm knew that would get Schmidt moving. The other man hated manning the headphones.

  Sure enough, Schmidt, grumbling, sat on the edge of the bed. He put on his boots and gun belt. He gave Wilhelm the middle finger and left the room. Wilhelm picked up the pencil to write down anything he heard from the room.

  He heard the key go into the lock. The doorknob turning. The door opening.

  And hitting something heavy.

  ***

  From his vantage point, Henry could do nothing to help Lillian. She had swung herself out on the rope to get her feet up on the side of the building. Unfortunately, whatever was holding the rope up on the roof moved. The end result was that Lillian’s stomach slammed into the ledge which her feet had just left.

  And she let out a small yelp of surprise.

  Damn. Henry wondered how well attuned the microphones in the room were. If they caught a break, the bugs wouldn’t even pick up the sound. Better yet, if they did, the Nazis might think the sound was ancillary or exterior to the hotel.

  From the roof came a low voice. “Bloody hell. What does she think she’s doing?”

  Henry dared not answer vocally. And Lillian was too far away to help without making noise. Plus, the exterior of the wall had nothing with which to help her. Lillian was on her own.

  Her bare feet found the side of the hotel. For a few seconds, she scrambled into a better climbing position. The problem was that her feet scuffed against the wall.