______
FBI Special Agent Nate Green looked around the table at the senior members of the multiagency task force.
“All right, gentlemen, so glad you could all make it for our little get-together. I doubt you’ll be surprised to hear that the only item on today’s agenda is what the hell we’re doing about the disappearance of Miss Cecelia Chang. This is our fourth weekly meeting since her abduction, so if she’s still alive, her condition may be deteriorating. This little lady’s recovery is of supreme importance to some pretty big guns in Washington and elsewhere, so you damn well better have some good news for me today.
“Commander Dunne, since you’re the lucky bastard who’s sitting to my immediate left, you’re up first.”
The crew-cut officer cleared his throat and glanced around the table. “The Navy has continued to apply pressure throughout the intelligence community in the Pacific. All that we know is that Samson has been using agents previously trained and employed by different government agencies. The men who have her know how to keep her hidden. But they also know that they won’t get the information they want from a dead girl.”
Green shifted his gaze to Jon Gersham, a U.S. Army major, and gave him a curt nod.
“The Army has been trying to identify the ex-agents who make up this organization. We’ve been investigating former government investigators, Army and naval special operatives, and Internal Revenue agents who have the kind of experience and qualifications that might satisfy Samson’s requirements. For this case, we have narrowed our focus to those living on the West Coast and enjoying standards of living well beyond the means of a civil servant’s income. At the present, we have managed to cull a long list down to a relatively short one.”
The major glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of him. “According to our information, Samson tends to operate in cells, one of which may be in Northern California. We have recently assigned surveillance teams to track suspected members of that cell, and we are in daily receipt of their reports. Nothing we have learned so far indicates anything involving the kidnapping of a young Asian woman.”
“Damn it, Jon, that’s not good enough!” Green shouted. “I want your people to talk directly to the surveillance teams. Dig deeper. Somebody has seen something—they just don’t know it.”
“Beyond the filing of the initial report, my people have not heard or reported a thing. There’s no talk on the street. We’ve given our snitches a thorough going over, and we’ve failed to discover even a sniff,” reported Francis J. O’Connor, chief of the San Francisco Police Department.
“Well, Chief, the fact that you’ve heard nothing must mean something. Suppose you give us your best guess.”
The chief glanced nervously at Green. “Well… maybe it’s what we don’t know that creates the more interesting questions. If this were a San Francisco criminal operation, I think we would have heard something by now. So if I had to guess, I’d say it’s happening outside the city.”
Green nodded his head. “Okay, that’s something, I guess.” He looked at the map behind him and said, “That leaves the East Bay or the Peninsula as the most likely places.” He turned around, slapping the table. “That’s where we’ve got to concentrate our energies. Let’s get to it.”
The group needed no further encouragement to quickly leave the table.
______
The morning after her interrogation, a new guard had been assigned to Cecelia’s cell. There was less soup in the bowl, only one slice of bread, and no newspaper. Obviously, her response, in addition to disappointing her captors, had demonstrated to them that their current tactics weren’t producing the desired result.
Cecelia tried to guess the meaning behind these changes. Is time working against my captors? They seem to be tightening the screws. I’ve just got to outlast them.
But maintaining her alertness was going to be harder if they fed her even less. Cecelia thought about animals that hibernate during the winter; they slept, using as little energy as possible, until the warmer weather made it possible for them to forage more easily.
I have to conserve as much strength as possible. I have to find a safe place, like a bear in a cave, and go there in my mind.
Weeks later, the door opened and a man dragged her into the next room, again shoving her on to a cold metal chair. It was a different woman who faced her adversaries. Cecelia was thinner; she was pallid and frail. Her fingernails and toenails had grown to more than an inch long. There were large circles below her eyes. Her head hung down. Her eyes were focused on the floor, away from the glare of the bright lights.
“Good morning, Miss Chang,” a voice said. “We hope that you have brought us some better answers today. If you choose not to cooperate, I assure you we are prepared to continue this process for as long as it takes.”
“Miss Chang, what are the names of the people you contacted in San Francisco?” a second voice asked.
Cecelia made no effort to respond. After what seemed an eternity but was, in reality, no more than a minute, she heard someone say, “Very well. Perhaps we will talk again, after you have had some time to think.”
The next morning, her door didn’t open at all. A small part of her mind considered that someone might be watching. Stay in the cave—save your strength. The only thing keeping her alive was the information her captors needed to get from her. She had to retreat from them, to a place they could not follow.
What do they call this? Passive resistance? I just hope I can keep it up long enough. I suppose that would make this current situation problem number six.
Chapter 19
CRICKET AND KEVIN
Cricket and Kevin sat in a pub in Kensington and stared past their fish and chips to see a mist falling in the glow of the streetlight on the damp August night.
“I’ve been mulling over this assignment,” Cricket said. “We’ve been mucking about with this thing since June, and I think there’s an angle we haven’t thought of yet. There could be a real risk for our clients that’s worth looking into.”
Any time she hinted at something, Kevin knew enough to listen. “What kind of risk are you talking about?”
“I do believe we’ve gotten involved with the lives and personal fortunes of very high-level people in Germany. Though their solicitor led us to believe that the bonds belonged to the German government itself, I think the actual owners are some of the very same men who supported Hitler’s rise to power and are now interested in removing their savings from Germany while there’s still time.”
“You keep saying ‘think’ and ‘believe.’ But you’re pretty bloody well sure, aren’t you?”
Cricket smiled and took a swallow from her pint.
“Gold bearer bonds would work well for that,” Kevin mused, nodding, “providing these Germans had the cooperation of the Swiss banks. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the people we’re looking for aren’t some of the same ones who helped arrange the transfer.”
He took a draught from his glass, then placed it thoughtfully on the table. “There are only a handful of blokes who could organize a transaction of that size. That gives us a starting point for a second investigation.”
“Kevin, there’s a second question to consider.” Cricket leaned in across the table. “What do you think der Führer would do to these German depositors if he learned of their plan? That is the risk our clients are taking, and it’s certainly one worth exploiting.”
Kevin stared straight into her eyes, beginning to understand.
“The High Command could be willing to pay a very substantial fee in exchange for our providing them with certain information,” she said. “Think of it as an insurance policy. We would get paid to recover the bonds, but we could also earn a second fee from the German government.”
Kevin sat back, studying Cricket’s face. “You’re not much to look at, but your mind is a thing of beauty.”
“Sod off, you,” Cricket said, smiling as she took a bite of her fish.
&n
bsp; ______
When Erhart Schmidt called the meeting two days after American bombers first hit Berlin, Karl Schagel immediately felt the beginnings of a headache.
“The lack of progress from London is alarming,” Schmidt said, red faced, standing in front of Karl’s desk. “All this time and the IFIC investigators haven’t found a damned thing.” He shoved the most recent report into Karl’s hands.
Karl glanced at the paper. “Their search of recent deposits failed to produce useful information about Mr. Meyer or any unusual art sales.”
“But when I threatened to terminate our agreement,” Schmidt said, “their agents came up with a new theory. They are now suggesting that the art purchase was a cover story by this Mr. Meyer to mask a totally different agenda. Read what they sent me about him. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Their preliminary search of his background doesn’t indicate any criminal activity,” Karl said, staring down at the paper. He looked up suddenly. “Quite the opposite, in fact—his father is a duke whose title was bestowed.”
Erhart nodded and paced as Karl kept reading. “Mr. Meyer is well-educated, with a doctoral degree in political science from the University of California in the mid-thirties…” His voice faltered but recovered once Schmidt turned to look at him. “Um, it says that ever since graduation, except for a stint in the service, he’s been engaged in his family’s business. I’m sorry, Erhart,” Karl said, putting the sheet aside, “but he doesn’t need the money. I don’t think he’s our man.”
Schmidt took two big strides toward where Karl was sitting. Glowering over him, he said, “And this contact of yours at the Swiss Bank. Do you trust him?”
“With my life,” Karl answered.
“Then right now, Meyer’s the only lead we’ve got. And I won’t let him slip away,” Erhart said. He snatched the report from Karl’s desk and stormed out of the room.
Once alone, Karl poured himself a cognac and sat down in his overstuffed armchair, staring into the dying flames in the fireplace. He had recalled that Henri’s daughter had received a similar degree from the University of California at the same time.
I don’t believe in coincidences. Could it be that Claudine, my own goddaughter, has something to do with all this? And how could the duplicate bonds be so perfectly forged without the help of a knowledgeable insider? Has Henri betrayed me?
Karl covered his face with his hands. Does it even matter anymore? The war has made it impossible to trust anyone. But once Schmidt or his people make the connection—or imagine one—it won’t take him long to make a move.
He shivered, thinking of the hate he had seen in Erhart’s eyes. Should I try to recover the bonds myself and risk exposing Claudine and Henri? Or should I try to warn them? He sat back in his chair and downed the rest of his cognac in one gulp.
How have I managed to get caught in the middle of yet another impossible dilemma?
______
Claudine looked out the window as her father drove them to their Chamonix chalet for the weekend. As she watched the passing scenery, she found herself regretting that they’d found so little time to enjoy the beauty and serenity of their surroundings.
Henri broke the silence. “Karl told me that his group has decided not to cash any more of their bonds until they can straighten out this mess with the duplicates.”
“That seems extreme. In their place, I would take my money and run.”
“That is what you would want to do, but don’t forget, they have a ten-percent annual limitation clause in their agreement, courtesy of your friend Jacques. What they did do was get some help from the IFIC.”
“Father,” Claudine said, “Jacques said that some unauthorized persons, passing themselves off as federal bank auditors, inspected Stone City Bank’s records recently. Do you think that had something to do with the IFIC investigation? And isn’t it only a matter of time before the same thing happens to us?”
“Don’t worry, my dear, the German families are going to have to be quite certain of what they know—or suspect—before they are willing to risk their relationships with the entire Swiss banking community. In any event, we have nothing to hide.”
Claudine stared at the scenery to keep from meeting her father’s eyes. “Still… I wonder if that’s the reason for Uncle Karl’s upcoming visit.”
Chapter 20
A WARNING
Rail transportation across Germany to Switzerland was becoming more difficult and complicated. Overnight trips now took days to complete. Troop and supply trains absorbed almost all of the country’s track capacity and received top priority in scheduling. Air attacks had further reduced Germany’s operable rails. Henri had received several calls from Karl en route, letting him know of yet another delay in his arrival in Switzerland.
Still, as was his usual custom, Henri waited on the platform to meet Karl as he stepped from the train. It looks as if my old friend has aged even more in the months since we last saw each other.
As Henri gave him a welcoming hug, Karl leaned in and said, “Henri, I know that you’ve made arrangements for us to return to your chalet, but if you don’t mind, I would prefer to walk along the lake. I have to leave by five o’clock, and that gives us less than three hours to talk.”
Now Henri was really curious. What could be so important that Karl would spend three days coming to Geneva for just a few hours of conversation?
It was a short walk to the lake, but because neither man talked, to Henri it seemed much longer. It was also unusually cold for so early in autumn, and the two men pulled their hats low to protect their faces from the brisk wind and thrust their hands deep into their overcoat pockets.
Karl stopped, took a deep breath, and turned. “Henri, I have received two pieces of very disturbing information. I am sure that what I have to say will be very distressing to you. It certainly has been for me. This is a time when we really need to trust each other.”
Henri remained quiet, waiting.
“Germany’s national comptroller informed me that two billion dollars have gone missing from the government’s national accounts. I will have to tell my clients as soon as I return that it will no longer be safe for them to remain in Germany. Our time to solve this problem of the duplicate bonds has just been shortened.”
“Forgive me, Karl, but my Swiss colleagues and I kept up our end of the deal. What involvement do I have with the duplicate bonds?”
“Henri, this is the reason I’m here. The IFIC learned that Ian Meyer, of Meyer & Co. in London, employed book restoration specialists to forge the signatures of five Swiss bank presidents. We have all five of the forgers in our custody and they have identified a Mr. Duncan Melvin as their employer.” Karl paused for a moment. “We had Mr. Melvin picked up and he told us that Mr. Meyer was his employer.”
The two men resumed walking. Henri’s mind was spinning. Ian? One of Claudine’s classmates from California? Dear God, surely Karl can’t think that Claudine is involved.
“Once they learned about Meyer, they started digging into his background. They found out that he participated in a doctoral studies program at the University of California. Henri, it’s the same program Claudine was in,” Karl said, stopping.
Henri realized in an instant that the whole situation had changed, but he did his best not to reveal his sense of alarm. “Karl, that’s a tenuous connection at best.”
Karl studied his friend’s face. I’ve got to hand it to him—I just delivered some of the worst news possible, and to look at him, you’d think he was having a normal day at the office.
Karl continued. “The IFIC has connections with a security agency in the United States. This organization, known as Samson, was employed by the Japanese to kidnap Cecelia Chang, who was working for the American government, smuggling private wealth out of Asia. She was also a classmate of Claudine’s.”
“Karl, whatever you’re alluding to—”
“Henri, I have to ask . . . Are you involved in this business with the forg
ed bonds?”
“On my honor, I’ve nothing to do with it.”
Karl exhaled again. “I knew that, Henri. Deep down, I knew.” They started walking slowly around the lake. “An article I found refers to Claudine and her classmates making a presentation on the abuse of wealth and its connection with political and military history. I don’t know what that fact has to do with any of this, but I know that once my very angry and frightened clients see that article, and they surely will, they’ll put all the pieces together in a way to suit themselves. I don’t believe that you yourself are in any particular danger. You are the only conduit that can be used for negotiating purposes. But Claudine and her friends could be in a lot of trouble. Their lives may be at risk.”
Henri’s mind was spinning. Surely Claudine wouldn’t do something so dangerous. But she is guided by her sense of “higher purpose.” Is there really any length to which she wouldn’t go to follow her convictions?
“Karl, what can we do?” Henri didn’t bother arguing his daughter’s innocence.
“One purpose of my coming here,” Karl said, “is to ask for your assistance in working an agreement to recover the remaining duplicate bonds, quickly and peacefully. My clients prefer not to take the risk of failing to track down the bonds before they leave the country. I haven’t asked them outright, but I believe they’d make a deal. They can hardly afford the risk of discovery.”
Henri felt slightly relieved. If it’s a business deal they want, that puts things back on familiar ground.
Karl continued. “I propose a transaction whereby the people involved would be allowed to keep the forty million dollars they have already cashed. In exchange for tendering the remaining duplicate bonds, my clients will pay them one hundred percent of the face amount, which would be placed in an escrow account for a period of ten years. Should they disclose any information that would compromise my clients’ positions, they would forfeit all rights to the escrowed funds. On the other hand, should your people live up to their side of the bargain, then at the end of the ten-year period, the entire amount would be distributed to them.”
The Sentinels: Fortunes of War Page 12
