“Lousy,” Julie said. “Suicidal for you. How can Garlic meet Eagle? As soon as Otto reads that, he’ll know you’re lying.”
“Good heavens!” Luis exclaimed. “So he will. I never thought of that.”
“You’ll just have to play it straight, Luis.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He took her hand. “I really didn’t want to do it, you know,” he said. “I thought of it over and over again, coming back on the train. I’m sure he would have shot me if I hadn’t … you know …”
Julie linked her fingers with his, and squeezed.
“Doing it with a typewriter makes it worse, somehow,” he said. “And in front of the damn dog, too.” He looked down, blinking. “I hope someone looks after that dog,” he said.
“Yes.” She gave him a few moments to recover. “Now let me tell you something. While you were having such an exciting time in Oporto, the Japs attacked America. So now we’re in the war too.”
“This war?” Luis exclaimed. “Europe?”
“Sure. Hitler declared war on the States. Don’t worry, it’s all legal. I thought that would make you happy.”
“War on five continents!” Luis cried. “My God, what a business opportunity!”
*
Otto Krafft came back after a week’s leave. He still looked tired, but his nerves were much more settled. The first person he went to see was Dr. Hartmann.
“Welcome back!” Hartmann said, shaking his hand. “Yes, the fresh air has done you good, I can see that. Do you feel better?”
“More or less. Has anything happened?” Otto’s voice was flat, as if he found it hard to make an effort.
“The news is not good, I’m afraid. Yesterday we had a report from Garlic. Eagle failed to attend the rendezvous.”
Otto nodded. He seemed unsurprised. “Let’s go up and see Brigadier Christian,” he said.
Christian received them in the anteroom. “My room’s being redecorated,” he told them. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’ve heard about Eagle,” Otto said.
Christian raised a warning finger, “Let’s not rush into judgment. There may be special factors, unknown circumstances which we—”
“Eagle’s dead.”
Christian buffed his mustache with the back of his hand. Hartmann stared at Otto’s profile. There were slight hollows in the cheek, he noticed. “You sound as if you know something, Krafft,” Christian said.
“I can’t explain it all,” Otto said. “When I left I kept worrying about Eagle. I knew there was something wrong. Perhaps I had a premonition. In the end I telephoned his branch office in Oporto.”
“Was that wise?” Christian asked softly.
“I said I was a customer. They said he’d disappeared in England, he was missing, they were getting worried. So I …” Otto swallowed a couple of times. “So I went to Oporto.”
“Take your time.” Christian got up, stopped a rattling window, and sat down, carefully hitching his trousers. “Now then: you went to Oporto.”
“Yes. The branch manager was … was …” Otto blew his nose while he searched for the word. “Was shocked. He’d just heard that Eagle had been found dead. Head bashed in.”
Dr. Hartmann recoiled.
“Where did this happen?” Christian asked.
“London. The police said it was robbery.”
“And what do you think?”
Otto rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his handkerchief against his eyes. “I think MI5 killed him, sir,” he said, his voice breaking.
Christian nodded. “It was not your fault, Otto,” he said. “You did all you could. Don’t feel guilty.”
Otto stood up, wiping his eyes. Christian gestured toward the door, and Otto went out.
The two men sat in somber silence for a while. “A remarkable demonstration of loyalty,” Christian remarked.
“Yes, indeed,” Hartmann agreed. The window rattled again, and Christian gave it a frown. This was obviously one of those days.
*
After the killing of Eagle, Julie Conroy stopped talking about going to Oporto. She had always been aware that what Luis did was risky; now the knowledge that it was murderously dangerous made her feel that any criticism would be petty. The danger did not come from the Portuguese police; reports of the murder dropped out of the newspapers after a couple of days, and Luis was certain that there was no way in which he could be linked with Alfred Krafft. But the whole affair emphasized even more violently that to work with the Abwehr was to take a ride on a tiger.
Luis’s response was to work harder. In the first six weeks of 1942 the Eldorado Network added two more sub-agents: “Haystack,” who ran a hotel in London, and “Pinetree,” a British employee at the American embassy. This made a total of seven, plus Bluebird and Stork in the Spanish embassies at London and Lisbon. Luis was anxious to fill the vacuum left by Eagle. His enormous appetite for work always impressed Julie, and sometimes depressed her too: there seemed to be no limit to his ambition, yet—as far as she could tell—no purpose to it, either. Luis, it seemed, wanted to succeed because he enjoyed being a success. For him, the Second World War was a sales territory. She was reminded of her father, striving to sell more Coke in Indiana than ever before. Luis Cabrillo really did aim to become the first spy millionaire. It puzzled and annoyed her until it finally provoked her into challenging him again.
“What are you going to do with all this money, Luis?” she asked one day toward the end of February, when he was checking his bank statements.
He smiled, and dropped the statements into a file. “What would you like me to do with it, Julie?”
“You mean you haven’t any ideas?”
“Money is always useful.”
“Only if you spend it. The stuff’s no good otherwise.”
“That’s a very practical point of view. I don’t think I’m practical. For me, business is a romantic thing.”
“Luis, you’re about as romantic as a claw hammer.”
He nodded. “The claw hammer is a very romantic tool. You can build anything with a claw hammer.”
“Maybe.” She looked around, at the desks and shelves and filing cabinets. “But you’re not actually building anything, are you? This is all nothing. It doesn’t exist.”
He nodded happily. “That’s the whole point, Julie. I’ve invented a way to make money out of war without actually hurting anyone.”
“Otto’s brother wasn’t hurt?”
“That was an accident. Self-defense.”
“Defending what, Luis? Your life, or your business?”
She could see that he was getting bored with this discussion. “I don’t see how one can be separated from the other,” he said, “Do you?”
“I guess not. I just wish that …” She screwed up a paper, threw it at a waste-basket, and missed, “I wish that we were helping the Allies, that’s all.”
“Oh so do I. That was my original idea, remember. But they didn’t seem to want me when I offered, and now they probably don’t need me at all.”
Julie reluctantly accepted the force of his argument. Britain had massive allies in Russia and the U.S.A. Why should anyone bother about an eccentric freelance intelligence agent who traded exclusively in fiction from a neutral backwater?
She got on with her work, which included dealing in an ever wider range of commodities for Bradburn & Wedge. The income from the degreasing patents financed a brisk trade in impregnated papers, and when the first two shipments of lemonade crystals got torpedoed in the Mediterranean, von Klausbrunner came back for more. The war had created a seller’s market; Julie bought almost anything she found: stocks of pencils, tablecloths, underwear, tennis rackets, candles, shoes. Bradburn & Wedge prospered, paid its taxes, and allowed Luis to get on with his work without interference from the Portuguese Government.
Nevertheless, one other worry troubled Julie, and it refused to go away.
Luis had been unlucky when his Garlic report contradicted
Eagle’s information, but it was the kind of bad luck that was always likely to happen; in fact it was increasingly likely, now that Eldorado was enlarging his team. It was amazing that he had got away with his inventions for so long, but surely someone in Berlin should have noticed discrepancies by now? The longer he survived, the more she worried. The Abwehr was a big, professional organization with some very intelligent and hardnosed people at the top. Why were they so certain of Eldorado? Or—even more worrying—if they suspected that Eldorado was cheating them, what were they doing about it?
Chapter 57
At first, Hitler’s declaration of war against the United States slightly alarmed Brigadier Christian. He had visited a cousin in Minnesota in 1934, and he remembered Americans as a very energetic people. However he soon stopped worrying when, in the three months after Pearl Harbor, the Japanese captured a vast empire that stretched from the borders of India to the edge of Australia, and all at very little cost. Clearly the Americans would have more than enough to do in the Pacific. This was confirmed in Christian’s mind when he heard that the U-boats had actually profited from America’s entry into the war: they were sinking so many American vessels that the Allies were now losing ships faster than they could replace them.
In fact there seemed to be very little that the Americans could do to help anyone. In the spring of 1942 the Russians launched three counter-offensives; all failed disastrously; and the Americans watched helplessly as the German armies thrust east and south, aiming for the oilfields of the Caucasus. In North Africa, Rommel attacked suddenly, threw the British out of Libya and got within sixty miles of Alexandria; there was nothing the Americans could do about that, either. Nor was there much the British could do to harm Germany except revive the bombing offensive that had been such a failure in 1941. It soon became obvious that the R.A.F. was still incapable of precision bombing: bigger raids merely caused even more indiscriminate damage. Christian was angry when he heard about the first thousand-bomber raid, on Cologne in May. Two weeks later, he read with satisfaction in a secret Abwehr report that life in Cologne was virtually back to normal. “Good,” he said to himself. “Let the stupid British keep wasting their strength.”
Christian felt content. He enjoyed his work, and he enjoyed the approval of his superiors. Now that he was head of Madrid Abwehr they usually gave him anything he asked for: more men, more money, more office space. Reports reached him regularly from the Eldorado Network (now expanded to nine with the recruitment of new sub-agents in Plymouth and Belfast) and they were eagerly received in Berlin. The loss of Eagle had been a blow, but that damage was only temporary. For a while, Otto had withdrawn into a state of silent self-reproach. However, after Christian had given him control of one of the new sub-agents (“Hambone,” a telephone operator in Belfast) he slowly brightened up, and everyone felt better.
Then Wolfgang Adler came back.
Christian found him sitting in the anteroom one afternoon when he returned from lunch. Wolfgang stood up respectfully. He was a wearing a new Wehrmacht officer’s uniform, and his face was deeply windburned. He looked tired but composed.
“Well, well,” Christian said.
Wolfgang nodded, and gave a wry smile.
“You’d better come in,” Christian said. “Is this an official visit, or what?” They went into his office and sat in his new armchairs.
“No, it’s not official,” Wolfgang said. His voice had changed; it was deeper and easier. Christian noticed gray flecks in his hair, and creases radiating from his eyes. There were also new lines bracketing his mouth. He looked ten years older. “I mean it’s legal, I haven’t deserted or anything.” Wolfgang gave a little laugh. “That’s one thing about the Russian Front: nobody deserts. Nowhere to desert to.”
Christian thought about that and decided to let it pass. “What do you want here?” he asked.
“Nothing, really. The fact is, I’m on convalescent leave. They gave me a month to recuperate. Frostbite, mainly. You see?” he pointed to his left ear, half of which was missing. “And a few toes. Also I got a shell splinter in the back, but mainly it was frostbite. They said I could go anywhere I liked to recuperate, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else so I said Madrid. At least it’s nice and warm here.”
“And when your leave is up? What then?”
“Oh, back to Novgorod. Provided Novgorod’s still there.”
Christian nodded. “I’m sorry to hear about your injuries, Adler.”
“Oh, well.” Wolfgang stretched his legs and placed the heel of one boot on the toe of the other. “It wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Funny thing: you remember my arm and leg used to hurt when I was here? Well, they stopped hurting as soon as I got to Russia. Odd, that.”
“Indeed. But at least you got some benefit from your experience in the east.”
“Oh yes, lots. It was an education. I learned things that I wouldn’t have believed possible if I hadn’t seen them.” Wolfgang took a bundle of photographs from his tunic pocket and offered them to Christian. “For instance, you don’t come across this kind of intelligence in Spain,” he said.
Christian leaned forward, glanced at the top photograph and leaned back without touching it. “An S.S. execution, by the look of it.”
“Correct.”
“That has nothing to do with the Abwehr.”
“True. But it had a great deal to do with my education.” Wolfgang put the pictures away. “That was why you sent me to Russia, remember? By the way, how is Eldorado? Thriving?”
“Eldorado is thriving and booming and making all our fortunes, Adler. And let me make one thing clear: if you do anything to disturb or upset that arrangement, I’ll have you back in Russia so fast you’ll bounce twice and land in Mongolia.”
Wolfgang smiled, and shook his head. “I don’t care two hoots about Eldorado, brigadier. I mention him only because when I passed through Abwehr headquarters the other day, they all seemed to be unusually interested in him.”
“They always are. He’s an outstanding agent.”
“No, I mean strangely interested. They were dragging out files on Eldorado going back to his earliest days.”
Christian could sit still no longer. He got up and prowled over to a window. “A special investigation, you mean? Did you ask why?”
“Yes, I asked why. They simply smiled their rather sinister smiles.”
Christian didn’t like the sound of that. “Berlin has no reason to investigate Eldorado,” he said. “Absolutely none. His work is beyond reproach. Exemplary. Immaculate.”
“Well, perhaps not quite immaculate,” Wolfgang murmured. Christian turned sharply, “I beg your pardon, brigadier,” Wolfgang said. “Please forget I spoke. It’s really none of my business. I’m sure you know Eldorado far better than I do. Far better than Berlin does, come to that.”
“I ought to by now.” Christian scratched his chin and stared into space. Wolfgang could hear the faint rasp of stubble. For a while there was no other sound. “Have they given you a room?” Christian asked.
“Not yet.”
“Well, go and tell them to give you one. Ask for anything you need, get yourself settled. Then come back here at six and have a drink.”
Christian canceled his appointments for the rest of the afternoon. He telephoned an old friend at Abwehr headquarters who confirmed that a top-level report on Eldorado was being prepared; for whom, and why, he did not know. Christian paced his room and worried. Eldorado was much more than his best agent; he was his whole budget, his reputation, his career. On the other hand there was no future in riding on a bandwagon if it was about to crash.
Wolfgang came back at six. He asked for vodka but there was none so he settled for Scotch. “Same difference,” he said. “I just think of it as brown vodka.”
They sat in the armchairs again.
“You never trusted Eldorado, did you?” Christian said. “You always thought he was a crook.”
“I can’t remember exactly what I thought, but
I certainly knew he made mistakes. Although perhaps I was only looking for the mistakes. I don’t know. I’m sure he’s improved enormously since then.”
“I’d like you to do something for me, Adler. Please feel absolutely free to say no, if you’d rather not. After all, you are on leave.”
Wolfgang gestured his willingness.
“I’d like you to sort of browse through the Eldorado files and just jot down anything that seems odd. Anything that strikes you as … uh … questionable.”
“Anything that doesn’t add up, so to speak.”
“That’s right. I know everybody makes mistakes, but …”
“But some mistakes are more mistaken than others.”
“Exactly. What I’d like you to do, Adler, is act as a sort of devil’s advocate.”
“I see.” Wolfgang finished his Scotch. “Well, that could be an interesting exercise, couldn’t it?”
“Does it appeal to you?”
“Oh yes,” Wolfgang said, “it appeals.”
“Good, I’m glad. Have they given you a decent room? Is there anything particular you need?”
“More brown vodka, please,” Wolfgang said. Christian got the bottle.
Chapter 58
Luis returned from getting a haircut. “Just as well you didn’t go to England,” he said. “They’ve cut the rations again, it says here.” He held up a newspaper.
Julie failed to think of an answer, and so there was an awkward silence. She sat and looked at her typewriter. He stood and looked at the papers on his desk.
During the last couple of weeks the old, pre-Oporto tensions had crept back. They had not quarreled, they hadn’t even argued; but they both felt the continual presence of hidden disapproval. She resented his obsession with Eldorado. He interpreted this as weakness, perhaps even jealousy. Julie sensed the mounting futility of it all, and felt trapped. She knew it couldn’t go on, and yet what else was there?
“Templeton called,” she said.
“Charles? What did he want?”
Eldorado Network Page 42
