"Seems they are. Bill assured me that his men have been ordered not to use force. He didn't say 'unless it's necessary', but I heard it in his voice."
Arriving at the Brooklyn safe house, Johanna knocked on the door of apartment 1F. She saw a shadow pass over the peephole before Simon opened it. He nodded and waved her and Goering in.
Hagen was pacing in the parlor, muttering to himself. One hand pulled at his hair while the other waved in the air to punctuate his curses. His air of panic shocked Johanna. Throughout her entire ordeal, he had been the smooth officer, always in control of events. Now he looked a frantic mess. It was a confirmation that he genuinely needed her.
She cleared her throat to get his attention. She saw the wild look in Hagen's eyes before he realized she was in the room. He broke into a broad smile that she hadn't seen before and wrapped her in a tight bear-hug.
"Thank God, thank God, thank God," he repeated in her ear. Releasing her, he attempted to compose himself. He slapped Goering on the shoulder and thanked him.
Johanna told Hagen what had happened outside the library. He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder.
"Perhaps you are a spy after all," he said. "Expert evasion techniques on your first try."
Johanna was put off by his joking manner and happy familiarity with her. She changed the subject.
"Whoever those men were, they were after me for a reason. That means someone knows I'm back in the US. If I'm seen again, especially at The Garden where there's bound to be police, this could all come to an end."
Hagen turned serious again.
"Yes, well…tonight has become more dangerous. The stakes, however, are just as high as they have ever been. As much as I can't risk you being seen again, my orders are for you to be there when I stop Viersing. We will just have to disguise you as best we can."
Goering piped in. "She's hard to miss in a crowd, I'll say," he offered, smiling.
Hagen seemed to remember that Goering was still there. He thanked him again and shuffled him out the door.
"What if I don't go?" Johanna asked. "What if you were to go to the rally, stop the assassination and then come back here to tell me what happened? I could just lie and say that I witnessed it all."
Hagen rejected her idea. "Trust me – any interrogator would know that you were lying, as would a polygraph test. You must go, there is no other option."
He looked at his watch.
"We have some time before we have to leave. Let's have something to eat and then we can make our final preparations."
After a meal of canned meat and stale bread, Johanna went into the back bedroom and attempted to fashion a disguise for herself. She removed the epaulets and insignia from her Kriegsmarine overcoat and cut a bed sheet for a makeshift kerchief to cover her hair. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. She looked like hell, but the disguise should work for anyone looking for her in a crowd. Now this was the second time she had looked into a mirror and wished she looked better. Better for whom? Before she could fully develop that thought, she forced it down in her mind.
She walked out into the parlor where Hagen and Simon were conferring. She held up her arms and turned around.
"That will have to do," Hagen said, looking to Simon for confirmation. Simon nodded, silent as usual. He got up and left Johanna and Hagen alone.
"Here is the plan," Hagen continued. "No matter what happens, you must, must, stay by me. Under no circumstances can we be separated. With the large crowd and a sizeable police presence, we can't risk it. Once we locate Viersing, and I think he will be there somewhere, I will allow him to get close enough to Lindbergh to establish his intentions, but no closer. I will then draw him outside under some pretext or, failing that I will shoot him on the spot."
He paused to let that sink in. Johanna understood for the first time that Hagen meant to kill Viersing, regardless of tonight's outcome. Hagen saw the look on her face as she made this realization and nodded.
"Right," he continued. "If I can't avoid shooting him in private, then I will do so in public. We will both attempt to run out the exit that I will identify when we arrive. We will not be returning to the safe house. If the police arrest me, so be it, but it will only be after I have taken care of Viersing and you have seen me do it. If we get away – all the better."
"If we do get away – what then?" she asked.
Hagen hesitated. "We will be leaving the country."
Johanna knew better than to press him for more details.
"What if the police or the FBI are there and they have my picture?" she asked.
"I've thought of that, but there's no reason to believe that the police will be expecting you at an America First rally. In any event, I have a plan to account for the possibility."
Simon helped them bring Hagen's three cases down to the car. He shook Hagen's hand with a solemn nod and turned to Johanna. He reached out to take her hand and give it a quick squeeze. As he turned to leave, he caught Johanna's eye. And winked.
Johanna was flustered for a moment and Hagen laughed.
"Get in the car," he said.
On the way to the rally, Johanna mulled over Hagen's plan. With all the police likely to be at the rally for crowd control, the chances of their entering MadisonSquareGarden unseen were remote. Johanna wasn't worried. She felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. She knew that, after tonight, it would all be over. One of two things was going to happen.
Scenario One – the police spot me right away and take us both into custody before we set foot into the arena.
Scenario Two – everything happens just as Hagen planned. We get into the Garden, find Viersing and stop him from killing Lindbergh.
And then I'll grab the nearest police officer and have Hagen arrested.
BSC agents Mearah and Alexander walked up the stairs to the Falck's apartment over the deli. Mearah tapped 'shave and a haircut' on the door and waited.
"I'll do the talking, eh boyo?" he said. "Lest you charm them to death."
Klaus Falck opened the door, filling the doorway. Mearah tipped his hat to him and asked if they could speak with them. Klaus appeared to think about it and then stepped aside to let them in.
"Bloody Germans," Alexander sighed as they entered.
Elisabeth and Friedrich Falck were seated at the dining room table about to eat. Mearah could tell from Elisabeth's frightened expression and Friedrich's surly one that the Falck's took them for the police. Good. Mearah hoped his Irish accent would add to the effect.
"Mr. and Mrs. Falck," he said, doffing his hat. "We're wondering if we could have a word with Johanna."
Elisabeth began to speak but Klaus cut her off as he took his seat at the head of the table.
"Our daughter does not live with us. We do not know where she is," he said, crossing his thick arms.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mearah replied. "It's just that since she's back here in the US, I thought she'd be living with you. Should've asked her when I saw her today, I guess."
Mearah noted the looks of surprise on the faces of Klaus and Elisabeth. Friedrich had no reaction and he noted that, too.
"I'm sure she's just real busy – that's why she hasn't come to see you since she's been back. I wouldn't worry about it." Mearah put his hat back on and gestured for the Falcks not to get up. He raised his eyebrows to Alexander and jerked his thumb at the front door.
Out in the hallway, Mearah again raised his eyebrows.
"That kid knows she's here," Alexander offered.
"Right. Perhaps a word would be in order?" He knocked on the door. Again, Klaus answered.
"Sorry to bother you again. Might we have a word with your son?"
Klaus grunted and turned to get him. Friedrich came to the door with a smug look.
"I'm eating."
"Never mind that, son." Mearah decided to continue his assumptive line of questioning. "We know that you've seen your sister since she's been back. We can appreciate that you're trying to shield your paren
ts from embarrassment. How can we get in touch with Johanna?"
Friedrich affected a look of boredom and looked at the wall over their heads.
"I don't know what you're talking about. My sister is in Germany."
Alexander gave Mearah a disgusted look and turned to leave.
Mearah lingered for a moment and then raised a finger to the brim of his hat.
"All right, then," he said and headed down the stairs.
Alexander was waiting for him on the sidewalk.
"Let's find a payphone," Mearah said. "We need to have that boy watched."
Alexander spat into the gutter. "Bloody Germans."
38
MadisonSquareGarden – New York City
Special Agent Dan Wexler peered through binoculars at the arena. MadisonSquareGarden had been set up for tonight's rally with a stage erected at one end and hundreds of chairs on the floor. The stage was a huge wooden platform with sides and a backdrop of black curtains draped from the catwalks up above. Long American flags hung from the rafters and fluttered against the stage's black backdrop. A podium ringed with red-white-and-blue bunting bristled with microphones at the front of the stage. A blue banner read 'America First Committee.'
Wexler stood at the back of the upper tier of seats. From his perch, he could see the stage, the entire floor and most of the entrances where he had agents stationed. Stagehands were milling about and Garden personnel were making the final preparations on the floor before the doors were to be opened. Among them were twenty more of his agents and another ten posing as facility employees backstage, in the lobby and at the ticket booths.
Of the total law enforcement presence at the rally, Wexler's fifty agents were a pittance compared to that of the NYPD. On the phone this morning, Deputy Chief Inspector John Conway told Wexler that he would have 725 uniformed officers in and out of the Garden. Another fifty plainclothes detectives were scattered around the arena. Wexler didn't mention Lindbergh's name to Conway, but told him that the government wanted Otto Viersing, Johanna Falck and a blond man, name unknown, in connection with an espionage investigation.
He ensured that every one of the seven hundred and seventy-five officers had a picture of each of them.
At seven o'clock, the doors opened and people streamed in by the hundreds. Wexler picked up his binoculars and began looking at the faces in the crowd.
Across town, Mearah and Alexander sat in their car watching the Falck's front door. At just past seven, the door opened and Friedrich walked out. They let him get half a block ahead before they got out of the car and followed him.
Johanna was well aware of the popularity of the isolationist cause. Several times at Michigan, students had shut down the campus with 'peace strikes.' Thousands of students occupied classrooms and administration buildings, where they would recite their version of the Oxford anti-war oath: "I refuse to support the Government of the United States in any war it may conduct." Numerous formal debates had been held on campus since the beginning of the war in Europe, with hundreds more held in dorms and coffee shops.
She was also well aware that the America First Committee had become the focal point for all those opposed to American intervention into the war and that Charles Lindbergh had become the voice of that cause.
None of this prepared her for the scene surrounding MadisonSquareGarden on this night.
As they approached the intersection of Seventh Avenue and 51st Street, a swarm of people were overflowing into the streets, all heading towards the Garden. Cars were double and triple parked. Hagen followed their lead and parked the car alongside a silver coupe.
Johanna opened the door and a wave of sound washed over her. Thousands of voices were chanting, singing and yelling up and down the street. On the corner, a group of young men surrounded a sign that read 'Fight for Freedom' and handed out posters and handbills. One was shouting, "Read the facts about America's Number One Nazi." Ten yards away another sign stuck out above the crowd reading 'Committee to Defend America by Aiding Allies.' Johanna could hear a woman heckling people headed toward the rally. She was accusing them of "mingling with Nazis, Fascists and Communists."
Hagen took her arm and they entered the stream of people. At Eighth Avenue, police barricades blocked the intersection. Pedestrian traffic was detoured as was the Eighth Avenue bus. Lines of people passed through the police line, their tickets out and visible. The policemen glanced at each ticket and scanned the faces in the crowd.
Johanna felt a twinge of fear that she would be recognized, but Hagen held out two tickets and an officer waved them through. She once again shook her head at the irony of worrying about being 'caught' by the police while a captive of this Nazi spy.
When they turned the corner onto Eighth Avenue, Johanna could see the Garden, a four story rectangular box that took up one whole side of the block. The façade was ablaze in neon and a crowd thirty deep ringed the outside on the sidewalk and street. Loudspeakers had been set up all along the street, and the sound of singing was piped from inside the arena. Johanna could make out the strains of 'Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.'
A long line of policemen stood on the sidewalk under the white lights of the marquee. They too were scanning the faces in the crowd. Johanna adjusted her kerchief, pulling it lower over her forehead and tucking a stray lock of hair back in.
Hagen pulled back on her elbow and looked at his watch. They were standing off to the side, ten yards from the marquee. He was watching the policemen.
Johanna was about to ask what he was waiting for when shouting erupted twenty feet to her left. She followed the looks of the crowd and was trying to find the source of the noise when Hagen grabbed her arm and led her in the opposite direction.
They approached the marquee just as several officers left their post to see to the disturbance. As they passed the box office, Johanna looked over her shoulder to see two men in a scuffle on the ground with three officers breaking it up. Hagen stared straight ahead and kept up his purposeful stride toward the entrance. The remaining policemen were busy straining for a glimpse of the fight. Hagen and Johanna entered the arena.
Inside the Garden, the singing was louder and the sounds of hecklers and protesters faded behind them. A lone spotlight shone on the bunting-draped podium at the front of the empty stage.
"We need to look for Viersing anywhere he might be able to get to Lindbergh," Hagen said. His mouth was to Johanna's ear, but he had to shout over the din of the crowd.
"He won't try to shoot Lindbergh from a seat in the crowd," he continued. "It will be somewhere out of sight."
Johanna was about to ask why Viersing wouldn't shoot from a spot in the audience – it seemed the most obvious assassination tactic. Again, Hagen took her by the elbow.
"Let's walk closer to the stage and see if we can spot him. There has to be some way backstage."
They skirted the edge of the floor, careful to avoid the many uniformed officers patrolling the crowd. There was no sign of Viersing or any obvious way backstage.
Mearah stuck a finger in his ear to block the noise of the crowd on Eighth Avenue.
"Friedrich Falck appears to be going to an America First Rally at MadisonSquareGarden," he shouted into the payphone. "If he's there to meet with Johanna, there's no way the two of us can keep track of them with twenty thousand people inside and at least that many outside."
He looked at Alexander with a shrug. Alexander pulled on a cigarette and shook his head. He was keeping an eye on Friedrich in the crowd waiting to get through the police barricade.
"Well what the hell are you doing talking to me, you bloody fool?" Stephenson bellowed on the other end. "You go into that rally and don't let him out of your sight."
Mearah hung up the pay phone and pushed the booth door aside.
"On we go, lad. We're not to lose our quarry."
Wexler gulped the last of some cold coffee as he stood at his vantage point. He threw the paper cup on the floor and resumed scanning the crowd with his bino
culars.
An agent whose name he couldn't remember tapped him on the shoulder.
"What?" Wexler barked. He lowered the binoculars and fixed the agent with an angry look.
The agent jerked his thumb toward the arena entrance.
"NYPD just detained three men who were fighting out on the sidewalk. One of them comes back on our hit list of suspected German agents."
Wexler jabbed his finger into the agent's chest.
"Go talk to him, find out what you can. That was an obvious distraction. Our little lady and her boyfriend probably snuck past New York's finest at that very moment. Any sign of Viersing?"
Fifth Column Page 22
