She pulled back on the slide again, but this time she saw in the open slot on top that it was a bullet blocking it from closing. She pulled the slide back as far as it would go, turned the gun upside down and tried to shake the bullet loose. It fell out and she caught it with her skirt.
Pulling the slide back again, she saw that another bullet was now in the chamber. It seemed to be in there properly, but she couldn't be sure. At least the gun would now close and look like it would fire. Johanna hoped she wouldn't have to find out if it would fire.
She let go of the slide again and put the gun and errant bullet in her pocket. She flushed the toilet and ran the tap in the sink for a moment before going out.
The two men were right where she had left them. She searched their faces for any sign of suspicion but saw none. The tall one opened the door to Room 3603 while the Irishman came around behind her.
Her hand on the pistol the entire time, Johanna pulled it out of her coat pocket and pointed at the Irishman's face.
She saw his eyes go wide. For a moment he froze, and Johanna took advantage of it. She stepped behind him, putting the barrel of the gun to his temple and putting distance between herself and the tall one.
"I'm very, very sorry to have to do this to you," she apologized. "Over to the elevator, please."
Johanna pulled the man over to the elevator and pressed the Down button. She kept the barrel pressed against the Irishman's head while keeping an eye on the tall one. He folded his arms and looked at her with a wry expression, but stayed where he was.
The elevator bell rang and the doors opened. She glanced over her shoulder to check that the car was empty. Backing into it, she kept the pistol aimed at the man's head.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. The doors closed.
Johanna ran up Fifth Avenue with her hand in the air, looking at each cab that drove by. Every one she saw had a fare already inside. Reaching the next intersection, she stepped out into the street, looking at the oncoming traffic and waving.
She checked over her shoulder, expecting to see the two BSC men any second. She could still see the entrance to 630, so she knew it wouldn't be long before they came running after her.
Turning back to the traffic, she saw a taxi make his way over to the curb. Johanna peered into the car and saw that the backseat was empty. She didn't wait for the driver to reach her; she threw open the door and jumped in.
"425 East 89th Street," she said. "And there's an extra ten dollars in it for you if you break every speed limit and run every red light on the way."
The cabbie raised the flag on his meter and punched the gas.
"Lady, that's the way I drive for free, but I'll take your ten bucks."
Standing on Fifth Avenue, Mearah and Alexander looked up and down the sidewalk and across the street. Neither saw any sign of Johanna – just the usual stream of pedestrians and cars.
Mearah swore.
"Let's go tell Bill how you let her get away," Alexander said with an angry look.
"She had a bloody Walther in my face!" Mearah retorted.
Alexander turned and pointed to a lit window twenty-five floors above.
"Nevertheless, he is waiting in that office to see us."
Mearah kicked a trash can and turned back to the building.
William Stephenson faced the window with his eyes closed while Mearah and Alexander related the night's events.
When they had finished, they sat in silence, waiting for his reaction.
Stephenson swiveled his chair around and carefully folded his hands on the desk before raising his eyes to look at the two men. He stared at them for a long, uncomfortable moment before speaking in a low voice.
"You two are worthless piles of shit," he said, pausing after every word. He let that sink in before going on.
"If Miss Falck has indeed doubled," he continued. "God only knows what she's given the Nazis. She'll have nothing on us; we gave her only the most cursory training and sent her off with century-old codes. But who the hell knows what the Americans have told her, the bloody amateurs. If they've fouled it up for us, I'm throwing them to the fucking wolves.
"First, I'm calling Bill Donovan. Second – which one of you does the best American accent?" Mearah raised a finger. "Fine, you call the FBI, New York Police Department, New Jersey and Connecticut state police and tell them that there is a Nazi agent on the loose, armed and dangerous. Give them her description. Now, get out."
Johanna had the cabbie drive around her parents' block. She looked in every car, but did not see anyone that appeared to be watching the apartment. It was close to midnight, and the auto and pedestrian traffic had eased somewhat.
She told the driver to stop in front of the deli, paid him and ran over to the stoop. Ringing the bell, she tried to make herself invisible in the scant cover afforded by the doorway.
Her father answered the door. Eyes rimmed with red, he tightened the belt of his robe and leaned against the door jamb, looking at her.
Johanna made a move to go in before she saw his icy stare.
"Vati, whatever you're thinking about me, it's not true. Please let me come in and explain."
He looked at her for a moment then stepped aside to let her in.
Elisabeth Falck cried out when she saw Johanna enter the apartment.
"Your brother is dead," she said, sobbing.
Johanna nodded. "I know."
Both her parents gave her confused looks.
"I can't tell you everything," she continued. "But I'm working for the government. Our government. My arrest this summer was a ruse."
"I don't understand," Klaus said, brow furrowed. "What does this mean, a ruse?"
"It was a cover, a trick to fool the Bundists and the Nazis," she replied. "I came back to tell you about Freddy and to tell you not to worry about me."
Elisabeth gathered Johanna in a tight embrace, while Klaus nodded, seemingly in approval.
Johanna pulled away from her mother.
"Who told you about Freddy?" she asked.
"An FBI agent, what was his name?" Elisabeth looked to Klaus.
"I don't remember," he replied. "He had a German name."
"Wexler?" Johanna asked.
"Yes, perhaps it was. Also, two other men came by this afternoon asking about you. They seemed to know you were back from Germany, unlike your mother and me."
"Yes, I know about them," she replied. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was back or what I was doing in the first place. I told you, I really can't talk about it."
Elisabeth brushed a stray lock of hair from Johanna's face.
"All right, liebchen. It's late. Where are you staying?"
"I have a room at a…at a hotel. In fact, I need to get back. I still have some work to do."
She paused.
"What are you going to do about Freddy?"
Klaus sighed and rubbed his face.
"I don't know. I'll call Julius Schenker, the lawyer. Maybe he will know what to do, how to get…."
Klaus stopped and made a small hiccupping noise. It took Johanna a moment to recognize it as a choked-back sob.
He cleared his throat.
"…how to get his body for the funeral."
Johanna felt herself tear up.
"OK," she said softly. "I'll call or stop by and find out what you're doing."
She kissed her mother and father and turned to go.
As she reached the door, she stopped and looked at her parents.
"If I've ever made you feel like I was embarrassed…that you were my parents or that we were German or immigrants or….," she trailed off.
She cast her eyes to the floor, unable to look them in the eye.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."
Johanna hurried out the door and down the steps. She burst outside, for the moment unconcerned that someone might be watching. Regaining her composure, she walked close to the buildings, hoping to stay in the shadows.
Down the block was Ha
gen's car where she had left it. She waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. A quick check of the trunk showed all three cases where she had left them.
Driving back to New Jersey, Johanna did her best to emulate the evasive driving maneuvers the BSC man had used, albeit at a much slower speed. And with the lights on.
Back at his office in the Foley Square Courthouse, Wexler sat at his cluttered desk, his head in his hands.
One by one, the other agents from his detail filtered in. They sat down wherever there was an open seat, or leaned against the wall, exhausted. None spoke.
After a while, Wexler looked up.
"What's the disposition of the bodies?"
An agent whose name he couldn't remember gave him the rundown. The City Medical Examiner had bagged the bodies and taken them for autopsies. The NYPD was working the identifications. Johanna Falck's boyfriend was the only one there was a question about.
Wexler gave no sign that he had heard the man.
The agent waited for a moment, staring at his fingernails.
"So, what do you want us to do now," he asked.
Wexler gave him a dismissive wave.
"Go home and go to bed, all of you."
An agent in the corner, leaning back in his chair raised his hand.
"What are we going to do?"
Wexler spread his hands in a gesture of defeat.
"I have no idea."
41
Johanna was careful to obey every traffic law the entire way back to the motel. She endured numerous tailgaters trying to get her to speed up, but didn't go one mile per hour over the limit. Twice, she had felt her heart pound when she pulled alongside police cruisers at a red light, but she stared straight ahead and kept driving.
Once she had carried Hagen's cases into the motel room, she set aside the two filled with money and clothes and focused her attention on the third. It was stuffed with food, maps, papers, a few paperback books and several notebooks. She pulled a notebook out and flipped through the pages. It was full of names and numbers. She layed back on the bed and started reading it from the beginning.
Not even halfway through the first page, the words began to swim. She forced her eyelids open, but could not continue. Her eyes closed, the notebook fell across her chest and she slept.
Charlie Daly pulled a wooden spoon out of the drawer and poked at the onions softening in butter on the stove. He hummed tunelessly as he prepared their breakfast.
"Are you listening to me?" Eve asked.
"Yes, dear."
Eve rustled the pages of The Washington Post and continued reading.
"Let's see. Mmm hmm. Oh, dear. In the North Atlantic, the US destroyer Ruben James was sunk by a German U-boat with the loss of 100 of her crew."
"Damn," Charlie replied. "That will make them the first naval casualties. One more step. It's just one more step."
"Indeed. It says over here that British troops have occupied the Greek island of Saloniki to assist the new government in preventing Communist insurgents from taking over now that the Germans have withdrawn from the country. Also, the President is in Hyde Park and drilling has completed on Mount Rushmore."
The phone rang.
Charlie slid the frying pan off the lit burner and picked up the receiver in the hallway.
"Hello?"
He listened for a moment before speaking. Eve watched his face for a hint of who it might be.
"Oh my God," he exclaimed.
"What? Who is it?" Eve asked.
He held up his hand.
"Oh my God," he repeated.
"What? Is it about Johanna?"
Charlie nodded. He listened for a minute, thanked the caller and hung up.
"You are simply not going to believe this," he told his wife as he resumed his cooking.
He told her everything that had happened the night before in New York—the suspicion that Johanna was a double agent for the Nazis, the Lindbergh connection, the shootings of her brother, two suspected Nazi spies and two FBI agents and her pointing a gun at two BSC agents.
Eve was silent, shaking her head.
"What has our girl gotten herself into?" Charlie asked.
He cracked eggs into a bowl and swore at bits of shell as he tried to coax them out with his finger.
Johanna stretched her entire body as she awoke. Her leg knocked one of the suitcases onto the floor and the noise brought her fully awake.
The heavy drapes over the window kept the room dark, but she could see sunlight around the edges. The clock on the wall said eight.
She walked across the room and drew back the curtains just enough to see out. A woman was corralling her three children into a Packard station wagon, but other than that the parking lot was empty. Johanna hoped that parking Hagen's car at the opposite end of the motel would give her time to sneak out if the police showed up.
She took up where she left off, sorting the items from the third case. A small block of cheese and a dried sausage were wrapped in wax paper. She tore into them, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. She silently thanked Hagen for having the foresight to pack food.
At the thought of Hagen, she pictured him – bloody and dying on the floor. Him apologizing to her. She remembered seeing the scar under his chin, just like the one Freddy had. Even in the stress of the moment she had wondered how he had gotten it. Not for the first time she had thought of him as a man, and not just a Nazi. Johanna put it out of her mind and focused on the items spread out on the bed.
Hagen's codebook yielded nothing of note. She was sure that someone at COI would be interested in it, but it did nothing for her now. A cardboard box with bullets. A thick stack of maps held together with a rubber band. Looking through them, Johanna saw that every large or medium-sized city on the East Coast was represented.
The notebook she had started reading last night. It was full of names and numbers. Johanna stared at the numbers. They definitely weren't phone numbers or addresses. Could they be radio frequencies? She remembered Hagen consulting his notebook each time he had sent a message from the transmitter in the car.
She put the notebook aside. All that was left in the suitcase were four books: something by Hesse, a Hemingway novel and two others.
That was everything. She had hoped to find the remaining pieces of the puzzle but found herself at a dead end.
Johanna broke off a piece of cheese and chewed, going over everything in her head. She forced herself to recall every detail from the time Hagen had first walked into the Deutsche Ausland Institut until the moment he had died. Nothing jumped out at her; nothing hinted at a solution.
Something nagged at her about last night. Something in the back of her mind that she couldn't quite bring to the fore. What was it?
Again, she went over everything that had happened last night. Hagen hadn't said much once they were at the Garden, nothing revealing. When he was on the floor, bleeding from all those holes…he had apologized…she had reassured him….
Wait. He gave me something. I put it in one of the pockets of the Navy coat.
She picked the overcoat up off the floor and went through the pockets. Out of the right hand-warmer pocket she pulled Hagen's gun. She checked the one on the left. It was empty.
The inside pocket. He had handed her a folded piece of paper and she put it in the inside pocket.
Johanna fished around in the deep pocket and felt the edge of the paper. She pulled it out and held it in the light from the bedside lamp, kneeling on the floor.
She frowned when she saw what it was. It wasn't a folded paper. It was a small burgundy booklet with gold lettering. It was a passport.
A U.S. passport.
She opened it and instantly recognized the photograph on the inside of the cover. She turned the page and read the name to be sure.
'William Donovan.'
It was the passport of the head of COI.
What does this mean?
She flipped through the pages, reading the visas stamp
s which weren't in any particular order. She grabbed Hagen's notebook and a pencil and tried to create a chronology of where Donovan had visited and when.
If her notes were right, an entry visa for Bulgaria was the last stamp to be entered. But did that mean anything significant? The pages of the passport were pretty well full of visa stamps; maybe it was an old one that Donovan had discarded.
Fifth Column Page 26
