Lisbon Crossing, The

by Tom Gabbay

  “Lili tells me that you are the man to discuss business with,” he finally said.

  “Depends on the business, I guess.”

  He paused, as if reflecting, but I had the feeling that he knew exactly where he was heading and the space was just for effect. “Lili places a great deal of trust in you, in spite of your youth, if I may say so. She is clearly not a foolish woman, so you must be a reliable sort of person…Discreet.”

  “I try not to disappoint my friends,” I said.

  “A good policy,” he smiled. “Do you believe in coincidence, Jack?”

  “I never really thought about it,” I said. “But, sure, I guess so.”

  “I’m not so certain.” Santo slowly shook his head. “Sometimes things seem to occur by happenstance when, in retrospect, there is a sense of inevitability about them. As if it was meant to be.”

  “Fate?”

  “Or destiny. Whatever you choose to call it. For instance, it may seem coincidental that Lili Sterne is in Lisbon at this particular moment…But perhaps there’s a reason for it. Perhaps a very significant reason.”

  “Such as?”

  Santo frowned and looked at the end of his cigar to see if it was still burning. It wasn’t, but he didn’t do anything about it.

  “Are you free for dinner tomorrow evening?”

  “I suppose—”

  “Good. My car will pick you up at the hotel. Be ready at half past eight.”

  We must’ve been walking in a big circle because when I looked up I saw that we were right back at the entrance to the garden party, which was breaking up. The duke and duchess had disappeared into the house, along with Lili, who, I was told, would be wining and dining with the royal couple. Santo excused himself and I headed for the car. On the way out, I saw the Spanish ambassador with my dark beauty on his arm, and I could’ve sworn that she flashed me a smile.

  “Pardon me…”

  “Yeah?”

  “My name is—”

  “I know who you are,” I said. “And I’m guessing you know who I am, so we can skip the introductions.”

  Griffin Stropford rocked back on his heels, examined me through a pair of thick, round horn-rims, and produced an unexpected chuckle.

  “Quite!” he said emphatically.

  Though he must’ve been in his midthirties, Stropford had a schoolboyish look—round face with chubby cheeks, a shock of sandy-brown hair that fell arbitrarily across his forehead, and an ill-fitting blue suit with a tie that came up about three inches short. Alberto had spotted his car as we were driving back from Santo’s place. The English spymaster couldn’t have been trying to hide the tail; at least I hope he wasn’t, because it would’ve been tough to miss a black Rover with diplomatic plates riding six feet off our bumper. He’d followed us into the hotel, parked up behind us, and jumped out from behind the wheel so he could be waiting for me at the entrance.

  “So?” I said, after he’d had his chuckle.

  “Richard Brewster…”

  “What about him?” I headed inside and he followed.

  “That’s how you know who I am. I daresay he told you about me?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did,” I said.

  “Quite…” he repeated, a little less forcefully this time. I kept moving across the lobby toward the reception desk.

  “I, er…I thought you might like to have a little chat.” He was still smiling, but it was a bit strained now.

  “About what?” I retrieved the room key.

  “I daresay, you’ll find it quite interesting.”

  As he stood there, hat in hand, clumsy smile spread across his face, I thought if this was the best England had to offer, they were in real trouble.

  “Okay,” I said. “Follow me.”

  “So what do you wanna know?” I threw my jacket on the back of a chair and loosened my tie.

  “Perhaps you misunderstood me,” he said, looking a bit baffled. “I have information which I believe may be of interest to you.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Near the embassy?”

  “Near enough,” he confirmed, suspicion growing.

  “In Lisbon?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well then.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I—”

  “You came forty miles out of your way because you can’t wait to help me out with some information?” I opened the balcony door to let some air into the room.

  A smile crept across his face. “Oh, I see…Yes, very good.”

  “So…What do you want to know?”

  “Well…” Stropford took his glasses off, carefully cleaned the lenses with a crumpled handkerchief, then checked them in the light before replacing them on the bridge of his nose.

  “You disappeared for quite some time with Espírito Santo.”

  “That’s right.”

  “May I ask what the topic of conversation was?”

  “He wanted to show me his dogs.”

  “I see. Do you have a particular interest in dogs?”

  “Can’t stand them,” I said truthfully.

  “I presume, then, that it would be fair to say that the animals were not the principal topic of discussion?”

  “That would be fair to say, yes.” I flopped into a big armchair, kicked my shoes off, and stretched my legs out across the coffee table. Stropford was waiting for an invitation, so I motioned for him to sit down. He slid into the seat across from me but kept his wing tips firmly planted on the ground.

  “So, you’re a spy, huh?” I said, taking him by surprise. “I think you might be the first one I’ve ever met. But then I guess you don’t always know with spies, do you? That’s the whole point…Although you don’t seem to make much of a secret about it.”

  “The cloak-and-dagger side of things is somewhat exaggerated in the public’s mind,” Stropford said. “The result of overzealous authors, no doubt.”

  “What do you do, then?”

  “I write a great many reports.”

  “Interesting,” I said, and left him hanging. There was a lull in the conversation while he thought about how to get back on track.

  “I, er…I understand that you have an interest in learning more about Dr. Kleinmann.”

  “I’m curious how he ended up in the trunk of Eddie Grimes’s car with a bullet in his head,” I said. “But I don’t suppose you know the answer to that.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But, as I said earlier, I believe you’d be quite interested in what I do know.”

  “Try me.”

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can effect a mutually beneficial exchange of information?”

  “Why are you so interested in what Santo and I talked about?”

  Stropford leaned forward in the chair. “How much do you know about him?”

  “Just that he’s got money. Banker, isn’t he?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Wolframite.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Wolframite is a raw material found in abundance in the Serra da Estrela mountain range to the north. It’s the source of tungsten.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Still doesn’t mean much to me.”

  “Tungsten is the ingredient used to harden steel. Quite handy for manufacturing tanks and artillery and that sort of thing. Espírito Santo has been making a great deal of money by selling it to the Germans. At highly inflated prices, I might add.”

  “So you’ve got the former king of England rooming with a guy who’s in bed with the Nazis,” I said. “Yes, I can see your problem.”

  “Quite,” Stropford confirmed.

  “Does he know?” I asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Does the duke know about Santo’s business dealings?”

  “One must presume not, but one can never be sure.”

  “Why don’t you tell him?”

  He chuckled nervously. �
��Hardly my place, is it?”

  “It must be somebody’s place.”

  “Indeed, but not mine. My place is to learn as much as I can about the situation and to relay it to London. Which, in answer to your previous question, is why I’m so interested in what Santo had to say.”

  “You want me to spy on him?”

  “Not in so many words, no.”

  “What then?”

  “Well, if you could tell me what you discussed at the garden party this afternoon…”

  “Sounds like spying to me.”

  “If you like,” he said, straining to smile.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Well…er…What do you have in mind?”

  “How about a knighthood?”

  “Well, I…er, I don’t—” He realized I was pulling his leg. “I see,” he said with a chuckle. “Very good.” Stropford was growing on me. At least he knew how to laugh, even if it did take him a minute.

  “Truth is I don’t know what Santo wants,” I said.

  “I see…”

  “Not yet anyway.”

  “Oh?…How so?”

  “I’m supposed to have dinner with him tomorrow night. I guess he’ll lay it out for me then.”

  “Hmm…” Stropford stared into the table. “You’ll go?”

  “I said I would.”

  “Good…Tomorrow night, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “Right…It’s Monday today, so that’ll be Tuesday.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Why don’t we meet up Wednesday morning, early…Someplace out of the way…I know just the spot…”

  “Hold on a second,” I said, sitting forward. “I don’t know what Santo wants to talk to me about, but whatever it is, it’ll be with the understanding that it’s private.” Stropford started to say something, but I kept going. “Now, I understand that you’ve got a job to do and that’s fine, maybe I’m even sympathetic, but I work for Lili Sterne. She pays the bills and I take care of her business. It’s an exclusive arrangement, just like yours is.”

  He leaned forward and folded his hands together, interlocking his fingers like he was about to say a prayer.

  “Let me say this,” he began. “There are, well…questions…questions about the duke. Important questions about his…his…judgment.” Stropford was choosing his words so carefully that he could barely get them out. “Can we agree at least on the following? That if Santo’s proposal has anything to do with the Duke of Windsor, you will let me know…”

  “I can’t promise anything,” I said.

  “But you’ll consider it?”

  “Sure. I’ll consider it.”

  “Good!” Stropford stood up sharply. “I won’t take any more of your time, then.” He headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I said. He gave me a quizzical look, then remembered.

  “Oh, yes, Dr. Kleinmann. Sorry. Yes…Well, we’d been keeping a close eye on him for some time. I’ve no doubt he was Abwehr.”

  “Abwehr?”

  “Military intelligence.”

  “The SS?”

  “Heavens, no…The SS is Hitler’s private police force, whereas Abwehr is a legitimate intelligence service, an arm of the Wehrmacht. In fact, there’s quite a rivalry between the two agencies.”

  “Major Ritter…?”

  “Gestapo through and through.”

  “Isn’t he investigating Kleinmann’s death?”

  “They smell blood. He’d love to be able to report to Berlin that Dr. Kleinmann was up to no good.”

  “Kleinmann was Abwehr?”

  “Correct. We’re almost certain that he was running the Lisbon unit. It’s quite an important posting at the moment, probably the most important in Europe.”

  “Did you have him killed?”

  Stropford chuckled. “No, I’m sorry to say that as much as I would have liked to, I didn’t. You see, both sides operate under a sort of unspoken cease-fire here in Lisbon. Salazar is quite adamant about that.”

  “Somebody wasn’t honoring the truce.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Aren’t you curious who?”

  “It’s of some interest…”

  “But you’re more interested in the duke’s friends…”

  Stropford gave me a scolding look. “I have many interests at the moment, Mr. Teller.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Sorry…Any idea who did kill Kleinmann? Or what he was doing with Eddie Grimes in the first place?”

  “Afraid not, on either score.”

  “Well, it’s interesting, him being a spy, but I’m not sure how it helps me.”

  “There’s more,” Stropford said.

  “Like…?”

  “You’ve expressed an interest in one Eva Lange, I believe?”

  “That’s right.”

  “A personal friend of Miss Sterne?”

  “They grew up together,” I explained.

  “In Berlin…”

  “Right.”

  “Yes, well,” he said, shifting his weight as he considered how to put it. “Miss Lange was in touch with Dr. Kleinmann.”

  “In touch?”

  “She was observed in his company, several times. Their relationship was of a…well, of a personal nature.” He emphasized the word, making sure the meaning didn’t escape me.

  “She was sleeping with him?”

  “We’re quite certain of it. And while we can’t be as sure about this, the inevitable conclusion, of course, is that she was in Dr. Kleinmann’s service…Er, on a professional basis as well as a personal one.”

  “You think she was a spy?”

  “That would appear to be the case.”

  “A German spy?”

  “Does it surprise you?”

  “I guess it does,” I said. “Although I’m not sure why. I don’t know much about her, outside of what Lili’s told me.”

  “She spent some portion of her life in England?”

  “Her mother was English,” I confirmed. “Her father brought her over to Germany after her mother died.”

  “That would certainly fit the profile.”

  “Profile?”

  “Abwehr has been attempting to send recruits into London for some time, but on a significantly increased basis since the fall of France. Many come through Portugal under the pretense of being refugees. We’ve intercepted a number of them, both men and women of various nationalities, but the one thing they have in common, unsurprisingly, is a complete command of the English language. If they were to get through, they would be able to quickly melt away into the British landscape.”

  “You think Eva killed Kleinmann?”

  “Can’t say, I’m afraid. Though if she was working for him, I’m not sure what the motive would be.”

  “Maybe she had a change of heart.”

  “Anything’s possible,” he said. “Do you intend to inform Miss Sterne?”

  “I guess I’ll have to. I’m not sure how she’ll take it.”

  “Mmm,” he grunted, buttering it with significance.

  “What?”

  “Well, perhaps it’s not my place to say it, but…well, can you be certain of Miss Sterne’s loyalties?”

  “Lili?!” I almost choked.

  “She is, after all, of German origin.”

  “German, yes, but—”

  “A number of American citizens of German heritage have returned to the fatherland since the war began. Many are being used as agents.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “Lili’s a lot of things, but she’s not a Nazi sympathizer.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Still, that’s how we’re forced to think these days.” He opened the door to go but stopped short.

  “One other thing…”

  “Yeah?”

  “It may be of interest to you that Dr. Kleinmann and Mr. Grimes were shot with two different weapons…It follows, of course, that they were likely murdered by two separate individuals
.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  “La senhora, she has just gone to her suite,” the voice informed me.

  “Thanks,” I said, and hung up. I owed Javier the desk clerk ten bucks.

  I flicked the bedside lamp on and looked at my watch. Almost midnight. After Stropford left, I’d retreated into the bedroom to lie down and must’ve drifted off while mulling over his revelation. There was no reason to doubt it, but I wished there was. It would’ve been easier to tell Lili that Eva was dead than to tell her she was a Nazi spy. I thought about letting it go until morning, but I knew that would be a mistake. If she still wanted to locate her friend after hearing what I had to say, I’d have to get moving. Ritter would have Catela’s Guarda Nationale looking under every rock in Lisbon until they found her. I couldn’t be hanging around until noon while Lili got her beauty sleep.

  I scraped myself off the bed, went into the living room, found my shoes, and slipped into my jacket. Taking the stairs up the two flights, I wondered what kind of mood I’d find her in.

  She appeared quickly after I rang the doorbell, wearing her bathrobe, but still in makeup.

  “Hello, darling!” she practically sang. “Come inside!” I stepped in. Feeling a bit on edge and not quite awake; it probably showed. “You look like you need a nightcap,” she said.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “What would you be interrupting, darling? Do you think the King of England is hiding under my bed?”

  “Former king,” I corrected her as she handed me a large snifter of brandy.

  “That’s right,” she said, raising her glass. “To former kings and aging movie stars!”

  “You had a good night, then.”

  She made a face. “You were supposed to say something banal like I don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

  “You don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”

  “Thanks so much, darling.” She lifted the crystal to her lips, but kept her eyes locked on me. “You know something about Eva, don’t you?”

  “Yes…”