guard.... I'm sorry you have to fly out tonight. It would be simpler if the
pilot went alone. But that's not possible.'
426
-it,s what I was sent down here for.'
'It's a bit more complicated, I'm afraid. You've been through a great deal,
you've been wounded severely. By all rights, you should be hospitalized....
But that will have to wait.'
Oh?' David understood that Feld had something to say that even this
pragmatic Jew found difficult to put into words. 'You'd better tell me. .
. .'
'You'll have to deal with this in your own way, colonel,' interrupted Feld.
'You see ... the men in Washington do not expect you on that plane. They've
ordered your execution.'
i
I
i
427
43
Brigadier General Alan Swanson, lately of the War Department, had committed
suicide. Those who knew him said the pressures of his job, the immense
logistics he was called upon to expedite daily, had become too much for this
dedicated, patriotic officer. They also served who, far behind the lines,
primed the machinery of war with all the selfless energy they possessed.
In Fairfax, Virginia, at the huge, security-conscious compound that held
the secrets of Allied Central Intelligence, a lieutenant colonel named Ira
Barden disappeared. Simply disappeared; substance one day, vapor the next.
With him went a number Of highly classified files from the vaults. What
bewildered those who knew about them was the information these files
contained. In the main they were personal dossiers of ranking Nazis
involved with the concentration camps. Not the sort of inteffigence data a
defector would steal. Ira Barden's own dossier was pulled and placed in the
archives. Regrets were sent to his family; Lieutenant Colonel Barden was
MOA. Missing while on assignment.'Strange, but the family never insisted
upon an investigation. Which was their right, after all.... Strange.
A cryptographer in Lisbon, a man named Marshall, was found in the hills of
the Basque country. He had been wounded in a border skirmish and nursed
back to health by partisans. The reports of his death had been greatly
exaggerated as intended. German Intelligence was onto him. For the time
being, however,
M
he was confined to the embassy and returned to duty. He had sent a personal
message to an old friend he thought might be concerned; to Colonel David
Spaulding. The message was amusing, in an oddly phrased way. He wanted
Spaulding to know there were no hard feelings about the colonel's vacation
in South America. The cryp had taken a vacation, too. There were codes that
had to be broken - if they could be found. They both should plan better in
the future; they should get together on vacations. Good friends should
always do that.
There was another cryptographer. In Buenos Aires. One Robert Ballard. The
State Department was very high on Ballard these days. The Buenos Aires
cryptographer had spotted an enormous error in a scrambler and had taken
the personal initiative to not only question it, but to refuse to
authenticate it. Through a series of grave misunderstandings and faulty
intelligence, an order for the on-sight execution of Colonel Spaulding had
been issued by the War Department. Code: treason. Defection to the enemy
while on assignment. It took a great deal of courage on Ballard's part to
refuse to acknowledge so high priority a command. And State was never
averse to embarrassing the Department of War.
The aerophysicist, Eugene Lyons, Ph.D., was flown back to Pasadena. Things
... things had happened to Doctor Lyons. He was offered and accepted a
lucrative, meaningful contract with Sperry Rand's Pacific laboratories, the
finest in the country. He had entered a Los Angeles hospital for throat
surgery - prognosis: sixty-forty in his favor, if the will was there.... It
was. And there was something else about Lyons. On the strength of his
contract he had secured a bank loan and was building an oddly shaped,
Mediterranean-style house in a peaceful section of the San Fernando Valley.
Mrs. Jean Cameron returned to the Eastern Shore of Maryland
for two days. The State Department, at the personal behest of Ambassador
Henderson Granville in Buenos Aires, issued a letter of commendation to
Mrs. Cameron. Although her status was not official, her presence at the
embassy had been most valuable. She had kept open lines of communication
with diverse factions within the neutral city; lines of communication often
jeopardized by diplomatic necessities. Officials at State decided to
present Mrs. Cameron with the letter in a small ceremony, presided over by
a prominent undersecretary. State was somewhat
429
surprised to learn that Mrs. Cameron could not be reached at her family
home on Maryland's Eastern Shore. She was in Washington. At the Shoreharn
Hotel. The Shoreham was where Colonel David Spaulding was registered....
More than a coincidence, perhaps, but in no way would it interfere with
the letter of commendation. Not these days. Not in Washington.
Colonel David Spaulding looked up at the light brown stone and square
pillars of the War Department. He pulled at his army overcoat, adjusting
the heavy cloth over the sling on his arm underneath. It was the last
time he would wear a uniform or enter this building. He started up the
steps.
It was curious, he mused. He had been back for nearly three weeks, and
every day, every night he had thought about the words he was going to say
this afternoon. The fury, the revulsion ... the waste. Resentments for
a lifetime. But life would go on and in some curious way the violent
emotions had crested. He felt only a weariness now, an exhaustion that
demanded that he get it over with and return to something of value.
Somewhere.
With Jean.
He knew the men of'Tortugas'could not be reached with words. Words of
conscience had lost meaning for such men. As they had so often lost
meaning for him. That, too, was one of their crimes: they had stolen ...
decency. From so many. For so little.
Spaulding left his over-coat in the outer office and walked into the
small conference room. They were there, the men of 'Tortugas.9
Walter Kendall.
Howard Oliver.
Jonathan Craft.
None got up from the table. All were silent. Each stared at him. The
looks were mixtures of hate and fear -so often inseparable.
They were prepared to fight, to protest ... to salvage. They had held
their discussions, they had arrived at strategies.
They were so obvious, thought David.
He stood at the end of the table, reached into his pocket and took out
a handful of carbonado diamonds. He threw them on the hard surface of the
table; the tiny nuggets clattered and rolled.
The men of 'Tortugas' remained silent. They shifted their
430
14L
eyes to the stones, then back to Spaulding.
'The Koening transfer,' said David. 'The tools for Peenemfinde. I wanted
you t
o see them.'
Howard Oliver exhaled a loud, impatient breath and spoke in practiced
condescension. 'We have no idea what. . .'
'I know,' interrupted Spaulding firmly. 'You're busy men. So let's dispense
with unnecessary conversation; as a matter of fact, there's no reason for
you to talk at all. Just listen. I'll. be quick. And you'll always know
where to reach me.'
David put his right hand into his arm sling and pulled out an envelope. It
was an ordinary business envelope; sealed, thick. He placed it carefully on
the table and continued.
'This is the history of "Tortugas". From Geneva to Buenos Aires. From
Peenemflnde to a place called Ocho Calle. From Pasadena to a street ...
Terraza Verde. It's an ugly story. It raises questions I'm not sure should
be raised right now. Perhaps, ever. For the sake of so much sanity ...
everywhere.
'But that's up to you here at this table.... There are several copies of
this ... this indictment. I won't tell you where and you'll never be able
to find out. But they exist. And they'll be released in a way that will
result in simultaneous headlines in New York and London and Berlin. Unless
you do exactly as I say....
'Don't protest, Mr. Kendall. It's useless.... This war is won. The killing
will go on for a while but we've won it. Peenernfinde hasn't been idle;
they've scoured the earth. A few thousand rockets will be built, a few
thousand killed. Nowhere near what they conceived of. Or needed. And our
aircraft will blow up half of Germany; we'll be the victors now. And that9s
how it should be. What must come after the killing is the healing. And you
gentlemen will dedicate the rest of your natural lives to it. You will
sever all connections with your companies; you will sell all your holdings
above a bare subsistence level - as defined by the national economic
guidelines - donating the proceeds to charities - anonymously but with
substantiation. And you will offer your considerable talents to a grateful
government - in exchange for government salaries.
'For the rest of your lives you will be skilled government clerks. And that
is all you'll be.
'You have sixty days to comply with these demands. Inciden. tally, since
you ordered ny execution once, you should know
431
that part of our contract is my well-being. And the well-being of those
close to me, of course.
'Lastly, because it occurred to me that you might wish to recruit others
under this contract, the indictment makes it clear that you could not have
created "Tortugas" alone.... Name who you will. The world is in a sorry
state, gentlemen. It needs all the help it can get.'
Spaulding reached down for the envelope, picked it up and dropped it on the
table. The slap of paper against wood drew all eyes to the spot.
'Consider everything.' said David.
The men of 'Tortugas' stared in silence at the envelope. David turned,
walked to the door and let himself out.
February in Washington. The air was chilly, the winds were of winter but
the snows would not come.
Lieutenant Colonel David Spaulding dodged the cars as he crossed Wisconsin
Avenue to the Shoreharn Hotel. He was unaware that his overcoat was open;
he was oblivious to the cold.
It was over! He was finished I There would be scars -deep scars - but with
time....
With Jean....
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Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Page 53
