The Big Book of Espionage

by The Big Book of Espionage (retail) (epub)

  Crushing out his cigarette, he approached the bed where the girl lay sleeping, her delicate features faintly visible in the moonglow. Tenderly tucking the blankets about her tousled blond head, he seated himself wearily on the bed. His thoughts were cheerless as the winter night outside. By this time tomorrow, he would be in Paris. And without Katrina.

  Don’t get involved with a Polish female! It can lead to nothing but grief. This warning was constantly repeated to all members of the Embassy staff. It was drummed into them by lectures, pamphlets, meetings. But security lectures are one thing; a man’s heart quite another. And from the day Katrina had walked into the embassy and hesitantly inquired about a job in the cafeteria, Claffey’s heart had been involved. It was months before she agreed to go with him on a date to the opera. It was still more months before she shyly led him up the steep and narrow stairs to her room.

  Now, a year had passed since that magic night and Claffey was hopelessly in love. At thirty, he was old enough to know that something like Katrina happened but once in a lifetime, and then only to the most fortunate of men. Katrina, with her innocent, love-filled eyes, her shy, slow-bursting smile that made his heart somersault, her slender, willing body, just ripening into womanhood. The thought of life without her was bone-chilling, like thinking of himself as dead and buried. Whatever happened, he could not lose her.

  With a sigh, he lit another cigarette. In the flare of the match, he noticed the girl was awake, watching him with tender concern.

  “Raymond,” she said softly. “You must get back to the embassy before dawn. You should try to sleep.”

  “I’m thinking, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers traced the outline of his firm chin, then moved to his crew-cut black hair. “You must not worry so, darling,” she whispered. “I promise you I will be careful.”

  Reaching up, he clasped her small, warm hand. His own hands were large, square, and capable. Capable enough to have won him the Navy Cross on the road from Chosin Reservoir.

  “Katrina,” he said, “I just can’t go off and leave you here. There must be some way we can be married, some way you can leave Poland with me.”

  “Raymond, I have explained it so many times to you. I am an orphan, a ward of the State. Until I am twenty-one, I must have the State’s permission to marry. You know they would not permit me to marry an American officer. Not these days.”

  “We could at least try,” he said.

  “That would make it worse. Then they would have me watched,” she said. “No, it is better if you go first and wait for me in France. I will escape and join you there within thirty days.”

  “It’s too risky, Katrina. Especially since they’ve put up that miserable wall in Berlin,” he told her.

  “There are other routes to the West,” she interrupted softly. “Many Baltic fishing boats are in the black-market trade. For a price, they will carry a passenger to Denmark. With the money you have given me, it will be quite simple.”

  “It’s still too dangerous.”

  Suddenly the girl sat bolt-upright. “Did you hear a noise?” she whispered.

  Claffey listened. But there was only the sound of the wind clawing its way into the cracks and crannies of the poorly constructed building. He shook his head.

  The girl relaxed. “Probably Madame Hruska’s cat,” she said.

  Claffey nodded. Madame Hruska occupied the only other room on the top floor. She was a prostitute, blond and blowzy and past her prime. But she was a cheerful soul, and always had a friendly smile for Claffey when they chanced to meet upon the stairs. Of course, she had no idea that Katrina’s boy friend was an American Marine.

  “Come to bed now, darling,” Katrina pleaded. “You will catch cold.”

  Before Claffey could reply, something heavy crashed against the door. With the sound of splintering wood, it burst open. Claffey sprang to his feet just as a flash bulb went off in a blinding burst of brilliance. Circles of colored lights danced before his eyes as he stumbled forward. Shadowy figures seemed to be pouring into the room. Male voices jabbered in Polish. Katrina screamed and another flash bulb exploded.

  Lashing out blindly, Claffey’s fist connected with flesh and bone. He was poised to strike again when a blunt object thudded into the back of his skull. The voices seemed to grow distant. He felt his knees buckling, then nothing.

  * * *

  —

  He awoke, face down on the cold floor boards. Katrina, clad in her bathrobe, was hovering over him. Tears welled from her anxious eyes.

  “I’m okay, sweetheart,” he mumbled, climbing slowly to his feet.

  A diminutive man in a brown, double-breasted suit was lounging against the dressing table. He had thin, colorless hair, a sharp, ferretlike face, and the icy eyes of a born assassin. An evil-smelling cigarette dangled from his lips.

  “Who the hell are you?” Claffey said, starting forward.

  “Vopek!” the little man barked.

  Another man stepped into view through the open door. He was blond, half a head taller than Claffey, and had shoulders like a bull. His broad, pugilist’s face was split by a grin which revealed a solid row of gold teeth. He looked impregnable as a tank, even without the big Czech pistol he held pointed at Claffey’s midsection.

  “Please do not tempt Vopek into shooting you, Captain Claffey,” the little man said in English.

  “What’s this all about?” Claffey demanded angrily.

  “Permit me to introduce myself,” the little man said, with a mocking bow. “I am Major Satenz of the State Security Police. Surely you did not think you could keep this little love nest a secret from us. We have been watching you and the young lady for some weeks now.”

  “You took pictures?” Claffey ventured.

  Major Satenz smiled a thin, unpleasant smile, like a razor cut before the blood comes. “Of course. They are being developed at this very moment. They should be charming photographs. A lovely girl in bed, and a muscular Marine in his pajama shirt. By the way, Captain Claffey, perhaps you would like to put on your trousers?” Satenz asked.

  Flushing angrily, Claffey shrugged into his bathrobe. Katrina was slumped in a chair, staring sadly at her hands. He patted her shoulder reassuringly, then turned to Satenz. “I hate to spoil your fun, Mac,” he said. “But if you think you’re going to blackmail me, you’ve wasted your film. I’m not married, and the Marine Corps already knows I sleep with girls. Most Marines do.”

  “As a servant of the People’s Republic, I do not deal in blackmail,” Satenz snapped. “The photographs will be used as evidence. I am arresting this girl for violation of the people’s laws against prostitution.”

  “Watch your mouth, Mac,” Claffey said. “Katrina and I are going to be married.”

  “That is not very likely,” said Satenz. Turning, he surveyed the poorly furnished but immaculate room. His gaze lingered on a pinch-bottle of Scotch on the dresser, then moved to a nearby carton of American cigarettes: “Possession of black-market goods is also a serious offense.”

  “That stuff belongs to me,” Claffey explained.

  “Silence!” Satenz commanded. “It is quite obvious this girl is sleeping with you and receiving payment in black-market merchandise. She is guilty of crimes against the People’s Republic.” Uncapping the whiskey, he poured a glass half full and took a healthy swallow. “Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “I must admit you are a man of excellent tastes, Captain Claffey. In women as well as whiskey. The girl is pretty. Therefore, since her morals are already corrupted, she will be sentenced to a military brothel, where her many charms will be made available to our gallant soldiers.”

  * * *

  —

  Claffey felt a cold, helpless sensation spreading through his stomach. He glanced questioningly at Katrina.

  Her blue eyes wide with horror, she was staring at Satenz like a bird me
smerized by a serpent. Slowly she nodded. “He speaks the truth, Raymond. In Poland these days, there is no justice, only the Security Police.”

  “But this is supposed to be a civilized country,” Claffey exploded. Fists clenched, he took a step toward Satenz, then grimaced in pain as a pistol barrel was jabbed in his kidney. Whirling, he glared at Vopek. “Some day, I’m going to try you on for size, Mac.”

  “Captain Claffey.” Satenz interrupted. “I suggest you return to your embassy immediately.”

  “Leave?”

  “That is correct,” Satenz said. “You are protected by diplomatic immunity, and I have no intention of detaining you. I trust, when you are in America, you will meditate occasionally on the misfortune you have brought to this poor Polish girl. But she must pay for her crimes. Unless, of course…”

  “Unless what?” Claffey said warily.

  With a faint smile, Satenz selected a pack of American cigarettes from the dresser, lit one, and slid the rest into his pocket. “As you know, Captain Claffey,” he said, “the People’s Republic is ever anxious to lessen tensions between our countries. We desire the friendship of Americans, including yourself. Also we would prefer to see our beautiful Katrina happy. Though she has violated the law, she is young, and the People’s Republic could find it in its heart to let her become your bride. Provided you could offer some small proof of your friendship toward us.”

  “What sort of proof?” Claffey said.

  Satenz shrugged. “In your position at the embassy, you have access to many things which would be of interest to us. Documents, codes, anything which would suitably demonstrate your gratitude to the People’s Republic.”

  Treason, Claffey thought. He was being asked to commit treason. His lips moved angrily, but somehow he could not speak the refusal that would condemn Katrina to a horrible life.

  “Don’t listen to him, Raymond,” Katrina said. “I would rather let them take me than have you ruin your life.”

  Claffey’s shoulders slumped wearily. He felt a million years old. His duty to his country was clear, but what of his duty to Katrina? He needed time to think.

  “I’m leaving on the midnight flight to Paris,” he said. “Can you have her exit visa ready by then?”

  “But of course,” Satenz said, smiling. “Provided you cooperate with us.”

  Claffey took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, Claffey trudged slowly through the silent streets, his shoes throwing up tiny spurts of powdered snow. The sun, just rising, created odd, angular shadows in a group of ruined buildings left from World War II. Beyond the ruins, he could see the Palac Kultury i Nauki, the Palace of Culture and Science, Warsaw’s only skyscraper. Previously, it had reminded him of a poor imitation of the Woolworth Building. But now it seemed to loom against the sky like a gigantic tombstone.

  In his pocket was an East German camera resembling a cigarette case. It was an ingenious device for use indoors without special lighting. Satenz had instructed him in its operation. Claffey was to photograph documents at the embassy and return the camera to the Polish major that evening. In exchange, he would receive Katrina’s exit visa.

  Claffey paused to light a cigarette. The thought of abandoning Katrina was like a bayonet thrust. But how could he betray the country he loved and was sworn to defend? Even if he photographed only valueless, outdated documents, it would merely be the beginning. Using his first act as a lever, the Poles would follow him forever, forcing him deeper and deeper into the quicksand of treason. And there was no one to turn to for help.

  He had to make up his mind. He had to choose between his country and the girl he loved. Flinging the cigarette in the gutter, he set off for the embassy….

  At eight o’clock that evening, Claffey approached the apartment building. The camera in his pocket was still unused. He could not stomach treason, not even to save Katrina. Also in his pocket were two tickets for the midnight flight to Paris. He had resolved somehow to get Katrina aboard that plane.

  The street was empty except for a shiny black Zis sedan. Obviously, Major Satenz had already arrived. There was a faint odor of gas in the corridor, which grew stronger as Claffey mounted the steps two at a time. Through the open door, he saw Katrina. She was sprawled on the bed, clad in the pale blue dress he had given her for her twentieth birthday. Her eyes were closed. Bending over her, his hand on her breast, was Vopek.

  * * *

  —

  In two strides, Claffey was beside the bed. His fist crashed into Vopek’s jaw. The big Pole went tottering backwards across the room and came to rest against the wall, a confused look on his face.

  Kneeling beside the girl, Claffey touched her wrist. Her pulse seemed steady. Her face was pale but peaceful: there was a tiny smile on her lips. Then he was brought to his feet by the click of a safety catch being thumbed behind him.

  In Major Satenz’s hand was a small Degtyareau automatic. “Calm yourself, Captain Claffey,” he said with an amused expression. “The girl will be all right. She tried to commit suicide. Fortunately, the woman next door smelled the gas.”

  Claffey barely heard the rest. He was staring at the unconscious girl, stunned by the realization she had tried to destroy herself to save him. A growl from Vopek interrupted his thoughts. The giant Pole was coming out of it, and there was murder in his eye.

  “I believe you owe Vopek an apology, Captain Claffey,” Satenz said. “He was simply feeling the girl’s heartbeat.”

  “Tell him to try her wrist next time.”

  Satenz’s eyes narrowed. “An apology, Captain. Quickly!”

  “All right,” Claffey said. “Tell the ape I’m sorry. Also tell him the next time he lays his filthy paws on her, I’m going to break them off and feed them to him, finger by finger.”

  “Do not try my patience too far, Captain,” Satenz warned him. “You have the pictures?”

  “The camera is in my pocket. Where’s the visa?”

  “Here,” said Satenz, producing a single sheet of paper with an official seal. “Stay where you are,” he barked, as Claffey strolled toward the dresser.

  Ignoring him, Claffey hefted the whiskey bottle. “Do you mind if I have a sip of my own whiskey.”

  Katrina stirred and sat up. Satenz’s gaze flickered toward the bed. In that instant, Claffey flung the heavy pinch-bottle. Satenz, struck full in the forehead, collapsed like a sack of dirty laundry.

  Vopek was tugging the big pistol from his coat when Claffey’s shoulder drove into his midsection. The pistol skidded across the floor. Vopek lunged forward, his massive hands closing around Claffey’s throat. Desperately, the American struggled to break the grip, but Vopek’s wrists were like iron bars. Claffey’s eyeballs bulged as the sausagelike fingers dug into his windpipe. With all his remaining strength, he buried his right fist, wrist deep, in his opponent’s solar plexis. Vopek grunted and stepped back, giving Claffey space to bring up the heel of his hand in a smashing uppercut. The Pole’s head struck the floor and he lay still.

  Gasping for breath, Claffey snatched the visa from Satenz’s limp hand. Unloading the big pistol, he shoved it under the mattress. The Degtyareau he slid into his pocket. He turned to Katrina, who had gotten to her feet.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, Raymond, but what—”

  “There’s no time to talk. I need some rope to tie these characters.”

  “That would be a fatal mistake, Captain Claffey,” Satenz said, painfully hoisting himself erect. There was an angry red knot on his forehead, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. “I anticipated you might attempt to take the girl by force. My men at the airport have instructions to shoot her, unless I escort her to the plane.”

  Claffey’s jaw tightened. “Then you’re going to escort her.”

  “
Perhaps,” said Satenz, smiling. “But what good will that do you? It will be a simple matter to have the plane turned back by fighters before it reaches the frontier. Your situation is hopeless, Claffey. Despite all your exertions, the girl will remain in Poland. Now give me that pistol and we will discuss things. It is still possible we will permit her to leave sometime in the future, if you obey my instructions. You can be useful to us in America, Claffey. You have the camera…”

  “You can take your camera and shove it,” Claffey said, but his voice was lifeless. He had failed Katrina.

  * * *

  —

  Just then, a frizzled blond head appeared in the doorway. Claffey recognized the plump, over-rouged face of Madame Hruska, the prostitute from next door. Her mascaraed eyes blinked at the sight of Vopek on the floor. “Oh, please to excuse me,” she mumbled in Polish. “I heard a noise and thought perhaps little Katrina—” She started to back out.

  An idea glimmered in Claffey’s mind. “Please do come in, madame,” he said in careful Polish. “You must excuse the noise. Just a small quarrel between my friends here. One of them has gone to sleep.” He pointed to the whiskey bottle and winked.

  Chuckling understandingly, Madame accepted a cigarette. Claffey turned to Katrina. “Wait outside in the hall, sweetheart.” The girl gave him a puzzled look but obeyed, closing the door behind her.

  “Now, Madame Hruska,” Claffey said politely. “I would like to engage your professional services. Please take off your clothes.”

  “You mean here, now?” the woman stammered, then glanced at the thick wad of bills Claffey thrust in her hand. Smiling, she commenced wiggling out of her dress.

  Slipping his hand into the pocket containing the pistol, Claffey approached Satenz. “Unless you do exactly as I say, I’m going to kill you,” he said softly.