Dan Fesperman - The Arms Maker of Berlin

“Speak up, young man. A nod isn’t going to suffice on a matter like this.”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “Well enough to judge his character.”

“And?”

“You can take him at his word. If he says he’ll help, he’ll help. And I am certain he wishes to cross over. He was recently transferred from Berlin against his wishes, and I am told he is pretty much his own boss down there. All he really wants at this point is to gain favor with the Americans.”

“Him and a thousand others, half of them con artists,” Dulles said distractedly. “But if we’re going to take the plunge, this is the time to do it. So here’s what we want from him. We’d like him to help an infiltrator, one of our own people, get established and settled in. To provide enough support for our operative to stay in the area for maybe two weeks, or at least long enough to get a good look at the lay of the land and find out where the assets are and who’s guarding what. That sort of thing. Then, and only then, will we be able to assist him in crossing over. Do you think he’s capable of all that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. I can’t say I’m a great believer in this type of operation. Never have been. I’ve always believed that if you have an inside source, it is best to keep them in place, rather than endangering your own people. But apparently this is what they’re eager for now in Washington.”

Gordon, who hadn’t said a word in minutes, spoke up.

“It’s our best bet, sir. And it sounds solid to me, which should count for something, seeing as how it’s my neck that will be on the block.”

He let the phrase hang.

Kurt was stunned to learn that Gordon was going to be the infiltrator, but he supposed he should have figured as much. Gordon’s fluency in German, his age, and his eagerness made him an obvious choice. The funny thing was, up to then Kurt had regarded him as an American version of Dieter-all talk and no action. But as he studied the young man’s face he decided there was a lot of Christoph in him as well. If they had been on the same side, then who knows, they might even have become friends. Although all he could recall now was the man’s arrogance in dealing with the Bauer family. If Gordon became a casualty of Kurt’s machinations against Göllner, then so be it, as long as someone besides him got the blame.

Dulles stood to pour more brandy.

“The way I see it,” he finally said, “the biggest problem for any male agent in Germany is that his cover has to explain his military status, or lack of it. All the controls on the train lines are now directed toward combing out every available man for the Wehrmacht and the Volkssturm. Unless you can account for why you’re not serving, then you’re apt to have trouble. Don’t you agree, Kurt?”

“Yes, I do.” He was pleased to see that this made Gordon angry.

“If I went in civilian clothes,” Gordon said, “I could pose as Gestapo, or SD. Or maybe some sort of engineer.”

“Possibly.” Dulles relit his pipe. “Or you could always go in uniform. Of course, then you’d have to worry about running afoul of the MPs, unless you’ve got some good excuse for being away from your unit. And you’d be out there with no backup, no radio. Completely isolated. Still, with the right cover it could work, as long as young Bauer’s information here is as good as he says.”

“I certainly wouldn’t do anything to damage my family’s prospects, not with the way things stand now,” Kurt said.

Dulles gave him a long look.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. And if I wasn’t prepared to trust you, then I wouldn’t be sharing any of this. But since you’re going to be the one to relay it to Göllner, then I suppose I have no choice.”

Dulles turned to Gordon.

“I hate to say this, Gordon, because I know how gung ho you are. But in some ways we’d be better off sending a woman. Plenty of good covers available for them-confidential secretary to some Party functionary, or to a war-important businessman, like Mr. Bauer’s father here. They never have to explain why they’re not off at the front.”

Gordon was crestfallen. Then his eyes lit up in the glow of the flames.

“Or you could send a pair of us,” he said. “A man in uniform, me, with some sort of cover to explain why he’s in transit. Plus a woman traveling as his wife, who would also be a built-in backup in case something happened to me.”

“She would also double the possibility for something to go wrong,” Dulles said. “But I see your point. We could spare Evelyn, but she might not be available for a while.”

“I can think of someone even better,” Gordon said, grinning slyly.

“You’re not thinking of that waitress friend, the one we helped out of a jam?”

“She speaks the language, knows the area, and better still, she knows me.”

“I’ll bet, and in every sense of the word. Still, it’s your neck. As long as you think she would be up to it. Do you trust her?”

“As much as I trust anyone.”

“That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

“Yes, I trust her. More to the point is whether she trusts me. It would be asking a lot. But she does owe us, which for our purposes makes her useful. That is what you’re always looking for, isn’t it, sir? Useful people?”

Dulles smiled.

“You’re a fast learner, Gordon. And with what we’re planning tonight, you’re going to have to be. You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about you, young Mr. Bauer? Can you keep a few more secrets along with the ones already stuffed in your head?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. We will call this operation Fleece. And it’s not going to happen overnight. Both of you must be prepared to participate in a lot of advance planning.”

Exactly what Kurt wanted to hear. The more time he had, the better the chances his own machinations would succeed.

“Then let’s get down to work,” Dulles said. “And do pay attention. From here on out, we can’t afford to have a single thing go wrong.”

All hopes of overtaking Berta evaporated as Nat’s plane idled on the runway in Frankfurt. A one-hour delay had already turned into three. Now something else had apparently gone wrong.

Cell phone use was banned on the taxiway but calling ahead to the Hotel Jurgens would make little difference now. Berta had probably gotten there as early as eight thirty this morning, and it was now one in the afternoon. Even after arriving in Zurich he would have a train to catch, meaning he would be lucky to make it to Bern by five. If there was anything to be found, she would have found it, although he did wonder what sort of approach she must have used at the hotel, given her usual lack of tact.

Had she bullied the staff? Demanded to see the manager? Asked for Sabine by name? And what had she told them about herself and her curious mission? For that matter, what was Nat going to say? All he remembered from his previous visit was a wary chambermaid, eyeing him over a stack of towels.

There was also Holland to worry about. The FBI agents in Florida had doubtless discovered by now that he was gone, and although he technically hadn’t broken any laws, he had certainly disobeyed a direct order. The delays had given them plenty of time to track him down. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find federal agents waiting in Zurich.

To make matters worse, he hadn’t slept at all during the flight. By now he must look like hell. He vowed to shave and brush his teeth at the first opportunity, or else he might scare away the staff of the Hotel Jurgens before he even made his pitch.

And what, exactly, was his pitch? Hi, I’m looking for Sabine Jurgens, because I’m convinced my old dead mentor sent her some valuable documents, and I know this because he left behind a matchbook with the name of this hotel. For all the certainty he had felt while sitting in Murray Kaplan’s Florida room, he was having plenty of second thoughts. For all he knew, the Hotel Jurgens was now owned by some impersonal hospitality conglomerate, or the Russian mafia.