A Spy in the Shadows (Spy Noir Series Book 1) (16 page)

“I’ve asked Colonel Boland to join us,” Gifford said.  “He’s heading up security at our embassy during the conference.”  Introductions were made.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Mayfield and Boland sat in the leather chairs.

“So, major . . .” Gifford cupped a hand under his chin, “you still believe your Traveler is in our city?”

“More than ever now with recent developments.”

“Of course he is,” Gifford said.  “That’s why you came to me.”

“Traveler?”  Boland asked.  “I don’t understand.”

“An adversary the Major has been tracking throughout most of Persia for how long now?”

“Over two years.”

Gifford frowned.  “Yes, since North Africa.  I remember now that bit of bad news about your son.”

Boland leaned forward.  “Are you actually proposing that a deep cover spy exist here . . . in Tehran?”

“Are you surprised that there are German spies in Tehran, Colonel?”  Mayfield asked.

“I am aware of that, yes.  But most of them have been rounded up and the others I’ve found to be harmless buffoons accomplishing no more than drawing a paycheck from German Intelligence.”

“This spy is different, Colonel,” Gifford said stiffly.

“In what way?”

“Traveler and the major have a long relationship . . . part of which is tragic, which I’ll let the Major go into if he desires.” 

“Messages were intercepted,” Mayfield said after a moment, “which led us to believe Traveler provided information assisting in setting up an ambush on a British supply patrol.  My son was killed during that engagement.”

Boland looked at Mayfield.  “Sorry.”

“He was a good soldier.”

“Mayfield has an obsession on catching his spy,” Gifford offered with sincerity.  “He’s even provided the codename for this agent, one even the Germans use.”

Boland frowned.  “Where did you come up with the name Traveler?”

“Are you familiar with English poetry?”

“Other than what was forced upon me in elementary . . . no.”

“A fellow named Walter de la Mare wrote a poem named The Listener I recited it to Kirk many times when he was a boy.” . . .  the image of young Kirk rushed at him, wide-eyed lying beneath the covers as if he was hearing the poem for the first time, just before the house lights were extinguished . . . always smiling Kirk, an innocent boy who knew nothing of war or soldiers dying, or the evil in the world . . .  “Is there anybody there? 
said the Traveler, knocking on the moonlit door; and his horse in the silence champed the grasses of the forest’s ferny floor.”  Mayfield spoke lower, “so that I won’t ever forget my boy, I codenamed the German agent Traveler.”

Gifford coughed in his fist.  “Yes, well,” he said, “I suggest we do everything in our power to catch him this time.”

“I can’t imagine a German operation as important as Long Jump without their best agent involved,” Mayfield said.

“I agree.”

“And there’s the matter of Major Fields’s murder.”

“So, you think this Traveler is also involved in the murder?” Boland asked.  “Wait.  Then what you’re saying is that it is possible Traveler is a woman?  Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“For the first time I believe it a possibility, yes,” Mayfield said.

“Unbelievable.”

Gifford adjusted the blanket across his lap.  “Precautions?”

“Suspects are being observed with the services of the local police.  All efforts are being made to prevent Traveler from contacting the commandos.”

“Even our friend Hance?”

“The archaeologist?”
  Boland asked.  “Is he a serious German agent?”

“A double agent, actually,” Gifford said, “Resourceful and useful to both sides when monies are offered to fund his dig sites.”

Boland blanched.

“Something wrong, Colonel?”  Gifford asked.

“No . . . no, nothing at all,” he said.

But Mayfield could see that something had disturbed the Colonel. 
Terribly.  “There is one other matter we should discuss,” Mayfield said moving on.  “The last reports have the remaining six German agents surrounded by our people.”

“A safe house in the southern part of the city,” Gifford said.  “Our people could have apprehended them by now but we’re playing it out to make certain there aren’t any stragglers out on the streets.  But the game is about to end.  Twenty plainclothes British security men have orders to move in with Russian agents tonight.”

“I have a favor to ask of you, sir,” Mayfield said, “one that may seem a bit strange.  Ask your men to pull back from the trap and let the Soviets make the capture of the remaining six Germans.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?”

“In every way,” Mayfield said.  “My request can’t be explained, at least not now, but just suffice it to say that your favor will aid us in a much different and more important way.”

Gifford shot a glance at Boland, then back to Mayfield.  “Okay, Mayfield,” he said.  “I don’t know what game you’re up to, but I’ll place the order.  But—someday you have to tell me what the blaze is going on.”

Mayfield stood.  “You have my word on it.”

“Good.  And one day perhaps you’ll pay me for that blasted card game.”

----

Late evening fog lay like cannon smoke across the river as Mayfield walked out and sat in the back seat of the sedan. 

Talking about Kirk and Traveler had awakened memories . . . British recruits marching to Waterloo Station led by a brass band past the Arena Picture Palace, past Gordon’s wine shop.  There was Kirk in the third row looking so handsome.  But they were all handsome that day, weren’t they?  Marching off to save the world.  Maggie stood stiffly beside him, so proud, gripping his hand tightly as they filed by.  All those young boys going off to die . . .

He would capture Traveler if it were the last thing he did on this earth.

As the sedan pulled through the gate, Mayfield thought about how disturbed Boland’s face turned with the mention of Hance.  There was something there to remember.

----

The British Embassy.

Salinger knelt against the far wall of what had been Fields’s office.  It was mainly cleared except for a chairless desk.  Files, every other item removed.  Salinger had begun to form a line of questions—his method in all investigations—that would assemble a trail for him to follow.  His focus at the moment was the unique wiring panel cut into the wall eighteen inches above the floor; a different electrical circuit than any other he could find anywhere in the embassy.

That’s what he should have noticed in Fields’s Cairo office.  The different wiring.  He stood.  “Are there any more outlets like these installed in the building?”  Salinger asked the engineer he had requested be present.

His name was Gilbert and he had a squarish face.  He rubbed his chin. 
“A small room at the end of the hallway.”

Salinger thanked the engineer, dismissed him, and went down the hallway until he came to a door.  It was unlocked, the wood frame around the lock splintered, a light switch just inside the door.

The office was empty.  Salinger walked around and noticed indentions in the floor suggesting two desks had been positioned against the wall.  Then he saw the same type of electrical outlet as was in Fields’s office.  There were also what appeared to be extra telephone lines.  In the corner, several blank paper sheets lay scattered on the floor.

Walking to the front of the office and then into the hallway, Salinger heard voices outside.  Out the window he saw a soccer game being played on the back lot.  It was then he realized another unusual characteristic of the office other than having that different electrical outlet.  He turned back.

It was the only office in the embassy without windows.             

----

Palace Hotel.

After Salinger had showered, he came and sat at the desk.  He mixed a scotch.  Through the window curtains, Tehran’s city lights sparked.

Over the last hour he had drawn some distinct conclusions on where the facts were taking him, leading him to believe that the British officer’s death may be linked to the German operation, and perhaps more.

Things he should have picked up on in Cairo at Gray Pillars.  First, a fellow named Card, the engineer from the United States.  He had walked into Fields’s office by mistake the morning when he was there conducting interviews.  Card, as it turned out, was unaware that the time Fields was dead.  He seemed upset.  But wasn’t it odd that an American engineer was assigned to Gray Pillars?  Not as strange as when Salinger had placed a phone call to him this morning to find out he’d been reassigned to the States not long after Salinger had questioned him. 

Now he had a link to the peculiar—first, both Fields’s Cairo office and the office here in Tehran have different electrical wiring.  And for what purpose?  The second point was that the murderer had to be a woman.  There was no evidence whatsoever Fields was homosexual.

Salinger lit a cigarette and tossed a match in the ashtray on the chair arm.  So, Fields knew this woman well enough to check into a hotel, have a tryst with her, all the time with his briefcase on the table.  Totally reckless, proving his trust in this woman.

Salinger looked at his watch.  He phoned Zurich for the second time that day.  His source for reliable information.  He had come to know the ‘the professor’ over the years as a man who dealt in details, particulars, valuable only to one who had a specific need for such information.  He gave Salinger background on Larry Card, the engineer, his specialty.  Everything he told Salinger was beginning to make sense.  Then Salinger asked him about the wiring and what purpose it could serve.  Yes, Salinger told him, it was the last time he would use him and he would wire additional monies to him in the morning.

-Sixteen-

“You’re going out?”

Boland had stepped into the conservatory surprising Leni as she watered a pot of geraniums.  As was her habit, she came out every afternoon and spent time among the sunlight, and the musty smell of soil and her plants.

“For the afternoon.
  Why?”

“I would guess that you’re going out to that archaeological site . . . or with those children.”

She turned and placed her hands on her hips in a mocking pose.  “Is that your guess, Robert?  Well, it’s true.  You should be glad I would want to do either.”

“Don’t be smart with me.  I saw your car pulled up to the front of the house.”

Then she smiled and went to him.  “If I didn’t know any better I’d swear you were jealous.”  She stared into his eyes.  “Why, Robert you are.”

He cleared his throat.  “Not jealous . . . but concerned I’d say.”

“Why would you be concerned?”

“He may be a German spy, Leni.”

“Who in the world told you that?  Where do all these rumors start?  He’s a German, but he’s totally harmless.”

“I just don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

“Well, don’t worry yourself,” she said hugging him.  “William has a telescope and we’re going to look at the stars with some of the children of the site workers.  Is that so bad?”

The suggestion seemed to disarm him.  “I’d rather have you at home.”

“Poor Robert, I’ll be home before long.  And tomorrow night is the dinner party.  You’ll have all your boring friends over and you’ll be the center of attention.  Don’t you worry.”

His stern face melted.  “I suppose teaching those young heathens a bit of science is a noble cause, even if it means that I have to give you up for one evening.”

Leni went back to her watering.  “I wish you wouldn’t call them names, Robert.  They’re humans just like everyone else.”

He turned away.  “When will you return tonight?”

“Let’s say nine o’clock.”

Boland fingered one of the plant leaves.  “Good.  I’ll expect you back by then.”

----

Later, Leni went upstairs and changed.  She came down wearing khaki shorts and shirt.  She pulled out of the gate thinking she had just over an hour of daylight remaining.  The late afternoon wind was soft in her face as she drove out of town.  On the seat beside her was a canvas knapsack, inside a knife she kept hidden away.  By the knapsack was a camera.

Retracing her journey out to the mysterious site from the day before, she parked down the main road, south of the side road where she had driven and been intercepted by the guard.  She let the air out of the left front tire.  That would offer a good excuse for her Chevrolet being there.  She had made certain that an air pump was in the bonnet, knowing it would be hard work to pump up the tire once she returned.  But she couldn’t have the automobile suspiciously on the side of the road.