A Spy in the Shadows (Spy Noir Series Book 1) (3 page)

Roosevelt lit a Camel in the ivory cigarette holder and thrust it upward at a jaunty angle.  “Major Mayfield has convinced the Prime Minister . . . and he in turn has convinced me . . . that I should loan you to their intelligence service so this problem can be cleared up.”  The President turned to Mayfield.  “Would you care to explain the situation, major?”

“Two nights ago,” Mayfield began, “one of our intelligence officers, Major Benjamin Fields was found murdered.  A shot, small caliber close range to the stomach.  Then a final shot to the head, execution style.  He was in a rather scruffy hotel room in a place called Shahr-e Rey south of Tehran.  The murder of a British officer is bad enough, but to make matters worse Fields possessed valuable information.”

“What was his purpose in Tehran?”

“Fields was stationed with MI6 security forces posted to Cairo six months ago.  His exact purpose was to coordinate the protection and assimilation of certain top-secret information to be discussed during the conference.  Being assigned to the British Embassy in Tehran, he had access to the agenda for both the Cairo conference and the meeting upcoming in Tehran next week.”

Mayfield continued.  “Several factors come into play.  A German agent could have set him up, but it has come to my attention he also had an insatiable appetite for women.  He was put on a short lease within the last several months concerning that matter.”

“Don’t count out the Soviets,” Churchill said.

“Of course, they could be involved,” Mayfield said.

Salinger leaned back.  “Was the room registered in his name?”

“He used a false name when he registered, which leads me to believe that it was a rendezvous with someone he knew—someone he trusted to keep his secret.  And before you ask, no, we don’t believe he had turned.”

“Are you certain, or is that your opinion, Major?”

Mayfield’s face stiffened.  “I’m afraid we aren’t certain of anything at this point.”

Salinger understood the major as a man who gave loyalty and expected it in return.  The question of one of his men being a traitor was beyond his understanding.  “Were the officer’s papers missing?”

Mayfield turned to Churchill.  The Prime Minister nodded.  “Fields was carrying the agenda for the upcoming meeting in Tehran, outline major details to be discussed.”

Salinger fingered the edge of the window.  “Information that’s not beyond repair . . . the agenda can be changed, meeting places shifted so security won’t be jeopardized.”

“I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.”  Mayfield said.  “Within the itinerary papers several valuable items were detailed.  One such item was the outline of political posturing after the Allied victory.  A bit of inconvenience really, if exposed, more embarrassment than anything else.”  Mayfield hesitated.  “The second issue could be a bit more dangerous if exposed.  Fields possessed among his papers references to Operation Overlord, the planned Allied invasion plans of Europe, to be discussed in great detail during the conference.”

“How much detail?”  Salinger asked.  “And certainly it was coded.”

“Coded, of course,” Mayfield said.  “Details?  Enough so that it would be a complete disaster if the Huns figure out what they actually possess.  Timetables.  Schedules. Suggested locations for the landing points penciled in.” 

“Time is a crucial factor,” Churchill said.  “The invasion is scheduled for late May or early June.  If, we cannot clear this matter up to our complete satisfaction that the Germans don’t know what they possess, we would be forced to delay the invasion.”

“Which means the war would drag on for at least another two years or more,” Roosevelt said.

Mayfield shifted in his seat.  “So now, Salinger, you know what we’re up against.  And why we need someone such as yourself who knows Tehran.”

“Major, I haven’t been there in over a year.”

“Nothing has really changed, Booth,” he said.  “The place is full of spies, and the government is on the take from whoever offers the most money.”

Churchill sat there, his hands cupped atop his cane.  The sun was quickly retreating behind the vast desert, placing the sedan in half shadow.   

“Can we count on you to sort this all out, Mr. Salinger?”  Roosevelt asked.

Going back to Tehran?  The thought paralyzed Salinger for a long moment.  Still . . . he opened the door.  “I’ll help in any way I can, Mr. President.  And thank you for sharing that story about my father.”

“He was a good man to his country and he’d be proud of you.”

Salinger turned to Mayfield, “Where do we begin?”

“I’ll take you to Gray Pillars in the morning.  Fields worked out of an office there.”

----

The three men watched the taxi as it disappeared into a swirl of sand and nightfall.

“Such a sad fellow,” Roosevelt offered.  “He seemed to hesitate.  Did you expect that, Mayfield?”

“He’s the right man for the job and I’ll stake my reputation on it.”  Mayfield lit his pipe.  “He’s given up a lot for the cause, but he’ll pull through.”

“In what way?”  Churchill asked.

“Salinger had a breakdown after he lost some men in a mountain operation near Tehran.  Then he had an affair, with his wife’s friend no less who was sent to Bern to bring him back.  It was more than his wife could accept, all of that.  She attempted suicide four months later.  A terrible tragedy, though she survived.” 

“Dreadful,” Churchill said.

“Yes, it is,” Mayfield stared back into the dark desert.  “And Salinger knows going back to Tehran will stir up all those awful memories.”

-Three-

24 November.  The villa at 56-58 Am
Grossen Wannsee in southwestern Berlin.

At midmorning beneath a lead-colored sky, a black Mercedes sedan drove up the long avenue beneath leafless trees and pulled up around the circular drive to the front door of the large villa overlooking Lake Grosser Wannsee. 

Built in 1915, the gray stone house since the beginning of the war was designed equally for work and social gatherings, lending an air of refinement to important gatherings of German Intelligence.  On 20 January 1942, Nazi leaders had met at the Wannsee Villa to plan the Final Solution to the ‘Jewish Question’.  Conducted by Reinhard Heydrich, Chief of the Reich Main Security Office, the meeting set forth an effective plan for ‘the extermination of the Jews of Europe’.  Heydrich had continued to use this place as his Berlin Headquarters until his untimely assassination by Czech fighters in June 1942.

In the back seat of the approaching sedan was Colonel Theodor Richter, head of one of the most secretive sections of German Intelligence—codenamed Black Forest.  Richter was a small man with a serious face even more solemn on this morning because of the gravity of the meeting he was to attend.  Huddled in the warm interior, he smoked, depressingly aware of the continuing failure of Germany’s war effort—and the approaching danger to his plan set in motion in Iran eighteen months before.  A plan the men with whom he was to meet with had not a clue it existed.

When the sedan stopped in front of the villa, Richter stepped out and quickly paced through the vast doorway.  Inside he was met by a towering guard and escorted through a gigantic hall hung with Boars’ heads embedded with red damask.  Climbing the marble staircase, Richter was shown into an upstairs conference room at the end of the hallway.

Three men sat at a long polished table.  A large window behind them presented a sweeping view of the gray large-mirrored lake.  Security Police Chief Ernest Kaltenbrunner, the Hitler-appointed head of Operation Long Jump, the plot to kill the Big Three, sat at the head of the table.  On his left sat SS Brigadefuhrer Walter Schellenberg, head of Foreign Intelligence, more specifically Section VI—espionage and sabotage abroad.  The third man sitting at the other end of the table was Lieutenant Hermann Frick, Richter’s assistant.

“Good of you to meet with us,” Kaltenbrunner bantered as Richter took a chair opposite Schellenberg.

“I’m late.  A matter which couldn’t be overlooked I’m afraid.”

“Hmm,” Kaltenbrunner sat tight-lipped staring at him.  “Schellenberg insisted you be in this meeting.”  Richter was well aware of this man’s contempt for the Abwehr and himself. 

Born in
Innkreis, Austria in October 1903, Kaltenbrunner was the son of a lawyer and was educated at the State Realgymnasium in Linz and Graz University.  He worked briefly as a lawyer in Linz before joining the Nazi Party and the SS in Austria in 1932.  In 1935 he became leader of the Austrian SS, assisted in the Anschluss, the union of German and Austria, and shortly was promoted personally by Hitler to SS Brigadefuhrer.  On 30 January 1943 he was appointed chief of the RSHA, comprising both the Security Police and the SD, the position held by Heydrich until his assassination.

He was a tall man, standing over 6’7”, and had deep scars on his face reportedly from his dueling days as a student.  Rumors persisted that the ‘dueling scars’ were actually results of an alcohol-linked driving accident.

“We were discussing the last dispatches from your Abwehr agents stationed in Algiers,” Kaltenbrunner told him, “which means in all probability we should move ahead with Operation Long Jump.”  Kaltenbrunner nodded at Frick, who handed over several papers to his boss.  The lieutenant was twenty-seven appearing much younger than his years, and over the last eighteen months had proven idealistic and totally loyal to Richter. 

Richter carefully examined the papers revealing the ambitious operation unfolding in Iran.  When he finished, he sat the papers in front of him on the table.  “What are the odds this operation will succeed?  Do you actually believe you can get an assassin, let alone a hundred, within two hundred meters of any of these men?”

“Colonel,” Kaltenbrunner said.  “These men are totally dedicated to their objective, even to the point of giving their lives to achieve the purpose.  There is a Latin saying that I’m certain you are aware of, ‘He who scorns his own life is lord of yours.’”

‘I don’t doubt their dedication,” Richter said.

“Besides, Colonel, the situation has actually turned to our advantage.”

“In what way?”

Kaltenbrunner turned to Schellenberg.  “Fill your man in.”

“In March, we dispatched six commandos with orders to make their way to Tehran,” the general started.  “There they were to make contact with one of our agents and establish radio contact with Berlin.  It was the first act in an operation I had personally designed—codenamed Operation Franz—a military operation since redesigned based on vital information an agent in Turkey has provided.  These facts detailed exactly where and when the conference between the three allied leaders would take place the last week in November in Tehran.”

“A gift,” Richter said.

“There are some who doubt the validity of the information, but I have no reason to doubt it at all.”

“So how has this changed the operation?”

“Operation Franz was cancelled, and the new operation ‘Long Jump’ has been implemented, personally authorized by the Fuhrer on 10 September.  Two groups of specially trained commandos are prepared to parachute into Iran at different sites within the week.  There, both teams, dressed in Russian uniforms, will meet up with Kashgai tribesman with trucks.  South Team will be dropped near the holy city of Qum and make their way to the Russian army airfield at Gale Morghe.  Their objective will be to destroy the enemy’s radar installation once the signal is given.  The North Team will be dropped near Qazvin, make their way to Tehran and hide out at a safe house in Tehran bazaar about a half mile from the British Embassy.  Once the radar is destroyed, four
Focke-Wulf 200s armed with two radio-controlled missiles each will attack.  North Team will mount an attack on the embassy and kill any survivors.  Iranian underground will then have the responsibility of transporting the commandos across the Turkish border.”

Richter leaned back in his chair.  “And who is heading up such an operation?”

“Otto Skorzeny,” Kaltenbrunner said. 

Then why wouldn’t it work?  Richter reasoned, resigning momentarily any doubt. 

After all it was Skorzeny, the head of the sabotage section of AMT VI, who had pulled off the ‘miracle rescue’ of Benito Mussolini.  On 12 September, two years ago heading up of squadron of twelve aircraft, Skorzeny had landed on a plateau of the Grand Sasso Mountains, and plucked the Il Duce from a hotel where a hundred-fifty Carabinieri held him prisoner.  Within minutes, Mussolini was on a Fiesler-Storch aircraft to freedom.  By evening he was in Vienna talking on the phone with Hitler.

The daring rescue had made Skorzeny a national hero.

Richter picked up the papers and reread the text outlining the complete details of the planned meeting in Tehran.  “And my purpose in this adventure?” he asked.