Washington Spies: A Historical Espionage Thriller Page 6

  “How was Oslo?”

  Phyllis had shrugged. What to say? “Not that interesting. You would have been bored.”

  Del laughed. “Hardly! You work in a country that was just liberated after five years of occupation by the Germans, and you call that boring?”

  Phyllis smiled. Of course, her father would catch that. “The work was boring, Dad, not the country.”

  “You must have seen some interesting things. There was a purge going on, as I recall.”

  Images of women with shaved heads and swastikas drawn on their foreheads immediately came to mind.

  “And I heard the children had a rough time too.”

  A picture of a sweet little girl Phyllis had rescued came to view but was washed away with tears.

  Del touched her arm. “You’re crying, daughter. Why?”

  She took a deep breath. “I saw and experienced more than I can ever tell you about.” Her head sank to her chest.

  “Phyllis. Honey. Look at me. I’m not as dumb as I look.”

  She shook her head, wiping away the tears. “I never said you were!”

  “Let me summarize your career since you won’t do it for me.” A grin amidst his wrinkles did much to lighten the mood. “You worked as a secretary in the Justice Department here in Washington DC. You must have met influential people because, before Connie and I knew it, you were on a plane to London eight months before the war was over. Why would you go over at that time?”

  He shook his head at her. “No, don’t say anything.”

  Phyllis had smiled. This was so like her father to figure everything out before she could say a word. He should have been a detective.

  “In London, your boss, the Military Attaché at the Embassy, gets arrested for espionage. Somehow, you find out what happened and the people responsible.” His grin widened across his thin face. “I can’t believe investigation of war crimes was in your job description.”

  “Dad…”

  He held up a hand. “And you meet Joe Schneider over there. He helps you clear your boss of espionage charges and he works for the State Department too. I would have liked being in on his job interview as well.”

  “Um, well, he…”

  “No.” He chuckled at her discomfort. “Not done yet.”

  She squirmed in her chair.

  “Then you’re transferred to Oslo, Norway mere months after the Germans leave. You were probably one of the first American women to arrive in that country. You stay a year, working for military officers at the War Department, so you say, and rescue a little girl.”

  Her lips parted in surprise.

  “You gave yourself away, sweetie. I know you helped some little child while you were there.” He held up his hand. “You come home with Joe, after having gotten married onboard ship in the North Sea. He looks like he’s been chewed up and spit out. You never said what happened to him, and you don’t have to. I know you both had important jobs in the war.”

  Del took a sip of water and handed her the glass.

  “Dad…”

  “Sweetie, it doesn’t take a mining geologist to figure out you and Joe are in military intelligence. Being English, he was probably MI5, right?”

  “You know I can’t say.”

  “I bet you were OSS overseas. Are you in the CIA now?”

  All her tradecraft training couldn’t save her from the acknowledgment that flashed on her face.

  “Thought so.”

  “Dad, I work for the State Department.”

  “Sure you do. What department?”

  “Apple imports.”

  The sound of Del Bowden’s laughter echoed in her ears.

  Joe reached over to stroke her arm, intruding on the memory. “You with me?”

  “Sure. I was just remembering Dad.”

  “You and Connie will get this sorted out.”

  “I hope so and before it’s too late.”

  Even as she said the words, Phyllis knew the clock was ticking. Ticking about many things besides her dear father.

  THREE

  JOE

  Phyllis had left for Tennessee yesterday. She hadn’t wanted to fly, but putting her on that train was one of the hardest things he’d done in years.

  She hasn’t been in the field for some time. Even then Col. Lawrence closely monitored her while she was stationed in Norway. Lawrence insisted she keep in close touch and called for more security when the situation warranted it.

  But this was different.

  Vastly different.

  She was on assignment far away from Washington. He had no idea if the agency had assigned back-up for her, but he knew security precautions were always built into every assignment. He also knew, from personal experience, that sometimes those precautions could backfire or disappear as the situation changed. Every assignment was an exercise in flexibility for the field agent.

  Just ask Mata Hari, the exotic dancer who was convicted of being a spy for Germany during World War I.

  The thought caused him to smile, just a little bit, before lapsing back into his perpetual frown.

  Phyllis probably hadn’t told her handler that she was pregnant. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was for pregnant agents, but he bet they were sidelined, at least for the duration of the pregnancy and some months after. Maybe he could covertly find out those regulations.

  And who was her handler? He knew many of the upper management within the CIA, due to the position he held and his high security clearance. These days he trained agents for work in the field as to logistics, transportation and weaponry.

  Her handler could not be the unpopular George Martin, Phyllis’ current boss. He’d learned just this morning from a rumor he heard at the water cooler that Martin was set to be transferred to a lesser position of authority within the month, simply because he was ineffective. Martin had no people skills and could hardly keep up with his workload. If it weren’t for his soon-to-be-promoted secretary, Martin would have been out of a job a year ago.

  So, Phyllis was on her own in unknown territory with their future child. The mere thought had him restless and twitching. He stretched his long legs under his desk to get some respite. It didn’t work.

  “Schneider! What the hell are you frowning about?”

  Mitch Ender, agent in the next cubicle over, leaned back in his chair. Any further and he’d be lying on the floor with that goofy smirk on his face. Serve him right.

  “What?”

  “You look like your grandmother just died. What’s the news?”

  “My grandmother is alive and well, thank you, Ender. What’s it to you?”

  Joe hadn’t meant to snap at the guy, but it came out that way.

  “Criminy. Don’t snap my head off. I was just makin’ polite conversation.”

  Joe shook his head. It didn’t make him forget about Phyllis, but it might help him get back to work.

  “Sorry, Mitch. Got a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “Huh?”

  “What’s got you tied up in knots? Your wife throw you out or something?”

  Joe glanced around the spacious room filled with people, noise and fluttering paper. For the moment, he couldn’t remember what report he was writing.

  “Joe.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t look so good. Want to grab some lunch?”

  “It’s not lunch time.”

  “Look at your watch.”

  Joe turned his wrist to check his watch.

  “One o’clock.”

  “You’re right, Schneider. It’s not lunchtime; it’s after lunchtime. Let’s go. You need a break.”

  “Let me just finish…”

  “Nope. No can do. Come on.” With that, Mitch sprang off his chair and unfurled all six feet four inches over Joe sitting at his desk.

  “Well, if you’re going to throw your weight around.”

  “Let’s hit it. I need a beer.”

  “At lunch?”

  Mitch laughed. “You’re right. We both need a beer. Let’s go.”

  A smile cracked Joe’s face. He closed the file he was working on and slid it into a drawer. After locking it, he stood by Mitch. With an exaggerated motion, Mitch swept his arm towards the door.

  “After you, my kind sir. Your carriage awaits.”

  Joe laughed. “Who are you? Sir Walter Raleigh?”

  “Just so, my good man. Just so.”

  FOUR

  PHYLLIS

  Phyllis didn’t know what made her glance over her left shoulder and she wasn’t happy when she did.

  The train was packed with travelers bundled to the max. Thick coats, woolen scarves and hats were in abundance. The weather had worsened in the past week sending temperatures to lower digits and lightly dressed people to their hall closets for warmer outerwear.

  A man towards the rear of her train car caught her attention, mainly because he was trying not to. A newspaper covered his face up to his nose, but his eyes were checking out the room. After a thorough inspection of the immediate vicinity, the man’s gaze fell upon Phyllis. When he realized she was watching him, the newspaper rose significantly to cover all but the top of his head.

  Phyllis noted his thinning gray hair and a silver ring on his left hand. His fingers were neatly manicured and glints from sunshine through the train window reflected off the shiny ring.

  She turned her attention out the window to watch the changing landscape. Riding the train from Washington to Tennessee hadn’t even been a choice. She detested air travel after having flown on cargo planes to England and Norway. The planes were huge and clunky, and seemed to hit every air pocket in the sky. With her stomach already queasy, she didn’t want to take any chances of getting sick. Also, Phyllis couldn’t imagine that commercial flights were much better than the planes used by the military, so she refused to fly on one. Joe always grinned like an idiot when they discussed it, but she wasn’t changing her mind. A train was on the ground where the people were. Birds belonged in the sky.

  The landscape traveling through Virginia and on into Tennessee didn’t change very much. Lots of wooded areas and farms with the occasional city. Keeping one eye on the stranger in the rear, Phyllis yawned and stretched. It was nearing noon and she was hungry. She rose to walk to the club car to get some lunch.

  Before she stepped from her row, the suspicious man appeared in the aisle. He smiled benignly in her direction and started to walk past when a book dropped out of his hand. It thudded loudly when it hit the train floor, causing Phyllis to take a step back.

  “Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  When he bent down to retrieve the fallen book, Phyllis saw the outline of a gun in his coat pocket. She took another step back.

  He looked at the book she was holding.

  “That’s an interesting story. Have you read much of Camus’ work?”

  “No, this is the first.”

  “I think you’ll find his work enlightening.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Enlightening? Where had she heard that before?

  He made no motion to leave.

  “Albert Camus was a French citizen who joined the resistance during the war.”

  “Fascinating. Now if you will excuse me.”

  “But he opposed the Soviet Union. Not a wise move, in my estimation.”

  Phyllis stared at him. His heavy accent indicated he was from another country, possibly Russia. Several fingers of his left hand were in his pocket close to the gun. The finger with the shiny silver ring stayed out. A large mole on his right cheek seemed to have a life of its own. Phyllis noted his tiny chin and bushy mustache before deciding to focus on the silver ring. It didn’t seem as sinister as the rest of him. Up close, an intricate design etched in the silver seemed to resemble a bear.

  “I really must go.” When she stepped into the aisle, the man blocked her path to the exit.

  “I must speak with you, Miss Bowden.”

  Her lips parted slightly in surprise that he knew her name. Her maiden name at that.

  “How do you know me?”

  “We know many things about you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It is of paramount importance to my government that you hear me out, as you Americans say.”

  He looked toward the exit.

  “You were heading to the club car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please let me join you. I could use some refreshment also. Allow me to buy you lunch.”

  Her hand waved him off. “That’s not necessary.”

  “But it is to me.” His dark eyes beseeched her. “Please? Just a short chat over a bowl of soup?”

  Her eyes met his. “Will you keep that gun in your pocket and not aim it at me?” She patted her purse. “I have one too.”

  “I suspected. Yes, I will be the perfect gentleman.” He motioned toward the exit door to the next car. “After you.”

  Phyllis shot him a last wary look before walking toward the door. She’d have to telegraph this to the agency. She had already guessed that he was a foreign agent, but what he wanted, she had no clue. She knew what she had to do.

  She pushed the train car door open with renewed confidence and took a step into the club car. Phyllis heard soft footsteps behind her. The dining area was too public a place for any hostile confrontation, which made her wonder all the more what exactly the man wanted.

  She soon found out.

  FIVE

  JOE

  Mitch Ender’s deep baritone echoed in the restaurant. A few people glanced over to see who was making the noise.

  “Lower your voice, Mitch,” said Joe. He’d lived his life trying not to call attention to himself and Ender was beginning to irritate him.

  Mitch laughed, a deep booming sound. “Just enjoying my lunch, Schneider. You’re so grouchy today.”

  “I’m not grouchy, just sensitive to loud noises.”

  “Oh, sorry,” whispered Mitch. “How’s this level?”

  Mitch’s impish attitude made Joe grin despite his grouchy mood.

  “That’s better. You’re lookin’ human.”

  Joe drank his coffee. “Man, this is better than I make.”

  “Tired of your cookin’?”

  “I’ll say. I was never any good at it.” Joe smiled. “All those ingredients in a recipe. Never could figure out what went in first, second or third. I get them all muddled and make a mess, instead of a good roast with potatoes.”

  “When is your wife back from her trip?” Joe had explained to anyone who asked that Phyllis was visiting relatives.

  “A few days.”

  “Maybe you could come over to my house for dinner one night so you won’t starve. My wife is a great cook.” He laughed again, holding on to his ample stomach. “As you can see for yourself.”

  Mitch Ender was easy to like. He didn’t bother people, generally, and was a good agent. His fieldwork had ended, like Joe’s, but he liked his desk job and was happy with his work.

  Just as Mitch signaled the waiter for the check, several things happened at once.

  A small child sitting at a table nearby started crying at the top of his voice. His mother and father couldn’t quiet him and they rose to pluck him out of his chair. Moving quickly, the mother stepped in front of a waiter carrying a tray filled with food to deliver. The waiter lost his footing when he tried to move away from her and dumped the whole tray, dishes with steaming hot food and glasses filled with water, at the foot of Joe and Mitch’s table.

  Beads of perspiration broke out on Joe’s face as his mind raced to comprehend what had happened. He grabbed onto the table for support.

  “Hey!” yelled Mitch just as black dots began to cloud Joe’s vision. Before Mitch could catch him, Joe slipped out of his chair in a dead faint, right into plates of mashed potatoes, meat loaf, hamburgers and fruit salad.

  SIX

  THE TRAIN RIDE

  The older man looked at Phyllis over his menu.

  “Tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich looks good. What do you think?” When he smiled, the mole on his left cheek twitched. Phyllis glanced away to other customers in the train club car.

  “Pretty good. I was thinking of having that myself.”

  “Fine. That’s settled then.” The man laid his menu on the edge of the table. A young waiter in a dark uniform stepped over smartly to pick it up. He looked from the man to Phyllis.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yes,” said the man. “We both would like the tomato soup with grilled cheese.” He looked up at the waiter. “Is the soup fresh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the man nodded, the young waiter clicked the top of his pen in his response.

  After he had left, the man caught Phyllis’ wandering gaze.

  “Miss Bowden.”

  “Mrs. Schneider.”

  “Ah, yes.” His lopsided smile revealed straight teeth, slightly yellow. Several fingers were stained with nicotine.

  “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “I do, actually.”

  “All right.” He tucked a small package of cigarettes back into a pocket.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is of no importance.”

  Phyllis shook her head. “That’s not true. Your name is very important.”

  He nodded. “Jeremy Smith.”

  A giggle nearly bubbled out of her. “You don’t look like a Jeremy Smith.”

  “I hear that all the time.”

  She shook her head again. “This conversation is over if I don’t hear truth from you.”