Crossword (48 page)

"Do you think they'll follow us?"

He shrugged, but went on, "I do not think so. They are
not from around here and do not know the mountains. Maybe, if they're
superstitious, they are even afraid of them. Besides, when they find their
slain comrades, they will think it must have been a much larger force that did
it. Old or young, the Germans are still arrogant."

"Well, it would be nice if they just went home."

Fabrizio shrugged again. "Like I told you, I am on the
left side of God, so who knows? Come, we must get moving." He picked up
his pack and headed off. Conversation ended.

They had been on the go for about five hours at a rapid
pace, and the mountainous terrain made Larry's legs ache and his lungs burn,
but it wasn't the pain that kept intruding into consciousness at random
moments, even as he negotiated rocky trails and dense forest. Thoughts of Maria
populated the forest and mountains. Thoughts of Maria rarely left his mind
except for the most arduous parts of the journey, where focus and concentration
were required to make a particular ascent or keep from falling off a ledge.
Thoughts of Maria caused him anguish and pain. Thoughts of Maria brought joy to
his heart and a smile to his face, and made Fabrizio wonder, when he glanced
back at Larry, why this American of Italian descent would occasionally have a
broad smile on his face even as he negotiated the difficult trail.

Some time between the fifth and sixth hour Larry realized
that what he had been experiencing was a mental eulogy for Maria, a series of
images that had been spooled into a loop, playing continuously behind his eyes.
Vignettes of their time together. But now, as the continuing mental images were
no longer sufficient to banish from his thoughts the reality which he had so
recently experienced, the highs were not as joyful as at first, while the lows
were leading him toward an ever deepening despondency.

Abruptly, as he was stepping over the trunk of a fallen
tree, the images stopped, or, more precisely, Larry shut off the projector.
This
is crazy. I have her dead and buried already. There's no reason to believe that
she won't get the medical care she needs. If these men could infiltrate a
German platoon, they could get her to a safe house and a doctor. Maria is alive
now and will stay that way. I will make it back to her and bring her to safety
because that's what I believe and that's the promise I made to General
Schroeder.

And with the firm, unshakable belief that Maria would
survive, thoughts of her faded from his consciousness for the time being, and
he concentrated on picking up the pace. Fabrizio had obviously not been going
as fast as he would have liked, the impatient look on his face giving mute
testimony to his displeasure with Larry. Digging in, both mentally and
physically, Larry pumped his legs in an increasing cadence and was soon nipping
at his guide's heels. The leader of the partisans was surprised, then pleased,
and soon the pair was rapidly closing the distance to their new crossing point.

They passed through forests of spruce, fir, larch and pine,
small animals scurrying out of their way. Numerous Alpine Chough flocked
overhead, while Alpine Accentors provided a staccato background of chirping and
sharp calls, perhaps voicing their displeasure at being disturbed or merely
gossiping with their neighbors. While pausing by a running brook overflowing
its banks with snow melt from the alps, Larry's eyes wandered skyward, in time
to see a Golden Eagle diving toward the far bank, then pulling up at the last
second, talons extended, their death grip ending the life of a large white and
gray rabbit. The proud bird stood there for perhaps thirty seconds, its dark
brown body shimmering in the late afternoon sun, before once more seeking the
ocean of air, beating into the wind until it achieved altitude, then spreading
wings that spanned over six feet to sail home to its aerie. The image struck a
chord with Larry —— feelings of wonder, pride and determination
resonating through his mind and providing an elevation of spirit and a
rejuvenation of tired muscles. He didn't know just what it was that affected
him so. Perhaps it was the sight of an eagle, the symbol of his country,
soaring freely in the heavens and heading home. Larry didn't know, but wasted
no time on pondering the question, and shouldered his pack, not waiting for
Fabrizio, and started off in the direction in which they had been heading. He
was, however, surprised to find a tear running down his cheek.

Fabrizio kept up a grueling pace until night had fallen,
then continued at a somewhat slower pace, slower only because of the dark sky
and fear of injury from unseen obstacles. Tangled roots or protruding rocks
could catch a foot and snap an ankle or damage a knee beyond walking. He didn't
want to fail so close to the finish. Larry guessed it was close to midnight
when they finally stopped for more than a two minute rest. Fabrizio pulled a
salami from his pack and cut Larry a generous serving, then broke a piece of
hard cheese in two and also passed half to this young man he was bound to
guide. After they had been munching for several minutes, the partisan produced
a bottle of wine, pulling out the protruding cork with his teeth and taking a
long swig before passing the bottle to Larry.

"We'll rest here for an hour, then continue. I want to
cross the Rhine while it's still dark. The Swiss are as bad as the Germans when
it comes to their borders."

"How will we cross?"

"There is a boat hidden, but it's farther to the north,
and there will probably be Germans waiting there, so it's of no use to us. We
will just have to find another one and steal it, or force someone to ferry us.
Any bridges left standing will be heavily guarded." Almost as an
afterthought he added, "We may have to swim. A pause. May it please God we
find a boat." He quickly crossed himself.

Larry didn't relish the thought of swimming carrying what
now felt like a thirty pound bowling ball, but didn't pursue it. "I never
thanked you or your men for what you did. That was quite a feat you guys pulled
off."

Fabrizio smiled through a mouthful of salami and mimed a
bow. "Yes, you're right about that. It was damn good."

"And dangerous, too. Why do you do it?"

"I don't want no Nazis fucking with my country. I'd
like to kick their asses back to Berlin." He took another pull at the
bottle. "Besides, a man's got to make a living."

"They pay you for this stuff you do?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Who pays you. Certainly not Mussolini."

"Different people. There's always someone who needs
something done and is willing to pay for it. Sometimes we work for free. It's
not much, but it helps. Most of us have families. You get paid, don't
you?"

"I do. My Uncle Sam pays me."

Fabrizio let out a big laugh. "Your family pays your
wages? Tell your uncle I want to work for him so I can get rich like you
Americans."

" 'Uncle Sam' is what we call the government. I get a
paycheck every month."

"So, we are alike, the two of us. Both paid soldiers.
Both hate the Nazis."

"Yup, I guess you're right." They both fell
silent, leaning back on a rock or tree trunk, eyes closed. Sleep eluded both of
them, each caught up in private thoughts. Fabrizio, in spite of his rough
exterior, was an emotional man in whom feelings ran deep, and he agonized over
what was to come. Larry's thoughts churned inside him like the turbulent
progress of a glacier fed stream in summer as it cascaded down from the
heights. Thoughts of his own death interspersed with images of Maria, and, for
the first time since he had entered Germany, images of his parents who he would
never see again. A terrible montage of gloom and heartbreak.

Forty-five minutes after they began their break, Fabrizio
stood, brushing dirt and pine needles from his pants, stretched and motioned to
Larry to 'saddle up.' Neither one cared that their hour rest was shorted, both
glad for a diversion from their ruminations.

They began their descent even as they continued in a
southward direction, reaching the flat terrain of the Rhine Valley just to the
north of Sulz. When they came to the tributary that flowed to the Rhine,
Fabrizio decided it would be safer to follow it on foot, rather than to be
exposed on the water where there was no cover. It was quick progress to the
Rhine itself and they were unmolested during the rapid traverse. At the river's
edge there were several large motorized boats, none suitable for a quick
snatch. About a mile upstream on the tributary, Larry had noticed a small row
boat, but they had decided to stick to their plan of staying off the water
until they reached the Rhine, a mistake, as it turned out, and one that
necessitated now doubling back, always a dangerous tactic. Where once they had
passed unseen, or at least ignored, a second excursion was much more likely to
arouse suspicion. Before they left the bank of the Rhine, Fabrizio had Larry
hide in the midst of a dense cluster of brush. "If I get into trouble or
don't come back in ten minutes, you're on your own." With no further
explanation, and before Larry could say anything, he dashed off and was quickly
lost in the darkness. Larry barely had time to think about contingencies when
he heard footsteps on the sandy soil, and his hand instinctively grabbed the
handle of the sidearm he had taken from one of the fallen soldiers at the
ambush. A deep whisper, "It's me, Fabrizio." Two wooden objects poked
into the small space between the bushes, followed by his companion, a crafty
grin on his face. "Oars. There will be none with that other boat we saw.
It makes it too easy to steal. I got these from the dinghy on the deck of that
big boat we saw. Take one and let's get out of here, fast. This place worries
me."

At a fast trot they covered the distance back to the rowboat
in short order, and, pausing only for a quick look around, they pushed off and
softly paddled out into the current. The water flowed most rapidly in the
center and they both agreed that speed was now more important than trying to
remain hidden near the foliage along the bank. There were at least two hours of
darkness left before first light and they counted on either not being seen or
being mistaken for predawn fishermen. To that end, Larry had broken off a
slender branch before they boarded and now held it like a fishing pole while
Fabrizio bent his back to the oars. Running with the current they reached the
Rhine in ten minutes, where Fabrizio had to fight the whirling currents where
the two bodies of water met. They were swept rapidly northward while he
struggled to guide the small craft out into the large river and to the far
shore before being carried beyond their destination. Larry tried using the
branch as a tiller but it seemed to do nothing except kick up spray. Neither of
them were accomplished boatmen, and in minutes the two found themselves in the
middle of the Rhine, water splashing over the bow of a runaway boat. Larry
though that maybe he would end up swimming after all. Finally, after several
trials, Fabrizio was able to dig one of the oars into the water and turn the
bow toward the far shore. They were still being carried north at a fast clip,
but slowly, they inched towards the western bank. After what seemed like an
interminable amount of time, the small craft broke free from the breakneck
northward dash of the river to Germany, and gently floated in the lateral eddy.

"Take these," Fabrizio said, "my arms are
going to fall off. You row, but stay out of the current. I'll try to get our
bearings." They carefully traded places, and Larry pulled with
determination, angling toward the Swiss side but staying at what he hoped was a
distance that might hide their presence. "I think that's Mäder up ahead on
the German side. Get us into the shore. The location for the rendezvous is not
far. Soon this business will be finished."

The C.O. of the camp at Altstatten expected Templeton, having been
notified by Dulles that he would be with them for a few days hoping to find out
information about an operation that seemed to be in jeopardy, and he was ready
to provide whatever logistical support he could. There was, however, little
that Templeton required of him, preferring to handle things on his own, a
request that the C.O. did not find unusual when dealing with saboteurs, secret
agents, spies and their handlers. For Julian it worked out well; was, in fact,
a necessity if he was to pull off the slight of hand that he had in mind. He
had to divert a precious cargo to a wealthy Swiss merchant, and perhaps make a
German general disappear, all of this happening quickly and secretly. Given the
unknowns of the operation, he couldn't be sure exactly who he would be meeting,
but in any case, for all except the few people involved, the ones who really
knew, it would never have taken place. Several days waiting in vain for an
agent that never appeared and Templeton would sadly report another operation
gone terribly wrong, the operative presumed lost behind enemy lines, dead or
captured. He was counting on Fabrizio, a man quick with both a knife and a gun,
used to working in the shadows even before the war and his metamorphosis into a
freedom fighter, to take care of Larry if Gerhard had not already dispatched
him. If Gerhard showed up, well, he would be taken care of, too. The plutonium
would be whisked away immediately by Julian and Gottier's representative.

No one at the camp knew where the presumed rendezvous with
the agent would take place. All they knew was that each day someone from the
camp drove Templeton to the outskirts of the city before daybreak and from
there, wearing laborer's clothes, he walked off in the direction of the town.
At nightfall, they were to return to wait for him. Everyone seemed happy with
this arrangement; the less known the better.

On this early spring morning, the sun not yet above the
horizon and the temperature cold from the alpine air rolling off the mountains
into the Rhine valley, Templeton nodded goodbye to the camp driver, thrust his
hands into his jacket pockets and set off down the road toward Altstatten. It
was still dark when he entered a café in the city center, the warmth from the
cooking stoves a pleasant relief from the chill. Gottier's driver was waiting
for him. It was a moderately large eatery, catering to the working class, and
no one paid them any attention. It opened early in the morning, was quickly
filled with laborers as well as businessmen hoping to get a jump on the day's
work, or perhaps just trying to impress their boss, then, by ten o'clock it
closed, to reopen again at four as a beer hall, with a bit of simple fare, one
or two dishes for those who had no one waiting at home to prepare their supper.