Legacy of a Spy (8 page)

“You will.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, and he suddenly got the impression that it wasn’t what Ilse wanted to hear.

The two trudged in silence along the black road between the high banks of snow. Ilse had removed her arm from his and was carefully skirting the patches of ice, but her high heels caused her to slip on one of the rutty places. Slater grabbed her, and they were together, arm in arm, again. When they walked between the first street lights and Ilse tried gently to disengage her arm, Slater held it. She gave up any further attempt to free herself. They entered the hotel and walked to the desk. The young clerk was still on duty. He handed Ilse her key and turned to Slater.

“Did you find Mr. Carmichael, sir?”

Slater could have shot him.

“No.”

“I don’t believe he’s come in yet, sir. At least I haven’t seen him.”

Ilse was standing, key in hand, regarding Slater with interest. “Do you know Mr. Carmichael? I met him this evening.”

“I only met him recently.”

Ilse turned and started up the stairs. She paused on the first stair and looked back. “Your friend Mr. Carmichael doesn’t care for German women.” She smiled. “I think, perhaps, you have something in common.”

She laughed and disappeared upstairs.

SLATER TURNED and went back out into the night.

Did Ilse suspect that he and Carmichael were one and the same? It was difficult to fool a woman, especially one like Ilse. He would have liked to choke that clerk.

It was midnight, and he still had things to do. He found a telephone station and called Zurich.

“Hello, George?”

“Yes.”

“Karl here.
What time is it?”

“Midnight.”

“Sorry to call so late, but I thought you’d like to know that I’ve checked in and our friend is here, but I’ve found no trace of Charlie.
Any news at your end?”

“Yes, Karl, I think I’ve an idea about our friend’s next job. When could we get together in Munich?”

Slater didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to leave Kitzbühel for the time being. He decided he’d better try to break into clear conversation.

“I don’t think I can get away just now. By the way, how is Horst?”

“He’s been ill lately,” said George.

“That’s too bad,” said Slater, “but I can’t leave right now. I’d like to know what our boy’s next assignment is going to be.”

There was another lull while George tried to think of some way to state what he wanted to say.

“His employers,” George began, “want him to meet someone, in his official capacity, whom we should be meeting.”

“Is this person a man who would like to avoid our boy’s employers?” Slater always felt foolish during these necessarily cryptic conversations. He was pleased, however, that George’s Swiss German was so fluent.

“Definitely.
He’s a Hungarian colonel with the wrong ideology,” said George.

“Contrary to our friend’s employers’?”

“Yes. He flew the coop recently. They’re looking for him and so are we. Your office has asked me to tell you that your Saxon friends are also trying to contact him.”

“Are they working with or against us?”

“With.
They knew he was going to make a break and sent a man to meet him where you are, but that man has disappeared. I believe they have someone else down there now.”

“Can you find out who?” asked Slater.

“I tried to, but they wouldn’t say. They’re afraid to tell anyone.”

“Try again,” said Slater. “I’ve got to know.”

“Right.”

“Why is this man so important to everyone?”

“I don’t know exactly,” said George. “He has some special information which he will trade for our protection and asylum. Your office said it was extremely important.”

“I see.” Slater paused. “
It’s
bad form, but you better tell me his name.”

“Imré Dinar,” said George.

“Never heard of him.
Have you a description?”

“Six feet tall,
heavy set, bushy eyebrows, gray hair, in his fifties, has
a mustache. As far as anyone knows, he’s traveling alone,” said George.

“Where would our friend fit in?” asked Slater.

“Your office thinks he may be used to convince the Colonel that his employers are our employers.”

It was a definite possibility, thought Slater, provided the Communists didn’t know whatever it was that Dinar knew. If they could convince Dinar, through Wyman, that they were American Intelligence officers, he would give them his information; and they could dispose of him afterward. This assignment was shaping up into something a lot bigger than Slater had anticipated.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” asked Slater.

“No,” said George, “but do you want me to come down there? I’ve got a feeling you’ll need help.”

“Thank you, but you’d better stay put. I’ll mail you my address. Find out at exactly what time your mail is delivered, and be there in person to collect it. If I need you, don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

“Good luck, Karl,” said George.

“One more thing.”
Slater paused. “If you have to call me here at the address I will send you, please use a telephone station either in Germany or Austria.”

“Right.
Auf wiederhören, Karl.”

“Auf wiederhören.”

Slater hung up. He remained in the slim warmth of the sidewalk telephone station. He didn’t believe anyone could have monitored the conversation at his end, and there was, as yet, no concrete reason he should be connected with Zurich. A phone call from Munich or Salzburg should appear innocent enough. The Swiss German would narrow down their listening audience.

He opened the glass door and walked to the corner. He took the letter out of his pocket and mailed it. He would write another requesting any information on Herr Krüpl.

Slater entered the hotel by the back entrance. He waited out of sight of the desk clerk until his back was turned and went up the only stairs and entered his room—Carmichael’s room, he reminded himself sourly.

He was more tired than he had thought, and he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He had first bolted his room from the inside. He didn’t want to be taken by surprise as Slater in Carmichael’s bed.

When he awoke it was after eight o’clock. He put on his heavy socks and slipped on his pants. He tried to put his right foot into his ski boot, but he couldn’t get it in. There was something in the boot. He turned it upside down. An object fell out and rolled bumpily across the floor.

Slater bent over and picked it up, not believing that he held a roll of American ten-dollar bills. He counted seventeen—one hundred and seventy dollars. If this was what Wyman was selling out for, he was even less of a man than Slater thought. Slater took off his pants and heavy socks and put on Carmichael’s clothes. He put the money he had found in his wallet and went downstairs to breakfast.

Wyman was at the same table he’d been at the morning before, and he motioned Slater to join him. Creature of habit, thought Slater, bad habit. He went over and sat down.

“Coming to the party tomorrow night?” Wyman asked. “You’ll meet a lot of interesting people. I thought,”
he
added smugly, “if I introduced you to the Baron, you would get an invitation.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Slater added to himself,
You
pompous ass. He had said, “You’ll meet a lot of interesting people,” in the same way that a woman would have said, “My dear, everyone who is anyone will be there.”

“Do people usually have parties on Monday nights in Europe?” asked Slater.

“No.” Wyman laughed. “But when you have a large party on a Monday, you eliminate some of the riffraff—the weekend skiers. Besides,” he added, “the Ehrenbachhöhe Hotel will not have to turn down so many reservations.”

“You mean,” said Slater, impressed in spite of himself, “that the Baron is taking over the entire hotel for this party!”

“Exactly.”

“Aren’t you going skiing today, Wyman?” Slater was surprised to see that Wyman didn’t have his ski clothes on.

“Never go on Sunday. Much too crowded,” said Wyman.

“I see.”

“There’ll be a line a mile long for the cable car.”

Slater turned his head just in time to see Heinz Mahler enter the dining room. Slater was annoyed. Heinz had deliberately disobeyed orders. Mahler came closer to looking jaunty than any other German he had ever seen. There was something about his walk that indicated a happy-go-lucky vitality. The Rhinelanders had the reputation of being much more carefree than the rest of their countrymen. Slater hoped that Mahler wasn’t too carefree.

Wyman had finished his breakfast and was obviously becoming restless.

“Don’t wait for me, Wyman,” said Slater. “I’m a slow eater, and I’m planning to write some letters this morning.
Thought I might send my father some of those ‘wish you were here’ postcards.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind.” Wyman stood up. “The Baron has invited me to join him for some midmorning refreshment.”

“Not at all,” said Slater. “Go right ahead.”

Wyman left the dining room, and Slater fully expected Mahler to follow him. Instead, Heinz looked over at Slater and indicated that he wanted to come to the table. Slater shook his head, got up and headed for the men’s room. Heinz took the hint and followed him.

The men’s room was empty.

“Why didn’t you follow Wyman?” asked Slater.

“I received a letter this morning I think you should see immediately.” Heinz handed the letter to Slater. It was postmarked from Kitzbühel and was written in German on plain cheap stationery.

Lieber Heinz,

I hope this letter reaches you, as you are the only person I can trust. By now the Consulate must have received the letter you mailed for me and sent someone down here to find me.

I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid to expose myself to anyone, unless he can offer me some protection; but I am going crazy cooped up here, and I have very little money left. The man with whom I am staying will keep me hidden only so long as I pay him.

If you have been contacted by someone from my government, get in touch with him. Tell him to come any evening at 10 p.m. to the place indicated on the map.

Slater looked up from the letter. “Was there a map in this letter?” Heinz handed him a piece of a local map.

“This place is on the way up the Kitzbühel Horn,” he said. “I think you can drive a car up there all right, but the road is steep.”

Slater returned to the letter.

Tell him to come in the front door; it will be open. He’s to walk into the room on the right. I will be there. Have him come by car and be prepared to drive me to Zurich. Do not fail me, Heinz. I must be gotten away from here soon.

dein
Freund,

CHARLIE

P.S.—Do not come yourself. You might be under surveillance.

Slater kept the map and returned the letter. He took out Webber’s letter to Putnam and compared the handwriting. He showed them both to Heinz.

“What do you think, Heinz?”

“I think that’s Charlie’s handwriting,” he said.

“So do
I
.” Slater frowned. “But this letter poses a lot of interesting questions.”

“Yes,” Mahler said slowly. “For example, why did Charlie wait until now to contact me?”

“And why,” Slater added, “did he think you might still be here?”

“I don’t believe I told him when I was leaving,” said Mahler.

“Why didn’t he write to Putnam or some friend in the Consulate?”

“Maybe he was afraid that Wyman had some co-workers in Zurich.”

Slater looked at Mahler carefully. “Smile when you say that, partner.”

“Partner?”
Heinz looked confused.

“Another American idiom,” Slater smiled.
“Does sound kind of silly in German.”

Mahler shrugged. “Smile—partner,” he muttered.

“What I meant,” Slater said patiently, “was that one traitor per embassy is enough. Casting aspersions on the loyalty of our Foreign Service employees in general is neither fair nor accurate.”

“Oh,” said Heinz, “I meant no offense. Anyway,” he added, “why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I will in the future, Heinz, believe me,” Slater laughed.

“Are you going?” asked Heinz.

“I have no choice.” Slater shook his head.

“I will come with you,” said Heinz.

“No. I’d like to have you, but Webber may be right. You might be under surveillance.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I hope you’re right, Heinz, but I want you to stay here and keep an eye on Wyman. Before we break this up,” he continued, “if you get a letter from Paris, I want you to keep it for me—unopened.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Don’t put it in another envelope and leave it for me at the desk. Either deliver it to me personally—or destroy it.” Mahler nodded. “If I don’t contact you by eighteen hundred tomorrow,” Slater went on, “I want you to call this number.”

Slater wrote Hollingsworth’s home phone on a piece of the envelope and handed it to Heinz. “Ask for George and tell him that Carmichael has disappeared. And then,” Slater added quietly, “you better get out of town—fast.”

“Why?”

“Our Communist friends have a way of getting all the information a man has. They’ll undoubtedly want you out of the way in any case.”

“It would have been safer for me if I had ignored this letter,” said Heinz matter-of-factly.

“Much,” Slater nodded.

“I’m not sorry,” he said slowly.

“You’re a good man, McGee,” said Slater.

“McGee?” said Heinz frowning. “What is McGee?”

“Oh, no!” said Slater. “I’ve done it again.”

“Another American expression?” asked Mahler.

“Yes.”

“Explain then—please. What is McGee?”

“McGee is
a who
, not a what. It’s a man’s name—a good man,” said Slater desperately.

“Someone in the Bible, perhaps?”

“Not that good.”

“Who, then?”
Mahler was determined.

“An Irishman.”

“What?”

“Look, please!” Slater was about to become hysterical. “Let’s drop it, what do you say, please. McGee was just a great guy, that’s all. It was just my way of saying how much I admire your courage.”

“I see,” said Heinz.

Slater couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he thought he detected just the trace of a twinkle in Mahler’s eye. He’d been had. The wiry little rascal had been joshing him along.

“Had you ever seen Wyman before last night?” asked Slater finally.

“No,” said Heinz. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Then the chances are he probably hasn’t seen you, but you’d still better be careful. Do you need some more money?”

“No, but I am traveling in more expensive circles since I met you, Herr Carmichael.” Heinz smiled.

“Well,” said Slater, “I’m going to give you some more money, anyhow. I want you to take all your meals at the hotel, and I want you to observe, carefully, all the people whom Rüdi, the headwaiter, takes care of personally.”

“Is there anything specially that I should be looking for?” asked Heinz.