The Unlikely Spy

"Did you see her before we picked you up at Grosvenor Square?"

 

"No. I went to SHAEF directly from the construction sites."

 

Vicary reached in his briefcase and laid two photographs on the table, one of Robert Pope and the other of Dicky Dobbs.

 

"Have you ever seen these men?"

 

"They look vaguely familiar, but I can't tell you where I've seen them."

 

Vicary opened Jordan's file and flipped a page. "Tell me about the house you're living in."

 

"My father-in-law purchased it before the war. He spent a fair amount of time in London on business and pleasure and wanted a comfortable place to stay when he was in town."

 

"Anyone else use the house?"

 

"Margaret and I used it when we came to Europe on vacation."

 

"Did your father-in-law's bank have German investments?"

 

"Yes, many. But he liquidated most of them before the war."

 

"Did he oversee that liquidation personally?"

 

"Most of the work was done by a man named Walker Hardegen. He's the number-two man at the bank. He also speaks fluent German and knows the country inside and out."

 

"Did he travel to Germany before the war?"

 

"Yes, several times."

 

"Did you ever accompany him?"

 

"No. I have nothing to do with my father-in-law's business."

 

"Did Walker Hardegen use the house in London?"

 

"He may have. I'm not certain."

 

"How well do you know Walker Hardegen?"

 

"I know him very well."

 

"Then I suppose you're good friends?"

 

"No, not really."

 

"You know him well but you're not friends?"

 

"That's right."

 

"Are you enemies?"

 

"Enemies is a strong word. We just don't get along well."

 

"Why not?"

 

"He dated my wife before I met her. I think he was always in love with her. He drank quite a bit at my going-away party. He accused me of killing her to make a business deal."

 

"I think someone who made a remark like that to me would be my enemy."

 

"I thought about knocking the hell out of him at the time."

 

"Do you blame yourself for your wife's death?"

 

"Yes, I always have. If I hadn't asked her to come into the city for that goddamned business dinner she'd still be alive."

 

"How much does Walker Hardegen know about your work?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"He knows you're a gifted engineer?"

 

"Yes."

 

"He knows you were sent to London to work on a secret project?"

 

"He could probably deduce that, yes."

 

"Have you ever mentioned Operation Mulberry in your letters home?"

 

"Never. They were all cleared by the censor."

 

"Did you ever tell any other member of your family about Operation Mulberry?"

 

"No."

 

"Ever tell any of your friends?"

 

"No."

 

"This fellow Shepherd Ramsey. Ever tell him?"

 

"No."

 

"Does he ever ask about it?"

 

"All the time--in a joking manner, of course."

 

"Did you have plans to see Catherine Blake again?"

 

"I don't have plans to see her. I never want to see her again."

 

"Well, that may not be possible, Commander Jordan."

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"In due time. It's late. I think we all could use some sleep. We'll continue in the morning."

 

Vicary rose and walked in where Boothby was sitting. He leaned down and said, "I think we should talk."

 

"Yes," Boothby said. "Let's go in the next room, shall we?" He uncoiled himself from his chair and took Vicary by the elbow. "You did a marvelous job with him," he said. "My God, Alfred, when did you become such a bastard?"

 

Boothby pulled open a door and held out his hand for Vicary to enter first. Vicary brushed past Boothby and stepped inside the room.

 

He couldn't believe his eyes.

 

Winston Churchill said, "Hello, Alfred. So good to see you again. I wish it could be under different circumstances. I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Professor Alfred Vicary, meet General Eisenhower."

 

Dwight Eisenhower rose from his seat and stuck out his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

The room had been a study once. There were bookshelves built into the walls, a writing desk, and a pair of wing chairs where Churchill and Eisenhower sat now. A wood fire burned brightly in the hearth, but it had failed to take the chill off the room. A woolen blanket lay across Churchill's knees. He was gnawing on the damp end of a dead cigar and drinking brandy. Eisenhower lit a cigarette and sipped black coffee. On the table between them was a small speaker, which they had used to monitor the interrogation of Jordan. Vicary knew this because the microphones were still turned on and he could hear a scrape of chairs and a murmur of voices coming from the next room. Boothby glided forward and turned down the volume. The door opened and a fifth man entered the room. Vicary recognized the tall, bearlike build: Brigadier General Thomas Betts, the deputy chief of intelligence at SHAEF and the man charged with safeguarding the secret of the invasion.

 

"Is he telling the truth, Alfred?" Churchill asked.

 

Daniel Silva's books