“I suggest you leave London at the next opportunity,” Sir Thomson says.
Does he think I’m a fool? I wait until Sir Thomson has departed before destroying the telegram. Of course I will leave London. My mission is to reach Belgium. And that is what I am going to do. I will prove to Commandant Ladoux that I am a trustworthy emissary for France.
Chapter 17
Sent in Code
A day passes. Then three. Finally, a week slips by and I am still at the Savoy. I send another telegram to Ladoux. “Without instructions for Madrid,” I say. “Immediately advise.”
By the second week I begin to worry about the silence, and soon my fear becomes a vise grip. Has Ladoux dismissed me? Or are the British detaining his telegrams? I can’t tolerate more delay; I have already arranged a date to meet Vadime. He expects me to collect him at the Grand in Paris. I will not disappoint him.
I must have Ladoux’s money by then.
If I don’t complete this mission, there will be no money. My future depends on completing the task the French Secret Service has set for me.
Von Schilling gave me no names to call on in London, but there is a German military attaché, a Major Arnold Kalle, listed in Madrid. I decide on a course of action.
*
On the first of December I travel back to Madrid to begin my assignment for the French Secret Service.
“Mata Hari the dancer?” Major Kalle confirms, surprised by my phone call.
“Yes. I was given your name by a good friend of ours.”
There is silence on the phone.
I continue, “General von Schilling said that if I found myself in Madrid I must call on Major Arnold Kalle. And here I am, in your beautiful city, not knowing a single soul.”
“Perhaps we should have dinner, then,” he suggests.
If Mrs. Van Tassel were here, I would gloat: My skills are far more valuable than knitting. My talent in bedding officers will gain me information that may help France win this dreadful war. Whatever Major Kalle divulges I will share with Ladoux. This is how France will remember me when I am living in New York.
*
We meet at Botín, with its warm paneled exterior and redbrick arches dating back to 1725. It’s the oldest restaurant in the world, Kalle says. He has clear blue eyes and thick blond hair. “A traditional horno de asar.”
I glance under my eyelashes at him, playing the role of a girl infatuated. “What does that mean?”
“Roasted meat.”
“I had hoped,” I say and touch my hair, “the translation would be something romantic.”
We dine and talk about the most trivial of things. The weather (good), the shops (so many closing), the food (I’ve never had its equal in Spain). Then he invites me back to his home. He slips his arm around my waist and within a few cobbled streets we reach his apartment. A few hours later, both of us are drunk. By midnight, we are lying together on his sheets. I brush my hand against his chest, an invitation to make love again, but he sighs and puts his forearm over his eyes.
“I’m too tired to move,” he says. “It’s a great deal of work arranging for German soldiers to be deployed in Morocco.”
I prop myself up on one elbow and gaze at him sympathetically, willing him to continue speaking.
“A submarine is dropping them off.” He lifts his arm briefly to look at me. “In the French zone.”
My heart is racing—German troops being transported to French soil; I am horrified. Yet my expression remains neutral.
“You will not tell anybody, I hope?” He leans back. “It’s all very confidential information.”
“I understand.” I keep stroking his chest, thinking of Ladoux. Surely this intelligence is equal to what I might have learned in Belgium? God only knows when Kalle’s plan will be implemented. Perhaps I have just saved French lives.
He turns and takes me in his arms. “Then again, maybe I’m not so tired.”
*
I don’t wait for morning; as soon as I leave Kalle’s apartment I rush to the French Embassy in Madrid and tell them that I have information for Commandant Ladoux.
“We can place a call—”
I immediately wave this offer away. “This is sensitive information, madam. A phone call would not be safe.”
They arrange for a telegram to be sent in code. A man takes me to a private room and I tell him what I know, carefully, slowly. Then he makes me repeat it and copies it out by hand. He assures me the message will be sent at once.
“Thank you,” he says when he’s sure he’s got it.
“When do you think we’ll hear back? I’m expecting the commandant to send me further instructions,” I explain.
“Where are you staying, madam?”
“La Paz.”
“Then wait there, madam. I’m sure word will come.”