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The Pieces We Keep(96)

By:Kristina McMorris


“That’s correct. Yes.”

In spite of his controlled manner, a product of either his training or callousness from prior cases, his brown eyes betrayed him. For they exuded a tiny gleam of hope that now caused her shame.

“I think I should begin,” she said, “with a confession. You see ... I’m actually not here about Trudy Beckam. It was all such a tragedy, the disappearance of that little girl. I do so wish I had a new clue that could help, but ... I don’t.”

The man remained stone-faced, though his eyes notably dimmed.

“I’m very sorry to have deceived you. But I was afraid you wouldn’t agree to see me otherwise. That you’d think I was some paranoid woman who’d listened to one too many episodes of Miss Pinkerton. Or perhaps somebody who was just looking to stir up–”

Agent Gerard raised his hand to halt her, a worrisome sign. “Why don’t you tell me why you are here.”

Vivian straightened in her chair and nodded, recalling her practiced account. “Agent Gerard, I have knowledge of an impending threat to our national security. In just four days-no, three-as early as this Friday, that is-a group of Nazi spies is scheduled to be delivered by submarine to the East Coast. On the shores of Florida and New York. Their primary goal is to sabotage war production plants, but also to demoralize citizens by blowing up places like department stores and train stations. Ultimately, they even hope to rally German Americans against our own country.” She paused to gauge his reaction, which thankfully showed no trace of humor.

“You mind telling me how you came across this information?” She took care not to mention names quite yet. “I learned it from a scout assigned to the mission.”

“A scout, you say.”

“That’s right. He’s an American, born and raised in upstate New York. And he would very much like to turn himself in.”

“But...”

“But?” she echoed.

“I assume there’s a reason you’re here, rather than him.”

“Oh. Well, yes.” She was grateful the man had brought this up. “There’s a slight complication, I’m afraid. It involves his family.”

“His family.”

“There are five of them still in Munich. From what I understand” –a preemptive disclosure–“they’re doing their best to put on a front of supporting Hitler’s efforts. But I believe wholeheartedly that they’ll be in grave danger if they’re not relocated before my friend exposes the operation.”

Agent Gerard reached into his desk drawer and shuffled around, as if searching for a notepad and pen. Instead, he retrieved a fresh cigarette and a matchbook. “So this friend of yours,” he said, between puffs igniting the tip, “he asked you to come here?”

“Yes-or no, rather. It was my idea.”

“You sure about that?”

The question revived doubts from her past, over who had truly initiated the plan to gather political news from her father. Again, she brushed them aside.

“I’m sure of it,” she said.

“Mmm.” More puffs on his cigarette. “And these targets you mentioned, I take it you-or this scout-know specifics about dates and locations of these attacks.”

She figured Isaak to be well informed of such details, though she hadn’t explicitly confirmed it. “I-I think so,” she said. “He does have a list of contacts on a handkerchief. I do know that for certain.”

“Because you’ve seen the names?”

“Well, no. Not yet. The list is written in invisible ink.” In her own ears, she heard how naïve that sounded. For credibility, she needed to recall which chemical would make the writing visible. What did Isaak tell her? Ammonia, was it?

The desk chair creaked as Agent Gerard reclined several inches. Arms folded, he exhaled a ribbon of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Miss James, you seem like a nice, smart girl, so I’m going to be real honest with you. If I had to guess, I’d say this gentleman friend of yours was inspired by the Sebold case.”

She stared, unfamiliar with the reference.

“William Sebold. The German-American snitch. He helped us take down the Duquesne Spy Ring. Surely you read about the trial last year.”

Her interest in politics had only lately reached respectable heights. Admitting her ignorance, she shook her head.

“Well, it sounds to me like your buddy knows all about it. Thanks to Sebold’s cooperation as a double agent, thirty-three spies were rounded up and put on trial right here in Brooklyn.”

Vivian’s mind whirled, seeking a connection, as the man leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “Look, I don’t doubt for a minute that your friend’s got family in Germany. If I were him, I’d want them the heck out of there too. But the rest of it, this East Coast spy business, it sounds like a bunch o’ bull to me-if you’ll excuse the expression.”