The apartment was small and furnished, one long "L" with kitchen facilities and three windows. One of the windows overlooked the Potomac, four blocks away, if the tenant craned his neck.
"Like it?" Mr. Fields asked. "That's a new mattress over there, too." He motioned toward the bed.
Siegfried surprised Mr. Fields. "I'll take it," the spy said.
"You will?" Mr. Fields came to attention. Then from somewhere a smile danced across his lips for all of five seconds. "You will?"
"I travel a lot. I only have occasional business in Washington," Siegfried said. "I won't be here very often."
Siegfried took out his wallet and paid a month's security and two months in advance.
Mr. Fields felt rich.
"What sort of business are you in, Mr. Glover?" Fields asked as they walked down two flights to the main floor.
"Government. I'm a consultant."
"Oh. I see." Mr. Fields was impressed.
Using his forged driver's license, Siegfried applied for a passport via the Alexandria address. It would be delivered, the clerk told him, within a week. Later that same day, he visited the used-car lots along Rhode Island Avenue in the District of Columbia. He came away an hour later with a beige 1934 Ford with twenty-five thousand miles on the odometer.
He was two hundred dollars poorer.
Then he drove to Union Station and turned in a claim check for two suitcases he had placed in storage. These contained his diving gear and his explosives. The man who handed him the suitcase containing six sticks of dynamite was smoking. He returned to Alexandria and "moved into" his new, occasional quarters. He went to the window and craned his neck. Yes, he could see the river. And he could see the capital beyond. Then he looked at the sky and smiled. Everything was coming together. He would have a very light dinner, perhaps just a sandwich, he told himself, then come back and unpack his diving gear. It promised to be a fine night for a swim.
*
In actuality, it was a perfect night for a plunge. Siegfried prayed it would be as perfect the next time. President and Mrs. Roosevelt always began their Thanksgiving sojourn to Warm Springs by boat from Washington. This year, Siegfried had noted in the newspapers, the President's schedule would be the same. But Siegfried would be sending a special bouquet this coming November, one that would shake the world.
The moon was in the first quarter, just as the almanac said it would be. Siegfried walked from his car on the Arlington side of the Potomac. It was almost 11 P.M. He wore a tweed suit and carried a walking stick. He could see Washington clearly from the promenade across the Potomac.
Siegfried cut through a brambly area by the side of the road and the land led him to the shore of the river. There was not another human being anywhere in sight, which was the way he wanted it. Human beings only caused trouble. Like that woman. That Charlotte. Women had their purposes, Siegfried thought, but it was not to inhibit important work. Charlotte had gotten what she had deserved. Siegfried barely gave it a second thought. Yet it would trouble him until he got her into a permanent grave. Then the matter could rest.
By the water, he began to undress. He deftly pulled off his jacket, his shoes, and his pants. His shirt followed. He had a new Pirelli diving suit, developed for Italian frogmen, and pulled it on. He was ready for the river. He looked across and saw the object of his rehearsaclass="underline" The Sequoia, moored at the basin just south of the Francis Scott Key Bridge. It was a twomile swim across the river and two miles back. Siegfried enjoyed exercise.
Charlotte. His mind kept coming back to her. Siegfried hated unfinished business, and now that's exactly what she was. Lying in a makeshift area in the woods like that. It was an invitation to disaster. He would have to return to Liberty Circle as soon as possible and deal with the situation.
Siegfried consoled himself with the fact that the sailor he had murdered in another set of woods had never been discovered. He would have heard of it if the corpse of that foolish Midwestern kid had surfaced. The news would have been all over, in fact. Nazis would have been blamed and there would have been a localized hysteria.
Americans! What fools!
Siegfried methodically rolled his clothing into the shape of a blanket. He tied them with string. Then he checked his equipment. A diver's knife was lashed to one leg. He fitted a loaded Luger, wrapped tightly in waterproofed canvas and sealed, into a specially designed rubber holster at his waist. Beneath his left arm was a small, tightly bound package containing a pair of red clay bricks.
The bricks exceeded the size and shape of the bomb that Siegfried would plant against the President's yacht. But this was the rehearsal. If it was feasible to cross the Potomac twice by moonlight, bring the bricks to rest against the slumbering ship and return, then Siegfried would have proven his method of murdering the socialist thirty-second President of the United States.
He checked his watch. It was 11:22. He entered the water.
The bricks were heavy, but Siegfried was a strong swimmer. He would take his time and conserve his energy. Speed was not an element. Not tonight, and not the next time when he would use a much shorter route. Accuracy and practicality were the elements Siegfried tested. He moved his arms in slow, patient overhand strokes. It was almost fun. Out for a midnight swim.
By his own estimate, he had done a half mile. Then a mile. He felt his muscles loosen and he found an even, steady pace. It was inordinately peaceful and quiet in the middle of the river. He could see very well. The moonlight was just enough to guide him along, but not enough to give him away.
He covered the first mile in twenty minutes. The second mile seemed a little quicker. His watch told him he was correct. The Sequoia, which had seemed like a toy on the horizon when he began, now was in front of him with the majesty of a small ocean liner. He was a hundred yards from it and could see through portholes and windows on the main deck. An occasional crew member wandered the main deck. Siegfried studied the port side of the ship, the side facing him, to check for any sailors who might be leaning against the railing. He saw none. He was fifty yards away.
Then he was within forty. And he could practically drift the rest of the way. He cut his strokes and paddled quietly to his left, moving into a giant shadow cast by the ship's hull against the lights from the shore. The stern of the ship was before him. The rudder and the screw were like appendages to a moderately sized building.
He looked up and saw nothing human. A few more strokes and he was within reach of the ship. Then he threw his hand forward and touched it.
A sense of victory coursed through him, a foreshadowing of the victory that would eventually be his. It was possible! He had reached the presidential yacht unobserved. He placed his hands against the cold steel of the Bath-built hull and exhilaration was upon him that was almost religious. He felt himself grin. He almost wanted to scream with joy.
He looked up. Again he was thrilled by the discovery. The area of the stern that housed the rudder and propeller was recessed from the main deck of the ship. This would be the ideal place to work, to bolt his bomb-the flowers-for the leftist President. In this space he could tread water unobserved from either ship or shore. Like the night, it was perfect. He examined the hull again and marked its seaworthiness and sturdiness. He made one mental note. The bomb would have to be even more powerful than he had previously estimated. He had to be sure it would blast through the steel. Siegfried would make certain that it would.
Carefully now, he rehearsed every move that he would make when he returned. He dived beneath the waterline and felt for a place where waterproof plastic cement could solidify the bomb in place in a matter of minutes. He also looked for, and found, areas of ironin the hull in case he opted for a magnetized attachment on his return. Then, using the package of bricks as his dummy, he rehearsed the placement of the bomb. Once satisfied, he pushed off from the ship and let the bricks sink into the Potomac. No use carrying the extra weight back to Virginia.