"That's correct," Whiteside said again.
"Where?"
"Is it relevant to Siegfried?"
"It's relevant if you want any cooperation out of me."
"The precise location is classified," Whiteside said. "But we moved them from Spain.
They're safe. And nearby."
"How far away? In days?"
"Two. Maybe three, depending on transport."
"So your people took their picture in Madrid and turned it over to the Americans, right?"
Whiteside nodded.
"Why?"
“We didn't know what to do with them, obviously," Whiteside said, as if it were self-evident. "We had them in inventory, so to speak, but there was no way to cash them in. So we offered them to the Americans. Free. Had to move them from Spain, anyway. Franco's national police run the country and are like this" – briefly Whiteside's hands clasped each other- "with the Gestapo."
Whiteside sipped some tea, which was now cool in his cup. Cochrane noticed through the window that the afternoon had faded and already the darkness of evening was upon Washington. He heard a car go by.
Whiteside continued. "We wanted to give them to the Americans. A favor for the future when we needed a favor in return. It was as simple as that. So we notified State Department. Got a man who used to sell cars in Colorado, but is now a career diplomat. Said he had pass the picture on to F.B.I., but that was all he could do. We never heard anything more."
Cochrane now sat leaning back, his arms folded across his stomach, his head forward and his clear eyes upon the Englishman. He had a sense of constantly being shown a moving picture-Mauer's story-with frames missing or out of order.
"Wait a minute," he finally interjected. "You've forgotten an entire step."
"Have I?"
"How did you know to intercept Natalie and Rudy to begin with?"
"We knew," Whiteside said cryptically. "We knew a major defection was under way.
Double guards of Gestapo, SS, and SD at all the rail and air terminals. We knew something was afoot. So we kept our eyes also on Major Asena in Gibraltar."
Cochrane nodded.
"Major Asena is very capable and very able. Both sides play ball with him, we all know that. Not a major in anybody's army except his own. A mercenary, follow? Our sources in Gibraltar told us he was waiting for a woman and a boy. Germans, the sources said. At the same time, Norwegian intelligence shared with us the fact that one Otto Mauer, travelling alone, had passed through. So we watched the obvious route for the family of a German aristocrat and that meant Madrid."
Whiteside's eyes clouded. Cochrane saw a cunning that had previously escaped his notice.
"Now," Whiteside said, reckoning with the past, "figure, one: Major Asena is a mercenary. Sells to the highest bidder. Figure, two: if Mauer of the Abwehr knows him, other
Abwehr officers know him, also. Conclusion?"
"Natalie and Rudy could have been up for grabs. The Abwehr could have bought them back and forced Mauer to 're-defect.' He would have been in a position to serve massive disinformation to the F.B.I. just in the hope of seeing his family alive again."
Now Whiteside leaned back. "You understand quite well," he said.
"I'm learning," Cochrane answered.
"Well, that's exactly what was going to happen. As soon as Mauer hit Helsinki and defected, he was safe. He was in British and American hands every step of the way. But the Abwehr had already contacted Major Asena. They had reached an agreement to pay the major ten thousand American dollars to hold Mauer's wife and children if they crossed to Gibraltar."
Seeing Cochrane's intrigue, Whiteside purred soothingly. "Our source on that is excellent," Whiteside said. "That's all I can tell you, of course."
Your own infiltrator in the Abwehr, mused Cochrane. Good for the Brits.
"Congratulations," Cochrane said.
Whiteside went ahead. "So we picked up the missus and the boy in Madrid. I'd dare guess that we had every street man in town looking for them. It wasn't difficult," Whiteside smirked. "The bell captain at the Ritz was ours for several years. He's in London now so I can tell you that."
From there it was simple. Whiteside's people in Spain assigned a photographer within hours, took some nice touristy photographs of the mother and child in the Plaza Mayor to prove they had arrived there and were all right, then went back up to the hotel room and took some photographs for passports. The Mauers were moved to a British safe house the next morning and British passports were drawn by noon.
"And if I'm guessing right you had them out of the country within two days,"
Cochrane said.
"Within one day," said Whiteside. "Not that it was easy. The airports were being covered, Otto Mauer by now being considered a significant defector. There was Gestapo manpower and hardware everywhere. So we used a soft route by car into France. Then we moved them to Ireland from Bordeaux. It was the only route open at the time."
"But if they're close by, they're not in Ireland," said Cochrane. "You said you could have them here within three days. That's not Ireland."
"No it's not."
"That means Canada or one of the islands in this hemisphere."
"You're getting warm."
"Canada's not warm this time of year."
Whiteside laughed. Laura sat nearby, quietly taking it in, working on the cup of tea, holding it in her hand to preserve its warmth. For several minutes, Cochrane had all but forgotten about her.
"Let's say they're on a very safe island about three hundred miles off the coast of South Carolina. Very coral, very sunny, and very secure."
"Lucky them in Bermuda," Cochrane said.
"They're miserable. They want to be reunited. This is where you come in, Mr. Cochrane, you see. Your F.B.I. is holding Mauer and we haven't notion where he is. Further…” he began shrewdly.
"Further, you've invested a lot in the operation. You're holding a woman and a child to use as a lever. You want something in return."
"A vulgar but accurate way of putting it."
"What do you want?" Cochrane asked, ignoring the distasteful expression that Laura had made.
Whiteside drew a fatigued breath and turned unexpectedly to Laura. "Are you certain you wish to hear this?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm certain," she said.
Whiteside turned back to Cochrane. "We want Siegfried out of the operational picture," he said. "And we want whatever network goes with him."
"He's said to work alone," Cochrane tried.
"Poppycock. Somewhere there's a control. Or at least a guardian angel. He can do a lot of things on his own, but not everything. Look. You can arrest him here. I cannot. And so far SIS has no authority to take, shall we say, more physically forceful means of action on U.S. soil. We need the goodwill for the future, you understand."
"I understand," said Cochrane. And he did. Whiteside preferred that Siegfried be arrested or shot, perhaps preferably the latter, by his own countrymen. No use having an international flap among friends. The logic was sound, the situation a classic trade-off. Everyone in the room, even Laura, recognized that.
"Then there's the matter of your own Bureau," said Whiteside. "Seems they're handling the intelligence end of things on this side of the ocean. It would help us in the future if we knew how clean Mr. Hoover's Bureau is. Contacts we could trust, and all."
"We'll take care of Siegfried," Cochrane said. "As for the Bureau's bill of health and Siegfried's control, I need Natalie Mauer and her son for that. What can you arrange?"
"Where do you want them?"
"Philadelphia would be fine."
"When?"
Cochrane shrugged. "As quickly as possible."
"Two days," Whiteside promised. "Consider it done."
Whiteside offered his hand and the two men shook. "A gentlemen's agreement," Whiteside said gleefully. The words sent spasms of anxiety through Cochrane, as he remembered so well where he had heard a similar phrase before.