From there the going was easier, steadily uphill across two terraces to another small gate that opened onto a slate path. The path led to the rear door of a house, and the door opened just as he arrived. An older gentleman with a pipe in his mouth stood in a pool of light cast from a sconce in the hallway. He was grinning.
“Kurt Bauer?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Welcome. I understand we have a lot to discuss.”
So this was Dulles. His German was terrible, no better than that of a Polish guest worker, and the cotton candy smell of his pipe tobacco made Kurt think of vendors at Oktoberfest. For a moment he was very much a boy again, and a little overwhelmed by the role he was about to play.
Dulles led him into a cozy parlor at the front of the house, where Icarus was waiting on a couch. A fire was going on the hearth. The flames lit a glittering array of drinks in a row of crystal decanters on a side table. The room smelled strongly of pipe smoke, as if all the curtains and upholstery were imbued with its scent. Dulles dropped another log on the fire, then prodded it with a brass poker before turning to face Kurt.
“Please, have a seat.”
He motioned toward a wing chair facing the couch.
“And please accept my apologies for my very bad German. From here on out we may be better off if our friend Gordon here acts as interpreter, if that’s all right with you.”
Gordon. So that was Icarus’s name. Kurt was surprised Dulles had used it, and apparently so was Gordon. The two of them exchanged glances—Gordon’s tight and a little resentful, Kurt’s with a mild hint of triumph. Kurt answered in English.
“It’s all right,” he said, surprising both Americans. “We should speak your language. My grammar is maybe not always so perfect. But this I think will be better for us, yes?”
Another glare from Gordon. The interesting part was that Dulles wasn’t missing a bit of their interplay. He just stood there puffing his pipe, eyeing them as carefully as a teacher mediating between two brilliant but difficult students.
“You did say he had hidden talents, Gordon. And, yes, I know you don’t like me using your name. But seeing as how we’ve brought him along this far, don’t you think we might as well establish a certain level of trust?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As for you, young Mr. Bauer, please give my regards to your father, who I understand is ailing. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to pay him a visit, but surely you can see how that might create difficulties for both of us.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Henceforth, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you use the name ‘Magneto II’ in any written or telephone correspondence, official or otherwise. Is that agreeable to you?”
“Certainly.”
“Very well.”
Gordon then spoke up, a bit brusquely, as if hoping a more businesslike tone would keep things from getting any chummier.
“Did anyone follow you?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“And not that you’d notice.”
Dulles gently intervened.
“You see, there’s this Swiss fellow named Gustav who is paid to follow our friend Gordon, so chances are that someone has been assigned to you as well, or will be soon. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Fortunately this fellow Gustav isn’t very good.” He turned toward Gordon. “Didn’t you say he’s been getting a bit lazy?”
“He does like his beer,” Gordon said. “Walk past enough cafés and eventually he’ll stop off for a cold one. I’m pretty sure I lost him before the gazebo.”
“Very good,” Dulles said. “Shall we begin?”
The younger men nodded. Kurt again felt called before the headmaster. But, all in all, the atmosphere was to his liking. Dulles had a pleasant manner, a polished ease. It didn’t hurt that the room was nice and toasty on such a sharp autumn night, and the firelight cast a conspiratorial glow, conducive to sharing secrets. To complete the effect, Dulles decanted a fine brandy from the side table and filled three snifters.
“How about some of this while we’re working? Don’t suppose your mother would mind, would she, Kurt? I know Gordon’s old enough, even though he doesn’t look it. That’s one thing war does. Makes early drinkers of us. That was certainly my experience when I was posted here in 1917. I had a room then at the Bellevue Palace, just like you. Not bad waking up to a view of the Jungfrau every morning, is it?”
“My room looks onto an air shaft.”
Dulles found this extremely funny, and laughed generously. Gordon sulked.
“So, then, young man. What do you have for us?”
Kurt went through his rehearsed spiel on the logistics of travel inside Germany. To his surprise, no one took notes. He found out why when Dulles began asking questions.
“Is the maximum limit for travel without special authorization papers still thirty kilometers?”
“Uh, yes. I think so.”
“On the matter of food rations. I’m told that a good alternative to the monthly cards, especially for someone hoping to stay longer, is a special traveler’s coupon, an urlauber Lebensmittelkarte, good for up to six months. Know where we might get one?”
“Not at the moment.”
As the questions continued, their detail and precision made him realize the Americans had plenty of sources like him, and probably many that were better. He realized that his information on Göllner was the only way he had gotten in to see Dulles.
Appropriately enough, Göllner was the next subject. Dulles quizzed Kurt for several minutes before assuming a pensive expression and standing up from his chair. He poked the logs, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney while the embers whined. Then he sat, sipped his brandy, and leaned forward until his face was only a few feet from Kurt’s.
“You know this fellow Göllner personally, correct?”
“We’ve met several times.”
“Enough to make a judgment on his character?”
Yes, and his judgment was that Göllner was a slimy opportunist who would duck out at the first hint of real danger. But that wouldn’t sell it the way he needed to, so Kurt nodded instead.
“Speak up, young man. A nod isn’t going to suffice on a matter like this.”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “Well enough to judge his character.”
“And?”
“You can take him at his word. If he says he’ll help, he’ll help. And I am certain he wishes to cross over. He was recently transferred from Berlin against his wishes, and I am told he is pretty much his own boss down there. All he really wants at this point is to gain favor with the Americans.”
“Him and a thousand others, half of them con artists,” Dulles said distractedly. “But if we’re going to take the plunge, this is the time to do it. So here’s what we want from him. We’d like him to help an infiltrator, one of our own people, get established and settled in. To provide enough support for our operative to stay in the area for maybe two weeks, or at least long enough to get a good look at the lay of the land and find out where the assets are and who’s guarding what. That sort of thing. Then, and only then, will we be able to assist him in crossing over. Do you think he’s capable of all that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. I can’t say I’m a great believer in this type of operation. Never have been. I’ve always believed that if you have an inside source, it is best to keep them in place, rather than endangering your own people. But apparently this is what they’re eager for now in Washington.”
Gordon, who hadn’t said a word in minutes, spoke up.
“It’s our best bet, sir. And it sounds solid to me, which should count for something, seeing as how it’s my neck that will be on the block.”
He let the phrase hang.
Kurt was stunned to learn that Gordon was going to be the infiltrator, but he supposed he should have figured as much. Gordon’s fluency in German, his age, and his eagerness made him an obvious choice. The funny thing was, up to then Kurt had regarded him as an American version of Dieter—all talk and no action. But as he studied the young man’s face he decided there was a lot of Christoph in him as well. If they had been on the same side, then who knows, they might even have become friends. Although all he could recall now was the man’s arrogance in dealing with the Bauer family. If Gordon became a casualty of Kurt’s machinations against Göllner, then so be it, as long as someone besides him got the blame.