hostile. Cindy made a short introduction; the lieutenant barely
acknowledged the civilian in front of him. He wanted to dance; Cindy did
not. The situation – abruptly created – was about to deteriorate.
David spoke with a trace of melancholy. ‘I served with Mrs. Bonner’s
husband. I’d like to speak with her for just a few minutes. I’ll have to
leave shortly, my wife’s waiting for me uptown.’
The combination of facts – reassurances – bewildered the drunken lieutenant
as well as mollified him. His gallantry was called; he bowed tipsily and
walked back toward the bar.
‘Nicely done,’ Cindy said. ‘If there is a Mrs. Spaulding uptown, it
wouldn’t surprise me. You said you were out with Leslie -that’s par for her
course!
David looked at the girl. Trust the developed instincts, he thought to
himself. ‘There is no Mrs. Spaulding. But there was a Mrs. Hawkwood the
other night. I gather you’re not very fond of her.’
‘She and my husband were what is politely referred to as “an item.” A
long-standing one. There are some people who say I forced her to move to
California.’
6 Then I’ll ask the obvious question. Under the circumstances, I wonder why
she used your name? And then disappeared. She’d know I’d try to reach you.’
‘I think you used the term sick. She’s sick.’
‘Or else she was trying to tell me something!
David left the Warfields’ shortly before the New Year arrived. He reached
the comer of Lexington Avenue and turned south. There was nothing to do but
walk, think, try to piece together what he had learned; find a pattern that
made sense.
He couldn’t. Cindy Bonner was a bitter widow; her husband’s
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death on the battlefield robbed her of any chance to strike back at Leslie.
She wanted, according to her, simply to forget. But the hurt had been major.
IA*Iie and Paul Bonner had been more than an ‘item’. They had reached –
again, according to Cindy – the stage where the Bormers had mutually sued
for divorce. A confrontation between the two women, however, did not confirm
Paul Bonner’s story; Leslie Jenner Hawkwood had no Intention of divorcing
her husband.
It was all a messy, disagreeable Social Register foul-up; Ed Pace’s
‘musical beds.’
Why, then, would Leslie use Cindy’s name? It was not only provocative and
tasteless, it was senseless.
Midnight arrived as he crossed Fifty-second Street. A few homs blared from
passing automobiles. In the distance could be heard tower bells and
whistles; from inside bars came the shrill bleats of noisemakers and a
cacophony of shouting. Three sailors, their uniforms filthy, were singing
loudly off key to the amusement of pedestrians.
He walked west toward the string of cafes between Madison and Fifth. He
considered stopping in at Shor’s or 21 … in ten minutes or so. Enough
time for the celebrations to have somewhat subsided.
‘Happy New Year, Colonel Spaulding.’
The voice was sharp and came from a darkened doorway.
‘WhatT David stopped and looked into the shadows. A tall man in a light
grey overcoat, his face obscured by the brim of his hat, stood immobile.
‘What did you sayT
‘I wished you a Happy New Year,’ said the man. ‘Needless to say, I’ve been
following you. I overtook you several minutes ago.,
I The voice was lined with an accent, but David couldn’t place it. The
English was British tutored, the origin somewhere in Middle Europe. Perhaps
the Balkans.
‘I find that a very unusual statement and … needless to say . . . quite
disturbing.’ Spaulding held his place; he had no weapon and wondered if the
man recessed in the doorway was, conversely, armed. He couldn’t tell. ‘What
do you wantT
‘To welcome you home, to begin with. You’ve been away a long time.’
‘Thank you…. Now, if you don’t mind
‘I mind I Don’t move, colonel! Just stand there as if you were
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talking with an old friend. Don’t back away; I’m holding a .45 leveled at
your chest.’ ‘
Several passersby walked around David on the curb side. A couple came out
of an apartment entrance ten yards to the right of the shadowed doorway;
they were in a hurry and crossed rapidly between Spaulding and the tall man
with the unseen gun. David was first tempted to use them, but two
considerations prevented him. The first was the grave danger to the couple,
the second, the fact that the man with the gun had something to say. If
he’d wanted to kill him, he would have done so by now.
‘I won’t move…. What is iff
‘Take two steps forward. Just two. No more.’
David did so. He could see the face better now, but not clearly. It was a
thin face, gaunt and lined. The eyes were deepset with hollows underneath.
Tired eyes. The dull finish of the pistol’s barrel was the clearest object
David could distinguish. The man kept shifting his eyes to his left, behind
Spaulding. He was looking for someone. Waiting.
‘All right. Two steps. Now no one can walk between us. … Are you
expecting someoneT
‘I’d heard that the main agent in Lisbon was very controlled. You bear that
out. Yes, I’m waiting; I’ll be picked up shortly.’
‘Am I to go with you?’
‘It won’t be necessary. I’m delivering a message, that is all. … The
incident at Laies. It is to be regretted, the work of zealots.
Nevertheless, accept it as a warning. We can’t always control deep angers;
surely you must know that. Fairfax should know it. Fairfax will know it
before this first day of the New Year is over. Perhaps by now…. There is
my car. Move to my right, your left.’David did so as the man edged toward
the sidewalk, hiding the pistol under the cloth of his coat. ‘Heed us,
colonel. There are to be no negotiations with Franz Altmfiller. They
arefinished!’
‘Wait a minute! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any
AltmiUler!’
‘Finished! Heed the lesson of Fairfax!’
A dark brown sedan with bright headlights pulled up to the curb. It
stopped, the rear door was thrown open, and the tall man raced across the
sidewalk between the pedestrians and climbed in. The car sped away.
David rushed to the curb. The least he could do was get the vehicle’s
license number.
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There was none. The rear license plate was missing.
Instead, above the trunk in the oblong rear window, a face looked back at
him. His shock caused him to lose his breath. For the briefest of moments
he wondered if his eyes, his senses were playing tricks on him,
transporting his imagination back to Lisbon.
He started after the car, running in the street, dodging automobiles and
the goddamned New Year’s Eve revelers.
The brown sedan turned north on Madison Avenue and sped off. He stood in
the street, breathless.
The face in the rear window was that of a man he had worked with in the
most classified operations out of Portugal and Spain.
Marshall. Lisbon’s master cryptographer.
I
The taxi driver accepted David’s challenge to get him to the Montgomery in
five minutes or less. It took seven, but considering the traffic on Fifth
Avenue, Spaulding gave him five dollars and raced into the lobby.
There were no messages.
He hadn’t bothered to thread his door lock; a conscious oversight, he
considered. In addition to the maid service, if he could have offered an
open invitation to those who had searched his room two nights ago, he would
have done so. A recurrence might cause carelessness,-some clues to
identities.
He threw off his coat and went to his dresser, where he kept a bottle of
Scotch. Two clean glasses stood on a silver tray next to the liquor. He’d
take the necessary seconds to pour himself a drink before calling Fairfax.
‘A very Happy New Year, , he said slowly as he lifted the glass to his
lips.
He crossed to the bed, picked up the telephone and gave the Virginia number
to the switchboard. The circuits to the Washington area were crowded; it
would take several minutes to get through.
What in God’s name did the man mean? Heed the lesson of Fairfax. What the
hell was he talking about? Who was Altmfiller? … What was the first name?
… Franz. Franz Altmiiller.
Who was he?
So the Lajes Field ‘incident’ was aimed at him. For Christ’s sake, what
for?
And Marshall. It was Marshall in that rear window I He hadn’t
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been mistaken I
‘Field Division Headquarters’ were the monotoned words from the State of
Virginia, County of Fairfax.
‘Colonel Edmund Pace, please.’
There was a slight pause at the other end of the line. David’s ears picked
up a tiny rush of air he knew very well.
It was a telephone intercept, usually attached to a wire recorder.
‘Who’s calling Colonel PaceT
It was David’s turn to hesitate. He did so thinking that perhaps he’d