Fear of disappointing his boss brought him back to the moment, and the rest of the morning went fine. When Frank checked his production, he patted him on the back, and told Lawrence he was doing a great job.
“You mind if I ask you a question boss?”
Frank looked tired but managed a smile. “Sure.”
“This is an important contract and we are a little behind, right?”
“Yep, that's about the size of things. Why?”
“If we are behind, why don't we work some overtime?”
“They don't want to pay the time and a half. They want us to get to our target on our own. You're doing great. Don't worry about things; the way you're going, we will make it just fine.”
Lawrence wasn't fishing for compliments but smiled anyway. He liked his boss. “Does anybody work on the weekend?”
“Not right now, no. Back in the day we ran 24/7 but not anymore.”
Lawrence didn't know if he should say anything before talking to Henry. He decided to wait. The rest of the day he counted the minutes until he went to see Henry and report what he had seen.
***
Dewey and Gilbert were on full alert. It seemed their fears had been confirmed by the bug in Henry's office. They didn't have a lot to go on, and both men agreed it would be best to set up their operation to bring down the Russian espionage ring in Europe. Now they just needed to find out when the first shipment was leaving. There was also considerable discussion about Richard and Charles. It seemed like they wanted to come clean, but then
why go to a private detective
was the question on their mind. Gilbert correctly pointed out that if they had gone to the police, it might have put both men in danger and would have certainly ruined their operation.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Henry didn’t want to stay in Bobby’s office. He doubted it was bugged but wasn’t sure. Henry hailed a cab and they all sat in silence as it drove towards the lions. After they arrived at the New York Public Library, Henry gave a silent nod to the guardians and asked, “Do you know their names?”
Richard shrugged, “No idea.”
Charles didn’t care.
“They are called Patience and Fortitude.”
Despite not caring, Charles seemed to like the answer. He and Richard followed Henry into the library and deep into the stacks. People were reading and talking in low voices at tables, but when they arrived at Henry’s favorite section, the one with the really old economics books, they were alone.
“Nobody can hear us back here?” Richard asked, somewhat rhetorically.
“We are fine. Ricardo and Malthus can keep a secret.”
Richard smiled, getting the joke.
“I'm not going to tell you anything that relates specifically to my client’s case. There are a few interesting people I've met over the last couple of days who fall in a gray area. Do either of you know where William Darby is now?”
Richard said, “I've been trying to get a hold of him; I'm rather keen to have a word.”
Now Charles seemed interested.
Henry said, “He showed up at my office, rambling about some guy getting killed. He wouldn’t talk and insisted we meet at an old brownstone on E 22nd street. He left before I got there.” Henry wasn’t ready to show all his cards just yet. “You know who he was talking about?”
There was a moment of indecision. Richard and Charles looked at each other and, without speaking, decided to play it straight. “His name is John Fleming. The Russian shot him in the back of the head because he tried to leave the meeting.”
“What meeting is that?”
“Friday night.”
Henry read their faces; they weren’t hiding anything. They were, however, in over their heads, and the anxiety was scrawled across their brows. “Tell me about this meeting. Don’t leave anything out.”
Richard regained his British air of confidence and said, “Mr. Wood, please don’t be offended, but we haven’t hired you yet. After your cat uncovered those bugs, I'm not sure you’re the man for the job.”
“I don’t care if you hire me or not. You two are in deep, and you know it. What you don’t know is who might have been listening.” Henry paused for effect.
Richard asked, “Who was it?”
“I'm putting my money on either the CIA or the FBI, but who knows; maybe it is your Russian buddies.”
The air of confidence blew away. “The CIA or FBI? Why them?” he asked.
“I picked up a tail a few days back, but I was clever and turned the tables on them. They thought they were pretty clever until I jumped into their car while they watched the store they thought I was in. It seems they are interested in my client as well.”
“We noticed a few weeks back, or, more accurately, Martin did, that our phones might be bugged. I never believed it, but after your office and this...” Charles’ voice trailed off.
Richard asked, “So why do you think it might be the FBI?”
“They showed up and started asking if I had any contact from the CIA.”
“What did you tell them?” Charles asked, looking worried.
“I told them as much about my client as I did you. But…” Henry stopped and looked around, taking a step and peering down the stacks. He had a flair for setting the scene. “But I might be willing to give them a call, if it could help.”
Richard could see where Henry was going. Charles was nearly comatose with fear and saw many years of being in prison or being dead.
“So, if there is nothing else, it was nice meeting you gentlemen. Sorry about before in the office.” Henry turned to leave. Charles considered tackling Henry and begging him to help them. Richard saw it for what it was, an attempt to show them who was in charge. Richard didn’t like giving up command control, but it was clear to him that this detective was their best chance. “Mr. Wood, I have only one more question if you don’t mind?”
Henry stopped and turned back towards the men, “Sure, shoot.”
“How much is your retainer?”
CHAPTER SIXTY ONE
Matthew waited until Pytor was done making his drink, then said, “It has been two days. I'm worried we have frightened our friends off.”
Pytor sat down and said nothing for a moment. “I may have underestimated American greed and given them too much credit for stomaching unpleasantness. Have you spoken with the one called Martin?”
“He is fine. We talked at length Saturday morning and again last night. He tried to look up William, but nobody has seen him.”
“What of the other two?”
“Richard’s staff will only say he isn’t in, and I couldn’t get through at Charles’ place.”
Pytor finished his drink, stood up, and set it on Kerwin’s desk. “I don’t like all the loose ends. If we can’t find them all by tonight, I may have to shut it down.”
Matthew enjoyed his life in America. He liked the food, the cars, and the women. He wasn’t ready to give it all up and return to the motherland. “Shut it down? With all due respect, this is a minor setback. We have the production running like clockwork. Martin has done a fine job of setting up everything in Europe to allow for the seamless smuggling of the parts. If we even produce for six months, it will put us ten years ahead of the U.S. program and set them back at least five.”
“If the cowards run to the authorities, then we will have to abandon even the first shipment. You know what that would mean?”
Matthew had been in the United States for so long that he wasn’t sure. He was sure it would be a bad idea to admit it, though. He just nodded and asked, “What is your plan for shutting it down?”
“When are the first crates scheduled to ship out?”
“They will be ready after the Wednesday shift. Your men can take them to the docks themselves.”
“You make an excellent point, though, comrade; it would be a shame not to get at least one set of the parts. This, combined with the detailed description of the production process, would allow our engineers to try to copy them. I hate to say it, but I would prefer to have the Americans making the parts for us.”
Matthew sensed he was winning him over to his view. “Yes. It would be better to have the one set at the very least. I'm sure that William, Richard, and Charles will come around, and we can stick with the original plan.”
“We will see.”
CHAPTER SIXTY TWO
Charles tapped his finger on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. “Are you sure about this?”
“There aren’t any guarantees in life.” Richard answered as calmly as he could.
“I’m just not sure I understand how this will help.”
“I can’t say for sure it will, but the reasoning is solid. We demonstrate our willingness to go along with them. It should put them at ease and buy us some time. Your ships and my export connections are vital for the plan to succeed. They will be motivated to believe us.”
Charles wasn’t tapping anymore. He didn’t believe it would work.
“It’s green.”
“What?”
“The light is green.”
They drove on in silence, Richard imagining what he would say to Matthew while Charles mostly thought about John getting shot. The evening rush hour hadn’t begun and they arrived at the office and parked next to the spot marked Kerwin.
Richard straightened his tie and grabbed his briefcase. He was set. Charles looked unsteady, and Richard patted him on the shoulder, “Are you going to be alright? You don’t need to come; he isn’t expecting us. I can do this alone.”
Charles had no idea where it came from, but he felt better. The surprising resolve showed in his face. “No, my friend, I'm better now. Let’s go sell this. Close the deal, as it were.”
Richard nodded and smiled.
The outer office was empty. Amy was not at her desk. Richard knocked, and they heard Matthew yell, “Come in.”
Richard opened the door, and they both walked in. “Matthew, we thought it a good idea to check in and find out what you needed from us next.”
He looked up from his desk. A look flashed across his face - was it surprise? “Gentlemen, do come in. I’m sorry Amy is away from her desk. Would you like a drink?”
“Don’t get up, Matt, old boy, I know where it is.” Charles said with a wink. “Can I get you one?” His voice was clear and confident. He was in deal mode.
“I tried to call you both this weekend.”
Richard smiled, “I told my staff I didn’t want to be disturbed. Was it important?” He was calm and nonchalant. “I was under the impression that the shipment wasn’t ready yet.”
Matthew took the drink Charles offered and grinned, “No, of course, you're right. Please have a seat.”
The three men sat down and Matthew explained the schedule for the first shipment, how they planned to get it to the docks in the middle of the night, and the details each man needed. The meeting took well over an hour. Richard and Charles, with the slightest bit of enthusiasm, asked plenty of questions. It was a brilliant performance. After they left, Matthew made a call.
CHAPTER SIXTY THREE
The conversation was long and mostly one sided. Matthew went over every detail of the meeting while Pytor listened. They ordered dinner. Pytor ate as Matthew patted himself on the back for saving the mission. Pytor’s only comment was that the risotto was delicious, and he would like another bottle of wine.
When Matthew left the restaurant his mood was markedly improved. Driving home in his rather ostentatious ‘54 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing, he was on top of the world. Matthew dreaded the thought of returning home, even though he would be rewarded for his many years of hiding in the US and his role in the mission. He would be given whatever he wanted and likely get a nice promotion, but it would be cold and lonely, returning to Leningrad.
The noise of the traffic seemed to fade as he imagined the Neva River where he first fished with his grandfather at age eight. He remembered learning the history of how St. Petersburg was founded by Tsar Peter I of Russia in 1703. He couldn’t remember the day of the week, but he knew it was on May 16th. In 1914, the name was changed to Petrograd and, in 1924, to Leningrad. It was a beautiful city, and he did miss it at times but not when he was driving his car. The thought of leaving his beloved car behind and returning home made him cringe. That wasn’t an issue now. They would go on producing parts for the Navy while shipping parts home to the motherland. He would get to continue his life for at least another year.
***
Pytor remained in the restaurant. He was expecting another guest. He would wait to order dessert though it was killing him to do so. The waiter, who had been tipped generously on two previous occasions, was standing at the ready. The restaurant was owned by an Armenian couple who had been paid handsomely to provide a safe place for people like Pytor to dine. On evenings when Pytor wanted a table, they would limit their reservations to people from the ‘old country.’ Pytor knew it was safe but preferred to hedge his bets by winning over the wait staff.
There were but two other couples remaining when the man came through the kitchen. He wore a dark coat and sat with his back to the rest of the tables so that only Pytor could see his face. “It is good to see you, my friend,” said the man.