MATT HELM: The War Years (16 page)

Once we reached the outskirts of the city, to break the silence, I finally asked, "How'd it go?"

I immediately regretted the question.  I should have complimented them on a good, clean job - or even better, kept my mouth shut.  As I figured, Jacob took offense.

"What do you think?" he retorted.  "You think you're the only one who knows his job?  It went perfectly.  Thomas got the General with his first shot, the second was just insurance, and I took care of the lousy Nazi as planned."

As I've said before, temperament.  Jacob had made it obvious he felt he should have been in charge.  I might modestly mention here that I had been getting a reputation as Mac's fair-haired boy - no pun intended - who was sent in on the tough ones.  My associates being who they were, some resentment was natural.  Also, as I mentioned earlier, I had been forced to shoot one of our own on a previous mission just so two idiots didn't get us all killed trying to carry the guy out.  The fact that he was dying anyway didn't matter to some of our more tender-hearted members.  I'd only heard of one other agent who'd made the same decision since then, and he was right here - good old fanatical Jacob, who wasn't any more popular than I was with the rest of the group.

Well I didn't like Jacob either, but not because he'd killed one of us.  When I first met him, back in London in Mac's office, he'd seemed a little intense and arrogant, but that was pretty usual around there.  Then he'd turned his head and looked at me; and I changed my mind about him abruptly.  He had those nice, clear, blue, Scandinavian eyes; but they didn't really see me.  They didn't see anybody.  They were fanatic's eyes that saw only a shining cause, a glorious goal in the remote distance towards which this boy was marching; and if he had to kill you and wade through your blood to get there, that was your problem.  I don't think I scare more easily than the average guy, but true believers always give me chills, regardless of what they happen to believe in at the moment.  There is no reason or mercy, and more important, there is no humor in them.

I guess Mac had to work with whatever material was available and I had to admit that you probably couldn't find a better candidate if you were looking for the killer instinct.  However, this guy had a big hate going and viewed all Germans as Nazis.  Although his appearance was a little out of the stereotypical movie ideal - he was tall and blonde with Nordic features - I guessed from his code name that he was Jewish.  Well, I wasn't any more thrilled than he was about the genocide going on in Germany and Poland, but hating all Germans for the actions of a relatively small group of butchers seemed almost as irrational, to me at least.

I think that's why Mac had sent Jacob along with us.  Our plan was, as usual, to try to cover our tracks.  Whenever possible, we tried to make our operations seem like random acts, rather than cold-blooded assassinations.  We didn't want the Germans to get the idea that we even existed, especially after the rumors resulting from the aborted attempts on Hitler.  Actually, the plan was a little more cold-blooded than usual.  An innocent neighbor - we never did know his name - was being set up to take the blame.  It actually served two purposes, because we couldn't very well leave him behind to provide descriptions.

That, of course, had been the purpose of the third shot.  Our experts had somehow obtained a sample of the neighbor's handwriting and other experts had forged a simple suicide note, brief and to the point: "God forgive me.  General"(classified) “was a traitor to the German people."  I thought that was a nice touch.  It might be cause for some investigation of the General's friends and associates - Hitler was notoriously paranoid.  Obviously a suicide note required a suicide, so Jacob was assigned the job of shooting the neighbor with the pistol he had brought along for the purpose.

The idea was that the neighbor would be discovered dead by his own hand, both the pistol and the rifle found in his bedroom beside him, and the note tying it up in a pretty package.  Any questions concerning how a peaceful citizen - there was no evidence that he was a Nazi, despite Jacob's epithet to the contrary - had obtained a scoped rifle and a military sidearm, not to mention where he had learned to shoot someone - twice - at a hundred and fifty-yard range, would be lost in the shuffle.  When dealing with the authorities, try to give them a nice, simple solution to a problem.  They'll refuse to let it be complicated by contradictory information.

The embarrassed silence that followed Jacob's remark told me that the others were still uncomfortable with the death of the neighbor.  As for me, I was just tired.  I'd been driving most of the day, had only managed a short nap before heading out for the job, and was now driving again.  Weariness just served to anesthetize my conscience, if I had one, which wasn't likely.  Mac had done his best to amputate it.  It was, he said, a handicap in our line of business.

Resisting the impulse to blast him, I replied, "Hell, I was just making conversation, Jacob.  We all know you're good at your job.  Nobody was questioning that."

Mollified, he mumbled, "Sorry, I was overreacting."  I could feel the tension leave the car.

Just to cover all the bases, I said, "Nice shooting, Thomas."

Thomas was perhaps the more likeable of the group.  He had a quiet air of confidence without the arrogance that so often develops in people who operate outside the law with immunity.  He never said much unless there was a point to it.  I had decided that I'd welcome him on any future team of mine, but I never got the chance - he went missing, presumed dead, a few months later.  It should have been Jacob.

The other two were no prizes so far as I was concerned.  Herman was still new enough in the business to be affected by his conscience - he kept looking at Jacob and me as though he was trying to discover where we hid the horns and tail.  Brent was British, with that supercilious demeanor that I never could stand and one that Americans often encountered in England.  He seemed competent enough, but we cordially disliked one another - the British are polite enough - even though we were able to work together.  Actually, to give him credit, I don't think I would have been able to carry it off as well as he did if the situation had been reversed and he was in charge.

In other words, it was a fairly typical team for our outfit.

The papers that Mac had provided for us were official enough that, when we were forced to travel on a main road, they got us through any checkpoints we happened upon.  We had one bad moment outside Metz, near the French border, when one guard held us up while he made a radio call.  It seemed to take him forever and we were about ready to shoot our way clear when he came back with our papers, apologized for the delay, and waved us through.

For the most part we stayed on back roads, stopping in small towns to eat and sleep.  It's pretty country and, under other circumstances - say, no war and more desirable companionship - would have made for a great little vacation.  All in all, my first mission into Germany was a little anticlimactic.  Our biggest problem wasn't the enemy, but rather gasoline.  It was in short supply and, while we had the proper authorization papers, all the papers in the world couldn't buy gas that didn't exist.  More than once we were down to fumes, having exhausted even the three five-gallon jerry cans in the trunk, and several times we stopped at night to siphon some from a vehicle some poor soul had left unattended.

Four days after making our rendezvous, we were back in London, having left the Mercedes in the hands of the Resistance.  I had gotten fond of the thing and hated to leave it, finding myself wondering just how I could afford one once the war was over.  I wasn't one to bear grudges, assuming we won the war, and the Germans built some of the finest automobiles in the world.

After our debriefing with Mac, we left in different directions.  After being cooped up together for so long, no one was anxious to have a celebration drink or dinner, including me.  I did check with Mac to see if Tina was in town, but she was still on her mission, whatever it was.  I said to hell with it and went back to the base to see if I could set any records for sleeping.

Chapter 19

"Have you ever heard of Emil Taussig, Eric?"

As was standard in Mac's office, he used my code name.  Also standard was the window behind his back, making it difficult to see his face, other than the startling black eyebrows framed by the carefully barbered gray hair.  He wore his customary gray flannel suit - this one in a charcoal shade - a neat white shirt, a conservative silk tie and he may have looked like a well-preserved middle-aged banker or businessman to some people, but he'd never look like that to me.  I happened to know that he was one of the half-dozen most dangerous and ruthless men in the world.

"I don't believe ... on second thought, I do remember something about him from my surveillance training class.  Wasn't he the Jewish gentleman in Stalin's undercover apparatus?  An expert in surveillance techniques?"

"He was, and still is, although he's carried it a step further."  Mac pushed a folder across the desk to me.  "Read, memorize and destroy.  You'll find some interesting variations and proposals in there.  I wouldn't mind having him on our team - or dead," he added grimly.

I looked up from the plain manila folder.  I suppose in another office in another agency, it would have been marked
Top Secret
, but Mac didn't bother with such pompous nonsense - our whole operation would have been classified Top Secret, except that, for all practical purposes, we didn't exist - on paper at least.

"Dead?" I asked.  "Are we going after Russians now?"

"Soviets, Eric," he said with a disapproving look.  "Our besieged allies prefer that term.  And no, we are not targeting Mr. Taussig, we are merely stealing one of his ideas.  I doubt that the gentleman - using the word advisedly - will object, even if he were to somehow discover this practical application of his theory."

"And that is ...?"

"Taussig has been advocating a multiple shadow technique as a substitute for open military action.  The actual implementation of such a technique has been temporarily interrupted by Germany's invasion of the Soviet Union; however, if he survives, his ideas are going to prove troublesome to some countries, possibly including ours."  Mac shook his head, whether in admiration or disgust, I couldn't tell.  Knowing Mac, it could have been either.

I waited patiently for him to get to the point.  It never did any good to try to hurry Mac and I had nothing else to do at the moment, anyway.  I had just returned from the team assignment in Loewenstadt and had spent the last week sitting around, hoping to get a nice, quiet assignment by myself.  I was fed up to here with the temperamental sons of bitches our business seemed to attract.

We'd always been kind of a lone-wolf outfit, myself in particular.  The others probably didn't enjoy working with me any more than I did with them.  Mac seemed to favor the type.  He'd pointed out to me once, in this regard, that the Three Musketeers and their pal d'Artagnan were no doubt a swell bunch of fellows, and that the relationship between them was a beautiful thing, but that when you studied the record you came to the sad conclusion that Louis the thirteenth would have got a lot more for his money, militarily speaking, by hiring four surly swordsmen who wouldn't give each other the time of day.  I remembered Mac saying that he made a point of keeping us dispersed as much as possible, to cut down on the casualties.  "Break it up," he'd say wearily, "break it up, you damn overtrained gladiators, save it for the Nazis."

He finally continued.  "Taussig's proposal was to cover all key politicians in a target country who weren't being properly cooperative.  Every doubtful man or woman in public life was to be shadowed by an agent trained in homicide who would have orders to take his subject out instantly and permanently when the whistle blew.  The resulting confusion and lack of leadership would then, presumably, enable the relatively peaceful subjugation of the country."

"It sounds almost workable, but the logistics would be a nightmare.  If someone gets itchy fingers, the whole thing could collapse.  Are we taking over a country?"

Mac gave me a cold smile at my sarcasm.  "No, Eric" he said, "just a city."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I just waited for him to continue.

"We're going to adapt Taussig's ideas in reverse - the idea is liberation rather than conquest - and on a slightly smaller scale.  On the French coast there is a small port city called Cherbourg.  Of no immediate importance at the present, it will become very important within the next few weeks.  I am told that it is vital for our forces to take this city quickly, when the time comes; otherwise the Germans may have time to bring up reinforcements which could have a domino effect on the rest of the operation."  Dryly, he added, "Those were the words used to explain the situation to me."