The Rhinemann Exchange (56 page)

Altmüller was breathing steadily, a bit too deeply, thought David. He was imposing a control on himself and he was only barely succeeding.

“You … have made arrangements to send the codes? From here?”

The lie was bought. The keystone was now in place.

“The rules are back in force. Radio and radar silence. No air strikes on surfacing submarines, no interceptions of trawlers … under Paraguayan flags entering the coastal zones. We both win.… Which do you want, jackal?”

Altmüller turned back to the railing and placed his hands on the marble top. His fingers were rigid against the stone. The tailored folds of his white Palm Beach suit were starchly immobile. He looked down at the river and spoke.

“The rules of ‘Tortugas’ are reinstated.”

“I have a telephone call to make,” said David.

“I expected you would,” replied Rhinemann, looking contemptuously at Franz Altmüller. “I have no stomach for an embassy kidnapping. It serves no one.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” said Spaulding agreeably. “It got me here in record time.”

“Make your call.” Rhinemann pointed to a telephone on a table next to the archway. “Your conversation will be amplified, of course.”

“Of course,” answered David, walking to the phone.

“Radio room …,” came the words from the unseen speakers.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Spaulding, military attaché,” said David, interrupting Ballard’s words.

There was the slightest pause before Ballard replied.

“Yes, sir, Colonel Spaulding?”

“I issued a directive of inquiry prior to my conference this afternoon. You may void it now.”

“Yes, sir.… Very good, sir.”

“May I speak with the head cryptographer, please? A Mr. Ballard, I believe.”

“I’m … Ballard, sir.”

“Sorry,” said David curtly, “I didn’t recognize you, Ballard. Be ready to send out the sealed code schedules I prepared for you. The green envelope; open it and familiarize yourself with the progressions. When I give you the word, I want it transmitted immediately. On a black-drape priority.”

“What … sir?”

“My authorization is black drape, Ballard. It’s in the lex, so clear all scrambler channels. You’ll get no flak with that priority. I’ll call you back.”

“Yes, sir.…”

David hung up, hoping to Christ that Ballard was as good at his job as David thought he was. Or as good at parlor games as Henderson Granville thought he was.

“You’re very efficient,” said Rhinemann.

“I try to be,” said David.

Ballard stared at the telephone. What was Spaulding trying to tell him? Obviously that Jean was all right; that he and Lyons were all right, too. At least for the time being.

Be ready to send out the sealed code schedules I prepared.
…

David had not prepared any codes.
He
had. Spaulding had memorized the progressions, that was true, but only as a contingency.

What goddamned
green envelope
?

There was no envelope, red, blue or green!

What the hell was that nonsense … 
black-drape priority?

What was a black drape? It didn’t make sense!

But it
was
a key.

It’s in the lex.
…

Lex.… Lexicon. The Lexicon of Cryptography!

Black drape.
… He recalled something … something very obscure, way in the past.
Black drape
was a very old term, long obsolete. But it
meant
something.

Ballard got out of his swivel chair and went to the bookshelf on the other side of the small radio room. He had not looked at
The Lexicon of Cryptography
in years. It was a useless, academic tome.… Obsolete.

It was on the top shelf with the other useless references and, like the others, had gathered dust.

He found the term on page 71. It was a single paragraph sandwiched between equally meaningless paragraphs. But it had meaning now.

“The Black Drape, otherwise known as
Schwarztuchchiffre
, for it was first employed by the German Imperial Army in 1916, is an entrapment device. It is hazardous for it cannot be repeated in a sector twice. It is a signal to proceed with a code, activating a given set of arrangements with intent to terminate, canceling said arrangements. The termination factor is expressed in minutes, specifically numbered. As a practice, it was abandoned in 1917 for it nullified …”

Proceed … with intent to terminate.

Ballard closed the book and returned to his chair in front of the dials.

Lyons kept turning the pages of the designs back and forth as if double-checking his calculations. Rhinemann called down twice from the balcony, inquiring if there were problems. Twice Lyons turned in his chair and shook his head. Stoltz remained in the deck chair by the pool, smoking cigarettes. Altmüller talked briefly with Rhinemann, the conversation obviously unsatisfactory to both. Altmüller returned to the chair by the glass-topped table and leafed through a Buenos Aires newspaper.

David and Jean remained at the far end of the terrace, talking quietly. Every once in a while Spaulding let his voice carry across; if Altmüller listened, he heard references to New York, to architectural firms, to vague postwar plans. Lovers’ plans.

But these references were non sequiturs.

“At the Alvear Hotel,” said David softly, holding Jean’s hand, “there’s a man registered under the name of E. Pace.
E. Pace.
His real name is Asher Feld. Identify yourself as the contact from me … and a Fairfax agent named Barden. Ira Barden. Nothing else. Tell him I’m calling his … priorities. In precisely two hours from … the minute you telephone from the embassy.… I
mean
the minute, Jean, he’ll understand.…”

Only once did Jean Cameron gasp, an intake of breath that caused David to glare at her and press her hand. She covered her shock with artificial laughter.

Altmüller looked up from the newspaper. Contempt was in his eyes; beyond the contempt, and also obvious, was his anger.

Lyons got up from the chair and stretched his emaciated frame. He had spent three hours and ten minutes at the table; he turned and looked up at the balcony. At Spaulding.

He nodded.

“Good,” said Rhinemann, crossing to Franz Altmüller. “Well proceed. It will be dark soon; we’ll conclude everything by early morning. No more delay! Stoltz!
Kommen Sie her! Bringen Sie die Aktenmappe!
”

Stoltz went to the table and began replacing the pages in the briefcase.

David took Jean’s arm and guided her toward Rhinemann and Altmüller. The Nazi spoke.

“The plans comprise four hundred and sixty-odd pages of causal data and progressive equations. No man can retain such information; the absence of any part renders the designs useless. As soon as you contact the cryptographer and relay the codes, Mrs. Cameron and the physicist are free to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” said Spaulding. “My agreement was to send the codes when they were back at the embassy. That’s the way it has to be.”

“
Surely
,” interjected Rhinemann angrily, “you don’t think I would permit …”

“No, I don’t,” broke in David. “But I’m not sure what you can control outside the gates of Habichtsnest. This way, I know you’ll try harder.”

It was an hour and thirty-one minutes before the telephone rang. Nine fifteen exactly. The sun had descended behind the Luján hills; the light along the distant riverbank flickered in the enveloping darkness.

Rhinemann picked up the receiver, listened and nodded to David.

Spaulding got out of his chair and crossed to the financier, taking the receiver. Rhinemann flicked a switch on the wall. The speakers were activated.

“We’re here, David.” Jean’s words were amplified on the terrace.

“Fine,” answered Spaulding. “No problems then?”

“Not really. After five miles or so I thought Doctor Lyons was going to be sick. They drove so fast.…”

After … five.
…

Asher … Feld.
…

Jean had done it!

“But he’s all right now?”

“He’s resting. It’ll take some time before he feels himself.…”

Time.

Jean had given Asher Feld the precise
time.

“All right.…”

“
Genug! Genug!
” said Altmüller, standing by the balcony. “That’s enough. You have your proof; they are there. The codes!”

David looked over at the Nazi. It was an unhurried look, not at all accommodating.

“Jean?”

“Yes?”

“You’re in the radio room?”

“Yes.”

“Let me speak to that Ballard fellow.”

“Here he is.”

Ballard’s voice was impersonal, efficient. “Colonel Spaulding?”

“Ballard, have you cleared all scrambler channels?”

“Yes, sir. Along with your priority. The drape’s confirmed, sir.”

“Very good. Stand by for my call. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” David quickly hung up the phone.

“What are you doing?!” yelled Altmüller furiously. “The
codes! Send them!
”

“He’s
betraying
us!” screamed Stoltz, jumping up from his chair.

“I think you should explain yourself.” Rhinemann spoke softly, his voice conveying the punishment he intended to inflict.

“Just last-minute details,” said Spaulding, lighting a cigarette. “Only a few minutes.… Shall we talk alone, Rhinemann?”

“That is unnecessary. What is it?” asked the financier. “Your method of departure? It’s arranged. You’ll be driven to the Mendarro field with the designs. It’s less than ten minutes from here. You won’t be airborne, however, until we have confirmation of the Koening transfer.”

“How long will that be?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Once the blackout starts I have no protection,
that’s
the difference.”

“
Ach!
” Rhinemann was impatient. “For four hours you’ll have the best protection in the world. I have no stomach for offending the men in Washington!”

“You see?” said David to Franz Altmüller. “I told you we were liabilities.” He turned back to Rhinemann. “All right. I accept that. You’ve got too much to lose. Detail number one, crossed off. Now detail number two. My payment from you.”

Rhinemann squinted his eyes. “You
are
a man of details.… The sum of five hundred thousand American dollars will be transferred to the Banque Louis Quatorze in Zürich. It’s a nonnegotiable figure and a generous one.”

“Extremely. More than I would have asked for.… What’s my guarantee?”

“Come, colonel. We’re not
salesmen.
You know where I live; your abilities are proven. I don’t wish the specter of the man from Lisbon on my personal horizon.”

“You flatter me.”

“The money will be deposited, the proper papers held in Zürich for you. At the bank; normal procedures.”

David crushed out his cigarette. “All right. Zürich.… Now the last detail. Those generous payments I’m going to receive right at home.… The names, please. Write them on a piece of paper.”

“Are you so sure I possess these names?”

“It’s the only thing I’m really sure of. It’s the one opportunity you wouldn’t miss.”

Rhinemann took a small black leather notebook from his jacket pocket and wrote hastily on a page. He tore it out and handed it to Spaulding.

David read the names:

“Thank you,” said Spaulding. He put the page in his pocket and reached for the telephone. “Get me the American embassy, please.”

Ballard read the sequence of the code progressions David had recited to him. They were not perfect but they were not far off, either; Spaulding had confused a vowel equation, but the message was clear.

And David’s emphasis on the “frequency megacycle of 120 for all subsequent scrambles” was meaningless gibberish. But it, too, was very clear.

120 minutes.

Black Drape.

The original code allowed for thirteen characters:

CABLE TORTUGAS

The code Spaulding had recited, however, had fifteen characters.

Ballard stared at the words.

DESTROY TORTUGAS

In two hours.

David had a final “detail” which none could fault professionally, but all found objectionable. Since there were four hours—more or less—before he’d be driven to the Mendarro airfield, and there were any number of reasons during this period why he might be out of sight of the designs—or Rhinemann might be out of sight of the designs—he insisted that they be placed in a single locked metal case and chained to any permanent structure, the chain held by a new padlock, the keys given to him. Further, he would also hold the keys to the case and thread the hasps. If the designs were tampered with, he’d know it.

“Your precautions are now obsessive,” said Rhinemann disagreeably. “I should ignore you. The codes have been sent.”

“Then humor me. I’m a Fairfax four-zero. We might work again.”

Rhinemann smiled. “That is always the way, is it not? So be it.”

Rhinemann sent for a chain and a padlock, which he took a minor delight in showing to David in its original box. The ritual was over in several minutes, the metal case chained to the banister of the stairway in the great hall. The four men settled in the huge living room, to the right of the hall, an enormous archway affording a view of the staircase … and the metal briefcase.

The financier became genial host. He offered brandies; only Spaulding accepted at first, then Heinrich Stoltz followed. Altmüller would not drink.

A guard, his paramilitary uniform pressed into starched creases, came through the archway.

“Our operators confirm radio silence, sir. Throughout the entire coastal zone.”

“Thank you,” said Rhinemann. “Stand by on all frequencies.”

The guard nodded. He turned and left the room as quickly as he had entered.

“Your men are efficient,” observed David.

“They’re paid to be,” answered Rhinemann, looking at his watch. “Now, we wait. Everything progresses and we
have merely to wait. I’ll order a buffet. Canapes are hardly filling … and we have the time.”