Love in the Time of Spies - 5
It may seem far-fetched to relate that these two people, Marvin Jacks and Rachel Baumgarten, a.k.a. Anneliese Cornelius and now, apparently, Marie Alem�n or, as we shall soon see, Clement, should meet again in another, quite opposite part of the world. Much too fortuitous and convenient for this story to be believed. Nevertheless, such things happen more frequently than you�d expect. Marvin and the then Anneliese were truly in love back in Germany when they were both very young. When Anneliese seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth Marvin Jacks was devastated. Anneliese perhaps (how can we know?) even more so. The fact that they were living double lives spying on each other made them both suspect that they had been found out, which bothered their mutual consciences, although they were mistaken. Jacks had been ordered to keep an eye on Anneliese just in case she was more than an innocent East German refugee, and Anneliese, once her masters realized that Jacks was attracted to her, had ordered her to keep him on a string, find out what she could from him, even try to recruit him if it seemed possible. Now they were afraid that it might be starting all over again.
����������� Anneliese, now Frau Marie, saw it coming as soon as she saw him, for she had been expecting Freddy Hussein to bring an American airline official to lunch in order to seduce him. Motive? They suspected he was CIA, at least Freddy Hussein had a hunch that he was. He couldn�t believe that an American who spoke three languages (he�d found out from the Lufthansa manager that Jacks spoke German), living in Argentina and flying around Latin America and other parts of the world in a job that seemed, to him, without tangible objectives, could be only what he claimed to be. The job could therefore be a cover. If he was right it would be a feather in his cap; if he was wrong�well�what did he have to lose? Certainly not Frau Marie�s virginity.������
����������� Marvin Jacks didn�t see it coming until he received a phone call the next morning from John Armstrong, the Panam manager, who asked him to stop by his office at his convenience, which usually meant asap. Such calls were routine and were almost always motivated by an airline manager wanting to complain to Jacks about a competitor giving discounts or ask for his interpretation of an IATA rule, although the interpretation could usually be handled by phone, so Jacks expected the former reason. He was reluctant to leave the office and possibly miss another call from Frau Marie, but couldn�t stall Armstrong, at least not in good conscience, so he told him he�d be right over. Panam was, after all, one of the most important airlines in the market. He told his secretary he�d be back in an hour.
����������� Armstrong ushered him into his office, had him sit in one of the leather easy chairs in the corner near the large window overlooking the Rio de la Plata, and offered him Colombian coffee and a Cuban cigar. Jacks accepted the coffee, passed on the cigar. He knew the corner was reserved for government ministers, important travel agents and clients. So Armstrong wanted something, otherwise Jacks would be sitting across from him at his desk. He was a tall, thin man with a receding widow�s peak and hooked nose. His clothes had obviously been bought in the U.S. � loafers, pants not quite touching his shoe tops, button-down collar on a white shirt, regimental stripe silk tie.��
����������� �Marvin, we�ve known each other a long time now. How long has it been? Years. And we�ve grown to respect each other as honorable men, Americans to the core.� Jacks was immediately wary. He remembered how a few years earlier a Latvian friend who also lived in Argentina had confided to him that he once did some work for the CIA, and that Armstrong was his handler. The friend was rabidly anti-Soviet, as were all �migr�s from the Baltic countries, so the CIA had no hesitation in recruiting them. They paid him a hundred dollars a month to �keep his ears open�. He accepted the money for six months but never heard anything to report, so his employment was terminated. Jacks had forgotten about it, and was never sure if it was true anyway
����������� �So I�m going to tell you something now in strict confidentiality,� Armstrong continued. �Can I depend on your keeping this to yourself?� IATA�s policy was never to divulge the name of the complaining airline when information was given about a competitor's misdeeds. Armstrong knew this, so Jacks decided it was something else. But he said anyway, �You know our policy, John. That�s not a problem.�
����������� �This has nothing to do with business, Marvin.� He opened an ivory inlaid� cigarette box and offered it to Jacks, knowing he didn�t smoke cigarettes. Jacks shook his head, and took his pipe from a side pocket of his suit jacket. The pocket was strewn with loose tobacco and ashes, which he made a mental note to empty once outside. He took a tobacco pouch from another pocket, filled the pipe and lighted it with a Zippo. They blew smoke at each other and waited to see who would blink. It was Armstrong.
����������� �Can I, Marvin?�
����������� �I have to know what it is first, John. I�m sure you can understand that.�
����������� �Yes, I can.� He sighed histrionically. �Okay, I know I can trust you Marvin, so here goes.� He took a deep drag on his cigar, let the smoke out from his nose and said, �I lead a double life, Marvin. You see, I also work for our government.� He waited. Jacks had to say something.
����������� �I see. In what capacity?�
����������� �Central Intelligence Agency.�
����������� If he�d expected Jacks to fall over in astonishment, he was mistaken. Instead Jacks said, �Good for you, but what�s that got to do with me?�
����������� �A lot, Marvin. We want you to help us.�
����������� �Are you trying to recruit me, John?�
����������� Armstrong laughed as though he were enjoying the repartee, which he wasn�t. �Not exactly�or in a sense yes, but just for one case�although if you were interested after that, well, who knows?� Jacks started to say something, but Armstrong wasn�t finished. �You will be paid for your time of course�and, Marvin, that�s the first thing I would like you to keep secret � my association with the Agency.�
����������� �Sure, no problem.�
����������� �Good. Thanks. I know you were in military intelligence in the army and had a distinguished record.�
����������� �That�s news to me,� Jacks said.
����������� �That you were in M.I.?� Armstrong said, frowning, suddenly awake to the possibility that they�d checked the wrong man.�
����������� �No, that I had a distinguished record. Didn�t do anything distinguished that I can remember.�
����������� �Well, let�s just say that your record is clean, that you were in interrogation, then special ops, meaning sending spies � I think you call them �sources� in the army � into East Germany, and debriefing them afterwards. Right?�
����������� �Something like that,� Jacks replied, thinking back to those times and, inevitably, Anneliese.
����������� �I love that answer, Marvin. It shows reserve and a sense of confidentiality even now.�
����������� This guy is too much, Jacks thought. Why don�t I politely tell him to fuck off and get the hell out of here. �Not much to be confidential about,� he said though, wanting to keep his options open while he pondered the alternatives. �We couldn�t find a gasmask in a gasmask store.�
����������� �A gasmask?�
����������� �Somehow the C.O. got information � probably from the Pentagon � that the Russians had a new gasmask that had been distributed to their troops in East Germany. So we were given the job of getting one. Why? Because it was there, I guess, like a mountain.� His pipe had gone out as it often did when he was talking, so he re-lighted it.
����������� �So what happened?� Armstrong asked. �Did you get it?�
����������� Jacks laughed. �No, we tried for over a year, until I left at least. Maybe they�re still trying.� He was curious about what they wanted him to do and that was so important that they checked his army record before even asking if he was open to the possibility. He decided to play it cool.
����������� �I don�t know, John. I�ve had enough of that stuff, I think.�
����������� Armstrong saw the opening in the last two words. �And I think you think wrong. It gets into your blood, man. We all know that.��������������������
����������� Curiosity turned to apprehension and his heart jumped. Could this have something to do with Anneliese? Armstrong was wrong about his blood though. He had really had enough of the cloak and dagger circus and, most of all, the people involved who seemed to like it. But�
����������� �What do you want me to do?�
����������� Armstrong slapped him on the knee. �Atta boy, I knew you were a patriot.�
����������� �Wait a minute, John,� Jacks said. �I only asked you what you want. I didn�t say I�d do it. First of all, why did you think of me?�
����������� �Right, Marvin, I�ll open up � totally. You were seen going into a restaurant in Florida � he opened a pocket notebook: Die Glocke � the other day with Freddy Hussein. Tuesday as a matter of fact, at twelve-thirty hours. Hussein left at twelve-forty five, alone, and you left at thirteen-fifteen, also alone. You went into a house there in Florida via a circuitous route, walking. You had the key. Is that right?�
����������� �Sounds right, so what?�
����������� �Could you tell me why?�
����������� �Why what?�
����������� �Why you went to that particular restaurant with Hussein.�
����������� �What the hell is this, an interrogation? Should I call my lawyer? Why were you following me?�
����������� Armstrong smiled, having expected this kind of reaction. �No, Marvin,� he said, �it isn�t an interrogation. But you asked me why we thought of you. And we weren�t following you. We were following Freddy Hussein.�
����������� Jacks thought a moment, but he had already decided that he�d have to find out what was going on. �Okay, I was there with Hussein because he invited me for lunch. In fact he�d invited me several times, and I always gave some excuse. He�s a pest, you know. So finally this time I thought I�d get it over with. He picked me at my office in his car and we drove to Florida. He said he knew a great German restaurant there. I didn�t have much choice.�
����������� �What about the house?�
����������� �In Florida? I live there.�
����������� �You live in Florida?�
����������� �Yeah, anything wrong with that?�
����������� �No, of course not. But you have no family � as far as I know � so I expected you�d live in an apartment in the Calle Florida in town rather than in a suburb.�
����������� �I like it there.�
����������� �Sure,� Armstrong said, smiling falsely again. �No offense meant. Why did Hussein leave before you, and quite early?�
����������� �His chauffer came in and told him something in Arabic, some kind of emergency I guess, so Freddy said he had to leave, apologies, etcetera.� Jacks wondered if the conversation was being recorded. He guessed it was. So far he�d told Armstrong nothing but the truth.
����������� �Uh, huh.� Armstrong looked down at his notebook. �Did anything happen in the restaurant?�
����������� �Like what?�
����������� �Like anything. Did you talk to anyone?�
����������� �Only the owner, a Frau Marie.�
����������� �Marie Clement, wife of Karl-Heinz Clement. He�s the cook. What did you and Frau Marie talk about?�
����������� �Small talk, nothing.� There goes the truth, he thought.
����������� �Small talk isn�t nothing, Marvin. Think.�
����������� �She was sort of filling in for Hussein after he left. I don�t know, she asked me what airline I was with, and I explained IATA to her. She told me this was the second time they�d been to Argentina, that she loved it but everything was complicated. The usual. Oh, that she�s from Hamburg I think she said.�
����������� �Anything else?�����
����������� �No, some people came in and she went to butter them up, seems like a good hostess. Now what�s this about, John?�
����������� �Just one more question first. Why did you take the long way home?�
����������� �I wanted to walk off the meal. I was very tired and decided to take the afternoon off. Don�t tell my boss.�
����������� Armstrong laughed as though it were the best joke of the season. �Don�t worry, I wouldn�t think of it,� he said. �Now, what this is all about.� He paused for effect, and looked Jacks in the eye for too long. �Freddy Hussein is a spy.�
����������� �Doesn�t surprise me,� Jacks said. �For whom?�
����������� �We�re not sure, probably one of the East European intelligence services.�
����������� �Too dumb for the Soviets?�
����������� �Maybe.�
����������� �How do you know?�
����������� �We know.�
�Okay.�
�He goes frequently to Die Glocke, seems to know the Clements well, which makes us suspicious of them as well.�
�Any other reason to suspect them?� Jacks asked.
�Not really. Oh yes, according to one of our German sources she talks more like an easterner than a Hamburger� � he smiled gloomily at the little joke � �from Berlin perhaps.�
�Maybe she was originally from Berlin and moved to Hamburg.�
�Possibly. That�s about all we know, but we�d like to know more. That�s why I�m asking you to help us.�
�How could I help?� Jacks asked.
�Freddy Hussein takes you to Die Glocke. He didn�t know you live in Florida, right?�
�Right.�
�I wonder why. Any ideas?�
�He said the food was great.�
�Was it?�
�Well, it�s probably the only restaurant in Argentina where you can get gr�ne Sosse.�
�What�s that?�
�A German dish,� Jacks replied. �The food�s good there, but I�m not a gourmet.��
����������� �He doesn�t have to go to Florida for good food, does he?�
����������� �Why then?�
����������� �You�re American, you have good contacts in the airline business, the police, probably even S.I.D.E., a mysterious job. Why not try to recruit you? Or maybe you�re already one of us. Why not try to find out? If so, even better, try and turn you around.�
����������� �How?�
����������� �I understand that Frau Marie is a very attractive, interesting woman.�
����������� Jacks was surprised; he didn�t have to pretend. �Do you have any facts that lead you to such a conclusion, John, or is your imagination getting the better of you?�
����������� �Why else would Hussein bring you out to Florida for lunch, introduce you to Marie Clements and disappear with a silly excuse? You tell me.�
����������� Jacks� pipe had gone out, so he lighted it again. Considering what he knew about the lady now known as Marie Clements, Armstrong was probably right.
����������� �By the way, Marvin,� Armstrong said, �you might be out of a job soon, so that�s more reason to consider ��
����������� �Why�s that?�
����������� I received a telex from New York just before you walked in. Didn�t have much time to think about it, but it doesn�t look good. It seems the U.S. CAB has revoked IATA�s anti-trust immunity � or is about to; the wording isn�t too clear.
����������� Jacks and Armstrong stared at each other. It meant that the airlines could no longer set fares among themselves under the umbrella of IATA�s anti-trust immunity. �Damn fools,� Jacks finally said.
����������� �The CAB?�
����������� �They�re political, fools or not. I mean the airlines. Anyone in the business with any sense could see this coming. But what did we do? Nothing.�
����������� �What could we have done?�
����������� �Bring the consumers � passengers and air freight shippers � into the process. I recommended it a year ago.�
����������� �But no one listened?�
����������� �They listened, but thought the European governments could pressure the United States not to go that route. They didn�t realize that the U.S. couldn�t care less what anyone else thinks. It�s gonna be dog eat dog now, John.� He was thinking that he probably had enough on his platter with security and fraud detection to keep working without tariff compliance. Panam, and John Armstrong with it, on the other hand was in deep trouble. Was it possible that they didn�t realize it yet?
����������� �Yeah, well, back to Frau Marie,� Armstrong said. �We�d like you to contact her again somehow and try to see what she�s up to ��
����������� �If anything.�
����������� �Right, if anything. What do you say, Marvin?�
����������� Marvin Jacks knew his answer would be yes, but he also knew how to play the game. �Let me sleep on it, John,� he said.
����������� �One night?�
����������� �Yeah, I�ll let you know tomorrow.�������
��������
�Madelaine Albrecht, IATA Geneva,� Jacks� secretary, Amalia, called to him with her hand over her receiver. Their offices were so small that they only used the intercom system when someone from outside was present.
����������� �Madelaine Albrecht � who the hell is that?� Jacks mumbled to himself as he picked up his phone. She spoke in English with a Swiss accent, but he recognized her anyway. �Good morning, Marvin. I�m arriving tomorrow morning on Swissair. Please don�t pick me up, Argentine Airlines insists on having that honor.�
����������� Think fast, Marvin. �Fine, Madelaine, the Swiss get up too early for me anyway. What time and where should we meet?�
����������� �Midday will be fine, I sleep badly on airplanes. You did make the hotel reservation for me I hope. Sheraton, wasn�t it?�
����������� �Of course.�
����������� �Call me before you come in case I�m still asleep � and don�t forget to bring� the pertinent files with you. We can have lunch in my room.�
����������� �Even though it�s all in my head?�
����������� �Yes, Marvin, even if it�s all in your head.�
����������� �Have a good flight, Madelaine. See you tomorrow.�
����������� �Noonish.�
����������� �Right.�
����������� She thinks my phone is tapped, Jacks thought. And if it is, whoever is listening didn�t hear any hotel reservation being made. �Amalia,� he called, �make a reservation for Mrs. Madelaine Albrecht at the Sheraton, in tomorrow for one night. IATA discount. I forgot all about it.
����������� �Who is she, Marvin?�
����������� �Some new consultant working with the Human Resources Director. The usual bullshit.�
����������� �What usual bullshit?�
����������� �Never mind. Just make the reservation � and get the room number.�������
����������� �������������
Dawn had finally arrived. Streaks of light probed stealthily through the room, hurried under chairs and tables like a spy with little time left. Marvin Jacks had hardly slept, so he was sitting in the dining room drinking his third coffee, thinking hard and getting nowhere or somewhere, he couldn�t decide which. One: Anneliese/Marie was playing it very cloak and dagger, pretending on the telephone to be someone from IATA Geneva. It was good, but not very. If someone wanted to check it would be easy to find out that no such person existed. But they�d have to be suspicious first, and why should they be. Two: the CIA, in the person of John Armstrong, was suspicious of her. Three: Marvin Jacks was also suspicious. Conclusion: she�s still a spy for the German Democratic Republic. Big question: Was the rendezvous with him today at the Sheraton part of her clandestine duties, or was all the caution because it was above and beyond duty? No answer. Four: Was Marvin Jacks still in love with her? His head told him he better not be; his heart chuckled and told the truth, for better or for worse. He was. Five: Was she still in love with him, or, more accurately, was she ever? No answer. Six: Did John Armstrong know more than he told Jacks? No answer, but probably not. Seven: How should he answer Armstrong�s offer to work for the CIA in order to find out about Anneliese? The answer would have to wait until after his meeting with her this afternoon.
����������� Jacks had been writing it all down on a piece of paper like a question-answer quiz. The result was more questions than answers, but at least now he knew what they were. He held a match to the paper and let the ashes fall into an ashtray. His head leaned slowly onto his chest and his eyes closed. At nine o'clock the phone rang. Jacks shook his head to get his bearings and answered on the fifth ring. �Marvin,� Amalia said, �are you okay?�
����������� �Basically yes,� he answered. �Slight headache, that�s all.�
����������� �Mr. Armstrong of Panam already called twice. I told him you should be in any minute. He wants you to call him urgently.�
����������� �If he calls again tell him that I had to go to�uh�Montevideo and that I�ll probably be back late this afternoon.�
����������� �Really, Marvin?�
����������� �Sure. Just tell him that, Amalia.�
����������� �I could say you�re sick.�
����������� �Tell him what I just told you, it�s true,� Jacks insisted, thinking about the possibility that the phones were tapped. He hung up and turned on the answering machine in case Armstrong got hold of his unlisted home number, which wouldn�t be difficult. He had breakfast, showered, dressed, put Mozart on and went to his bookcase to select a book and kill time. To his own surprise he chose Plato over John Le Carr�.
For I am quite ready to admit, Simmias and Cebes, that I ought to be grieved at death, if I were not persuaded in the first place that I am going to other gods who are wise and good (of which I am as certain as I can be of any such matters), and secondly (though I am not so sure of this last) to men departed, better than those whom I leave behind; and therefore I do not grieve as I might have done, for I have good hope that there is yet something remaining for the dead, and as has been said of old, some far better thing for the good than for the evil.
�Socrates was an optimist, Plato,� Jacks said to himself. Having lived alone most of his life, he had gotten into the habit of addressing authors out loud. �Or are you the optimist and Socrates just your fictional mouthpiece? If so you did a good job. Know why? Because we�ll never know.� He straightened his tie and put on his suit jacket, then checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror. �How do I look, mirror, mirror on the wall? Good enough for whatever her name is?� He thought of shaving off his beard, which was showing signs of gray, to make himself look younger, then cursed himself for an idiot, slammed the bathroom door as well as the outside door and climbed into his red Mitsubishi. If it�s possible to tell a person�s character by the car he owns, Marvin Jacks would be pegged as a traditionalist, which wouldn�t be far from wrong.
