Love in the Time of Spies - 7
The next morning Marvin Jacks received a telex from his boss Ian Payne telling him to go to Geneva right away for an important meeting. Rachel had said not to call her, that she�d contact him. She was right of course, so all he could do was tell his secretary to tell her when she, Sra. Alem�n, called that he had to leave on a business trip and would be back in a few days.
When he did return Amalia gave him a list of calls: airline managers mostly, including Armstrong of Panam, a few personal ones, but no Sra. Alem�n.� Maybe she didn�t identify herself. He asked Amalia if anyone had called without giving their name. His secretary thought a moment, then said no, not that she could remember. �Only a guy name of Rodriguez who wouldn�t say what he wanted. Said he�d call back. Do you want me to call anyone now, Marvin?� He shook his head. �Dictation?� He always dictated a report on his return from trips. He shook his head again, went into his office and when he was about to close the door she asked, �mate cocido?� � the bitter tea she knew Marvin liked. �Yes, thanks, Amalia.�
There was a knock on the door � three times, with determination. �I�ll go,� Jacks said. He looked through the peephole, one was careful those days because of the kidnappings. A short man stood in the hall in a rumpled suit under an open trench coat, cigarette dangling from his lips a la Bogart, only lacking the fedora. He seemed to be alone. �S�?� Jacks called through an intercom. The man looked around for a microphone. �Just speak up, I�ll hear you,� Jacks said. The man took a wallet from his breast pocket, flipped it open and held it up to the peephole. �Rodriguez, S.I.D.E.� The Argentine state intelligence service. Jacks swore to himself and opened the door. �Sr. Hacks?� the man asked. He actually looked a little like Bogart, but his voice was more Peter Lorre.
�Yes. What can I do for you?�
�May I come in? I�d like to ask you some questions.�
Once in Jacks� office, he closed the door, much to Amalia�s disappointment.�������������
�You are an investigator for the IATA?� Rodriguez said, something he obviously already knew.
�Yes,� Jacks replied, �And you are one for the S.I.D.E.?�
�Yes,� Rodriguez smiled, �so in a way we are colleagues, except for pay scale.�
Jacks smiled back, doubting that Rodriguez depended on his salary alone. �Would you like a mate cocido?
�Yes, thank you.�
�Amalia, two mate cocidos,� Jacks called out, letting Rodriguez know that the door was thin.
�S�, se�or,� she called back.
�You are of course wondering why I am here, Mr. Hacks.� Jacks often had visits from police detectives investigating travel agency rip-offs or airline security, but this was the first time a S.I.D.E investigator had wanted to see him, so he was curious � and nervous. During the course of the past month he had become involved with STASI, CIA. and now S.I.D.E. He hoped that they weren�t all connected � but feared they were. Amalia came in with two cups of mate cocido on a tray with a sugar bowl and a few cookies. The water must have been already hot, Jacks thought. When she left, leaving the door open, Rodriguez frowned and whispered, �This is very confidential, Sr. Hacks.� Jacks nodded. He called Amalia who appeared immediately in the doorway hoping to get in on the dirt. �S�, se�or?� the �se�or� being for Rodriguez�s benefit.
�I forgot about your mother being sick. You can take the rest of the day off.�
�But�� Jack was glaring at her with his chin high. �Muy bien, gracias,� with acid in the last word. She didn�t exactly slam the door behind her, just closed it with more force than necessary. They were silent until they heard the outside door close, with a definite slam.
�Thank you,� Rodriguez said and sipped from his cup. �I don�t wish to take up more of your time than is necessary, Sr. Hacks. So can you please tell me if you know a Karl-Heinz and Marie Clement?�
Jacks thought a moment, then shook his head. �No, I don�t think so.�
They are the owners of a restaurant, Die Glocke, in the town of Florida.�
�Oh yes,� Jacks said with a slight smile, remembering his anti-interrogation techniques, which essentially consisted in remaining calm, �I do know them slightly but didn�t know that name.�
�You live in Florida, isn�t that right?�
�Yes.�
�And you have been to the restaurant?�
�Yes, but only once.�
�Isn�t that unusual?�
�No, you see basically I only sleep in Florida. I eat in the city.�
He smiled. �Very understandable. But your name and number is listed in their telephone book, so we thought you might know them better.�
�I gave Frau Marie my card when she was introduced to me, something I am too much in the habit of doing I�m afraid.�
�Who introduced you?�
�Freddy Hussein. He invited me for lunch there.�
�Why did he invite you for lunch?�
�He�s in the airline business. Airline managers often invite me for lunch. Do you know him?�
�Not personally. And how well do you know Sr. Hussein?
�Not well at all.�
�I see you smoke a pipe, Sr. Hacks,� He was looking at Jacks� row of pipes on his desk. Do you mind if I smoke?�
�Not at all.� Jacks took one of the pipes from the rack and went through the tobacco filling ritual while Rodriguez lit a cigarette.
�I tried to switch to a pipe once, but couldn�t get used to it,� Rodriguez said.
�It takes a while.� Get on with it, you bastard, Jacks thought.
Rodriguez blew a noxious cloud of smoke from his blacks into the room and Jacks puffed mightily to cover the smell.
�We suspect that they are spies,� Rodriguez said suddenly, and Jacks had to concentrate to show the right mix of surprise and innocence.
�Who?�
�We know that Hussein is a spy, for anyone who will pay him, including us. Mr. And Mrs. Clement � Frau Marie, you know? � we suspect that they are East German spies.�
�East German spies � in Argentina?�
�Oh yes, we have all kinds of spies here, Czech, Polish, British, American and etcetera and etcetera, so why not East German as well?� Despite his Bogart appearance, this guy was a Peter Lorre type to the bones, complete with an oily smile. Jacks smiled back as though appreciating the joke.
�What did you and Frau Marie talk about?�
�Nothing much. Let me think.� Yes, let me sift the weeds from the grain. �She told me they�d been in Argentina twice, from Hamburg I think, that the restaurant was doing well, that kind of thing.�
�And the husband?�
�No, we shook hands and he went back to the kitchen.�
�That�s all?�
�I think so, yes, that�s all.�
Rodriguez squeezed his nose, scratched an eyebrow and pulled an earlobe in classic interrogator coming-to-the-point mode. �Sr. Hacks, your country and mine are allies in the fight against communism, and it is for that reason that I am sure you will cooperate with us here on our battlefield.� He waited for Jacks� reaction.
�Of course � and I�ve already told you all I know.�
�Yes, but we would like you to take advantage of your contacts with these people in order to find out more.�
�Sr. Rodriguez,� Jacks began, throwing caution to the wind, �I dislike communism as much as you do, but I also dislike military dictatorships, and��
�But, Se�or, we are in complete agreement,� Rodriguez said, smiling. �I also dislike dictatorships � except when they are necessary, when there is no other choice. And we have no other choice if we don�t want our country to be taken over by the Bolsheviks, and then the domino effect of the rest of the Latin American countries falling one after the other. You see that, don�t you?�
�Let�s just say I understand the argument,� Jacks replied, not wanting to get into a debate he had already had with many Argentines and Americans � especially not with a guy who could �disappear� people at will.
�Good,� Rodriguez said dryly, �at least that. But back to our spies � or should I say �alleged� spies. You see, for you alleged means nothing has been proven yet, but for us alleged is enough. We could simply arrest them and find out most of what we want using�mmm�other methods? Yes, we could do that, as some of my colleagues are recommending, strongly. But I? Well, I prefer more subtle methods. I like to find out more before the trail gets cold, which is what would happen if we arrested them now. And you can help me win the argument with my less subtle comrades. Do you follow me?�
Jacks stood, walked to the window and opened it wide to let some smoke out of the room. �Yes,� he said. Rodriguez, professional interrogator, understood and waited. Jacks� thoughts went something like this: If I agree now it will seem as though I want to protect them, or at least Frau Marie and if I hardly know her why would I care? Why would I want to do that? So he breathed deeply at the window, then returned to his chair and looked at Rodriguez.
�So what do you say?� Rodriguez asked.
�You can all go to hell for all I care,� Jacks said as calmly as he could.
Rodriguez smiled. He seemed to really enjoy the little cat and mouse game. He had tried one avenue, but the mouse was more slippery than he thought. So he would fall back on a more effective trap. �I have no doubt that we are all in grave danger of going there, Se�or, but I have faith, you see. You are not a Christian, I assume?�
Jacks knew that by �Christian�, he meant Roman Catholic, and he said, �No, but I was once.�
�Once a Christian, always a Christian.�
�You mean Catholic.�
�Of course, yes, thank you for correcting me: Catholic. You see, I hope to avoid hell no matter how much time I must spend in purgatory, for I know my goal is true and the same as the Mother Church�s.�
God, thought Jacks, the man is mad. �Your confessor told you so?�
�As a matter of fact, yes. But I would have continued on the same path whatever he told me.�
�Or changed confessors.�
Rodriguez laughed out loud. �Yes, yes, I�m so glad to talk about such things with a man who has a sense of humor.� He sighed. �Unfortunately we haven�t time to go more deeply into such things, even if they are extremely important. Now, my apostate friend, please understand that we can make things difficult for you here.�������������
A direct threat, Jacks thought. Better. And for the first time it occurred to him to wonder if Armstrong had something to do with this visit.
�Really,� he said. �How?�
�Never mind how,� Rodriguez said. �Trust me, we can.�
They sat there for at least a minute smiling idiotically at each other. Rodriguez thinking that Jacks� was imagining the terrible things they could do to him. Jacks, however, thinking, hoping, that he was bluffing. Jacks was, after all, a U.S. citizen, an ally with connections to his embassy and the representative of an important international organization of which Argentina�s national airline was a member. But he knew that there were certain unimaginably horrible things they could do to Rachel Baumgartner if they discovered her real identity and chose to take that avenue.
�Let me think about it,� he said, finally.
Rodriguez stood, still grinning, shook Jacks� hand, said, �Gracias por el mate cocido,� and left.
Jacks� first impulse was to phone Armstrong, but then he thought the bastards might have his phone tapped, so he decided to take the subway for the two stops to Panam�s office. He bought a subway token for twenty centavos, but put it in his pocket and decided to walk. It would give him time to think. He made his way down the Calle Florida, a pedestrian zone, in bright autumn sunshine. A visitor who didn�t keep up with the news and who walked down that luxurious shopping street could never know that Argentina was run by a brutal military dictatorship and that the city of Buenos Aires was surrounded by a ring of shanty towns called villas miserias. When he reached Avenida Corrientes, a main traffic artery full of buses belching clouds of exhaust smoke and honking taxis, he turned right towards the obelisk at the Plaza de la Rep�blica. He didn�t notice anything around him, for he was thinking of what he would say to Armstrong. He had to contain his anger first of all because he wasn�t sure that Armstrong was behind the S.I.D.E. guy�s visit and also because it wouldn�t do any good. He was also more fearful than ever about Rachel�s safety. Now he could tell her that not only CIA but also the S.I.D.E. was on her trail and she had to move � and quickly. Not that easy because her phone was certainly tapped. He turned left automatically at the Plaza de la Rep�blica when he reached the obelisk, walked down Diagonal Norte dodging pedestrians, crossed it and stepped into the Panam building.
�Oh, hello, Mr. Jacks,� Armstrong�s secretary said in perfect Anglo-Argentine English. �How are you today?� Jacks wondered if she was also CIA; after all, it would be hard to keep secrets from a personal secretary; better to recruit her.
�Fine, Beatr�z, thanks.� Jacks knew the value of being on good terms with secretaries. They could open or close doors. �Gotta see John.�
�He�s in a meeting right now, Mr. Jacks,� she said apologetically. �You didn�t have an appointment, did you? We�ve been trying to contact you.�
�With whom?�
�Sorry?�
�Who�s he meeting with?�
�The sales manager.�
�Ok, tell him I�m here and I have to speak with him urgently.��
�Well�� She frowned, all an act Jacks knew.
�Please, Bea.�
She smiled. �All right, Mr. Marvin Jacks.� She swivelled towards him revealing slender unstockinged legs and a peek at her panties under a mini-miniskirt, stood and walked into the boss�s office. A minute later she came out, followed by the sales manager, a harassed looking guy whose name Jacks had forgotten, who shook Jacks� hand, gratefully it seemed, because he got him out of Armstrong�s clutches.
�You can go in now, Mr. Jacks,� the secretary said, but he had already walked past her into the inner sanctum.
�Hi, Marvin,� Armstrong began, �You know, airline seats are the hardest things in the world to sell. They�re intangibles for godssake. Maybe I should go into the used car business. Sit down, what can I do for you?�
�Let�s go downstairs for a coffee,� Jacks said.
�What? Why? We have better coffee here�oh, I getcha. Don�t worry, pal, this place is debugged, completely and forever. So sit down and relax. He pushed the intercom button: �Bea, bring us two coffees, the Colombian stuff.�
Jacks remained standing. �A S.I.D.E. guy came to see me.� He watched Armstrong�s reaction, which consisted of a raising of eyebrows.
�No kidding,� he said. �What the fuck do they want? Sit the hell down, will you. You�re making me nervous.�
Jacks sat in an armchair across from Armstrong in the VIP corner and frowned at him. �They want me to work for them, find out about Frau Marie.�
�Jeez, that�s interesting,� Armstrong said. �Tell me more.�
�When I demurred he threatened me.�
�Really? How?�
�That�s what I asked him. He said I should trust him, they could do it.�
�Well��
�I trust him,� Jacks said. �And I want to know if you had anything to do with it.�
�Me?� � The secretary walked in without knocking, carrying a tray with two cups of aromatic Colombian coffee, cream, sugar, the works. She set it down on the table between them. �Thank you, Bea,� Armstrong said with a smile. You could cut the silence until she left. �Why would I do something like that, Marvin?�
�You want me to do the same thing. Maybe this is a less than subtle way of saying I�m better off working for you than for them.�
�What exactly do you mean by �demurred�?� Armstrong asked.
�I said I didn�t like dictatorships.�
�Nice. Did you outright refuse?�
�I said I�d think about it.�
�Same answer you gave me. Okay, Marvin, I categorically deny having had anything to do with this. Furthermore��
�I�m asking you yes or no, John, goddammit. I�m not interested in categorical denials.�
Armstrong stared at him a moment, then said, �No, definitely not, Marvin. I wouldn�t do that and I didn�t. That good enough for you?�
�Are you the boss here?�
�What do you mean � the boss?�
�Of the CIA in Argentina is what I mean.�
�There�s a Station Chief at the embassy of course. He wouldn�t do it, Marvin.� He paused and looked at the tray. �Our coffee�s getting cold. Cream and sugar?�
�No.�
Armstrong poured, half filled his own cup with sugar, then said, �Well, maybe he would, but not without telling, er, consulting me.�
�Get them off my back, John,� Jacks said as calmly as he could.
�We didn�t put them there, Marvin�but don�t worry, we�ll talk to them. What�s the guy�s name?�
�Rodriguez, here�s his card.�
�I�ll tell them you�re working for us then?�
�Don�t fuck with me, John.�
�I have to tell them something. Look, Marvin, we didn�t set it up, but it just turned out that way. We work with those� bastards, sure, we have no choice, but that doesn�t mean we like them � or that they like us. So the only way we can convince them is to say that you�re already on the case � for us.�
Jacks wasn�t surprised at this turn of events, in fact he expected it. It was, after all, logical, whether the CIA was behind the S.I.D.E. intervention or not. All he needed now was for the KGB to show up.
�All right, John,� he said, trying to sound resigned. �What do you want me to do?�
�That�s my man!� Armstrong said. �We�re gonna drink to that.� He jumped up and pushed the intercom on his desk.
�Yes, sir,� his secretary answered,
�Bring in a small bottle of champagne � the French.�
They sat in silence waiting for the toast. Jacks filled his pipe. When the champagne arrived a minute later, already opened with a white towel around it, Armstrong poured, handed a glass to Jacks and said, �To you Marvin; you won�t be sorry.�
Jacks sipped first, then downed the champagne in one gulp. �So what do you want me to do?�
�Suck up to Frau Marie, you�ve already got one foot in the door. Find out what they�re up to, who they really are, her and her husband I mean.�
�And you�ll call off the Argentines, the S.I.D.E.?
�Right, I�ll take care of that right away, don�t want them fucking things up.�
�You better call them off Frau Marie and hubby as well,� Jacks said. �I can�t very well find out anything if they�re hanging by their toes in some clandestine torture cell.�
�Good point, not as easily done, but good point. This is good stuff, isn�t it. The French may be assholes, but they sure know how to make champagne.� Armstrong looked at his watch. �How about lunch, Marvin?�
�No thanks, John. I have a week�s backlog of work back at the office.�����
