Love in the Time of Spies - 8
But Jacks didn�t go back to his office. It was almost lunch time and he knew where he was going to eat. They � the CIA and the S.I.D.E. �� were watching Die Glocke, but now that he was, theoretically at least, working for them both, one directly the other indirectly, there was good reason for him to go there. Time was of the essence, he had to warn Anneliese�Rachel...Marie. He asked Armstrong�s secretary if he could use her phone. She, thinking it was an excuse to flirt with her, said of course he could, and pointed to the phone instead of pushing it across the desk to him, so he had to walk around and stand next to her while he dialled. She pressed her naked thigh into his and bent over to look at some papers in order to reveal an ample cleavage.
Frau Marie answered. �I�d like to reserve a table for lunch today,� Jacks said in German, sure she�d recognize his voice and slight accent. Silence. Then, �Under what name?� �Schmidt,� Jacks replied, feeling silly. �Jawohl, Herr Schmidt.� Jacks hung up the phone slowly, letting his arm touch the secretary�s breast. �See you soon, Bea.�
�Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Jacks.�
Do you speak German?� he asked her.
�No, but I saw The Sound of Music three times,� she giggled.
Outside on the street Jacks wondered if he was being followed, not that it mattered now, but he wanted to know. He knew something about surveillance techniques from his M.I. training. There are several levels: if you want the target to know he�s being watched you stay very close on his tail, and one person can do it; if you prefer that he not know, but it�s more important that he not be lost, you stay close but not too close and you need at least two people, one on each side of the street. If you don�t want the target to know that he�s being tailed you need at least three people, preferably four, to keep changing positions. Jacks also knew something about avoiding surveillance. In Germany he had often gone through the motions but never really knew if he was being followed. The STASI, Germans in Germany, were experts. The M. I. people, like him, were amateurs, but losing a tail, called counter-surveillance, was much easier than doing the tailing. Like so much else in life, negation was the easy way.
He crossed the wide Diagonal Norte with the traffic light and walked south in the general direction of his office. After a block he came to the subway entrance. He was at the hub of the Buenos Aires subway system where all the lines crossed and downstairs it was like a human beehive � hell for the followers. He stopped before a men�s clothing store and gazed into the shop window. In the glass�s reflection he saw a man directly across the street from him looking into the window of a store, a women�s lingerie shop. He was undoubtedly watching Jacks in the reflection. Good. Now Jacks turned his head left in the direction from which he had come. It wouldn�t do at all for a tail to stop as well and be identified. No, he would continue walking, pass the target, then turn a corner and wait for the target to pass him. The guy across the street would signal which way the target was going. Jacks kept his head turned left, watching everyone who passed him; he was waiting for everyone a half-block behind him to pass, with one eye on the guy across the street. When he was satisfied that everyone had passed and had time to get a safe distance beyond him, he turned and quickly walked down the steep stairs to the subway. He felt into his pocket for the token he had bought an hour ago but luckily hadn�t used. If he�d had to wait on line for a token they�d have had time to catch up. He pushed through the crowd, inserted the token into the turnstile and walked quickly to the line going north. When he got to the platform he was again lucky for a train was just pulling in. He boarded it, certain that he�d shaken his followers. He�d be picked up again at Die Glocke, but at least they�d know he was not to be fucked with.
Cerrado read the sign hanging slightly askew inside the upper glass part of Die Glocke�s door. What the hell, Jacks thought, it�s lunch time, how can they be closed. Something�s wrong. He peered through the glass and saw the old waiter sitting alone at a table reading the Freie Presse, a fascist German-language daily. He knocked on the window. The waiter looked up, startled and stared wide-eyed at the door. When he recognized Jacks he put down the paper, smiled, stood up heavily and opened the door after unlocking it.
�You called for a reservation,� he said in German, �nicht wahr?�
Jacks nodded. �Why is the restaurant closed? Has something happened?�
�Yes, I�m afraid so.� He pulled out a chair from the table he had been sitting at. �Please sit down, se�or, I have a mensaje for you from Frau Marie,� he said in �Belgrano-Deutsch�, a mixture of German and Spanish used by long time German residents. Jacks remained standing while the waiter hurried into the kitchen and returned immediately clutching a piece of notebook paper. He smiled. �They let her write it when she said it was instructions for picking up her daughter at school. They told me to translate it. They are really stupid, because if it was for me, which she said it was, why would she have to write it out. Anyway, here it is.� Jacks read it. Herr Jacks, Bitte, holen Sie meine Tochter von der Schule ab, um halb-eins: Rudolf-Steiner-Schule, Warnes 1331. She signed it: Marie Clement
�She told me to give it to you,� the waiter said.
�What happened? Where is she? What�s your name, by the way?�
�Knoblauch � Federico Knoblauch,� the waiter answered, somewhat intimidated by Jacks� height and staccato questions. He, like us all, wanted to be loved.
�Now what happened, Federico?�
�They came about a half hour ago and took Frau Marie and Herr Clement.�
Jacks sat down to calm himself. The waiter considered it a friendly gesture and sat across from him.
�Who took them?�
The waiter shrugged: �S.I.D.E. They didn�t say so, but you could tell by the green Falcon they parked outside, everyone knows that. Herr Clement went out the back door, but one of them was waiting out in the back, he must have entered through the neighbor�s garden, and brought him back in. He said he had gone out for a breath of fresh air, but I think he was trying to get away. Are you a friend of theirs? I remember seeing you here once.�
�Yes, a friend.�
�Will you pick up their daughter like she asks in the note?�
Jacks look at his watch: 12:15. �Yes, of course. The note says at 12:30, I�ll have to hurry.�
��What do you think will happen?� the waiter asked, wringing his hands. �What should I do?�
�It�s probably a mistake,� Jacks said. �You might as well go home and check here tomorrow to see if they�ve returned.�
�But what if they haven�t returned?�
Jacks stood up, said �Auf Wiedersehen, danke,� and strode to the door.
�Ich danke Ihnen, se�or,� the waiter said as he let Jacks out.
The Rudolf Steiner Schule stood out in the neighbourhood because of its unusual design � nothing was square, not even the windows. The place looked like it had been built by a drunken bricklayer. Yet somehow it was stimulating. Jacks marched into the room marked Oficina and handed the note to an oldish, hard-looking matron who read it myopically. She took off her reading glasses and stared at him a moment, then went into the corridor and yelled, �Herr Schmidt-Kameserl!� Jacks looked around the small room cluttered with files and books, all in German. A large photo of a serious looking gent stared down at him from the wall over the lady�s desk: Rudolf Steiner. A few moments later she returned followed by a tall thin elderly man with gray hair touching his shoulders in a black suit with a black silk flowing artist�s bow-tie. Jacks glanced back at the photo and saw the same tie on Dr. Steiner.
�Please have a seat, Herr Jacks,� he said in German.
�No thanks, I�m in a hurry really, must make a phone call.�
�You can use our phone if you like.� Jacks hesitated. �Frau Fintelmann and I will be glad to step outside while you�re calling.�
They left the room and Jacks dialled Panam. The secretary told him that John Armstrong was at a meeting.
�Get him on the phone, Bea, it�s urgent.�
�He�s not here, it�s a Board of Airline Representatives meeting.�
�Ok, give me the B.A.R. number, I don�t have my address book with me.�
�Oh, it�s not at the B.A.R.�
�Where is it then?
�At the Sheraton?�
�The Sheraton? Why there?�
�Every year they have what they call a working lunch at some big hotel. You remember, Mr. Jacks. Mr. Armstrong never comes back to the office afterwards, so I guess they do more than work.�
�Give me the Sheraton�s number, Bea,� Jacks said, feeling desperate. She took forever finding it. And it took Jacks forever to finally get Armstrong on the line. He sounded half-bashed. �They took them already, John,� he began�
�Took who? Who took whom?�
�This phone isn�t secure, goddamn it ��
�Well this one sure as hell isn�t either.�
�They took the people we�re interested in � in Florida.�
�Oh, Frau Marie?�
What an idiot! �Yes, Frau Marie.�
�And husband?�
�Yes. Did you do anything to avoid that?�
�Jeez, Marvin, we only talked about it an hour or so ago.�
�So you didn�t.�
�I couldn�t know it was so urgent.�
�Well, it is. So please get on it now to release them.�
�I�m undercover, Marv, can�t do that directly.�
�Even to S.I.D.E.?
�Even to them.�
�The guy at the embassy then.�
�He�s in Washington, I think.�
Jacks took a deep, frustrated breath. �They got telephones in Virginia, John. Call him and tell him to get on it. It�s easy.�
�Well, he might be at important meetings there, and I ��
�This is important. You can�t get information from dead people.�
�Come on, Marvin, they�re not gonna kill East German spies, for god�s sake.�
�Maybe not�but everything but. For those guys gang rape is an interrogation method.�
�You seem inappropriately concerned, old buddy. The big man�ll be back in a few days, and� �
Jacks stopped listening. Armstrong was right. He shouldn�t be so worried. �Look, John, let�s put it this way. Do it for me as a personal favor.�
�Don�t tell me you got the hots for her already. Man, you�re slipping.�
�Not already. I knew her from before.�
�Before what?�
�Never mind that.�
��Whose side are you on anyway, Marvin?�
�Ours � but just do what I ask and I�ll get what you want.�
�Like what?�
�Every fucking thing you ever wanted to know about the GDR intelligence service. But that�s not the point. I�m asking you as a favor, John.�
Silence, then: �Okay, I�ll do what I can � and you�re gonna owe me big, buddy.�
He was sitting there with his head in his hands when Herr Schmidt-Something stuck his head in the door. �Are you finished telephoning?�
�Oh� yes, sorry.�
Frau Finkelfuck pushed in behind him glaring.
�How much do I owe for the calls?� he asked, just being polite.
�Two local calls, eighty centavos,� the dragon lady said.
�Oh,� Herr S-K said, �I�m sure we can absorb that, Agnes.�
�We can�t absorb anything, Herbert. �
Jacks fished in his pocket and came up with a peso. �No, she�s right, here.�
She took the peso and opened a drawer in her desk. She dropped the peso in and started to hand Jacks twenty centavos change. �That�s all right,� he said generously. It was almost insulting, like offering a tip. She dropped the twenty centavos back in the drawer without a word. Herr S-K opened the door and nodded to a child, who entered the room and fastened her eyes on Jacks. A miniature Anneliese.
�Do you know this gentleman, Micaela?� Herr S-K asked her. She didn�t answer immediately and Jacks was about to explain why she didn�t know him, when she said, �S�!�
�Who is he?� Herr S-K asked.
�A friend,� she said, this time in German.
�Gut, you�re to go with him today,� Herr S-K explained. �Your mother is busy�I assume. Is that right, Mr Jacks?... Mr Jacks?�
�Oh, yes, she�s busy.�
Micaela continued to stare at him with her large brown eyes.
�Well, we better get going,� Jacks said. He shook Herr S-K�s hand, bowed barely perceptively at the Frau Dragon and stepped out into the midday sunlight followed by the girl. She took his hand and they walked along the street like family.
�Did you know that the sun is always north of us?� Micaela said in Spanish, grasping his hand tightly.
�I haven�t really thought about it, but yes, I suppose it must be.�
�It�s because we�re south of the equator,� she explained. �If you lived in the northern hemisphere it would always be to the south of you.�
�Why did you say that you know me, Micaela, and that I�m a friend?�
�Oh that. Well, you were in the Die Glocke once and I was in the kitchen watching you. You didn�t see me though. And after you left I asked Mam� who you were. She said you were a friend.�
�Well, that explains that,� Jacks said � and thought: Now what the hell am I going to do with you?
�You speak both Spanish and German very well,� he said, just to make conversation.
�Yes, but I prefer Spanish.�
�Oh, why?�
�Because I like the people better who speak Spanish � except for Mam� of course.�
�And Pap�?�
She didn�t answer. Jacks thought about that for a moment, then had an idea. �I know some people who mostly speak German, but are very nice.�
�Like Mam�?�
�Yes, but older. The lady cooks very well, too.�
�Like Pap�?�
�I don�t know, probably simpler things.�
�That�s nice, I like simple things to eat.�
They got to Jacks� house where he gave Micaela a glass of water (she didn�t want coke), then he told her they were going next door to meet the nice people he told her about. The Altmann family were German-Russian Mennonites who were forced to leave Russia when the Soviets came to power, after their forbearers having been forced to leave Germany a century earlier because of religious persecution. Some finally settled in Canada, others in Paraguay. The �Canadians� prospered, but those who went to Paraguay had a very hard start carving out the jungle for their settlement. The Altmanns belonged to the latter group. They bore the Paraguayan hardships as long as they could and finally settled in Argentina where a relatively comfortable life was possible for people who knew how to work hard. The father was a mechanic and the four grown children all worked and contributed to the household economy, even though two of them had their own families to provide for. The father�s brother, Uncle David, a crippled old man, was the most fundamentalist religious one, determined to keep their Mennonite beliefs alive. The children, however, were uninterested, including the youngest, an attractive heathen who liked to jump the fence separating their property from Jacks� and right into his bed. This was a scrupulously kept secret, because her family would have been scandalized, might have thrown her out of the nest and certainly would never have spoken to him again. But what the hell, she was over 21.
While Micaela was engaged in conversation with Uncle David (the cripple, who was enchanted by children who spoke German, especially because his own grandchildren, although able to understand him, no longer spoke the language), Jacks explained the situation (not exactly truthfully) to Frau Altmann and asked her if Micaela could stay with them until her parents� problems had been resolved. He felt a bit guilty doing it, because he knew beforehand that she would agree, being a real Christian who would never refuse to help a child. When he mentioned money, she interrupted, saying that they could never accept payment for such a charitable deed. But he insisted, maintaining that he wasn�t paying her for a service, but only covering expenses, and that he couldn�t accept her generosity otherwise. She finally agreed. He also promised himself to stop screwing her daughter.���
Jacks went back to his house, into the back garden, stripped off his clothes and plunged into the pool. He had a gardener, and the only thing he did himself back there was pool maintenance, which meant sweeping the bottom with an aquatic vacuum cleaner and polluting it with chlorine. He swam underwater the length of the pool and back, trying to be reborn, but it didn�t work. When he emerged he was as scared as ever just thinking of Anneliese � no, he resolved to call her by her real name � Rachel, in the hands of those beasts. Maybe the water did connect some neurons though, for he remembered Brigadier General Domingo Dar�o Santamar�a, currently CEO of Argentine Airlines. Survival and success in Argentina had always depended on who you know, and it was more true than ever now with the military gorillas running the country. He got dressed, got his Mitsubishi out of the garage and sped onto the Panamerican highway, only a few blocks away, in order to loop around the city and into downtown Buenos Aires as soon as possible. It occurred to him that he didn�t even know if General Santamar�a was in his office or even in the country, which showed how nervous he was and he made a mental effort to calm down.
He parked in a restricted area a few blocks from the airline�s head office. A parking ticket didn�t bother him; he only hoped they wouldn�t tow away the car. A year previously he had arranged for an intermediary to buy an Argentine Airlines test ticket at a fifty percent discount. Airlines and travel agents may give discounts to win passengers, but fifty percent is impossible unless something more serious is going on. He suspected that the ticket had been stolen, which was the only way he knew for such a large discount to be profitable. But he was mistaken. It turned out that the General, president of the airline, had been supplying his mistress � or mistresses � with free tickets, and one of them had turned such a freebee over to a travel agent for resale. When he discovered this it presented a problem. If he followed procedure and filed a complaint against the airline and the travel agent, he would have to tell the whole story, step by step, in a sworn affidavit, including the result of his investigation, that the General had simply given the ticket away. He would of course deny everything despite the overwhelming evidence. There would be a huge scandal which could have resulted in Jacks being declared persona non grata in Argentina. In fact, that very thing had happened to an over-zealous colleague in another country. However, he couldn�t simply forget about it, because some people in the airline�s accounting department knew that their President had authorized the issuance of the free ticket which, although technically prohibited, was fairly common only when important political or military figures were the beneficiaries, which was far from the case here. Furthermore, he had already spent IATA�s money to buy the ticket and it had to be accounted for.
����������� So he had gone to the General, showed him the evidence and asked if he had an explanation. Santamar�a�s face got very red, but then he took a Havana cigar from a humidor, offered Jacks one and they smoked in silence while he sweated in thought. Jacks hoped that one option wasn�t opening a trap door for him to fall through. Finally, though, the general said that he had obviously made a grave personal mistake and asked Jacks if there was anything he could do for him that would convince him not to proceed. He was offering a bribe, but all Jacks wanted was a way out. He told him he didn�t want to embarrass him, but didn�t see a way out because those other people in his airline knew about the ticket, as did IATA. General Santamaria almost jumped out of his chair and opened a cabinet behind him, selected a bottle of Napoleon cognac, poured for them both and said: �Mr. Hacks, they will be silent; I guarantee it.� Jacks believed him. And from that moment on the General owed him.�����������������������
