Robert Ludlum - Rhineman Exchange.txt Read online

  mean, there's no great call for engineers ... outside of the CCC and the

  NRA.' He lifted his right hand and waved it laterally in front of him,

  encompassing the group of men and women inside the studio. 'Do you know

  what's in there? A trial lawyer whose clients - when he can get a few -

  can't pay him; a Rolls-Royce executive who's been laid off since

  thirty-eight; and a former state senator whose campaign a few years ago not

  only cost him his job but also a lot of potential employers. They think

  he's a Red. Don't fool yourself, Ed. You've got it good. The Depression

  isn't over by a long shot. These people are the lucky ones. They found

  avocations they've turned into careers.... As long as they last.'

  . 'If I do my job, his career won't last any longer than a month from now.'

  'I figured it was something like that. The storm's building, isn't it?

  We'll be in it pretty soon. And I'll be back, too .....

  Where do you want to use him?'

  Usbon.'

  David Spaulding pushed himself away from the white studio wall. He held up

  the pages of his script as he approached the microphone, preparing for his

  cue.

  Pace watched him through the glass partition, wondering how Spaulding's

  voice would sound. He noticed that as Spaulding came closer to the group of

  actors clustered around the microphone, there was a conscious - or it

  seemed conscious - parting of bodies, as if the new participant was in some

  way a stranger. Perhaps it was only normal courtesy, allowing the new per-

  former a chance to position himself, but the colonel didn't think so. There

  were no smiles, no looks, no indications of familiarity as there seemed to

  be among the others.

  No one winked. Even the obese woman who screamed and chewed gum and goosed

  her fellow actors just stood and watched Spaulding, her gum immobile in her

  mouth.

  .15

  And then it happened-, a curious moment.

  Spaulding grinned, and the others, even the thin, effeminate man who was in

  the middle of a monologue, responded with bright smiles and nods. The obese

  woman winked.

  A curious moment, thought Colonel Pace.

  Spaulding's voice - mid-deep, incisive, heavily accented -came through the

  webbed boxes. His role was that of a mad doctor and bordered on the comic.

  It would have been comic, thought Pace, except for the authority Spaulding

  gave the writer's words. Pace didn't know anything about acting, but he

  knew when a man was being convincing, Spaulding was convincing.

  That would be necessary in Lisbon.

  In a few minutes Spaulding's role was obviously over. The obese woman

  screamed again; Spaulding retreated to the comer and quietly, making sure

  the pages did not rustle, picked up his folded newspaper. He leaned against

  the wall and withdrew a pencil from his pocket. He appeared to be doing The

  New York Times crossword puzzle.

  Pace couldn't take his eyes off Spaulding. It was important for him to

  observe closely any subject with whom he had to make contact whenever

  possible. Observe the small things: the way a man walked; the way he held

  his head; the steadiness or lack of it in his eyes. The clothes, the watch,

  the cuff links; whether the shoes were shined, if the heels were worn down;

  the quality -or lack of quality - in a man's posture.

  Pace tried to match the human being leaning against the wall, writing on

  the newspaper, with the dossier in his Washington office.

  His name first surfaced from the files of the Army Corps of Engineers.

  David Spaulding had inquired about the possibilities of a commission - not

  volunteered: what would his opportunities be? were , there any challenging

  construction projects? what about the length-of-service commitments? The

  sort of questions thousands of men - skilled men - were asking, knowing

  that the Selective Service Act would become law within a week or two. If

  enlistment meant a shorter commitment and/or the continued practice of

  their professional skills, then better an enlistment than be drafted with

  the mobs.

  Spaulding had filled out all the appropriate forms and had been told the

  army would contact him. That had been six weeks

  16

  ago and no one had done so. Not that the Corps wasn't interested; it was.

  The word from the Roosevelt men was that the draft law would be passed by

  Congress any day now, and the projected expansion of the army camps was so

  enormous, so incredibly massive, that an engineer - especially a

  construction engineer of Spaulding's qualifications - was target material.

  . But those high up in the Corps of Engineers were aware of the search being

  conducted by the Intelligence Division of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the

  War Department.

  Quietly, slowly. No mistakes could be made.

  So they passed along David Spaulding's forms to G-2 and were told in turn

  to stay away from him.

  The man ID was seeking had to have three basic qualifications. Once these

  were established, the rest of the portrait could be microscopically

  scrutinized to see if the whole being possessed the other desirable

  requirements. The three basics were difficult enough in themselves: the

  first was fluency in the Portuguese language; the second, an equal mastery

  of German; the third, sufficient professional experience in structural

  engineering to enable swift and accurate understanding of blueprints,

  photographs - even verbal descriptions - of the widest variety of in-

  dustrial designs. From bridges and factories to warehousing and railroad

  complexes.

  The man in Lisbon would need each of these basic requirements. He would

  employ them throughout the war that was to be; the war that the United

  States inevitably would have to fight.

  The man in Lisbon would be responsible for developing an Intelligence

  network primarily concerned with the destruction of the enemy's

  installations deep within its own territories.

  Certain men - and women - traveled back and forth through hostile

  territories, basing their undefined activities in neutral countries. These

  were the people the man in Lisbon would use ... before others used them.

  These plus those he would train for infiltration. Espionage units. Teams of

  bi- and trilingual agents he would send up through France into the borders

  of Germany. To bring back their observations; eventually to inflict

  destruction themselves.

  The English agreed that such an American was needed in Lisbon. British

  Intelligence admitted its Portuguese weakness-, they had simply been around

  too long, too obviously. And there were current, very serious lapses of

  security in London. MI-5 had

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  been infiltrated.

  Lisbon would become an American project.

  If such an American could be found.

  David Spaulding's preapplication forms listed the primary requisites. He

  spoke three languages, had spoken them since he was a child. His parents,

  the renowned Richard and Margo Spaulding, maintained three residences: a

  small, elegant Belgravia flat in London; a winter retreat in Germany's

  BadenBaden; and a
sprawling oceanside house in the artists' colony of Costa

  del Santiago in Portugal. Spaulding had grown up in these environs. When he

  was sixteen, his father - over the objections of his mother - insisted that

  he complete his secondary education in the United States and enter an

  American university.

  Andover in Massachusetts; Dartmouth in New Hampshire; finally Carnegie

  Institute in Pennsylvania.

  Of course, the Intelligence Division hadn't discovered all of the above

  information from Spaulding's application forms. These supplementary facts.-

  and a great deal more - were revealed by a man named Aaron Mandel in New

  York.

  Pace, his eyes still riveted on the tall, lean man who had put down his

  newspaper and was now watching the actors around the microphones with

  detached amusement, recalled his single meeting with Mandel. Again, he

  matched Mandel's information with the man he saw before him.

  Mandel had been listed on the application under 'References.'

  Power-of-attorney, parents' concert manager. An address was given: a suite

  of rooms in the Chrysler Building. Mandel was a very successful artists'

  representative, a Russian Jew who rivaled Sol Hurok for clients, though not

  as prone to attract attention or as desirous of it.

  'David has been as a son to me,' Mandel told Pace. 'But I must presume you

  know that.'

  'Why must you? I know only what I've read on his application forms. And

  some scattered information; academic records, employment references.' -

  'Let's say I've been expecting you. Or someone like you.'

  'I beg your pardonT

  'Oh, come. David spent a great many years in Germany; you might say he

  almost grew up there.'

  'His application'. . . as a matter of fact his passport information, also

  includes family residences in London and a place called

  18

  Costa del Santiago in Portugal!

  'I said almost. He converses easily in the German language!

  'Also Portuguese, I understand.'

  'Equally so. And its sister tongue, Spanish.... I wasn't aware that a man's

  enlistment in the army engineers called for a full colonel's interest. And

  passport research! Mandel, the flesh creased around his eyes, smiled.

  'I wasn't prepared for you.' The colonel's reply had been stated simply.

  'Most people take this sort of thing as routine. Or they convince

  themselves it's routine ... with a little help.'

  'Most people did not live as Jews in tsarist Kiev.... What do you want from

  me?'

  'To begin with, did you tell Spaulding you expected us? Or someone. . . .'

  'Of course not,' Mandel interrupted gently. 'I told you, he is as a son to

  me. I wouldn't care to give him such ideas.'

  'I'm relieved. Nothing may come of it anyway.'

  'However, you hope it will.'

  'Frankly, yes. But there are questions we need answered. His background

  isn't just unusual, it seems filled with contradictions. To begin with, you

  don't expect the son of well-known musicians ... Imean...'

  'Concert artists! Mandel had supplied the term Pace sought.

  'Yes, concert artists. You don't expect the children of such people to

  become engineers. Or accountants, if you know what I mean. And then - and

  I'm sure you'll understand this - it seems highly illogical that once that

  fact is accepted, the son is an engineer, we find that the major portion of

  his income is currently earned as a ... as a radio performer. The pattern.

  indicates a degree of instability. Perhaps more than a degree.'

  'You suffer from the American mania for consistency. I don't say this

  unkindly. I would be less than adequate as a neurosurgeon; you may play the

  piano quite well, but I doubt that I'd represent you at Covent Garden....

  The questions you raise are easily answered. And, perhaps, the word

  stability can be found at the core.... Have you any idea, any conception,

  of what the world of the concert stage is like? Madness .... David lived in

  this world for nearly twenty years; I suspect . . . no, I don't suspect, I

  know ... he found it quite distasteful ... And so often people overlook

  certain fundamental characteristics of musicianship. Characteristics easily

  inherited. A great musician is often,

  19

  in his own way, an exceptional mathematician. Take Bach. A genius at

  mathematics. . . .'

  According to Aaron Mandel, David Spaulding found his future profession

  while in his second year in,college. The solidity, the permanence of

  structural creation combined with the precision of engineering detail were

  at once his answer to and escape from the mercurial world of the 'concert

  stage.' But there were other inherited characteristics equally at work

  inside him. Spaulding had an ego, a sense of independence. He needed

  approval, wanted recognition. And such rewards were not easily come by for

  a junior engineer, just out of graduate school, in a large New York firm

  during the late thirties. There simply wasn't that much'to do; or the

  capital to do it with.

  'He left the New York firm,' Mandel continued, 'to accept a number of

  individual construction projects where he believed the money would grow

  faster, the jobs be his own. He had no ties; he could travel. Several in

  the Midwest, one ... no, two, in Central America; four in Canada, I think.

  He got the first few right out of the newspapers; they led to the others.

  He returned to New York about eighteen months ago. The money didn't really

  grow, as I told him it wouldn't. The projects were not his own; provincial

  ... local interference.'

  'And somehow this led to the radio work?'

  Mandel had laughed and leaned back in his chair. 'As you may know, Colonel

  Pace, I've diversified. The concert stage and a European war - soon to

  reach these shores, as we all realize - do not go well together. These last

  few years my clients have gone into other performing areas, including the

  highly paid radio field. David quickly saw opportunities for himself and I

  agreed. He's done-extremely well, you know.'

  'But he's not at rained professional.'

  'No, he's not. He has something else, however... Think. Most children of

  well-known performers, or leading politicians, or the immensely rich, for

  that matter, have it. It's a public confidence, an assurance, if you will;

  no matter their private hisecurities. After all, they've generally been on

  display since the time they could walk and talk. David certainly has it.

  And he has a good ear; as do both of his parents, obviously. An aural

  memory for musical or linguistic rhythms.... He doesn't act, he reads.

  Almost exclusively in the dialects or the foreign languages he knows

  fluently.

  20

  David Spaulding's excursion into the 'highly paid radio field' was solely

  motivated by money; he was used to living well. At a time when owners of

  engineering companies found it difficult to guarantee themselves a hundred

  dollars a week, Spaulding was earning three or four hundred from his 'radio

  work' alone.

  'As you may have surmised,' said Mandel, 'David's immediate objective is to

  bank sufficient monies to start h
is own company. Immediate, that is, unless

  otherwise shaped by world or national conditions. He's not blind; anyone

  who can read a newspaper sees that we are being drawn into the war.'

  'Do you think we should beT

  'I'm a Jew. As far as I'm concerned, we're late.'

  'This Spaulding. You've described what seems to me a very resourceful man.'

  'I've described only what you could have found out from any number of

  sources. And you have described the conclusion you have drawn from that

  surface information. It's not the whole picture.' At this point, Pace

  recalled, Mandel had gotten out of his chair, avoiding any eye contact, and

  walked about his office. He was searching for negatives; he was trying to

  find the words that would disqualify 'his son' from the government's

  interests. And Pace had been aware of it. 'What certainly must have struck

  you - from what I've told you - is David's preoccupation with himself, with

  his comforts, if you wish. Now, in a business sense this might be

  applauded; therefore, I disabused you of your concerns for stability.

  However, I would not be candid if I didn't tell you that David is

  abnormally headstrong. He operates - I think - quite poorly under

  authority. In a word, he's a selfish man, not given to discipline. It pains

  me to say this; I love him dearly. . .

  And the more Mandel had talked, the more indelibly did Pace imprint the

  word affirmative on Spaulding's file. Not that he believed for a minute the

  extremes of behavior Mandel suddenly ascribed to David Spaulding - no man

  could function as 'stably' as Spaulding had if it were true. But if it were

  only half true, it was no detriment; it was an asset.

  The last of the requirements.

  For if there were any soldier in the United States Army - in or out of

  uniform - who would be called upon to operate solely on his own, without

  the comfort of the chain of command, without the knowledge that difficult

  decisions could be made by his

  21

  superiors, it was the Intelligence officer in Portugal.

  The man in Lisbon.

  OCTOBER 8,1939

  FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA

  There were no names.

  Only numbers and letters.

  Numbers followed by letters.