intelligence units
within the British government. His posting was discrete, not secret, so he saw
nothing wrong with checking out the nightlife, of which there was not much
except the local pubs and workingmen's clubs. Feeling at home in all strata of
society, Julian became friendly not only with his English counterparts, but
also with the various clerks and typists that seem to make governments
everywhere function, and it was this latter group that showed him all the
places that official government representatives would not be expected to
frequent. A quick learner, he came to know the town quite well in a matter of
weeks, and despite Victoria's outward propriety, he bet that she hailed from
between the bridges, where the workers lived, and that she was no stranger to
the local pub. On loan from William Stephenson of British Intelligence, the man
known by some as Intrepid, she was sent to help out Allen Dulles when he set up
shop in Bern and was having a tough time finding experienced people; sort of
lend lease in reverse; England's gift to the United States.
Shortly after he was recruited for the OSS by William
"Wild Bill" Donovan, Dulles leased space on the thirty sixth floor of
the International Building at Rockefeller Center, so he could pursue his new
job away from prying eyes in the law offices of Sullivan and Cromwell whose
well appointed suites had been his bastion up until then. It was not a
coincidence that his new digs were next door to offices occupied by Stephenson,
who was also Donovan's mentor in the business of spying. That was back in 1942
and Victoria had been a fixture at 23 Herrengasse ever since he settled in
there, most of the staff assuming that she was really sent to keep an eye on
Dulles. Stephenson considered "Wild Bill", the first head of the OSS,
to be his protégé and did whatever he could to make sure the United States
succeeded with its fledgling spy shop, including acting as an employment
agency. After all, the well being, even survival, of England was intimately
tied to the United States. Of course, there was another camp at the Bern
headquarters that thought Victoria was kept on because of her beauty and
presumed extra curricular activities, although the identity of the supposed
lucky recipient of her favors seemed to change from month to month. Julian believed
the former but also thought that with the right maneuvers someone might succeed
in bringing out the wilder side of this railroad town's daughter. There must be
purpose, he thought, in the blouse opened one more button than was prudent or
the sweaters that always seemed just a smidge too tight. He continued the small
talk, seemingly spontaneous, but like most of what he did, well thought out,
purposeful and part of a larger plan.
Kent emerged from the small cloakroom, which also doubled as
the mailroom for personal letters and non-intelligence communication, two
letters in his right hand and a coat over his arm. He held a gray hat in the
other hand and, stopping in front of the desk, he placed it on his head with
what he considered to be the proper angle, stylish but not too rakish for a
government employee. Transferring the letters from one hand to the other, he
pulled his coat on, surreptitiously surveying the view enjoyed by Julian.
"Where are you heading?"
"Back to the apartment to start thinking about this
op," Kent said while fine-tuning the angle of his hat. "You and I
have to put our heads together."
"I'll walk with you. Let's cut through the park; looks
like a nice day."
* *
They exited #23 by the front entrance and turned left, heading
toward the Botanical Gardens, walking in silence, not only because of the
clandestine nature of their work, but because they were each momentarily lost
in thought, Kent worried about laying out the details of an almost impossible
mission, and Julian concerned about a plan of his own. After strolling
alongside the Aare River for fifteen minutes, they crossed at the Lorraine
Bridge,
within the British government. His posting was discrete, not secret, so he saw
nothing wrong with checking out the nightlife, of which there was not much
except the local pubs and workingmen's clubs. Feeling at home in all strata of
society, Julian became friendly not only with his English counterparts, but
also with the various clerks and typists that seem to make governments
everywhere function, and it was this latter group that showed him all the
places that official government representatives would not be expected to
frequent. A quick learner, he came to know the town quite well in a matter of
weeks, and despite Victoria's outward propriety, he bet that she hailed from
between the bridges, where the workers lived, and that she was no stranger to
the local pub. On loan from William Stephenson of British Intelligence, the man
known by some as Intrepid, she was sent to help out Allen Dulles when he set up
shop in Bern and was having a tough time finding experienced people; sort of
lend lease in reverse; England's gift to the United States.
Shortly after he was recruited for the OSS by William
"Wild Bill" Donovan, Dulles leased space on the thirty sixth floor of
the International Building at Rockefeller Center, so he could pursue his new
job away from prying eyes in the law offices of Sullivan and Cromwell whose
well appointed suites had been his bastion up until then. It was not a
coincidence that his new digs were next door to offices occupied by Stephenson,
who was also Donovan's mentor in the business of spying. That was back in 1942
and Victoria had been a fixture at 23 Herrengasse ever since he settled in
there, most of the staff assuming that she was really sent to keep an eye on
Dulles. Stephenson considered "Wild Bill", the first head of the OSS,
to be his protégé and did whatever he could to make sure the United States
succeeded with its fledgling spy shop, including acting as an employment
agency. After all, the well being, even survival, of England was intimately
tied to the United States. Of course, there was another camp at the Bern
headquarters that thought Victoria was kept on because of her beauty and
presumed extra curricular activities, although the identity of the supposed
lucky recipient of her favors seemed to change from month to month. Julian believed
the former but also thought that with the right maneuvers someone might succeed
in bringing out the wilder side of this railroad town's daughter. There must be
purpose, he thought, in the blouse opened one more button than was prudent or
the sweaters that always seemed just a smidge too tight. He continued the small
talk, seemingly spontaneous, but like most of what he did, well thought out,
purposeful and part of a larger plan.
Kent emerged from the small cloakroom, which also doubled as
the mailroom for personal letters and non-intelligence communication, two
letters in his right hand and a coat over his arm. He held a gray hat in the
other hand and, stopping in front of the desk, he placed it on his head with
what he considered to be the proper angle, stylish but not too rakish for a
government employee. Transferring the letters from one hand to the other, he
pulled his coat on, surreptitiously surveying the view enjoyed by Julian.
"Where are you heading?"
"Back to the apartment to start thinking about this
op," Kent said while fine-tuning the angle of his hat. "You and I
have to put our heads together."
"I'll walk with you. Let's cut through the park; looks
like a nice day."
* *
They exited #23 by the front entrance and turned left, heading
toward the Botanical Gardens, walking in silence, not only because of the
clandestine nature of their work, but because they were each momentarily lost
in thought, Kent worried about laying out the details of an almost impossible
mission, and Julian concerned about a plan of his own. After strolling
alongside the Aare River for fifteen minutes, they crossed at the Lorraine
Bridge,
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