Stealing Trinity by Ward Larsen Page A
Authors: Ward Larsen
Tags: United States, Fiction, Suspense, Historical, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Intelligence Officers, Germany, Nazis, Great Britain, spies, spy stories, Spies - Germany, Atomic Bomb - United States, Intelligence Officers - Great Britain, Spies - United States, Manhattan Project (U.S.)
Ads: Link
unchanged. There was no brilliant sunrise --an early morning drizzle tapped against the windows --and the same stack of cases would still be scattered over his desk, oblivious to the formal surrender. Thatcher was pouring his morning tea when the telephone rang. Roger Ainsley sounded weary.
"Michael, I need you here right away."
Thatcher was taken aback. Roger worked hard, but never found his way to the office before daybreak. "Can I ask what this is about?"
"It has to do with Number 68.1 can t say anything more."
"I see. I'll be right in."
Thatcher turned off the stove and donned his uniform, wondering what had happened. Roger sounded in a state. Had Klein done himself in? It had happened once before, an SS major who'd certainly been up against the gallows. But Klein was a nobody, a corporal. He might have useful information, but the man hardly seemed a war criminal. Thatcher remembered the results of his questioning -- Manhattan Project. More than ever, he wondered what the devil it meant.
Thatcher stepped into Ainsley's office twenty-five minutes later, his boots muddied and his uniform peppered with moisture from the early morning drizzle. He saw Ainsley flanked by a pair of serious men. One was tall with angular features, and wore the uniform of a U. S. Army colonel. He stood rigidly for the introduction. The other looked a civilian, a slight man with close-cut reddish hair that receded on top to reveal a freckled scalp. He swam in a tweed jacket, and held a casual stance. A cigarette dangled loosely from two fingers.
"Major Thatcher," Ainsley said in an uncharacteristically formal tone. "These gentlemen would like a word with you. This is Colonel Rasmussen of the U. S. Army Intelligence Corps."
Thatcher exchanged pleasantries with the officer.
"And Mr. Jones is a representative of the United States War Department."
The civilian offered a soft handshake, then retreated to the side and leaned against a bookcase. Thatcher decided that the man was trying to imply, by his aloofness, that he effectively outranked the colonel.
"Gentlemen," Ainsley began, "Major Thatcher here is an interrogator. Hes also our tracker -- when we find reliable evidence of important Nazis on the run, we send Thatcher to hunt them down. He's quite good at it."
"I see," Rasmussen said. "Yesterday, Major, you interviewed Number Sixty-eight?"
"I did."
"And what were the results?"
"Well, the only thing I got was this phrase -- Manhattan Project. The prisoner clearly thought it would mean something to me. It didn't, so I asked around a bit."
"Who did you discuss this with?" Rasmussen asked.
"A couple of the officers here. I also made a call to a friend in intelligence at SHAEF," Thatcher said, referring to the Supreme Allied Headquarters.
"A Major Quinn?" Rasmussen suggested.
"Yes, that's right. He's an old acquaintance, and always knowledgeable."
"Why did you feel the need to ask someone in our intelligence services about this?"
Thatcher thought it was obvious enough. "The name of course. Manhattan Project."
The American officer clasped his hands behind his back. "I see. And was anyone able to shed light on this name?"
"No. Not yet. Is it something important?"
"Nothing vital. A shipbuilding project in New York. But it is classified. We'd like to find out what else Number Sixty-eight knows."
Thatcher's voice was edged in skepticism, "This project is nothing vital, but you've rushed over straightaway in the middle of the night -- just in case there's something more?"
Rasmussen frowned and Ainsley stepped in. "We'd like you to interview Sixty-eight again. Really press in and see if he has anything else. We've confirmed his identity." Ainsley tapped a folder on his desk. "Just as we thought --Corporal Fritz Klein."
Thatcher recognized the German Army personnel folder. "Where did you get that?"
"Berlin. We pulled it out of the Wehrmacht's records."
"Berlin? That usually takes three weeks. We got it overnight?"
The man called
"Michael, I need you here right away."
Thatcher was taken aback. Roger worked hard, but never found his way to the office before daybreak. "Can I ask what this is about?"
"It has to do with Number 68.1 can t say anything more."
"I see. I'll be right in."
Thatcher turned off the stove and donned his uniform, wondering what had happened. Roger sounded in a state. Had Klein done himself in? It had happened once before, an SS major who'd certainly been up against the gallows. But Klein was a nobody, a corporal. He might have useful information, but the man hardly seemed a war criminal. Thatcher remembered the results of his questioning -- Manhattan Project. More than ever, he wondered what the devil it meant.
Thatcher stepped into Ainsley's office twenty-five minutes later, his boots muddied and his uniform peppered with moisture from the early morning drizzle. He saw Ainsley flanked by a pair of serious men. One was tall with angular features, and wore the uniform of a U. S. Army colonel. He stood rigidly for the introduction. The other looked a civilian, a slight man with close-cut reddish hair that receded on top to reveal a freckled scalp. He swam in a tweed jacket, and held a casual stance. A cigarette dangled loosely from two fingers.
"Major Thatcher," Ainsley said in an uncharacteristically formal tone. "These gentlemen would like a word with you. This is Colonel Rasmussen of the U. S. Army Intelligence Corps."
Thatcher exchanged pleasantries with the officer.
"And Mr. Jones is a representative of the United States War Department."
The civilian offered a soft handshake, then retreated to the side and leaned against a bookcase. Thatcher decided that the man was trying to imply, by his aloofness, that he effectively outranked the colonel.
"Gentlemen," Ainsley began, "Major Thatcher here is an interrogator. Hes also our tracker -- when we find reliable evidence of important Nazis on the run, we send Thatcher to hunt them down. He's quite good at it."
"I see," Rasmussen said. "Yesterday, Major, you interviewed Number Sixty-eight?"
"I did."
"And what were the results?"
"Well, the only thing I got was this phrase -- Manhattan Project. The prisoner clearly thought it would mean something to me. It didn't, so I asked around a bit."
"Who did you discuss this with?" Rasmussen asked.
"A couple of the officers here. I also made a call to a friend in intelligence at SHAEF," Thatcher said, referring to the Supreme Allied Headquarters.
"A Major Quinn?" Rasmussen suggested.
"Yes, that's right. He's an old acquaintance, and always knowledgeable."
"Why did you feel the need to ask someone in our intelligence services about this?"
Thatcher thought it was obvious enough. "The name of course. Manhattan Project."
The American officer clasped his hands behind his back. "I see. And was anyone able to shed light on this name?"
"No. Not yet. Is it something important?"
"Nothing vital. A shipbuilding project in New York. But it is classified. We'd like to find out what else Number Sixty-eight knows."
Thatcher's voice was edged in skepticism, "This project is nothing vital, but you've rushed over straightaway in the middle of the night -- just in case there's something more?"
Rasmussen frowned and Ainsley stepped in. "We'd like you to interview Sixty-eight again. Really press in and see if he has anything else. We've confirmed his identity." Ainsley tapped a folder on his desk. "Just as we thought --Corporal Fritz Klein."
Thatcher recognized the German Army personnel folder. "Where did you get that?"
"Berlin. We pulled it out of the Wehrmacht's records."
"Berlin? That usually takes three weeks. We got it overnight?"
The man called
Similar Books
