A Shroud for Jesso

Chapter Seven

He got some underwear and a nice warm sweater. The pants were loose around his waist, so Jesso bunched them up with a belt. He got socks and shoes, and then had a meal. He smoked a cigarette with satisfaction, letting Kator wait, because the next thing was more complicated. Jesso wasn’t worried about his life any longer. The problem now was how to swing a deal. Maybe the biggest deal he’d ever had. Kator was sitting on something hot, and Kator didn’t deal in peanuts. The question was how to pull a bluff with a man as sharp as Kator.

When it came to him he laughed, it was that simple. He’d get what he wanted in the strangest way of all. He’d level with Kator. He’d pump the man and turn him inside out, and then, by God, he’d give that pig a lesson in the fine art of promotion.

Kator had watched the laugh, and turned glum. Jesso’s kind was new to him. The well tried ways of his particular training hadn’t worked. This man was truly from another world, with no conception of his standing, not frightened for his creature comforts, and above all he seemed invulnerable in a strange belief that there was always one more chance. It made Kator wary. While he rarely underestimated an opponent, he found in this case that his estimate needed constant sharpening, changing. This was more painful because Kator felt he knew the kind of man he was dealing with: a standard product of a gutter, born in a standard country. A country that had never learned to breed an elite. What he faced in Jesso was an insult to his background, his career. His Pomeranian family was old, producing without change only the finest and the sternest of Germany’s leaders. Even poverty never changed that. The ancient tract of land where Kator had been born lay large and useless, and in the winter the dank estate house had three rooms with heat, while the rest lay cold and unused. But Kator, like the ordained, followed his mission. His special twist of mind made the Kaiser’s intelligence service his proper place. And then empire and state collapsed, and a different order hardly worth the name took hold.

When Kator’s special twist of mind produced his next profession, he did the same as he’d always done. There was no geographic limit to his territory; his brain was his chief tool, and Kator stayed in the invisible leadership of one of those organizations that ferret, steal, and always find the kind of information that every government conceals and every government will buy. Like Jesso, Kator was on his own. Like Jesso, Kator had no outside loyalties. But unlike Jesso, Kator had a trick of thinking that his work was a service, as if his wealth were only a side issue to his work, as if there were some extra-human dedication to his energies. It gave Kator some imaginary edge, making no one his equal. He never flaunted it, but it was always part of his stance. It always worked, because the mark of the elite was seldom questioned.

“Reach me that coffeepot, Kator, will you?”

He pushed it over.

Jesso poured and said conversationally, “First I’ll tell you what I want, Kator, and then I’ll try to tell you what you want. Fair enough, Baron?”

“Jesso, if you imagine that delaying tactics-”

“You said you had nine days, didn’t you. Tell me, are you a baron?”

“Jesso-”

“I bet you’re a Nazi, though. You a Nazi, Kator?”

There was no answer.

“A Communist?”

When Jesso made no sign of interrupting, Kator took the time to answer.

“My business, Jesso, is conducted on a level where temporary political affiliations have no meaning. Not that I expect you to understand, but there are loyalties that transcend-“

“Why, Kator, you’re making a speech!”

It was true. Kator appeared angry and his eyebrows went up. Kator could raise his eyebrows without ever showing the upper lids. The heavy fold of skin over his eyes stayed down, making the face emotionless and calm.

Jesso laughed again. “You’re a Nazi either way, Kator, but like you said, right now we’ll have some bigger kinds of loyalties. Let’s talk about what I want.” Jesso crossed his legs and watched his foot bob up and down. “First of all, I get safe conduct. Where are we landing, Kator?”

“Hamburg.”

“I want off at Hamburg. I want five hundred bucks in one pocket and a passport in the other. And a visa. I think I need a visa. That’s cheap for what you’re getting, isn’t it?”

It was. Kator nodded because it was so cheap. “You can make a passport and so forth?”

“Of course.”

“I thought so. Well, sir, you fix me up, Baron, and once I’m safe on land I’ll tell you all. Fair enough, Baron?”

“You’ll tell me what?”

“I’m coming to that. Fair enough, Baron?”

“I agree.”

That was that part. And that’s how Jesso meant to play it. His foot stopped bobbing and he watched the tip of his shoe. Then he started to dip it up and down again.

“Now comes what you’ll be getting.”

Kator leaned forward a little while Jesso kept watching his foot.

“Kator,” he said, “I’m going to level with you.” He stopped dipping, uncrossed his legs, and leaned his arms on top of the table. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

The silence came down like a cloud of poisonous gas, invisible, but with a certain deathly presence. Kator’s blue eyes seemed to turn colorless and the shorn part of his skull was mottled red. Then he took a breath that sounded like an animal breaking through underbrush.

Jesso didn’t laugh this time and his voice was curt. “I don’t know what to tell you until I know what you’re after. You get my meaning?”

Kator held still. It was the tone of voice that made him listen, and he sat wary now, his fingertips feeling the tabletop with the stealth of a thief.

“I told you how I am, Kator. I get confused. Complicated stuff makes me confused. When I saw Joseph Snell, he was sick. Crazy with fear and out of his head with fever. He told me a million things that made no sense. Some he said once, and then he’d switch and talk about the moon. Other things he’d keep repeating over and over, and he’d say, ‘You get it now, can you remember-you see now what I meant?’ You’ve got to help me pick the right clue.”

Jesso saw Kator relax. His fingers stopped brushing the tabletop and his shoulders came down slightly. He had him. The story made sense and Kator had to take the chance.

“Well, let us begin.” Kator was sober now, just barely urgent. “Start with the first thing that occurred.”

Jesso almost laughed again. Kator would like that deal. He’d just love to sit there and sift the stuff, never letting on when the give-away came along, and then good-by, Jesso, hello, lobsters. Besides, what could he say? Tell Kator about Joe Snell’s first love with the village queen? About his dear old alma mater, Honeywell High?

“Kator, you’ve got to remember the man was out of his head. He was talking crazy. How could I remember all that? We’ll do it this way, Kator. Give me a picture of what goes on. Tell me your business, tell me what Snell might have wanted to say, and that way we’ll spot the gimmick in the mess. That way we’ll get somewhere.”

This time Kator did the smiling. He leaned back in his chair and pulled a cigar out of a leather case. The cigar was evenly round, without a band, and had a faint green color.

“My dear Jesso.” The cigar waved back and forth gently while Kator sniffed. “You’ve done well so far. You’ve changed within mere hours from a corpse in the Atlantic into a forceful executor of very expensive decisions. You have done all of the talking and now you even presume me stupid. Eh?”

“What in hell you talking about?”

“I should tell you what is so important in my mission? I should hand you information for which nations, continents might wish to go to war? Eh?”

“Eh, yes,” said Jesso. And he left it there.

In a short moment Kator stopped smiling. His face became a mask and the cigar held still, forgotten and pleasureless. It didn’t take Kator long to see he was licked. Without the clues he asked for, Jesso might never give him the vital information. The cigar snapped in half, making a papery sound. It had to be Jesso’s way. For now, at any event. Later, there were other ways; there were certainly other ways.

Kator decided fast, and he played the new role well.

“While I take another cigar, Jesso, you may begin your questions.”

“Who was Snell?”

“You mean, I’m sure, what was he to me?”

“Any way you want to put it, Baron.”

“Snell had worked with me for many years. But he was an American. And like you and all your countrymen, he was an opportunist. He tried to cheat me.”

“How?”

“Snell was in the States to transmit information. He was my courier. He had picked up the information as arranged and then decided not to deliver. Instead he meant to sell it himself.”

“That’s why he was scared to death?”

Kator shrugged. “He was, like many of his countrymen, a coward. I am not including you, dear Jesso,” and Kator gave a pleasant nod.

“So now we’re buddies.”

They exchanged smiles like two actors on a stage. “What was this hot news, Baron?”

“Jesso, that man Snell had been with me for twenty years. Not even Snell knew the meaning of the message.”

“Good for you.”

“What else would you like to know?”

“What’s your business, Baron?”

“Very simple. I deal in information.”

“Espionage?”

“Sometimes, Jesso.”

“This time, Kator?”

“This time, espionage.”

Kator had made a smoke ring, blue and lazy, and they both watched it float. It disappeared after a while.

“Have you found your clue yet, Jesso?”

“I don’t know. I’m getting there, it’s starting to make sense. Snell kept telling me of dates, dates. He meant data. He must have meant that he had data on him.”

“Brilliant, Jesso.”

“Now don’t get snippish, Baron. I’m trying my best. Now that I know what you’ve told me, data makes sense. And something else makes sense. Dates in the head, he kept saying, dates in the head.” Jesso looked up, making his face intent. “You got there when he was dead?”

“Yes.”

“But you got his data-dates in the head. He must have carried something near his head, on his head, so that-I got it! Snell had typed information and carried the paper under a toupe!”

It sounded real hot. Kator looked impressed. But then he tapped ashes into the tray and looked bored again. “Of course, I knew this without your help.”

“Sure. But I didn’t. Not until you went along with me and gave out with information.”

“Go on, Jesso.” Kator was smoking again.

“What was it, the stuff Snell carried?”

“I told you, Jesso, my courier didn’t even know that, my agent for twenty years. And I don’t know you.” Kator hesitated, smiled. “Or rather, I do know you.”

“You’re only stalling yourself, Kator.”

Kator was rolling the cigar in his mouth and his lips looked like an inner tube. “You have convinced me, Jesso.” He sat up with a theatrical sigh. “I’ll say this once, hoping you will forget it quickly. I’ll say it now so that we can come to a conclusion.”

Jesso sat up too. This was the time when Kator would hand out the death certificate with the name of Jackie Jesso. Or, perhaps, the gilt-edged thing that spelled Jack’s billion-dollar jackpot.

Kator got up and smoothed his jacket. His suit was dark and simple, but on Kator it looked like a uniform. He walked to the desk where the bottle had landed against the wall, and brushed some splinters to the floor. There was a locked compartment in the back, and inside it was a small green box, the kind that cashiers use.

When Kator started to unlock it, he did it in a funny way. He lifted the handle up, making it awkward to get the key in right. Then the box sprang open.

Besides the oilskin packet inside, there was a compact battery, a small thing like a stick in brown wrapping paper, and a mess of wire. The wires were attached behind the handle.

“Suspicious, aren’t you?” said Jesso.

“Yes.”

Kator flipped a wire off and took the packet out of the box. It seemed thick, but there was nothing in it except a sheet of onionskin. There were two columns of figures on the sheet. An ordinary typewriter had done the printing.

“You don’t seem impressed, Jesso.” Kator turned the sheet so Jesso could see the figures. “Do these mean anything to you?”

Jesso didn’t hesitate. “No, Baron. Do they to you?”

“No.” Kator turned the sheet around again and started to tap on the figures with one small finger. The gesture looked idle and indifferent. “These are production figures, Jesso. They constitute the weekly output of two integral parts belonging to a certain bomb. The bomb is being made in the United States. A most important new bomb.”

“Important to whom?”

“To the highest bidder, Jesso.”

“I thought the figures didn’t mean a thing to you.”

“I haven’t finished. I said two parts are mentioned here. One is the trigger mechanism of the warhead; the other is the warhead housing.”

“You’re over my head, Kator. What about the bomb?”

“Yes. What about the bomb?” Kator poured himself a cup of coffee. It was barely lukewarm. “Let’s say I told you how many warhead housings were being produced, a lot of five hundred, and one bomb requires one such housing. Can you tell me how many bombs are being readied?”

“Five hundred.”

“No, Jesso, because the same housing is being used for a much more ordinary bomb. Five hundred housings could mean five hundred bombs of either kind, or none of one, or none of the other, or half and half. The figures for the housing mean nothing, Jesso. They leave a margin of guessing for which I cannot expect to collect a cent.”

“So it’s the trigger mechanism you got to know about.”

“Precisely. Five hundred trigger mechanisms mean five hundred bombs, plus or minus ten per cent. In other words, dear Jesso, a salable guess with half a dozen eager takers.”

The flimsy piece of onionskin started to look gilt-edged. Jesso chewed his dry lips and waited, but Kator wasn’t saying any more. Perhaps he thought that Jesso knew enough, should know enough to say the next thing, whatever that might be. The onionskin looked just like paper again, and Jesso racked his brain, trying to spot the next right move.

“Shall I go on?” Kator asked.

“With what? If you know all that, Baron, what do you want from me?” It sounded brash, ignorant, and maybe Kator would think that Jesso was just hedging.

Kator started tapping the paper again and didn’t raise his eyes. “One column on production of the housing, one column on production of the trigger part. Which is which, Jesso? Or which parts of the two columns go together?”

This time neither of them spoke for minutes. Only the idle tapping of the finger, a gentle, padded sound. After a while Kator began to crook his finger until he struck the paper with his nail. It sounded hard, nervous.

“Which is which, Jesso?”

“Stop scratching, damn it! I’m trying to think.”

Jesso jumped up and paced the cabin. “He mentioned figures. He kept rattling figures as if they were football scores.” Jesso paced, frowning, making a heavy play for just the right expression. Kator had to think that he was sifting information, that he was hard at work to find the clue in Snell’s jumbled talk. “It thought they were football scores, the way he put it. Rose Bowl, you know, and then he’d jabber on and on about this high-school game.” Jesso stopped, frowning. Better not bring in what Snell really said. He might have been saying a million-dollar word, the key that made the onionskin legal tender.

Kator was watching. Make up something, Jesso, make it busy and fever-crazy “It was just figures over and over. Christ, Kator, gimme a clue. Don’t just sit there.”

“Of course, of course.” Kator sounded soothing. “These places-Rose Bowl and so on. What other places did he mention?”

That high-school place… What was the name? He couldn’t think of it, but that was all right. He wasn’t going to repeat anything Snell had said, anyway

“He mentioned some town, but damned if I can remember the name of it.”

“Underwood?”

Jesso made his voice enthusiastic.

“Underwood! He mentioned Underwood, Kator. What about Underwood?”

“It’s a town in Arkansas. The factory in that town goes by the same name.”

“And?” Jesso felt tense.

“They make the housing for the warhead there. You see, Jesso, this list gives the production figures from two factories. One for Underwood, the other for the production from a second factory.”

It came to Jesso like a flash. He squinted once and then he said it.

“Honeywell! The other factory is Honeywell.”

Kator was convinced now. Nobody could have told Jesso about Honeywell except the courier, Snell.

“Yes, the other factory is at Honeywell. They make the trigger mechanism there.”

The gamble had paid off and Jesso started to breathe again. So Snell did tell him something.

“Now, Jesso, here lies the riddle. We don’t know whether the Honeywell figures are in the right column or the left. And only the Honeywell figures are important for the moment.” Then Kator leaned across the table. “Now, Jesso, think! Did he say right or left for Honeywell? Did he say right or left for Underwood? Which column, Jesso, which is the column?”

Jesso held still and looked as if he were thinking. Kator didn’t move either, but there was excitement in his breathing.

“Jesso, think. It must be one of these columns. I’ve analyzed, I’ve searched-there is no clue. There is nothing to tell the figures apart. One column adds up higher than the other, but that tells nothing. Jesso, which did he say? Right? Did he say left?”

After a while the stiff muscles around Jesso’s eyes relaxed. His face relaxed and then he smiled, slow and easy. Jesso got up and stretched. When he started to laugh it was like the first laugh he’d ever made.

Snell’s alma mater? Snell never said Honeywell High School! He never even said Honeywell High! What Snell had said was Honeywell high. The high column was Honeywell!

When Jesso had poured himself a cup of the cold coffee, he held it up and looked down on Kator’s head.

“How do you say it, Kator? Is it Prosit?” and then he drank the cupful as if it were the most delicious stuff in all the world.

“He didn’t say right or left, Kator. He had another way of putting it. He said to me, ‘Jackie boy, it’s all in how you figure it, but whichever way, it’s all right there on ye olde onionskin'.” Jesso sat down again and sounded confidential. “And then he said, ‘But don’t tell Kator till you get to Hamburg, because it’ll take you all of nine days to figure out the complicated solution. Jackie,’ he said to me-“

But Kator wasn’t listening any more. He slammed the paper back into the box, put the box under his arm, and marched out of the cabin.

It wasn’t until much later in the day that Kator discovered that his Luger was missing. The Luger and a box of shells weren’t in the desk any more.