Tapestry of Spies Part 17

"I suppose. Why not?" said Julian. He spoke quickly to the boy in Spanish and Florry was mildly surprised to learn that he spoke it so well.

The boy folded the messages into a pouch on his belt and at last darted off.

"Where on earth did you find him?"

"Oh, I'm smas.h.i.+ng at scrounging up things, Stink, old sport."

"Will he get through?"

"Oh, Carlos will get through. He's very good at that sort of thing. Used him before, he's always made it. Well, Stinky, ready for the big parade?"

"To march at the head of it, in fact," Florry said, happy at last.

15.

THE GRAND ORIENTE.

THE CAFe GRAND ORIENTE WAS PACKED THAT NIGHT with the children and the ideals of the Revolution. But there was also murder in the air. with the children and the ideals of the Revolution. But there was also murder in the air.

Someone will die tonight, Levitsky thought. He felt the violence in the atmosphere, rich and potent. There would be blood on the pavement and screaming women and furious men with drawn revolvers. But for him at least, the long wait underground was over. It was time after the months of boredom to move.

He took a sip of the green schnapps. It was wonderful. The girl sat with a group of young POUMistas at a table near the bar. They were all gay and lively, full of everything, themselves mostly, but hope and politics, too; or maybe it was only fas.h.i.+on for them, a game. They wore their blue overalls and had militia caps tucked into the epaulets. Yet still the girls were slender and quite lovely, especially the Lilliford girl, the loveliest of them all. But she held the key to the next step on the way to Julian Raines.

Levitsky was well behind them, sitting with his back to the wall. Getting to the Oriente had been easy, once he left his shelter in the Anarchist neighborhood. SIM agents were everywhere with their NKVD advisers, and he'd been stopped twice by Asaltos, as the Revolutionary a.s.sault Troops brought in from Valencia were called, but in each case his papers had gotten him through. Still, it was frightening. How tight was Glasanov's net? Well, it was a net, that was clear, but was it not drawn and gathered? Perhaps it had been at the start; but Levitsky knew the longer he waited, the looser it would become.

Now, a clever man, a man with his wits and a little presence and a nice selection of ident.i.ties, could get through. It must be driving poor Glasanov insane. With a battalion of NKVD troops, he could have closed the city down and gone through it like an archivist, examining each alley, each hallway. In days, he'd have him back. However, with only a skeleton of NKVD people, but mostly earnest, unpracticed Spaniards, Glasanov was doomed.

Glasanov, I will be the death of you, Levitsky thought with a wicked little smile.

"Comrade? Another schnapps?" asked the waiter.

"No, I think not."

"We close soon, comrade. The curfew. Not like the old times."

"I see. Thank you."

"You look as though you've had a rough time of it, comrade."

"Some Anarchists. Working men who a year ago never spoke above a whisper. They were feeling mighty about their new world a few days ago and demonstrated their enthusiasm to an old man who wouldn't sing their song or dance to their tune in an alley. They said I looked too bourgeois for my own good."

"Ay. Crazy ones, they're all over the place. These are terrible times, comrade."

"But interesting," said Levitsky.

He took a last look about the room. The smoke in here made his eyes smart. Behind the bar, the mirror stood streaked with grease. The light was amber, almost yellow, s.h.i.+ning off the walls and from the flickering candles and the weak bulbs in the gla.s.s cups mounted near the ceiling. The place was crowded-all the better-with men and women in uniform, with braids and berets and caps, with automatic pistols and boots, the fighters nut-brown from their days in the sun out at the firing line, the theorists pale from long days of argument and negotiation. They were all getting drunk and the air seethed with boasts and charges and challenges and lyrics and verses. He knew it: of course, easily. It was Petrograd in '17, while the great Lenin was waging his war of bluff and maneuver against Kerensky and the provisional government.

He looked back to the girl's table. He didn't think any of them at the table were NKVD. He could not, of course, be certain, but after so many years, he believed he knew NKVD on sight: something furtive and sly in the eyes, a certain inability to relax, a certain sense of one's own authority.

No. The waiter, maybe. Surely he informed for someone, but purely out of opportunism, not ideology. Who else? Perhaps that man over there in the black Anarchist's beret who was, Levitsky had noticed, less drunk than he pretended, and whose eyes never ceased to roam.

But Levitsky had to move. Fifteen minutes to curfew. Yes, it was time for the devil to move to the girl.

He got up, edged through the crowd, standing patiently when a couple rose between himself and her and he waited for them to pa.s.s by. When they were gone, he proceeded meekly. He slipped next to her and bent to her; she had not yet noticed.

She was a lovely girl, but he could see the gaiety was forced, she was not happy at all, as were the other young POUMistas. They were all excited about an upcoming battle.

"The battle is an imperative process of history," a young man was saying. "Your friend must take his chances like any comrade."

"If we take Huesca tonight, we take Barcelona tomorrow," said an older man, some sort of POUMist leader.

"And the revolution lives," said the boy.

"I just hate the waste," he heard her say.

"Ah. Fraulein Lilliford?" Levitsky said pitifully.

She turned quickly, looking up.

"Good lord, Sylvia, who on earth can this this be?" someone at the table inquired. be?" someone at the table inquired.

"Herr Gruenwald, no?" he said. "From the s.h.i.+p, the va.s.ser va.s.ser, the boat, ja?" ja?" He began to jabber in excited German. He began to jabber in excited German.

"Herr Gruenwald, my G.o.d. Oh, you look so different. I do do apologize for staring. It's-" apologize for staring. It's-"

"Ja, Missy Fraulein."

"Look, do sit down-"

"Sylvia-!"

"This man was in the sinking with us. He's been through a lot," Sylvia said tartly. "Sit down down, Herr Gruenwald. You look terrible. I'd heard that you'd been arrested by-"

"Ja. Polizoi! Old business, a mistake, hah! Really hit an old man. My head-it vasn't zo good before, but now is Old business, a mistake, hah! Really hit an old man. My head-it vasn't zo good before, but now is kaput kaput. Krazy in der head! Hah!" He laughed abrasively and looked about the table to enjoy the shocked befuddlement of Sylvia's new friends.

"Well, it sounds dreadful" dreadful" said Sylvia. said Sylvia.

"Good heavens, Sylvia, your collection certainly grows by the day. A mad, decrepit German cabin boy!"

"Shut up, Stephen," said the older man at the table. "The old fellow has had a rough enough time. One can tell from looking at him."

"Mr. Gruenwald, you look famished. May I buy you something to eat? What are you going to do?"

"Ach! Ich Ich-er, Gruenwald wait for papers, zen s.h.i.+p out. Nein Nein, missy, I haben zie haben zie-haf place to stay. Und food. Ah, my head, it aches so bad zumtimes. Bombs. The Great War. To end all wars, ja? wars, ja? Metal plate, Metal plate, ja?" ja?" He tapped his skull, smiled broadly. He tapped his skull, smiled broadly.

"Missy Fraulein, it's, ach, zomething zo stupid. It's mein frau mein frau. My wife, ja? ja? She is still in Deutschland and, ah, I have no vord from her. And of course, She is still in Deutschland and, ah, I have no vord from her. And of course, here here, hah! politics gets in da vay. Dere is no Deutschland emba.s.sy-"

"No, of course not. They are for the other side."

"I vish to zumhow send vord dat-dat I am all right. Ja Ja. I remember from boat. Mr. Florry a journalist; he vas goink to zee Mr. Raines, another journalist. Ja? Ja? Perhaps such an intelligent fellow, Herr Raines, the journalist, he know a vay to reach my poor Perhaps such an intelligent fellow, Herr Raines, the journalist, he know a vay to reach my poor frau frau in Deutschland, in Deutschland, ja." ja."

"But Herr Gruenwald, I'm afraid that's impossible."

Levitsky, looking past her in the mirror, saw four men in overcoats enter. The largest of them was Glasanov's Amerikanski.

"Julian Raines and Robert Florry have joined the militia. They are at the front, at Huesca."

"Ach, a fighter," Levitsky said, thinking, the fool! the fool! The utter idiot! The utter idiot!

Bolodin stood with his men at the front of the room, looking through it.

Levitsky could not look at Bolodin in the mirror. Bolodin would have that extremely fine-tuned sense of being observed; he would feel the eyes upon him and swiftly locate their owner.

"Look here, let me make some inquiries for you," Sylvia said. "There are many Germans in our party. Perhaps I can locate somebody who knows a method of communication."

Bolodin was moving through the crowd. Levitsky kept his face down, his body hunched as if in rapt attention to what she was saying. He tried to concentrate on exits. He could dash for the back; no, they'd have him, strong young Bolodin would have him and smash him down. Bolodin approached; there were suddenly secret policemen all around.

"Comrades," somebody was saying, "you'll excuse if we ask to see your papers."

"And who are you," one of the POUMistas said defiantly. "Perhaps it's we we who should ask to see your papers." who should ask to see your papers."

"I am Ugarte, of the Servicio de Investigacion Militar. We are responsible for the security of the revolution. You excuse this boring formality, of course. One has to take so many precautions these days. There are so many spies about."

"The revolution is in far more danger from Russian secret policemen than from anybody in the POUM," said Sylvia. "You show us your your papers." papers."

"There are no Russians here. I don't understand why our brothers and sisters in the Marxist Unification Party are so difficult," said the policeman. "One would think they hadn't the revolution's best interests in mind."

It suddenly occurred to Levitsky: they mean to kill these children. It's part of Glasanov's- "I don't think we need to resort to extreme methods," said the smooth young secret policeman. "If, perhaps, we could all go outside and get this settled quickly and quietly with a discussion, then-"

Bolodin stood at an oblique angle to Levitsky, his face impa.s.sive, his eyes hooded, almost blank. He had not looked at Levitsky at all. He was looking instead at the older man called Carlos.

"I am Comrade Carlos Brea, of the executive committee of the Party of Marxist Unification, and I will not-"

"Comrade Brea, your reputation proceeds you. Surely you can understand the point of a few mild security precautions. We mean n.o.body any harm; we mean only to establish ident.i.ties and then walk away."

Bolodin quietly separated himself. Levitsky watched as he pushed his way through the crowd and exited into the street.

"Well," said Brea, "I'll go with you to our headquarters. Let the others stay. They have worked hard enough for their pleasure."

"That's the spirit of cooperation. Indeed, the comrade is to be congratulated. Who says the different workers can't function together?"

"Carlos, don't go," said Sylvia.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm sure the SIM can guarantee my safety in front of witnesses."

"Of course, Comrade Brea."

"Carlos, some of us will go along."

"Nonsense. Stay here. I'll be off; the rules, after all, must apply to everyone."

He rose and, with a smile for the youths at the table, threaded his way out with the policemen.

"I don't like it at all," said one of the men. "They are getting more and more brazen. It's a very disturbing trend."

"We ought to arrest a few of them them and-" and-"

Sylvia turned to Levitsky. "Perhaps you could meet me someplace tomorrow night, Herr Gruenwald. In the meantime, I'll make some inquiries and-"

Then they heard the shots from the street and a second later a woman came in shrieking, "Oh, G.o.d, somebody shot Carlos Brea in the head, oh Christ, he's bleeding on the pavement!"

In the panic, and the grief, and the outrage, Levitsky managed to slip away. He knew he had to get to the front now to get to Julian. And he also knew who had shot Carlos Brea.

16.

THE ATTACK.

THEY COULD HEAR THE DIVERSIONARY ATTACK OF THE Anarchists on the other side of the city: the heavy clap of bombs, followed by the less authoritative tapping of the machine guns. The plan called for the Anarchists to go in first, from the west. The Fascists would rush reserves over to meet that a.s.sault; then the POUMistas and the Germans of the Communist Thaelmann Brigade would jointly rush the city from the east. Anarchists on the other side of the city: the heavy clap of bombs, followed by the less authoritative tapping of the machine guns. The plan called for the Anarchists to go in first, from the west. The Fascists would rush reserves over to meet that a.s.sault; then the POUMistas and the Germans of the Communist Thaelmann Brigade would jointly rush the city from the east.

Florry s.h.i.+vered in the rain: it had turned the trench floor into mud and made its walls as evilly slick as gruel. It would be a terrible ordeal to scramble up and out. He peeked over the parapet. In the mist and dark, the Fascist lines were invisible.

"Do you think they know we're coming?" somebody asked.

"Of course course they know we're coming," said Julian cruelly. "D'you think they can keep a secret on the Ramblas? That's the they know we're coming," said Julian cruelly. "D'you think they can keep a secret on the Ramblas? That's the fun fun of the evening." of the evening."

"Julian, do be quiet," said Billy Mowry strictly. "It's only a few minutes now."

"Yes, commissar, of course, commissar," said Julian. "Do you know," he said to Florry, not dropping his tone a bit, "in the Great War they kicked footb.a.l.l.s toward the Hun. Perhaps we ought to kick copies of the b.l.o.o.d.y great Das Kapital." Das Kapital."

"Julian, d.a.m.n you, I said stuff it," yelled Billy Mowry.

"Touchy chap," Julian said. "I was feeling quite gallant, too. Best to go into battle with a quip on one's lips, eh, Stinky?"

"I'm too wet for quips," said Florry.

"Yes, well I'm too frightened not not to quip. Hush me if I bother you. But I cannot seem to stop chatting. Dear old Julian, never at a loss for words." to quip. Hush me if I bother you. But I cannot seem to stop chatting. Dear old Julian, never at a loss for words."