The door was open, but just the same I asked, "Are you in here?"

"Yes, of course I am," she said, and then I saw her sitting at one end of the white sofa. All the furniture was draped in linen dustcovers, ghostly lumps shimmering in the darkness.

"Have you still not had the power turned on?"

"No." she said. "Why should I? It costs money, and we do not need light, do we? Your whiskey is there on the windowsill, and the glasses, and there is water in the pitcher. I have already had one drink I have been here long enough!"

"That was quite a gesture you made, presenting her with--"

"Yes, a gesture. What else could I do? You had the girl in tears . . . Are you going to tell me what happened upstairs?"

"Well it was . . . pretty tense." I poured some Scotch into the glass and drank it down, looking across the water at the lights of the Schloss. Brown smoky burning began to soothe my jitters. I made another, this one with water, and sat down beside her. "Boswell Hyde was furious. Absolutely furious. I've never seen him that way before. He's always cool and self-assured and a little pompous, slightly condescending to people who aren't as bright as he is -which means practically everybody- but tonight ... Well, what the hell, he reacted the same way I did. He blew his stack! And you know what? He thinks Freddie Minto is mixed up in this too, this Pressburger deal. The whole thing finally boiled down to a knock-down-drag-out fight between the two of them, they didn't pay much attention to me or Rasmussen, or even to Brockaw--"

Paola broke in. "But that is ridiculous! Why does he think--"

"I don't know. Something from the past, maybe from the war ... I don't know, they've known each other all their lives, they were roommates in college, I guess maybe Freddie's been envious of Hyde's success, his books, his connection with the President, but anyway, Hyde started in on Logan Brockaw, what the devil did he mean by sneaking himself into the Academy, if anybody in Washington contemplated such an operation here they could damn well clear it with the Trustees and he was personally going to bring this to the President's attention, and this might be the last straw, maybe the Census Bureau would get the Langley Building after all, and -wow! You should have heard him! And Brockaw was white as a sheet, just sat there and took it, but all of a sudden Freddie said, 'Wait a minute, simmer down, Boots, this boy is under orders, you know,' and Hyde said, 'Whose orders is he under? Yours?' and then they began to talk about Devereaux, and Hyde said, 'Don't tell me about Devereaux! He's been retired, he's supposed to be minding his law practice on Wall Street, or writing his memoirs, not endlessly hanging on, trying to run things,' and then he said, 'Well, Freddie, you finally got your chance to play soldier again. didn't you? Freddie Minto, Secret Agent Double-oh-Seven, or maybe Six-and-a-half, eh?' Oh, he was wild." I stopped to take a drink.

"How did Professor Hyde learn about Pressburger?" asked Paola. "You said he mentioned Pressburger--"

"I don't know, but I guess Onderdonk said something to him, while they were upstairs with the jury. He didn't know any details, but Brockaw then told him the whole story, trying to demonstrate how important it was to reach somebody close to Ulbricht, to anticipate what they're going to do in Berlin, how Pressburger had made some overtures to the West Germans through his brother, but then of course it came out that Brockaw's been employed by the Academy for over a year -Hyde knew that- so he wasn't just working on this one job, he's been able to travel all over Europe, even eastern Europe, with this very handy cover . . . Well, as I say, Hyde agrees with me, the Academy is too valuable to destroy this way, but then they turned on me, Brockaw and Freddie, for making a public spectacle at the trial, for playing a dirty trick on Brockaw and publicly advertising him, making him useless, ruining every chance of using Pressburger, forcing Pressburger to defect without getting any use out of him, endangering Pressburger's family--"

"Oh, Graham, that was the first thing I thought, when you asked Brockaw that question--Here is a room full of people from all over Europe who learn that Dr. Pressburger is meeting an American agent here, and meeting Hans Schaumburg. How many know that this is Ulbricht's secretary? So I telephoned from Rasmussen's office--"

"To Berlin? Brockaw said he tried to reach his people, but he couldn't get through."

"Yes, I know, that was nonsense, that would take hours, he might never get through and then he could not say anything anyway. No, I called Bonn. I woke up a young man who works for Hans, who knows this story, and they will send a radio message to Berlin, in code. The only family is a daughter, an unmarried daughter working in East Berlin, they will send somebody to warn her, first thing in the morning. That is all we can do."

"Did you tell Pressburger?"

"Yes, but it was difficult. At first I could not even find him, there was so much confusion in the Schloss, so many people running around. Then Aschauer found him for me, he was in his dormitory packing, and he came out into the hall up there and I spoke to him for a minute. But it was difficult."


"Well, Graham, of course he thinks the whole thing was a trap of some sort. He thinks of course that you and Brockaw and Professor Minto and Hans and I are all working together, perhaps somehow to compromise him - I don't know exactly what he thinks, but perhaps I convinced him that his daughter will be warned, that you were doing something by yourself - I don't know, but he wants to get away from here as quickly as he can."

I walked over to the window and made fresh drinks for both of us. The whiskey was beginning to work; I could feel my muscles relaxing, a veil of drowsiness descending. Over in the Schloss lights were going out. I handed Paola her glass, put mine on the floor beside her feet, and stretched out on the couch with my head on her lap.

"So! Now you go to sleep. You drink some whiskey and forget all about the trouble you have caused and put your head on the old lady's lap and go sleep."


"You did not finish telling me what happened with Professor Hyde. They said you did not have to make a public show--"

"Yeah. If I was going to do it, why not do it quietly? Couldn't I have talked to Hyde? Why all the elaborate theatrics? I said it wouldn't have done any good. I've been talking to Freddie Minto for weeks and he won't pay any attention. If Hyde had questioned Brockaw, Brockaw would have denied everything. If I hadn't done it in public, Hyde might not have done anything either. This way I forced his hand. No, he's practically got to go to the President, who's the only one with authority to keep these guys the hell out of here."

"Maybe," she said.

"Maybe," I agreed. "But thats all I could do. I've shot my bolt."

"You told all this to Professor Hyde? That you wanted to force his hand--"

"No, of course not, I didn't put it that way, but I suppose he got the idea."

After a moment, Paola said, "You know, you are right about one thing: the way you did it, to publicly expose an American agent, that made a greater impression on the Europeans than anything else they have seen here. That you would dare to do such a thing. We would not do it. None of us. Did anybody mention that?"

"No," I said. "I guess it isn't something that Americans would think of. No, that's about all that happened. Hyde had to leave, he had to take his party back to town, they're going to Vienna in the morning. He told Brockaw that the sooner he got himself out of the Schloss the better, and he said that he'd ask for a Trustees' meeting as soon as he got back to New York. He thought that Rasmussen might have to come over too, because some sort of a statement . . . the Trustees might decide to write a letter to all the alumni about this, but maybe not. And that was it. He said good night and left. Rasmussen went downstairs with him. "

"And the others?"

"Logan Brockaw and Freddie? They just sat there and looked at me, and then they walked out together."

"Poor Graham." For the first time she touched me, stroking my forehead. "So much trouble you have made. Did they say anything about me?"

"No, of course not. They don't know--"

"But Hans will know. Perhaps he knows already."

"You didn't really tell me anything -just confirmed what I suspected anyway- well, I guess he won't like it."

Under my ear her stomach moved as she emitted a sardonic laugh. "No, Graham, I can assure you he will not like it!"

"What will he do?"

"What will he do? What can he do? He will be disappointed. And if others find out, it will hurt him in his position. You cannot have a man in such a job if he has a crazy wife. A disloyal wife."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"Are you asleep?" she asked.

"Mmm." I rolled over and tried to put my arm around her.

"No," She twisted her body. "I don't want to. I am too upset, I can't, I don't want to. I have enough guilt now. It was such a stupid thing, such a sentimental thing, to come back here with you, to this house--"

"Where else could we go? You won't be seen with me in town. Paola, why did he let you?"

"Why did he let me what?"

"Let you stay down here, after he knew I was here?"

"I have told you, it was all arranged, I had to work with my agents, to talk about the houses, they have not even rented this one as you see--"

"But after he knew I was down here?"


"Was he testing you?"

"No, he was not testing me! He thought - I don't know, I suppose he thought I am a grown-up woman, a middle-aged woman, long married, I am not going to get involved again with something that cannot work, that has caused me so much pain."

"But he knows you don't love him."

"Why do you say that?"

"You wouldn't be here with me."

"Well, I will not be here much longer." She squirmed out from under me and stood up, straightening her dress. "I must go back to the hotel. Hans may call at any minute."

I stood up too. "He won't call now. You know what time it is?" I put my arms around her. "Please stay with me. just for an hour. I really need you."

"You don't need me, you just need a woman to discharge your nerves. Go find the Italian girl, she will be very pleased. Oh, Graham, why are you doing this? What is the use of it? All right all right, now stop that, you know I will do it, you know I will make love with you, but only if you sit down again and drink your drink and listen to me."

"My God, haven't we done enough talking? I'm so tired--"

"I will do the talking," said Paola, moving over to the window and looking out. "You only listen." She had her purse over there on the windowsill, and she rummaged around in it until she found her cigarettes and her lighter. Then she turned around. "Graham, you know I am very fond of you. Perhaps I still love you. You are quite right, I don't love Hans. I did not love him when I married him, but I knew he was a good man, I needed his help, and I was grateful. I am still grateful . . . but that is not enough gratitude is not enough for a marriage, and our marriage is not in such good condition. But that has nothing to do with you."

She stopped to light her cigarette, and for a second I could see her face in the orange light. "This thing with you . . . this summer, it is an accident for both of us . . . but it cannot be anything in the future. It cannot be anything. You tell me you want me to come to America, but you don't tell me you want to leave your wife and children. And you don't want to leave them, Graham. I can feel that. You have a place in the world, a very good place, and if you throw it away you will always regret it, and you will blame the person -the woman- who made you do it. Allowed you to do it. You know, sometimes you see yourself as not responsible, a little boy who must get what he wants, who insists all the time that he must get what he wants, like a baby. But you are not a little boy, Graham. What you did today -I mean last night- for all the trouble it will cause, to me and to you and to many others- for all the trouble, that was a strong thing, a very brave thing to do. A baby would not have done it. A spoiled child. You understand? You felt that you must do something, and you did it, even though it will cause much trouble. Even though other people -almost all the other people- tell you that you are wrong, even a traitor."

I could only see her silhouette against the window.

"So what I say to you now is, I will stay with you while you are here, I mean I will see you, because . . . well, because perhaps I cannot help myself. I want to be with you. But then you go home to your wife and it is finished. Absolutely finished. Basta. You agree?"

"Why do I have to agree? I can't make you do anything you don't want. What difference does it make? If you send me home--"

"Ah, because the airplanes fly very fast today! I don't want in a few weeks, a few months, to get a telephone call, a telephone call from London or Paris or Frankfurt -'Here I am, a quick trip, come stay with me, my old friend!'"

"Doesn't sound so bad to me."

'Yes, but it sounds terrible to me, and I will not do it. I tell you that now. And you will not do it either, because as I am showing you, you are not a baby any more, you are a grown-up person, a man with position and family, a man who has courage to do a dangerous thing if he feels he must do it, and you cannot go back to the spoiled little boy who cries for his chocolate. All right?"

I thought about that. Then I stood up, walked across the room and put my hands on her shoulders. "Paola, I'm thirty-three years old. A leopard can't change his spots. Do you say that in German? You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"No," she said. "That's nonsense. You are not a leopard and you are not a dog. And it's not a question of learning tricks. It's a question of how you look at yourself. You see yourself like a man who . . . Oh, Graham, I cannot put it into words. You see yourself as a man who cares only for pleasure, for alcohol and music and going to bed with different women, who is afraid to care for more important things, but that's not true, you do care, you cared for this--" She pointed to the Schloss. "You cared for this enough to go to so much trouble, for other people and for yourself, and so you must learn to look at yourself another way, to see yourself as you really are . . . Don't you remember the little soldier, who worked so hard with his court cases, who was so proud to be made a sergeant, who sat in the library reading books--"

"He's gone," I said.

"No, he is not gone!" She struck her fist against my breast. "He is right in there, and when you let him, he comes out, and you must let him, Graham. You must!"

"All right."

"You will try?"

"I'll try." I put my arms around her. "Can I have my chocolate now?"

It was still dark when I reached the Schloss, and a soft misty rain was falling. I had taken a key, because I did not want to wake Aschauer, but there seemed to be a dim light in the front hall, and when I opened the door I was face to face with Dr. Pressburger. He was sitting on the bench, wearing a black beret and a raincoat, smoking a cigarette. Beside him was a bulging battered suitcase, held together with straps. He looked as startled as I felt. He stood up quickly.

"Mister Anders--"

Somebody clattered down the stairs and around the corner into that hall. Brockaw, dressed in flannels and a windbreaker, frowning.

"Where the hell have you been, Graham?"

"What's it to you?" I sounded truculent because he did, and also because I was frightened.

"I've been looking all over the Schloss, waking people up . . . Dr. Pressburger has to catch the first train to Munich, and he wants to talk to you. He won't tell me what he wants. Will you drive him over to the Bahnhof?"

It was a challenge. There was nothing for it but to say, "Be delighted," and reach for the suitcase, but Pressburger insisted on carrying it himself. I led the way, out the porte cochere, down the driveway to the parking place.

The Volkswagen rocked and splashed through the puddles. Pressburger held the suitcase on his lap and smoked a cigarette. Street lights: the Neutor tunnel through the Mönchsberg. If he means to shoot me, he's waited too long. Festspielhaus. Domplatz. Pale gray light between the towers of the Cathedral. Kapitelplatz. Empty streets. Nonntaler Bridge across the river. A few bicyclists, hooded. PlatzI. Cafe Bazar. Makartplatz. Dreifaltigkeitskirche. Schloss Mirabell.

At last: "Anders, your father was a brave man, but it was not enough."

Windshield wipers. All the way up the Rainerstrasse. Much lighter now. Signs for the Hauptbahnhof.

"Anders, I tell you something: he wanted to come along. Then he made trouble. They should not have allowed him, and then it had to be done. They never could explain why they allowed him to come."

Südtirolerplatz. In front of the station entrance a bus was unloading. Men and women carrying suitcases or knapsacks. Commuters to Munich.

Come along where? But I knew.

I parked behind the bus. Pressburger opened the door and turned to look at me. "He died with Nin, but they took his body back to Madrid." He stepped out and slammed the door.

"Wait!" I jumped out on my side. The first bus drove away, but another pulled up behind me. More people poured out, opening umbrellas, crowding the entrance to the station. A policeman walked over, pointing to my car.

"Wait! Dr. Pressburger!" I ran into the crowd, craning my neck so as not to lose the black beret and the raincoat. I pushed forward desperately, managed to grasp Pressburger's sleeve.

"How do you know?"

He stopped and turned. "How do you think? Why do you think I tell you this story?"

"But he wrote the play?"

"Yes, he wrote the play." People streamed around us, pushing toward the doors of the station, some of them bumping into us, some of them cursing. "Others have wondered about it. Goodbye, Anders. I must not miss this train." He was swept along with the crowd. I turned back to my car. The policeman's raincoat glistened. It was daylight, but my headlights were still on.

I parked the car and walked to the porte cochere. The rain fell in strings, rattling through the foliage, forming puddles in the gravel, running dark streaks down the yellow walls of the Schloss.

The entrance hall was cold and damp and silent. Justice Steinberg's desk, with its wax-encrusted candelabra, stood on its dais at the other end; in front of it, the witness stand, the counsel tables, twelve chairs for the jury, and rows of chairs and benches for the spectators -all empty. Dead. The stage set on the morning after.

"Morgen, Herr Doktor." Aschauer leaned through the halfopened door to his apartment. He wore a long-sleeved undershirt and a towel around his neck, The right side of his face was covered with shaving soap. "Schon ein Femgespräch aus Amerika." He handed me a slip of paper and withdrew again.

The door to Rasmussen's office was unlocked. I picked up the receiver and, as I dialed the long-distance operator, glanced at my watch. In Philadelphia it would be two o'clock in the morning.

-Graham? Is that you?

-It's me, Ellsworth. What are you doing up so late?

-Graham, have you gone completely crazy?


-You know who called me this evening? Here at home, after dinner?


-Armistead Devereaux. You know who that is, don't you?

-You know what he told me?

-I can imagine.


-Go ahead, Ellsworth.

-Graham . . . I just can't believe it. I can't believe it.


-Believe what?

-That you've deliberately -intentionally and deliberately- bitched up a vitally important intelligence operation? An operation that was vital to our national security? That you've endangered people's lives? If anybody else had told me these things--

-There's another side to it, Ellsworth.

-Well, you'll get your chance to tell it. I want you home before this weekend is over, is that clear?

-Ellsworth . . .

- I'm calling a partners' meeting first thing Monday morning. The others have to know about this. I don't know what it'll mean to the firm . . . The idea that a member of this firm would . . . I don't even know how many of our clients are doing Top Secret work. Delaware Ballistics anyway. Ames Mahoney will have a fit. Devereaux wants two of us down in Washington tomorrow afternoon ... not the Washington partners, either. Me! Old Alfred Dennison, although I guess I can get him out of it and me. We're being called on the carpet on account of your antics over there, is that clear?

-I'm sorry, Ellsworth. I thought I did the right thing, but I can't come home this week. I made a deal with Fleischer--

-And that's the other thing, that's the other thing. That's the other thing I called about. You've been snookered, Graham. And the rest of us along with you.


-After you read me that letter, that letter from O'Bannion about Despard, that deal Despard was proposing, to sell the Warfields' Boatwright stock to Fleischer -well, we did what Fleischer wanted, we rescinded the deal with Warfield, we let 'em off the hook, now that anchor to windward's gone, and your friend is back in the market buying Boatwright stock!

-He's in the market? How do you know?

-Volume on Wednesday jumped to twelve thousand shares. That's triple the daily average over the last three or four months. Volume yesterday was twelve-five, and on top of that there was a cross, two hundred thousand shares at thirteen and a quarter -that's one of the banks selling, of course- makes roughly three million dollars, plus commissions, that somebody is putting into Boatwright stock. In two days. Who the bell else would it be?

-But he's run the price up over thirteen doing it? That doesn't sound like Fleischer, does it? He's been much more careful--

-He's trying to shake out the banks now, don't you see? They watch it going up, they think here's their chance to unload above the bottom--

-Could be a speculator--

-Oh, it's a speculator all right! I don't want to argue about this any more, Graham. I want you home. I'm more concerned now about our firm's reputation than I am about Boatwright. And some of the other things Devereaux told me ... Well, Graham, I'd better not say any more--

-About me?

-This is Friday, Graham. I want you in the office on Monday morning. We loved and respected your grandfather, but this--

-What else did he say about me?

-Some people over there think you need medical attention.

-Some people?

-Monday morning, Graham. That's not a suggestion, that's an order. Am I making myself clear?


-All right, I'll see you then. Good night.

previous chapter, next chapter



1961 - A Point of View
[1] The annual meeting of the stockholders of the Boatwright Corporation
[2] What are you going to do about Boatwright and what are you going to do about yourself?
[3] Have we learned anything this evening, Doctor?
[4] Producing results?
[5] Alexander's Feast
[6] How'd you like to go over to Salzburg for a month with me?

1947 - An Island
[7] You're not going to Berlin. You're staying here.
[8] All right, we're the Military Government.
[9] The Americans are teaching us to be democratic instead of fascistic.
[10] Well, this is Fasching.
[11] Letters after Ash Wednesday
[12] Say Boris is at Schloss Fyrmian.
[13] THE AMERICAN ACADEMY IN EUROPE - Prospectus for the First Session
[14] Learn to think of people as individuals.
[15] Parlez-moi d'amour, redites-moi des choses tendres.
[16] Not one thing left to show that you've ever been on earth? - "Sources of Soviet Conduct"
[17] A Countess, a Prussian Officer and a Ländler
[18] Now this part of your life is over and I'm sending you home.
[19] A father who's too busy to watch his son die. - The Spring of 1961
[20] I cannot sell Schloss Fyrmian to the Academy.

1961 - A Change of Air
[21] The first thing I saw was the Festung Hohensalzburg far in the distance, silhouetted against the shadowy curtain of the high mountains.
[22] Next day at the Academy we got to work - Graham, you know what Fleischer did?
[23] Im weißen Rößl am Wolfgangsee
[24] Brockaw writing a thesis on Austrian baroque architecture? - Boatwright Corporation and Boris Fleischer, plaintiffs
[25] You know there a Mr. Devereaux? Mr. Armistead Devereaux?
[26] I think always of Peter Devereaux.
[27] It sounds like an act of desperation, and it won't hold up in court.
[28] In those Oklahoma Hills WHERE AH WAS BOW-AHHHN!
[29] ... that we should meet again like this . . . I think perhaps there is a reason.
[30] "Is there here an American by name of Brockaw?"
[31] This is Boris Fleischer!
[32] "Does Hans work for Gehlen?" Paola shook her head. "More the other way around."
[33] Won't you please come home? Everybody needs you, I most of all.
[34] With this Waffenstillstand you have time now.
[35] You're going to regret this for the rest of your life!
>[36] We Europeans would not do it. None of us. - People think you need medical attention.
[37] Will they trust you?
[38] Some things about the U.S.A. are perhaps rather important, and to us impressive.
[39] You're going to need a good lawyer.

version: March 2, 2004
Address of this Page
Arthur R.G. Solmssen, Joachim Gruber