The Beautiful Spy

An excerpt taken from "ULTRA" the fifth McTrite Mystery.

Synopsis

"ULTRA," an intriguing spy tale and love stories is wrapped around the activities at Bletchley Park, England, the center that decoded German messaging during WW II. Irene was the most beautiful spy in the world. Lieutenant Hackney McTrite didn't want to fall in love with her but he couldn't help himself.

It starts in New Orleans. PI Hackney McTrite (AKA Harry Walker) gets a call from Georgia, a dear girl friend, he met in London during World War Two. He's swept back to the time he was a double agent and German spy Irene Glauber was his contact. Hitler's intelligence operatives have tasked her to buy Allied Military secrets. McTrite obliges and passes along false information. The information he passes about D-Day is believed. The high command offers some correct information near D-Day to enhance the credibility of the false D-Day information.

Her Chief becomes suspicious of the information she's passing. She knows they are watching her closely. She's terrified and McTrite knows it. One night she calls him. She's hysterical. People are hiding in shadows outside, and now, they are knocking on her door.

You’ll find Hackney and Irene's holiday in Ireland enchanting. Love grows fonder and war is forgotten. Georgia and her future husband Sergeant Phil Klapp accompany them. They become a pair.

The followings exerts depicts the pretty spy and Hackney's first face to face encounter. Hackney has gone to Bletchley Park to help the director with random numbers. Hackney's photographic memory brings order to the process:

Phil Klapp (MP Protector) and I (Hackney McTrite) had barely warmed the naked face of our chairs when the mysterious red head, driver of the Citröen, bustled through the entrance. Although she'd passed by us when we pulled into the driveway, I had a hunch she'd return. Legs, displayed by her short pleated skirt, were long and shapely. The flimsy, sheer shirt, tailored to startle, worked. Half the men, four to be precise, sitting at the centuries old bar eyed her up and down. The younger man repeated unabashed. I noticed Drip's eyes cruising her anatomy repeatedly.

My perusal started with her moderate high-heel patent leather shoes and settled on her capacious bosom. The older man at the bar found the middle of her fascinating. The younger man, the older man's son I surmised, seemed to have difficulty deciding where to start like Drip.

She traipsed to a table within ear range and plopped her derriere upon a chair facing us. She sat for minutes starring us unflinchingly in the face. Her lucid green eyes beautiful, but uneasy, scorched. Her floral face was a shifting montage. One moment it appeared worldly, cunning, and crafty. Seconds later it appeared sapient and sardonic never angelic or warm or friendly, but always beautiful. Her cute pug nose that flared slightly and sensual lips were contradictions to her remaining steely mask.

My eyes were drawn away when a young, handsome man strode up to our table. "Lieutenant McTrite, I've been sent to inform you that Mister Plimpton has been called to London. He will return tonight. He will meet you here tomorrow morning at eight." His voice was slightly sibilant and mannerism effeminate.

"Thank, you, eh…"

"Albert. I'm Mister Plimpton's aide."

"Albert, will you join us for breakfast?"

"No thank you, sir. I've had breakfast."

"Would you like tea?"

"No thanks. My sch'dule is tight. I'm a graduate student. Exams are taking place this week. I must be off. Ta! Ta!"

"Thank you for the info, Albert, cheerio."

Drip said, "He's handsome. I'm not surprised. I've heard Plimpton is a closet homosexual."

"Nothing escapes you, Drip. Where'd you hear that at?"

"I don't reveal sources, Monday. Incidentally, I've never liked the nickname you chaps gave me."

"Poor baby!"

"No, damn it, I'm serious."

"Fair enough…Phil."

"You saw how he acted, Monday?"

"Like a pansy. And Phil, I'm not thrilled with the nickname Monday."

"Right. I wonder where the help's sleeping at?"

Words were barely out of Phil's mouth when a cute villager about eighteen strolled in our direction. She radiated a country freshness that was angelic. My mouth was opening to tell her I wanted coffee when she smiled and passed us up. After a glimpse of her crystal blue eyes, you didn't care what the rest of her face looked like or the rest of her. But her conservative attire didn't accentuate the positive. She spent minutes taking the redheads order. Stopping at our table, she asked, "What are you Yank's having?"

I said, "We'll start with a pot of coffee. And you might leave two menus."

Phil said, "I'll have a large orange juice."

She shook her head, "Haven't you heard there's a war going on, sergeant? We haven't had fresh orange juice for months."

"I reckon you have water?"

"Yes, we do, sergeant."

"Fine. We'll have two glasses with the coffee."

She placed a single menu and left. Phil grabbed it. Joshing, I said, "I'll have that. Rank comes first."

Phil pulled an indescribable look. After a moment, he said, "The menu has little to offer, only eggs and bacon. And they'll serve only one egg per customer. I assume you get toast and jelly. Maybe we should have coffee and head back to London?"

At that instant, I had a premonition. The redhead is a Nazi operative. I'm supposed to make contact and offer my services. Phil's in the way. "Why don't you go. There's no reason for you to stick around. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know when to come for me."

"Forget it. My orders are to stick to you like adhesive tape."

"Phil, we've been friends long enough for me to know that you can keep your big mouth shut about sensitive issues. And believe me, what I'm going to say is sensitive. The high command has asked me to offer my services to the enemy. I think the redhead is a Nazi operative. If I was alone, she might approach me. So, I'm ordering you to abandon me."

"Maaan, I'd give anything for an assignment…" Seeing the waitress coming, I put a finger on my lips.

She served a teapot to the redhead and returned. We turned up our cups. She poured and set the pot near. "Have you decided?"

I said, "Egg and bacon. Do you serve toast and jam?"

"Yessir."

"I'll have that too."

"And you, sergeant?"

"Nothing more. Except, I would like a glass of water."

"Oops! I forgot. I'll be right back."

"Hackney, I'm going to take your word on this. Hey, buddy, you'll need to control your senses. The lady has a shrewd glint in her beautiful eyes. And with her equipment, she might charm you out of your wits."

After two leisure cups of Joe-ree, Phil departed. Seconds later, I cast a coquettish smile at the redhead, who ate breakfast with one alert eye focused on me. She smiled back. I took a sip of coffee. Should I make the first verbal advance? No… If she's eager to enlist my services, she'll certainly speak first. I sipped coffee and wondered when my meal was going to arrive.

I was filling my coffee cup when the young waitress bubbled up and set a plate of egg and bacon near. "Thanks, luv. Might I have some salt and pepper?"

She reached in her apron and placed shakers on the table. "Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Thanks, I'm fine for the moment."

"Lieutenant, where are you from?"

"New Orleans."

"What's New Orleans famous for?"

"Mardi Gras, jazz, and food just for starters."

"Oh! Yes! Sachmo Armstrong's from New Orleans. I own a record by him and his hot seven. It's smashing."

"I'm not much of a jazz fan, but, if I were, Sachmo would be one of my favorites." Now, I noticed the redhead appeared antsy. I don't want to discourage her. "Thank you, miss, I'll signal if I need something."

She felt my cold shoulder and retreated. I didn't like myself very much, but I didn't want to waste this opportunity to meet the operative, if she was an operative. I swigged coffee and glanced over furtively.

We played peek-a-boo 'til our meals were finished, but she never acted as if she wanted to meet me. Upset with my failed initiatives, I laid a half-crown that included a tip on the table and rose to my feet. I was halfway out of the Inn's courtyard heading on foot for Bletchley Park when she caught up with me. "Lieutenant, It's a lovely day for a ride in the country."

I'd heard an Irish brogue discernable in her sultry voice. I showed mild surprise intentionally. "Quite lovely, but I'm on foot."

"That's no problem. We'll go in my Citröen, if you're not afraid to ride with a woman driver?"

"I can handle it. I assume you have a shady country lane in mind?"

"No, nothing in particular. We'll ride and enjoy the fresh winter air. I'm Irene Glauber." She presented her hand and a hearty handshake ensued. Her grip was firm for a woman…a choking grip.

"You sound Irish, but I believe Glauber is German?"

"My mother's Irish and my father is German. We can talk more in the car. I'm parked over there." She appeared nervous, as though she didn't want to be seen.

"Lead the way. I'm Lieutenant Hackney McTrite. My parents are Irish. My mother had beautiful red hair like yours."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

We walked to the driver's side. I opened the door for her. She entered awkwardly revealing supple thighs. I think it was intentional. This might be just the beginning of her sexy coquette. I shut the door and went around the car joining her.

She started the Citröen, backed, and drove calmly into the left lane. I thought it was strange that we headed in the direction of London. "Irene, the country is in the opposite direction."

"Not altogether. My flat's located near Stratford on Avon. Country meets the eye in all directions."

I was about to ask why we were going to her flat, but refrained thinking it might show naiveté.

"Lieutenant, I have friends who would pay dearly to know what goes on within the walls of Bletchley Park." I tried to look startled in the face of her cunning smile.

"Friends, like the Nazis?"

"Just friends."

"Collaborating with friends, as you say, could, if caught, result in my facing a firing squad." I said it sternly.

"How will they know? You deal exclusively with me. Certainly, I'm not going to tell them."

"Here's a for instance. Suppose they capture you and offer you a lighter sentence for information. When they ask you who your contacts were, my name is certain to come up." I had to show some concern to make my ultimate acceptance believable.

"So, they still have to prove it. It would boil down to your word against mine. Besides, the risk will be offset by huge cash gifts."

"Irene, return me to the Inn immediately."

She slowed and pulled off the road. I thought she was going to turn around. She slipped the gear into neutral. She calmly reached inside her jacket and pulled out a Derringer and pointed it at my heart. "Lieutenant, I'm no longer asking. I'm demanding. My orders are to gain your cooperation or kill you. The choice is up to you." Her voice frightfully terse, eyes steely cold, and face pinched with irritation.

I think she's stupid coming on like this. Or she's an amateur. She must be desperate. Doesn't she realize I might agree and then report her? Of course, I'm not about to mention my thoughts as long as she's pointing that Derringer at me.

"Another thing, we know Georgia Brown was a hooker. And we know how you feel about her. We can easily spread the word around about Georgia's past. Lieutenant, if we can't have you no one's going to have you."

"That's lowdown blackmail, Irene. Answer me this? Why would an Irishman support the Nazis?"

"I hate the Imperialistic English and my father is a blond German. The English ways have always been oppressive. My forefathers suffered great humiliation under their rule."

I could tell her that her threat to expose Georgia didn't scare me, but she still grasped the Derringer firmly in her right hand. Her eyes were timid, and I wondered if she'd pull the trigger. I could be wrong? The time has come to discuss financial matters. "Irene, how much money are your friends willing to pay?"

"Each package of information will be negotiated separately, but they will offer a retainer of one thousand pounds each month…payable in cash."

I need to start showing some avarice to make this deal more believable. "That's about four thousand dollars. I could have lots of fun with that much cash."

"Now you're thinking like a sensible young man with passions."

"How will we meet. I think I'm being closely guarded."

"We know you are. I'm going to supply you with a special short-wave transmitter and receiver and a secret code. Memorize the code and burn the notebook. This is the last time we'll meet in person unless something serious develops. The first information we'd like is the progress Bletchley Park has made breaking our Nemesis code. That information is worth five thousand pounds."

"And how do I get my hands on the cash?"

"I'm going to give you six thousand pounds now. Our future requirements will be discussed by short-wave conversations. We're still considering the safest way to handle the money. We need you for the duration of the war, Lieutenant."

She returned the Derringer to her inside jacket pocket. I breathed easier. "The attaché case holds the radio, code book, and money. I expect a radio response within the next three days. I always sit by my radio between six and seven p.m. You should be available at that time. Always be specific and as detailed as possible. The code-book is provided for posted or hand carried messages." She took a deep breath and gave me a daring stare that sent chills up my spine. "Lieutenant, you don't quit this job. The only way out is feet first. My code name is Sugar. Yours is Catfish."

I liked the code name, but it didn't sound too clandestine like scorpion or Jackal or the likes. I opened the case and had a look inside. The two stacks of twenty-pound notes looked about right. The device was small. The small notebook was black. "It's all here."

"Of course it is. Lieutenant, remember, if we can't have you, you're dead. Now, I'm going to take you to the nearest UnderGround Station. You can go to your apartment and stash the contents of the attaché case. I haven't known you long, but I'm glad I didn't have to kill you." Yes, so am I. "Maybe we can get together in Dublin or Paris or New Orleans after the war and get to know each other better?"

"Yes, that would be nice." I'm sure she'll change her mind before this caper is finished.

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