At exactly eight P.M. that same night, the Boston Philharmonic radio program went on RCA and Willi Bauer adjusted the knob of the transmitter to the correct frequency.
Over the sweet tones of Tchaikovsky (String Concerto in D Major), a message came in from the embassy in Canada in a series of staccato beeps, and he meticulously jotted them down.
Not the Swiss embassy, of course. In truth, there was nothing even remotely Swiss about the Bauers other than their passports.
But from the German legation in Ottawa.
From a source inside the embassy known to them only as Freddy, who was in direct contact with Admiral Canaris’s office at Abwehr headquarters in Berlin.
And with their chief spy apparatus in the United States.
These were the remnants of the Duquense group. Who had passed secrets from the Nordon plant in New Jersey and even the United States Military Academy itself, on their new Sherman tank design and the Nordon bomb site back to Germany.
The Bauers’ so-called customers—actually accountants and engineers—were in the employ of these companies.
Many had been rounded up, but a second cell was still in operation. Willi and Trudi’s cell. With an even more important mission to perform. Once war was declared. Which was inevitable.
Willi took the numbers down and just as quickly Trudi referenced them against the Darwin book, which was the key. One by one she leafed to the indicated pages and located the appropriate lines and words.
Soon she had it all written out in German. Onkel Teddy kommt immer noch planmaessig an von London. Uncle Teddy still arriving from London on schedule.
Just as planned. The same date and time. What they’d already transcribed from a similar message just a month ago. The one Charlie had stared at in the trash. That Trudi had failed to destroy completely:
128 3 7. 14 12 3. 0300.
We’ll be drinking lots of beer together, the message continued. Which, of course, meant something important to them as well.
Finally, when there were no beeps to come, Willi tapped back that the message was received.
“Two weeks.” Willi looked at Trudi with satisfaction. “And we’ll be fully operational.”
“Yes, it’s all going as planned,” Trudi said.
Operation Prospero.
Now there were only the beautiful notes of the Tchaikovsky in the background. They prepared to put the radio back in the trunk.
“It’s time to move this out of here,” Trudi said, indicating the transmitter. “Just in case. We can’t be too careful.” They had still not determined if Charles Mossman had rummaged through the closet, given the misplaced key.
“Maybe to the brewery,” Willi said. There were a hundred places they could conceal it there. “Tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow,” Trudi agreed.
She tore off the message from the pad. Tore off the sheet underneath it as well, as Willi’s heavy hand had slightly indented the message onto the following page. She ripped the two pages into strips as Willi struck up a match and lit them.
“Shall we?” Together, they watched the strips burn to ash in the ashtray.
“This time,” he patted her arm with a smile, “we will watch them burn to the very end.”
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Trudi’s gaze flashed toward Willi. They always lived with the fear of unexpected visitors, but now, since this business with Emma’s father, even more. And with everything about now, at just the wrong time.
Trudi grabbed the transmitter and took it into the bedroom, while Willi broke up the charred embers of the burnt message into unrecognizable ash. Then he ran and dumped the ashtray into the garbage.
“Yes, in a minute!” he called.
Trudi came back out and they each gave the other a look of reassurance as Willi went to the door. “Yes, who is it?” He brushed the wrinkles out of his vest and unlatched the door.
To his relief it was little Emma in her pajamas. And Liz.
“By all means, come in, come in…,” he said with a smile.
“We didn’t mean to bother you,” Liz said. “I hope it’s okay. Emma just wanted you to see what she made at school, before she went to bed.” It was a drawing of a green valley with snowcapped mountains and a pretty blond girl in a long skirt.
“It’s Heidi,” Emma said.
“My goodness, how beautiful!” Trudi exclaimed. “And just like I described it to you.”
“Wunderbar!” announced Willi, clapping his approval.
Emma beamed.
“And maybe some hot chocolate before bed?” Trudi said. “For the deserving artist.”
“Can I, Mommy?”
“Sure, honey, I don’t see why not,” Liz said.
Trudi headed to the kitchen. “Right in here, my darling.”
On her way, Emma’s eyes seemed drawn to the hall closet, which was open. To the steamer trunk inside it, the top of which was open too.
“With a dollop of schlag just to put an exclamation point on it,” Trudi said.
Then Emma said something that made Willi turn and Trudi come back out. And then look at each other. Out of the mouths of babes, Trudi thought. Their question answered.
Emma was pointing toward the open trunk. “Did you ever find my daddy’s hat?” she asked them.