Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN AT THE VESPER CLUB
The Vesper Club sat beneath a respectable restaurant in Midtown.
Downstairs, it was all smoke, jazz, officers on leave, wealthy men pretending rationing applied to everyone else, and women in evening dresses who knew more about politics than the men buying their drinks.
Margaret Vale owned half of it.
She was forty-three.
Red hair.
Pearl earrings.
Green silk dress.
No visible fear when Lucardi walked in at three in the morning.
“Salvatore.”
Her voice was warm.
Almost amused.
“You look tired.”
He said:
“Thomas Dempsey.”
Her smile faded by exactly enough.
“Sad business.”
I stepped out from behind him.
She looked at me.
Then really looked.
“Clara.”
I froze.
“You know me?”
Margaret smiled.
“Your brother carried your photograph.”
My anger rose.
“You knew him.”
“Very well.”
“How well?”
“Better than Salvatore did.”
Lucardi’s jaw tightened.
Margaret looked toward Walter, flanked by two men.
“Walter. You look dreadful.”
Walter said:
“Vale vanished.”
For the first time, true concern crossed her face.
“Edwin?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Lucardi.
“What happened?”
“That’s what we’re asking.”
Margaret stared for a moment.
Then gestured toward a private booth.
“No one solves treason standing beside a trumpet player.”
We sat.
I did not trust her.
Tommy’s rule remained.
Don’t trust the first man who explains it.
Maybe he should have said woman too.
Margaret listened while I explained the radio, the broadcast, locker 219 and the memo.
When I said Tommy had written Vale is running the channel, she closed her eyes.
“Damn him.”
I leaned forward.
“Your brother?”
“My brother and yours.”
“What does that mean?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Thomas was supposed to leave New York.”
“When?”
“The night he died.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Edwin discovered somebody inside his federal unit was compromised.”
Lucardi said:
“Edwin was compromised.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
Walter laughed.
“The photographs say otherwise.”
“They show him meeting Walter.”
“Exactly.”
Margaret’s eyes sharpened.
“Because Walter was an informant.”
Walter froze.
I looked at him.
“What?”
Margaret continued.
“Not voluntarily, perhaps, but Edwin flipped him months ago.”
Walter stared.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.”
She looked at me.
“Walter had been helping identify storage sites used by the sabotage network.”
I felt dizzy.
“So Walter was working for Vale.”
“Yes.”
“Against the sabotage network?”
“Yes.”
Walter slammed his palm down.
“She’s lying.”
Margaret did not flinch.
“Because if you admit it, Clara may ask why you attacked her.”
I turned.
Walter’s face tightened.
Margaret answered for him.
“Because Walter stopped trusting Edwin after Thomas disappeared.”
The entire story inverted again.
I looked at Walter.
“You thought Vale killed Tommy.”
Walter said nothing.
“You thought the cylinder could prove it.”
Silence.
Margaret leaned back.
“Walter is many things. Extortionist. Slumlord. Coward.”
Walter glared.
“But he is not a German agent.”
Lucardi asked:
“Then who is?”
Margaret looked at him.
“My brother thought it was someone in Naval Intelligence.”
I frowned.
“Tommy worked Navy.”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then said:
“Commander Samuel Pryce.”
Lucardi’s face changed.
He knew it.
“Pryce handled waterfront security liaison,” he said.
Margaret nodded.
“He had access to cargo inspection schedules, patrol rotations, blackout enforcement, dock clearances.”
Enough to make sabotage possible.
Walter whispered:
“Then why did Edwin disappear?”
Margaret looked toward the bar.
“Because I told him to run.”
Silence.
Lucardi leaned forward.
“You spoke to Edwin yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Margaret.”
She looked at me instead.
“He told me Pryce discovered Tommy had copied the master list.”
“The list of agents?”
“Not agents.”
“What?”
She lowered her voice.
“Targets.”
My skin chilled.
Tommy had not died over names.
He died over what they planned to destroy.
Margaret continued.
“Rail junctions. Fuel depots. Communications stations. One naval repair yard.”
Lucardi’s expression went hard.
“When?”
“We believed December.”
“Believed?”
Margaret’s eyes moved to me.
“Until Thomas found a handwritten change.”
“What change?”
She took a cigarette from the case but didn’t light it.
“The operation was moved forward.”
“To when?”
Margaret looked at the club clock.
Then at us.
“Tonight.”
The room went still.
It was 3:28 a.m.
“What target?”
“That,” she said, “is why everybody wanted Tommy’s second cylinder.”
I held up the one from the locker.
“This is the second cylinder.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
May you like
“Thomas made three.”
And suddenly dawn was coming toward a city that might already be marked.
