'Captured?'
'In a sense. He was found dead, seventy-five miles east. Not west, mind you, but east. He was lying in a ditch Whiteside delivered the next sentence as casually as ve might give a cricket score or a weather report.
'Andorpher was lying in a ditch with his throat Cut.
Ear to ear. That left our friend Sandler.'
'Alone?'
'Almost. When the trucks were pulled out of the lake we learned that he'd taken along some items for good luck. The plates. The engraved counterfeiting plates.'
'Of course,' said Thomas, almost inaudibly.
Whiteside looked at the younger man as if to judge him. Whiteside's eyebrows were slanting downward in a nervous frown; his teeth were clenched in concentration.
'Now,' Whiteside continued, 'let's see if Thomas Daniels is a man or a boy. Let's see if he can spot the fox in the thicket.'
'Go ahead.'
'You're obviously a clever young man, Mr. Daniels. Otherwise you would never have gotten this far. And if you're as sly as I give you credit for being, you'll have spotted something very wrong.
There must have been something in the story I told you that struck you as odd.'
'A certain detail or turn?' asked Thomas.
'Yes. What was it?' he asked challengingly.
Thomas didn't have to think.
'East made no sense' he said simply.
'In light of everything about Arthur Sandler, east makes no sense at all.'
'Exactly!' snapped Whiteside with enthusiasm, bringing a fist down hard on his desk. He allowed a moment or two to regather his poise.
'For twenty-two years, Mr. Daniels, east has made no sense.
And now we'll discuss why.'
Chapter 15
'No bloody sense at all' continued Whiteside.
'None! Here's a top American agent, a man who spent the war slipping back and forth across enemy lines, a man who moved around Austria and Germany with obscene ease, a man who knew the inner mechanisms of German intelligence for five years, and what does he do when the war is over? He moved one hundred eighty degrees in the wrong direction.
Instead of returning to the Americans, he jumps into the Russians'laps' 'Whiteside shrugged disgustedly.
'We know he was in Moscow for a month at least' 'There are possible explanations' said Thomas thoughtfully.
'Of course there are,' buffed Whiteside.
'Countless explanations.
Want to know the best one, the one most popular at the Foreign Office?
Here it is: The Yanks recruited a closet Bolshevik in 1941.
Sandler, the theory goes, was working three ways from the middle, with his highest allegiance being given to Moscow.'
'I don't follow,' said Thomas.
Whiteside buffed slightly, as if mildly exasperated at having to explain.
'A triple game, Mr. Daniels he elaborated.
'You Americans thought Sandler was your own spy acting as a double agent against the Germans. In a sense he was, but he was also a triple, selling out Washington to Moscow whenever he had the opportunity. That would have explained why he went east instead of west.'
'Intriguing,' said Thomas reflectively.
'Intriguing, yes:' retorted Whiteside.
'And possible. But it doesn't wash. Not all the way. We tried several theories on Sandler.
We had to. Can you guess why?'
'It's obvious, isn't it? He had those plates. He kept using them'
'Brilliant' remarked Whiteside quietly from behind white teeth that were most clenched in annoyance.
'He kept printing our money.'
Thomas suppressed a sudden smile as the incredible Sandler fortune, the one which had magically materialized after the war, flashed into his mind. Of course, he thought to himself. Of course, of course, of course!
There were muffled noises in the corridor outside the small room. They were voices. It broke Thomas's concentration and he glanced at his watch. He had been alone with Whiteside for almost an hour.
'From there we lost track of Sandler. We thought the Russians had him.
But then he turned up some way in New York. How he got from one place to the other I've never known. All I know is that he did. And his plates were with him.'
'In the United States?'
'Where do you think all those pounds were being printed, damn it' snapped Whiteside.
'In your citadel of democracy. Our pound was being sabotaged unmercifully. It was happening on United States soil and nothing was done to stop it.'
'Maybe.. ' 'Washington knew,' said Whiteside flatly.
'They knew and did nothing' After an annoyed pause, he added,
'It strengthened the dollar, you know.'
Thomas felt a tinge of embarrassment. Whiteside knew it and played the moment to its advantage, letting several seconds pass before speaking again.
'So you see, we knew that our currency was being sabotaged by counterfeits, we knew who was doing it, and we knew it had to be stopped. Your Uncle Sam wouldn't help' Whiteside sighed.
'We don't like to do things this way, really we' don't, But it became incumbent upon us.' He -paused.
'We ordered him 'put down ' 'Is that what you call assassinated?'
Thomas asked. Whiteside nodded.
'Sounds like the mercy killing of a horse.'
'Term it anything you like,- said Whiteside.
'Men are much more vile than animals anyway. Call it killed. I gave the order myself.
Personally. In 1954. And in case you're wondering,' he added without hesitation,
'I'd order it again today.'
'You might have to,' Thomas said.
'You missed the first time' 'Yes ' said Whiteside.
'I know. Sandler was up to the chauen ' as usual. He had a double.
Imagine' gel mused Whiteside pensively.
Then his expression brightened.
'But in any event, the forgery of pounds stopped soon thereafter. So the put-down of the double may have accomplished its purpose in a roundabout manner. Maybe it drove Sandler farther underground. Maybe it genuinely scared him, though I doubt it. Or maybe he was plain ready to graduate to other things. Who knows?'
Both men were silent in thought for a moment. Whiteside spoke next.
'All I know is that the forgery of British pound sterling stopped within weeks. That was all I was ever concerned with' 'No, it's not'
Thomas reminded him gently.
'Not all. Not by a long shot 'Ah, yes he said, remembering.
