6
Peter was sitting in the small hard-backed chair in front of Bradley’s desk, answering his questions. He had clearly given the subject a lot of thought. Of course, Austria had lost badly in the war and, like everyone else, was slow to recover. It had been an old and powerful empire in 1914, and now Austria was struggling to find itself, to create a new identity, and it was with an anguish that was inevitable. The political mess from which the inexperienced Dollfuss had emerged as chancellor had only made it worse.
“Howard, I want an answer,” Bradley snapped.
“Yes, sir. I’ve given you every report as I’ve received it. Dollfuss is becoming more authoritarian as he assumes more power to try to keep order. He’s been sabotaged by factions—”
“I know that!” Bradley interrupted. “He’s chancellor of Austria, for heaven’s sake! Has he got the power and the backing to succeed?”
Peter sat a little straighter and kept his temper with difficulty. They had covered this before, several times. “I don’t know, sir. This June, the National Socialists—the Nazi party—began using live grenades against a group of auxiliary police. As a result, Dollfuss banned Austrian National Socialists from the country.”
“You are repeating yourself, Howard!” Bradley said acidly. “You said the Nazis in Germany made them welcome. I suppose that was to be expected. Dollfuss doesn’t seem to know which side he’s on. Next thing we hear, he’s in Rome, in Mussolini’s lap, looking for support. We’ve got a man in Trieste, which is more or less one foot in Italy and the other in Austria. What does he say?”
“Very little, and he doesn’t interpret it, he just says what he knows,” Peter replied.
“Oh?” Bradley stiffened, his attention sharper. “What does he say? What’s his name?”
Peter sidestepped the second question. Bradley did not need to know. “Nothing, for a while.”
Bradley leaned forward in his chair. He clenched his strong hands.
Peter’s temper was slipping away.
“Have you contacted him?” Bradley demanded.
“Yes, I have. Haven’t heard back yet,” Peter replied quietly.
“So, you don’t know what he has to say?”
“No.”
“Ideas?” Bradley banged his closed hands on the desk.
Peter had considered this before he had arrived at the office. He had received a one-word telegram from Elena last night: Contact. He had stood in the kitchen with the paper in his hand, waiting until the delivery boy left before he opened it. His hands had been stiff. He had not realized how worried he was about her. Had he sent Elena too soon? Had her success in Berlin just been a series of coincidences? Perhaps she was never as brave or as clever as that had made her seem.
How would he face Lucas if she was hurt? Or worse? But he did not say those words, even allow those thoughts.
He had torn the telegram open, then read only Contact. So, she had found Aiden Strother and spoken to him already.
“Oh, wake up, man, and give me a straight answer!” Bradley said angrily.
Peter jerked back to attention. “I don’t know. There are too many possibilities. We know where most of the main players are. We know Dollfuss is courting Mussolini. We expected it. Anyone would, in his place.”
“I know that, Howard! Damn it, man!” Bradley cut in. “You are letting this slip out of your control! Strother is our only lead to the Nazis in Trieste; God knows what they’re planning. It could lead eventually into Vienna and be the beginning of a takeover of the whole of Austria! Think, man! Stop letting your old loyalties to Standish and his damn family get in your way. You know better than that, don’t you?” There was a question in Bradley’s eyes. He was uncertain of Peter’s answer.
“I was going to say they are gaining considerable financial backing…” Peter kept his temper with difficulty. He refused to answer the question about Lucas. Why did Bradley even ask? Was his jealousy so deep? Or was he covering something?
“From whom?” Bradley interrupted again, his face pinched with anxiety. “Is that a conclusion based on specific information, or just a general fear?”
Peter hesitated again. He had learned not to tell the whole truth where he did not need to. He disliked Bradley, and he profoundly believed it was mutual. “A large collection of small things, sir,” he replied very formally. “We don’t know the sources of all this money, but most of it comes through Germany.”
“That’s to be expected,” Bradley said, his eyes watching Peter’s face, his expression judgmental. “Mostly Germany?”
“Yes.”
“You know that, or you’re guessing?” he said impatiently. “It’s important; don’t dither around, Howard.”
Peter hesitated only for an instant. “We’re waiting for the proof.”