Entangled

By Talmadge Walker

The sequel to The Clutches of Circumstance, Entangled follows FBI agent Mike McLauren as he tracks the killer of a friend in 1939 New York City. Complicating the hunt is his current special assignment from J. Edgar Hoover: carrying out surveillance on numerous literati in the New York area. McLauren soon discovers that the killer he seeks has a surveillance agenda of his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Talmadge Walker
• Release date: Dec 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463221419

Talmadge Walker

Originally from Alabama, Talmadge Walker is a semi-retired former EC teacher. He lives in Hillsborough, NC with his wife and three kids.

Book preview

Entangled

By

Talmadge Walker

The blood-dimmed tide is loose, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

William Butler Yeats

From The Second Coming

Copyright 2016

Contents

The Voyage Home

Tracking a Wolf

Grief

Two Poets and a Pastor

Hunting a Hunter

An Uninvited Guest

Hobnobbing Gone Awry

Desperate Chances

Epilogue

Notes & Further Reading

The Voyage Home

McLauren could feel the hum of the engines beneath his feet, as he sat and rummaged through his duffle bag. After a moment he pulled out what he was looking for: a two-inch thick folder labeled Medical Supply Requisitions. He looked around discretely. There were other people in the half-empty cargo hold, but they were off in a corner, trying to keep their spirits up by playing a guitar and singing Jarama Valley.

McLauren wasn’t in the mood for that, and not just because he had work to do. He was now about as depressed as he had ever been in his life. McLauren had spent the last eighteen months with men who were, for the most part, good, honest, and brave. And even while he was spying on them, he agreed with their ideals, at least on some broad level. But after all the struggle and fighting and anger and backstabbing and disillusionment, it had come to nothing. The other men could at least tell themselves they had fought the good fight, but McLauren, even when he was risking his own life, was just there as a covert observer, keeping tabs on the men he was supposed to be helping.

McLauren glanced around the cargo hold again. A couple of the men were moving about now, but most of them were still singing.

"… We were men of the Lincoln Battalion,

We’re proud of the fight that we made,

We know that you people of the Valley

Will remember the Lincoln Brigade…"

McLauren turned back to the folder and opened it. The top sheet was titled Jonathan Thurber. He glanced down the page at the data and notes… Residence – Milwaukee (?); Birthdate – 1905 (estimate); Party Involvement – Socialist… Near the bottom, following an assortment of notes, McLauren wrote in: Missing, presumed dead – Ebro, August 1938.

McLauren turned that sheet over and looked at the next one. It read: Richard Nesmith; Residence – NYC; Birthdate – uncertain (1895?); Party Involvement – None known (Anarchist?); After several lines of notes the ledger ended with Killed at Brunete, July 1937. Page three was similar, only it ended with Last seen in Marseilles, January 1939." The other pages continued in the same vein, with variations in name, place, and age. Some were Communist or Socialist Party members, a few had anarchist sympathies, others were just doing their own little bit to find glory or save the world. And there were a handful that McLauren just could not get a handle on.

A few were Canadian. Many were dead. McLauren wondered whether they would have made the journey if they had known the price. But he didn’t wonder long.

Whatcha got there, Thompson?

McLauren looked up. Dave Darnet was standing over him. All the others had left and the room was now quiet, except for some footsteps over in the shadows next to the stairway. Darnet was looking down at the pages before McLauren.

What’s that, Thompson? Darnet repeated.

McLauren thought quickly. Oh, these are just some medical records I was keeping for the brigade…

Darnet leaned in closer. Party Involvement? Those aren’t medical records! What are you up to, Thompson? Who are you working for? Darnet’s voice grew louder and gruffer as he turned suspicious and angry. McLauren heard the footsteps going up the steps, though at the time he didn’t think it important. What could he say that Darnet would believe?

I’m working for the NKVD. Might as well make it a whopper. He knew Darnet was a party member so it might work.

Darnet stood up straight. His face was no longer angry, though his eyes still showed a trace of suspicion, now mixed with a heavy load of curiosity. McLauren could almost see the thoughts running through the man’s head as he tried to decide whether to believe it or not.

In the end, the suspicion won out over the curiosity. I don’t believe you. Somebody would have heard. Somebody would have said something.

Before McLauren could react, Darnet reached down and grabbed a couple of the sheets of paper, then bolted toward the steps. McLauren shoved the rest of the folder back into his duffle bag and took off after Darnet. The man had a big lead though, and was already at the top of the steps and out the door as McLauren reached the bottom. As McLauren raced upward, he thought he heard a grunt, and what might have been a yell. When he reached the top and stepped out on the deck, no one was around, except for one figure walking briskly away toward the stern of the ship. It didn’t look like Darnet though.

Uncertain what to do, McLauren looked out toward the sea and froze. Floating above the sea in the salty, wet wind were two sheets of paper, hanging in the air for a moment before dropping to the waves. McLauren bounded to the rail and glanced down at the sea. With the darkness he wasn’t sure, but McLauren thought he saw someone floundering in the waves below, maybe thirty yards away from the ship.

Help! McLauren yelled out. Man overboard! He kept yelling until the engines slowed and the crew came running.

Where? Where?

McLauren pointed out to where he thought he had seen Darnet. Was it Darnet? It had to be Darnet. But the ship had moved since then. How far? Could Darnet be saved? Could he even be seen?

Some of the crew trained a searchlight on the area McLauren had pointed to. Nothing was there but the waves on the water. They trailed the light backward along the ship’s path. Still nothing.

Are you sure you saw someone fall overboard? the captain asked.

I didn’t see him fall, but I saw him in the water. He had come up the steps ahead of me, and as I was coming up I thought I heard him call. But when I came out on deck no one was here, and I saw him down in the water.

The captain looked at McLauren, skeptically but seriously. Do you know who it was?

It was Darnet. He was one of our officers back in…

I don’t need to know that, the captain muttered. Then he turned around. Is Darnet here? Has anyone seen Darnet?

No one had seen him in the last few minutes, since the group had broken off their singing down below. The captain paired off some of the crew with some of the passengers, and sent them to search the ship. Then he gave orders to turn the ship around and retrace its path. They spent the next hour searching the ship and the sea around it, but Darnet was not found.

The men were downcast. Darnet had been a popular and effective commander back in Spain, and everyone respected him. As the weather outside turned worse, more of the men went down below deck, and some of them began to talk. A few of them would glance over at McLauren, but he ignored them, lying on his cot and pretending to read one of his crime novels. He knew some of the men might be angry about Darnet’s death and looking to blame someone for it, but he was the one who had alerted everyone with the man overboard call, and besides, it was an accident.

Or was it? Until that moment, McLauren hadn’t given much thought to those other footsteps on the stairwell. And that person he had seen walking away on deck: Why didn’t they come running when McLauren called out? For that matter, why did they walk away when Darnet fell overboard? Unless Darnet didn’t fall.

Suppose someone wanted to kill Darnet? Suppose that person McLauren heard on the stairwell was waiting for Darnet at the top, and shoved him overboard, not expecting McLauren to emerge a moment later? The evidence of his senses – the sounds on the stairwell and the sight of someone walking away – were consistent with the idea that Darnet was the victim of a murder, not an accident.

But what about a motive? Why would anyone want to kill Darnet? The men all respected him, and no one resented his politics. He was a Party member, but so were several of the men, and he never seemed to hold a grudge against those who weren’t. Half the anarchists assumed he was secretly one of them. The liberals assumed he had joined the party in a pique of idealistic fervor. Even the Catalans back in Barcelona had assumed he had gone to Spain because of his sympathies for them. McLauren himself usually assumed that Darnet was just an anti-fascist, who had joined the Party as the surest means of being in the front line of the fight against what he deemed the greater evil. No one on this side of the conflict felt slighted by him in any way.

But what if the killer was not on this side of the conflict? Suppose the killer – if it was not an accident – wasn’t an anarchist or communist or separatist or sympathizer? What if the assassin was working for the other side? Could one of the men be a closet fascist? Not likely. You don’t put your spies out on the front line. Too much risk and too little to gain. But if that wasn’t the case, why would any of the men want to kill Darnet?

Perdón, Señor Thompson?

McLauren’s thoughts were interrupted by one of the crew members.

Yes?

The captain would like to speak with you.

McLauren rose and followed the seaman – a slim Spaniard named Henri – out of the cargo hold and up to the deck, and then over to the captain’s quarters. Henri knocked, and a voice inside said: Entrer.

Ici, il est, Capitaine, Henri said, in Spanish-accented French.

Merci, Henri. Envoyer lui.

Henri stepped aside and McLauren entered the room. The captain was inside, seated at a small table with the first mate. Both of them seemed to be relics of the previous century, heavily bearded Neptunes sharing a bottle of brandy. The captain, the older and better-dressed of the pair, pointed to a chair and invited McLauren to have a seat. A third glass was produced and some more brandy was poured, which McLauren accepted greedily but sipped slowly: he wanted to keep his wits this evening.

After taking another mouthful of brandy, which he savored for a long moment, the captain began: Mr. Thompson, I’m sorry to hear about your fellow passenger, Mr. Darnet. Is there anything I can do to ease the hearts and minds of the rest of the men?

I don’t know, Captain Molesti. We’re all still just trying to come to grips with it. Trying to figure out what happened…

Perhaps the explanation is very simple, the first mate offered. I have an old friend who served in the Russian Second Army back in the Great War. They were so soundly defeated at the battle of Tannenberg, that their commander snuck off and shot himself. Perhaps your friend was despondent because the war in Spain is lost and did the same thing. Perhaps he jumped. The first mate paused, then added: I mean no disrespect.

McLauren shook his head. I don’t think so. Darnet hadn’t given up yet. Barcelona may have fallen, but Madrid still stands…

Madrid won’t stand much longer, friend.

McLauren took a deep breath, then nodded. He shouldn’t care. The Director had warned him to stay mentally detached and professional, but had he seen too much? Done too much? McLauren pushed those thoughts out of his head and looked at the first mate. You’re probably right. But even if Madrid falls that won’t be the end of it. The fascists and the Nazis won’t be satisfied with just a new ally in Spain. There will be other fights, and maybe next time the Brits and my own country will help instead of sitting on the sidelines. That’s what Darnet believed, and I believe it too. McLauren would have to remember not to talk like that once they reached the states. The Director would start a brand new file, just on him.

The captain, who had been listening quietly, nodded sympathetically and perhaps with some admiration in his eye, though that may have been the brandy. Well, maybe so. Anyway, I have called you to come here for another reason. Rodrigo here has a friend who runs a tugboat in New York harbor. If there are any of your friends who might have trouble with their passports, he can sneak them in without trouble.

McLauren considered the proposition, and wondered whether the captain and Rodrigo could be trusted. They had McLauren and the others in a tight spot though. Authorities in France had confiscated many of their passports way back when they first crossed into Spain, two years earlier. Some of the men worried that they might not be allowed back into the states, while others worried about being sent to jail or prison. Rodrigo’s offer might be a way around all that, but how much would it cost? And could it be a trap?

So this tugboat… I assume our ride on it won’t be complimentary?

Complimentary? Rodrigo asked back.

Free of charge?

The captain grinned and Rodrigo guffawed loudly. Hah! You are funny! I had heard Americans were funny and now I know. The first mate laughed a little longer before settling down and continuing. No, the rides won’t be complimentary. My friend takes a risk in taking you to shore secretly, just like we do in taking you and the others from Marseilles. It is not ‘complimentary.’

How much then?

I cannot be sure till I speak to him, but I expect it will be perhaps $100 each.

That was about what McLauren expected, but he didn’t want them to know that. $100! None of the men have that much on them! You know that!

Yes, we know that, but perhaps you can be their benefactor?

McLauren did not expect that. What were they thinking? Why would I have that kind of money? he asked.

Rodrigo and the captain both leaned in close, as if they were in on a conspiracy. There is a rumor, Rodrigo whispered, that you are with the NKVD. If you’re going to America, then you must have some money with you, or you have a way of getting some when we get there.

Who said I’m with the NKVD? McLauren wasn’t just curious, and he wasn’t especially offended, since he was undercover after all. But he had only mentioned the NKVD once, to Darnet, and he was dead. But the man on the stairwell may have heard.

It is just a rumor going around, Senor Thompson.

So they weren’t saying who told them the rumor. Maybe no one did. Maybe Rodrigo started the rumor. Could he have been the man waiting in the stairwell? No, not likely. Rodrigo may be a strong man, but he’s also fat and bulky. There’s no way he could have hidden quietly on the stairs, and the person McLauren saw walking away on the deck in the dark seemed thinner.

But what to do now? The captain and Rodrigo obviously thought McLauren was working for the Russians. Should he tell them the truth, that he was with the FBI? No, they’d tell everyone on board. His cover would be blown and he might be thrown overboard himself. Best to let them go on thinking they knew the truth.

No one is supposed to know. It’s important to me that no one else finds out. McLauren didn’t really care if anyone on board heard the lie or not, but the cover was a better fit if he seemed to want it kept secret.

Don’t worry, Mr. Thompson, the captain said. Your secret is safe with us.

McLauren nodded, and shifted the discussion back to their landing. I can probably get your friend some money, if the price isn’t too unreasonable, but I can’t get it before we reach New York and I talk to my people.

My friend probably won’t find that acceptable, Rodrigo answered. He will worry that you leave his boat without paying and don’t come back.

Well, we don’t have that much money with us. McLauren thought for a moment. We’ll pay as much as we can up front, and I’ll get the rest to your friend in a couple of hours, once I reach shore.

Hmm. He still may not trust you. Perhaps he could send a man with you to collect the money?

McLauren considered the idea. If they had time to plan for it, his buddies in the Bureau could set up a fake storefront somewhere to fool these guys, but there was no way to communicate with the Director and the Bureau while McLauren was still out at sea. Bringing one of Rodrigo’s friends ashore would just blow his own cover. Better discourage it. Does your friend trust his men with lots of money?

Rodrigo laughed again. You make an excellent point. So my friend doesn’t trust you, your benefactor won’t trust my friend, my friend won’t trust his own men, and none of us trust each other. What are we to do?

McLauren said nothing. There was a possible solution, but he didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.

Finally, Rodrigo nodded and said: Here’s what we will do. We will set you ashore, but the others will stay on board. You will go get your money, and when you bring it to my friend, he will set the others ashore.

It was what McLauren expected, and he saw no other way, but he still didn’t like it. So they’ll be hostages?

Rodrigo shook his head. No, not hostages. Guarantees. No harm will come to them, but they will not get to shore until you bring the money.

McLauren nodded his head grudgingly. "I guess that will have to do. You won’t need all the men to stay on the tugboat though.