The Filberg Consortium

CHAPTER ONE
New York City - July 29, 1941
The name Filberg was instantly recognized by the personal secretary at Kerr, Chapman & Company when she saw the file at the bottom of the heap of other documents inside her bank manager's private vault.
Her boss, Mr. Chapman, had sent her there to return the Watson file to its rightful place. He then retreated to the adjacent room, preparing to leave on one of his important, highly confidential corporate meetings elsewhere. She shut the vault, and then watched him leave less than three minutes later through the glass front doors that opened onto Wall Street. Chapman wasn't expected back until two or so in the afternoon.
Aris Palini closed the door to her boss's inner glassed-in office, then opened the vault with the proper combination, removed the Filberg material, and crossed to her desk. She dialed zero and gave the operator the Washington DC number she had memorized months before. She stood and waited, drumming her fingers on the desktop. "Mr. Bill, please. It's important," she said smoothly to the woman in Washington. She heard a man's voice in the background.
"May I ask who's calling?" the woman enquired.
"It's Aris. Hurry, please." Aris sat behind her desk, looking through the inside office windows to the other employees busy at their work. From her perfect vantage point, she could also see the street, the cars, the sidewalk, and the pedestrians through the open blinds.
"Just a moment. I will transfer you to his line."
"Thank you."
She heard the receiver click.
"Aris. How are you?"
"Fine, sir."
"Where are you calling from?"
"Work."
"What is it? Careful what you say."
"Of course, sir. I found some - " she stopped and opened the file to a half-dozen blank white pages. "What the..." She sat, horrified. "What's this?"
"Aris, what's the matter?"
"Sir, there's something very strange here. I found a file inside the vault marked Filberg."
"Filberg? Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. But inside it . . . are . . . well . . . blank pages."
"Hold one of them up to the light, and tilt it at an angle."
She obeyed, moving the paper around. "Yes, there are some impressions on them. Some indentations." She glanced over to the window. Hells Bells! Her boss had just come through the bank doors! Had he forgotten something? Lucky for her, a bank employee had stopped him. They talked. "Sir, I have to go. He's coming back," she said, quickly.
"The cafe. Noon tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." She hung up.
Aris would have to move fast to return the Filberg file.
* * * *
Washington
Wesley Hollinger woke with two words stamped on his mind:White House.
Why him? He thought about his upcoming briefing for two grueling hours, until Colonel Bill Donovan arrived and handed over the car keys in the hotel parking lot. It was obvious his boss didn't want to drive.
"It's yours. Remember, right side of the road here."
"Yes sir, colonel," Hollinger replied, yawning.
"Keep the speed down, Kid. I've heard about that MG of yours. This here is government property."
The two shared a laugh and walked towards the car. Since his involvement with the Rudolf Hess peace flight, Hollinger had been affectionately known in certain American and British fraternities as the Kid. He didn't mind. In fact, he kind of liked the name.
At ease in his boss's presence, Hollinger perked up after a good night's sleep in the comfortable air-conditioned hotel. The day was just starting, a steamy Monday morning in the nation's capital, thousands of miles away from the real action. What a hectic joyride he had taken on short notice. The President had called him and he jumped. The young man packed a change or two of clothing in London, was slapped a forged Canadian passport, and ordered to board a military aircraft in Prestwick, Scotland, that made stops in Iceland and Labrador, the latter in the midst of an intense rainstorm.