Tétouan, 1941
Bogie took out a cigarette and opened a bottle of scotch, pouring it into a glass. Bordiga kept his important papers out of the reach of the haphazard pouring.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Of course. I’m a drunkard. It’s my nationality. You have your OMS commission to make you a citizen of the world. That is my commission.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
“You have a lighter?”
Bordiga took out a lighter from a pocket on his jacket, and Bogie lit his cigarette. He inhaled quite a bit before blowing out the smoke.
“Can’t get these much anymore back in Repúblicas Unidas. Especially with the war goin’ on.”
“Not a lot of them in Libya either. Or anywhere in North Africa.”
“I mostly get them off the Falangists that come here. ‘Paying off their debts’ is what they call it.” Bogie coughed out.
The two sat in his office, heavily ornate and decorated in the old Alhambra manner. Nothing that really made it distinct either. No indications of Bogie’s personality, even his cover as a wealthy American criminal supporting the Falangists. Bogie didn’t want to raise the suspicions of the authorities.
The only notable feature was the sign out of his window. “Café Americano”, adorned in red, white, and blue.
Bogie laid back in his chair and shuffled through the papers.
“These were authenticated? Signature and everything”
“Yes. A con man from Odessa picked them up from some dead German soldiers he came across. He left some of them in Barcelona, but was caught using them in Madrid. He died in prison.”
Bogie arranged the papers.
“Found it?”
“That’s what he said. There were reports of some dead German couriers, with missing transit papers.”
“Uh-huh.” Bogie was skeptical, but decided not to pass up a good opportunity. Transit papers, signed by Erich Koch, Reichskommissar of Ukraine, and stamped by the Fuehrer himself. allowing for transit across Europe, fascist or non-fascist. “Comrade Hoover will be very impressed by these. Could come in good use.”
Bogie shook Bordiga’s hand over the table, cigarette still in his mouth.
“I take great pleasure in serving the Revolution, even in this fascist rats nest.”
“You need help getting to America?”
“I’ll continue my undercover mission here in Tetoaun. Subvert the fascists in their stronghold.”
“Well, good luck, comrade.”
As Bordiga tipped his hat and left, Bogie put the papers in the desk drawer, and walked out of his office.
As he walked downstairs, he saw the patrons fill the club. Mostly gambling, an illicit good, but a good way of easing the local Falangist authorities and allowing international connections to be formed and refugees to gain the credentials needed to escape. At least that’s how he pitched it to Comrade Hoover.
He moved further down to the basement, where a movie was playing for some of the refugees, away from where the Falangists might see it.
I Was A German for Public Safety. Bogie stayed to watch. Paul Heinreid played the dashing German exile turned StateSec agent undercover in the German American Bund, under the name “Victor Lazlo”. Conrad Veidt was Fritz Julius Kuhn, the menacing leader of the Bund and terrorist mastermind. Peter Lorre as his Nazi party contact.
Veidt grills Hanreid in a harrowing interrogation scene. Veidt yells at Comrade Hanreid who swelters. Lorre hovers nearby.
Bogie had thought about becoming an actor. He had done some small films and theater work even. But ultimately, after his stint in the Navy he found his true calling in a leaflet left by a Socialist organizer. He joined the Red Guards the next day, and well, here he was now.
Bogie carefully closed the gate, so the sound wouldn’t come out, and reemerged on the main floor. The floor was abuzz with chatter. The usual suspects. Fascist Spaniards conversing with Nazis. Socialist Spaniards conversing with Jewish refugees.
Bogie carefully surveyed the scene, all the people laughing, gambling. He heard the resident musician begin to play. Dooley Wilson was recruited after a Pub saw him in a New Afrika film, and he became an entertainer in some Public Safety fronts across the Mediterranean.
“Alright, ladies and gents, we have a song here, that I think you will all enjoy. It comes from the musical Everybody’s Welcome. Sam,” Dooley gestured towards the pianist “,if you will”
The pianist began as Dooley began:
_This day and age we’re living in
gives cause for apprehension,
With speed and new invention,
and things like third dimension.
Yet, we get a trifle weary,
with Mr. Einstein’s the’ry,
So we must get down to earth,
at times, relax relieve the tension.
No matter what the progress,
or what may yet be proved,
The simple facts of life are such
they cannot be removed…_
As Dooley sang the chorus, Bogie saw her walking it. She made direct eye contact with him as soon as she walked in.
Bogie sighed.
“Of all the secret fronts in all towns in all of the Western Mediterranean, she walks into mine.”
Bogie thought back to when he first met her. He was a young Foreign service agent in Paris, keeping tabs on both the local White American and White Russian communities. That’s when he began his current cover as an American exile industrialist, keeping tabs on the various people he met on deals.
On one such deal, he met an American exile who had been doing work around Britain and France. He invited Bogie to the premiere party for a German film, The Four Companions.
Amongst the bourgeois, reactionary set, Bogie felt miffed, but wined and dined as needed to maintain his cover. He couldn’t remember who introduced them, but someone insisted that he met the main star of the feature. A Swedish actress, who had been in the acclaimed Intermezzo and its upcoming Havanawood remake.
He didn’t expect much at first, but once they talked, there was no going back. 6 months of passion, love. All in the backdrop of Paris. He even told her his true identity and his mission, and she didn’t even bat an eyebrow. Then, she just left. Without warning. Just a note.
_Humphrey,
I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I was told to return to Sweden immediately. I hope you come to understand this. Hopefully, we’ll meet again.
Ingrid. _
Bogie was not quite the same after that. He had trouble maintaining his cover. Which is what got him reassigned over here, where he remained while on the other side of the Mediterranean, American comrades died in the snows of Russia.
Now, three years later…
The two just stared at each other for some time, before Ingrid broke the silence.
“Hello, Humphrey.
“Ingrid.”
“I know you wouldn’t want to see me, after… everything, but I need your help.”
Bogie grimaced a bit.
“Let’s head to my office.”
The two headed upstairs, as Dooley continued to sing.
“Very nice office, for a communist.”
“Cut the crap, what do you want?”
Ingrid breathed in.
“I heard that you are the recipient of some papers of transit.”
“Don’t know where you could’ve heard it.”
“Some… friends.”
“Friends. Well, I honestly can’t say that I have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Please, I need your help.”
Ingrid sighed again.
“I …. Had to leave Sweden. Hallgren, he’s making Sweden more like Germany every day. There are people disappearing on the streets. Jews being attacked on streets. All of us in the film industry are being registered. Like in Germany. I saw it in Germany.”
Ingrid began to tear up.
“I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stand it for much longer. I would’ve regretted not leaving soon, for the rest of my life. I need those papers to get to America. Please, Humphrey.”
Bogie sat and ruminated. She had broken his heart, left him shattered. Those papers are only for the important refugees, members of the Spanish vanguard.
Yet… he knew he had to do it. Not just because of his duty, but… because of Paris.
It was always going to be Paris. *[WPA]: Works Progress Administration *[NBI]: National Bureau of Investigation
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