Be Not Afraid

by Christopher Nicole

  “Druce,” Berkeley said. “Unless it is your intention to commit suicide, you have simply got to forget these quaint ideas. Are you worried about what people may say if you take off with a woman?”

  Druce flushed.

  “You are going to be partners in a venture which will put you under considerable stress, and which may require you to kill. What you do to sustain each other is your business, and will mean nothing to me, or to Anna, should we ever learn of it. However, I must make it perfectly clear that Martina is in command of this expedition. Martina knows the score, knows the country in which you will be operating, and has forgotten more about skulduggery than you will ever learn. So tell me, are you on board?”

  Druce swallowed and looked at Martina, who gave him one of her encouraging smiles.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Right. How soon can you be ready?”

  “I will have to square it with Mr Walton.”

  Berkeley nodded. “If there is a problem, ask him to give me a ring. But you must be on the lunchtime train to London. That way you will still catch the last sailing to Boulogne, and be in Berlin tomorrow morning. Your parents?”

  “Well . . .”

  “You cannot under any circumstances tell them what you are doing, but I think you will have to tell them that you are going away for a few days.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He was allowing his entire life to be taken over by the grim old man, but he could not deny that it was exhilarating.

  “Then you had better get moving. You’ll meet Martina at the station in two hours’ time.”

  Druce swallowed. “Our passages . . .”

  “We will look after that. There is one more thing: do you own a gun?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “There’s a problem.”

  “No,” Martina said. “I will take my gun, and I will take Anna’s as well. If there is any shooting to be done, I will do it. He is not very good with a gun, anyway.”

  “I’m afraid that is true, sir,” Druce admitted.

  “Very well. Now go and make your arrangements.”

  “Yes, sir.” Druce hesitated, looked at Martina again, then hurried from the room.

  “What do you reckon?” Berkeley asked.

  Martina shrugged. “It will be amusing.”

  “I imagine it could be. I meant, do you think he will be any use at all, or will he let you down at the first critical moment?”

  “I do not think he will let me down. He would be too ashamed.”

  “You have carte blanche,” Berkeley said.

  “I am not that desperate. Yet.”

  “I meant, as regards dealing with him if he does not measure up.”

  “I understand. Now tell me what is it you wish me to do?”

  “I wish you to get Anna back.”

  “You think these Nazi people have her?”

  “Not necessarily. My understanding is that the Nazis are striving for respectability. Kidnapping foreign nationals is not the way to accomplish that. There is also the matter of who found out where she was going, and how. That can only have been done by constant surveillance. We know that the last attempt on my life was not Himmler-inspired but that he is unlikely to abandon his attempts on my life simply because the Karlovys failed. I suspect that he has had his agents watching us but has always refused to use anyone who could be traced back to him. Therefore I believe that whoever snatched Anna made the decision without reference to Himmler, or the party. This person or persons will have been watching us and will have followed Anna as a matter of course. When they discovered she was on the train for Berlin, they decided to act on their own initiative; there just wasn’t enough time between tracking Anna to France, ascertaining that she was headed for Berlin, contacting Himmler and getting her off the train – which must have been done somewhere between Boulogne and Berlin. Again, my bet would be it happened in Germany; taking someone off a train who doesn’t want to go is a difficult matter. Those overnight sleepers are expresses; they stop only in big cities, which means bright lights and crowded platforms. I think it may well be possible to trace what happened. I am going to wire Cohn to expect you, and to set up another meeting with Schuler. I can’t tell you what to say as I don’t know how co-operative this man will be, or how much he knows. You will have to use your judgement. Can you handle it?”

  “I will handle it,” Martina said.

  He smiled and ruffled her hair. “And no shooting, except as a last resort.”

  Martina kissed him, and held him close. “And you,” she said. “You must not worry.”

  He raised his head.

  “Oh, I know that was a stupid thing to say,” she admitted.

  “Let’s get married. We can get a special licence first thing tomorrow and be married before you leave.”

  “We will be married when I return with Anna.”

  “You mean you don’t want to start our married life by committing adultery.”

  “I mean I don’t want to start our married life by making you a widower.”

  “Martina . . .” He held her hand.

  “I do not expect that to happen,” she said. “But just in case, I shall sleep with you tonight.”

  *

  “A week’s holiday? Now?” Geoffrey Walton stroked his chin. “I think I’m entitled to ask for a reason.”

  Druce had already made up his mind to confide in his employer. He felt he needed to confide in someone, if only to offset Berkeley Townsend’s overwhelming personality, and his relations with Walton were far closer than with his own father.

  Walton listened to what he had to say, his expression growing more grave by the moment. When Druce had finished, he said. “The only sensible advice I can give you is to abandon this lunacy forthwith. But I don’t suppose you will take that advice.”

  “Sir . . .”

  “I know. I know. You will never meet another young woman like Anna Townsend. I have a notion we should all say, thank God for that. All right, so she has gone to Germany to see off this fellow Himmler. How come his name never came up at the Karlovy trial?”

  “Colonel Townsend wanted to settle that matter personally.”

  “And got himself a bullet in the spine for his trouble.”

  Druce had not told his senior the truth about that.

  “So we have here some people who believe in playing very rough,” Walton said. “You realise that your fiancée may have been murdered by now?”

  “But sir, I am sure you’ll agree I can hardly sit here drawing up conveyances while there is a chance she is still alive.”

  “Of course not. What about this Savos woman? I have a feeling that she is somewhat trigger-happy. Can you keep her under control?”

  “I shall endeavour to do so, sir.”

  Something else he had not confided was that Martina was to be in command.

  “Hm. Well . . . would you have any objection if I offered some help?”

  “What kind of help?” Druce asked, suspiciously.

  “Well, you may remember that my brother is in the FO. Quite senior. He gave me all that background information about Townsend.”

  “I do remember, sir. But I do not think Colonel Townsend would wish to involve the Foreign Office in this.”

  “Then there is no need to tell him. There is no harm in having a back-up. I will acquaint Claude with the situation and request him to get in touch with our Berlin embassy. Not only may they be able to help in locating Miss Townsend, or at least discovering what has happened to her, but they may be very helpful in the event of any trouble. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that one of the under-secretaries in the embassy, a man called Hudson, is married to Julia Gracey that was.”

  “Not the woman from the Gracey Farm?”

  “That’s right. But she is also a childhood friend of Townsend. I’m quite sure they’d be willing to help in every possible way.”

  “I cannot possibly approach them.”

  “I am no
t suggesting that you do, if all goes well. But they will be there in case, for instance, you wind up in a German police cell. I want you to come back, Harry, preferably in one piece. And of course, bringing your bride with you. But first, go and say goodbye to your parents.”

  *

  “Going away?” Annette Druce demanded. “Isn’t this rather sudden? Is it to do with a case?”

  “It is to do with Anna Townsend,” Druce said.

  His mother raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid she was seriously upset by your attitude, Mother,” Druce said. “And she has left the country. Mr Walton has given me permission to go after her and make it up.”

  “And then?”

  “We shall be married.”

  “Harry, I will not receive that girl.”

  “That is entirely up to you, Mother. Father. I shall say goodbye.”

  “Where are you going?” his father asked.

  “I am not at liberty to divulge that.”

  “This whole business is very strange. When will you be back?”

  “I have no idea,” Druce said. “Goodbye.”

  His mother and father watched the door close.

  “That girl seems to have bewitched him,” Mrs Druce remarked.

  “Something has,” her husband agreed. “I think I should have a word with Walton.”

  *

  There was a car waiting in the station yard. Anna was laid on the back seat, and one of the men sat beside her; she could see no point in attempting to fight them and in any event she was unable to move either her arms or her legs. The other got into the front beside the driver.

  “Any trouble?” the driver asked.

  “None.”

  “I am to take you to Berlin headquarters.”

  “That is best.”

  The car drove out of the yard. It was very difficult to see through the folded and taped hood but Anna guessed that it was a small town, for a few minutes later they were away from houses and increasing speed.

  It was a long drive. The man seated beside Anna prodded her from time to time, but it seemed this was for his own amusement for he never actually spoke to her. His companions kept up a flow of conversation, which Anna found interesting if not entirely reassuring.

  “They are not pleased,” the driver pointed out.

  “I did what I thought necessary.”

  “It is not just the girl,” the driver said. “I think they are unhappy that you may have blown your cover. The Mr Green masquerade.”

  “I had to blow my cover when that Karlovy woman was arrested,” Green said. “That whole business was a shambles. My business was to keep watching the Townsend house and the Townsend family, and to hide the executioners and give them all assistance in my power. I was surely entitled to expect the executioners to be competent. Berlin knows all of this, but I am still commanded to keep the Townsends under surveillance pending the arrival of a new executioner. Then they send someone without informing me at all. Another shambles.”

  “I think there is some confusion about that one,” the driver said. “I do not blame you for being agitated. But to kidnap the girl . . . That is an overreaction.”

  “I did what I thought best,” Green said again.

  Slowly the darkness began to fade, although as it was a cloudy morning there was no immediate sign of the sun. But now they were amidst houses again. Anna knew Berlin very well and soon enough she was picking out familiar landmarks. It was broad daylight before they turned through an archway into an enclosed yard. She had expected to be freed sufficiently to walk but her captor preferred to carry her, and once again she was slung across his shoulder, as he lifted her out into the crisp morning air, and then through a doorway. Now there were other people around, and several comments in German. She was carried along a corridor and then through another doorway into a room, on the floor of which she was laid, not at all gently.

  “I need to use a toilet,” she said in English. She was not going to give away any of her advantages.

  “Awake, eh?” Green said, standing above her.

  “It is urgent,” Anna said.

  He snorted, but untaped the hood and rolled her out of the cloak. Then he freed her wrists and ankles, and she experienced the painful pleasure of returning circulation.

  “Through there,” he said.

  She scrambled to her feet, straightened her nightdress and moved uncertainly towards the doorway he had indicated. There were still people in the corridor, if less than before, but they were definitely interested in the girl and she was actually relieved to have Green at her elbow, even if it was apparent that he intended to accompany her to the toilet, which was across the hall.

  “What is going to happen to me?” she asked, keeping her composure.

  “I do not know, Fräulein. Tell me why you were coming to Berlin.”

  “That is my business,” Anna said.

  “You may find that other people consider it to be theirs,” Green said, and followed her back into the first room, which she now realised was an office with a desk and some chairs but no windows; light was provided by a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  “Sit,” Green said.

  Anna sat in one of the straight chairs before the desk. “I am very thirsty.”

  Green considered this, then opened the door and called for someone to bring a carafe of water.

  “Thank you,” Anna said, and drank. “I would like to get dressed.”

  He grinned at her and sat down himself. “That can wait. Perhaps it will not be necessary, eh?”

  Anna stared at him, and he looked away.

  Again she had to practise patience. She looked at her wristwatch; it was just after eight. The train would be arriving about now, and David Cohn would be on the platform to greet her. What would he do when she did not arrive? Wait for another train, perhaps, reckoning she might have missed the first one. Then he would send a telegram to Papa. For the first time she felt a real pang of alarm. Papa, paralysed and helpless! He had only Martina to turn to, and he needed Martina there, both to nurse and protect him.

  What would he do? What could he do?

  The door opened; Green stood up and came to attention. Anna turned her head. Would this be Himmler?

  She didn’t think so. The man was short and walked with a limp; his right shoe had been artificially enlarged. He wore a trench coat and carried a cane. His face was peculiarly ugly, the features heavy and oddly misshaped, but his eyes were magnetic.

  “This is the girl?” he asked in German.

  “This is she, Herr Goebbels,” Green said.

  “You acted on your own initiative?”

  “Well, Herr—”

  “I have spoken with Herr Himmler, and he says he gave no instructions that anyone was to be kidnapped. He tells me he knows nothing of this.”

  “Well, Herr Goebbels, I felt something was wrong, in that she was coming to Berlin. What reason can she have had for coming here?”

  “As she is here, I am sure we can persuade her to tell us.” Goebbels limped across the room to stand in front of Anna, seeming to take her in for the first time.

  Anna clenched her fists in her lap. She had seen men look at her like that before.

  “You have caught a treasure,” Goebbels remarked. “Does she speak German?”

  “I do not believe so, sir.”

  “But you say she is Townsend’s daughter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then would she not be the girl he rescued from Grippenheimer, killing him in the process?”

  “I think she is, sir.”

  “Then of course she speaks German. Is that not true, Anna?”

  Anna gazed at him.

  Goebbels smiled. “Oh, yes. I have heard a lot about you. I was not then sufficiently important in the party to be invited to Grippenheimer’s house, to sample some of his delights. But now, what do I see? You have come to me. Is it not true that everything comes to he who waits?”

  Stil
l Anna gazed at him, while her brain raced. She knew what he wanted, what he intended to have. But men, she had observed, were at their most helpless when in the throes of sexual endeavour.

  Perhaps he could read her mind. “Bundle her up,” he said, “and take her to Amhasser, number three. Tell Hannah to see to her until I get there. But I do not wish her harmed in any way.” He chucked her under the chin. “If you are to be harmed, I would prefer to do it myself.”

  Keep calm, Anna told herself, as Green summoned his accomplice to tape her up again, watched by Goebbels. This is no different to Shrimpton’s behaviour. The difference was that now she did not have a gun . . . Ankles and wrists again secured, she was wrapped up in the cloak, carried out of the building and replaced in the back seat of the car It was broad daylight now and the city was bustling, so she was made to lie on her side on the seat, her head on Green’s lap, in order that no one might see her. But it also meant that she couldn’t see out, and she had no idea where she was being taken. Amhasser. It was not an address she knew.

  At least, Goebbels having staked his claim, Green did not attempt to interfere with her. “So you do speak German, Fräulein? Who’s a smart-ass then?”

  “It is not difficult, dealing with a halfwit like you,” Anna said.

  His hand, resting on her shoulder, gripped her flesh hard for a moment, then relaxed. “When Herr Goebbels is finished with you, I will ask him to give you to me for execution,” he said. “Then we will hear you squeal.”

  The car turned into another yard from which rose a high building. Someone must have telephoned ahead because a woman was waiting for them, opening doors. The woman took Anna’s suitcase, Green carried Anna into the lift, and they moved upwards. There was no evidence of anyone else in the building.

  “Where did he find this one?” the woman asked.

  “I found her,” Green said. “I didn’t know it was for him.”

  “They are always for him,” the woman remarked.

  The lift stopped, the gate opened, and the woman unlocked a door on the other side of the lobby. Green carried Anna through, and through another lobby into a light and airy if somewhat overfurnished lounge.