Be Not Afraid

by Christopher Nicole

  Goebbels hesitated then stepped into the room, and Anna for the first time saw the two men behind him.

  “Bastard!” she snapped, and brought her hands round in front, the pistol held between them.

  “Look out!” Bruckner shouted unnecessarily. Goebbels was already diving to the floor while Himmler was taking shelter behind the door. Bruckner alone continued to advance.

  Anna hesitated for a fatal second, then determined to go for Goebbels. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet smacked into the floor behind him. Before she could fire again, Bruckner was upon her, his shoulder charge spinning her round and throwing her against the doorway, the chop of his right hand forcing her to release the Luger, which clattered to the floor. He reared over her, fists clenched.

  “Don’t harm her!” Goebbels was scrambling to his feet. “That was well done, Bruckner. Heinrich, stop cowering back there and come in. And close the door.”

  Himmler slunk into the room.

  Anna was on her knees, panting, for the moment unable to comprehend how she had failed in her mission but able to understand that she had virtually committed suicide.

  “You are quite a handful,” Goebbels remarked. “Search the apartment,” he told Bruckner. “Find that smell. You may get up,” he told Anna.

  Slowly Anna got to her feet, looking from Goebbels to Himmler. She did not know who Himmler was; that he was one of Goebbels’ henchmen was sufficient.

  “Herr Doctor!” Bruckner’s voice was urgent.

  Goebbels handed the Luger to Himmler. “Keep her covered.”

  Himmler licked his lips as he took the gun.

  “Please do not do anything stupid. Have you no clothes?”

  “You wish me to dress?”

  “Oh, do not be a fool,” Goebbels said. “Admire her, Heinrich. It will do you good.”

  He went into the housekeeper’s room, paused, and held his hand to his nostrils.

  Bruckner was looking a little green as he stood by the open cupboard door. “She has been here at least twenty-four hours.”

  “How did she die?”

  “There are no wounds. It is difficult to say. Perhaps the girl can tell us.”

  “I am sure she will. And Gerber?”

  Bruckner gestured at the corner of the room, where Gerber’s body lay in a crumpled heap. “He is still in rigor mortis. This is a police matter, Herr Doctor.”

  “Under no circumstances,” Goebbels said.

  “Gerber has been shot in the chest at close range.”

  “You think that girl did this? Did them both?”

  “It looks like it, Herr Doctor. And if she did, well . . . I do not think we can any longer describe her as a girl. She is a monster.”

  “Then we will deal with her as a monster. But the police must not be involved. That would be to reveal the kidnapping, and would cause problems.”

  “And the bodies?”

  “Have them disposed of. Secretly. It will be necessary to do this with the girl, anyway.”

  Bruckner looked doubtful, but he nodded.

  “Now,” Goebbels said. “Let us have a chat with this monster.”

  *

  “It looks empty.” Martina studied the apartment building from across the street.

  The street was also empty, Druce reflected, thankfully. “The house isn’t empty,” he said, pointing at the parked car.

  “You think the driver is inside?”

  “And whoever he was driving. What do you intend to do?”

  “Knock on the street door. Ring the bell, if there is one. These people do not know who we are. And when the door is opened, we will force our way in. I expect your total support in this, Harry.”

  “You shall have it,” he promised, wondering if he was telling the truth.

  They crossed the road and checked the list of names.

  “Goebbels, first floor,” Martina said with satisfaction, and pressed the bell.

  *

  “Now,” Goebbels said, returning to the lounge, where Anna had seated herself on the settee, watched by a clearly embarrassed Himmler, “tell me what happened here.”

  “The woman attempted to rape me,” Anna said, “so I drowned her in the bath.”

  “Just like that. And no doubt Gerber attempted to rape you as well.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you shot him. Just like that. Did you not spend some years as a prostitute?”

  “Yes. That does not mean that I must allow myself to be raped.”

  “It’s a point of view. So tell me, why did you come back to Berlin?”

  “I came here to deal with the man who has been attempting to kill my father. A certain Himmler.”

  “Then you have failed. That is Herr Himmler holding the gun on you.”

  Anna’s breath hissed through her nostrils as she looked at Himmler but her expression did not change. Himmler looked terrified. “I had already worked out that he was but an underling,” she said. “That it was you I should be dealing with.”

  “So you waited, patiently, for me to come to you, disposing of any other people who got in your way. You are really an amazing creature, and an amazingly dangerous creature, it seems. But now your career is at an end, my dear. Do you know what we are going to do to you?”

  “I am sure you will tell me,” Anna said.

  “We are going to rape you, and rape you, and rape you,” Goebbels said, “until each of us is satisfied. Then I personally am going to strangle you, and smile at you while you die. But first, as you have been a naughty girl, I am going to cane you until I draw blood. Go into the bedroom and lie on the bed. On your face.”

  Anna licked her lips as she looked from face to face. But there was no pity to be seen, even if Himmler continued to look apprehensive.

  She stood up. “At least I know I shall be avenged,” she said.

  “By whom?” Goebbels sneered,

  “My father will take care of it.”

  “Your father?” Goebbels looked at Himmler.

  “Your father is already dead,” Himmler said.

  Anna stared at him. “You—”

  The street-door bell buzzed. All four people in the room stared at the phone. “Answer it,” Goebbels snapped.

  Himmler picked up the phone. “Yes?”

  “I have an urgent message for Dr Goebbels,” a woman said.

  Anna took a quick breath as she recognised Martina’s voice.

  As Goebbels noticed.

  “No one of that name lives here,” Himmler was saying.

  “I know the apartment belongs to Dr Goebbels,” Martina said. “Will you let me in or shall I call the police?”

  “Let her in,” Goebbels said, and moved with great speed to stand behind Anna, throwing one arm round her waist and clutching her throat with his other hand. “Who is this woman?”

  “I do not know,” Anna gasped.

  “I think you do. But no matter. She may be armed. Heinrich, stand by the door and disarm her as she enters.”

  “Dis— Me?”

  “For God’s sake, are you a man or a mouse? Bruckner will cover you. But I wish her taken alive. And you, miss, keep quiet, or I will skin you.”

  Anna knew she was helpless; he was far stronger than he looked. But the mere touch of his hands made her skin crawl, and she did not intend to go out without a fight.

  And Martina was coming up the stairs. Martina had come to get her! Martina! One against three; but if anyone could do it, Martina could.

  There was a tap on the door.

  “It is open,” Goebbels called.

  Himmler was standing against the wall, next to the opening edge of the door, hands poised to strike downwards. Bruckner was in the middle of the room, facing the door, gun in hand. But Goebbels had told him not to shoot unless it became necessary. That might be vital.

  The door swung in.

  “Martina!” Anna screamed. “It’s a trap!”

  Goebbels’ hand closed so tightly on her throat she thought she was a
bout to die, but she got her foot up against the door jamb and pushed with all her strength, so that they both fell over, hitting the floor with a crash. Dimly she was aware of what was happening in the rest of the room. Martina had entered, gun hand thrust forward as Goebbels had anticipated. Himmler’s hand chopped down and she gave a little scream of pain as it landed on her wrist. The revolver fell to the floor with a clatter, and Himmler gave a shout of triumph and jerked Martina from her feet so that she landed on her hands and knees, while Bruckner moved forward.

  Then Anna, still wrestling with Goebbels who was trying to regain his grip on her throat, saw Druce behind Martina, bending to pick up the revolver. As he straightened, Bruckner fired. The bullet hit the wall above Druce’s head. But now he had the revolver in his grasp, straightening and firing in the same instant. Struck in the chest, Bruckner fell backwards and hit the floor with a crash.

  The sounds of the shots had not died when there came the blast of a whistle from the street, followed by several more. Goebbels released Anna and rolled across the floor into the bedroom, kicking the door shut. She got to her feet, and Druce threw his arm round her shoulders. Martina tried to restrain Himmler, but he threw her hand off and fled through the front door.

  “Oh, my darling.”

  “Harry! You killed a man. For me.”

  Druce looked down at the revolver he still held, realising what he had done.

  The blasts were now outside the house, and they could hear Himmler shouting.

  “We must get out of here,” Martina said. “Otherwise we will be arrested and charged with murder. Hurry.”

  Anna looked at the closed bedroom door. “That man is behind it all. We must deal with him.”

  “Some other time,” Martina snapped. “Come on! Is this yours?”

  She indicated the suitcase.

  “Yes.”

  “You can dress outside.”

  Anna looked at the bedroom door again.

  “She’s right,” Druce said. “That man’s life is not worth yours.”

  Anna sighed, then suddenly remembered what Himmler had said about Papa’s business being completed. She had to get home as quickly as possible . . .

  She allowed herself to be led from the apartment.

  *

  “Be careful,” Himmler warned, as the policemen climbed the stairs. “They have guns. They are killers. They . . .” He gazed at the open door of the flat, in which Goebbels was framed.

  “Heinrich?” Goebbels asked. “Whatever are you up to now?”

  “Those people . . .”

  “We heard shots, Herr Doctor,” the sergeant said.

  “And you were conveniently close by,” Goebbels remarked sarcastically. “How gratifying it is to be protected by such an efficient police force. I’m afraid I fired those shots, Sergeant. I have just bought a new automatic pistol; I was inspecting it, and it went off. Why, I almost shot poor Heinrich.”

  Himmler gulped.

  “But . . .” The sergeant was totally confused. “He said—”

  “Heinrich is inclined to be hysterical,” Goebbels said. “Come inside, do, Heinrich, and cease terrifying the neighbourhood.”

  Shoulders bowed, Himmler went into the flat, Goebbels stepping aside to let him through. He clearly had no intention of letting anyone else through, however.

  “Now,” he said, “if you’ll excuse me, Sergeant . . .”

  “With respect, Herr Doctor,” the sergeant said, “I would like to look inside your flat.”

  “And with respect, Sergeant, I will not permit that unless you have a warrant. Do you have a warrant?”

  “I can obtain one.”

  “Then I suggest you do so, if you can.”

  The sergeant gulped; he was as aware as anyone that the district magistrate was a Nazi sympathiser.

  “Permit me to ask you a question, Herr Doctor.”

  “Certainly,” Goebbels said courteously.

  “That peculiar smell . . . It is not very pleasant, is it?”

  “It is very unpleasant,” Goebbels agreed. “It is some meat that my housekeeper forgot to refrigerate and which has gone off. I am now going to do something about it. You’ll excuse me.”

  He closed the door, leaned against it and gazed at Himmler.

  “Those people have got away,” Himmler said. “You let them get away.”

  “Is it relevant? We know who they are and thus where they live. In any event, did you not say that the Townsend matter has finally been solved?”

  “Yes, yes,” Himmler said. “I sent Hassler. Our very best. It is done.”

  “Well, then . . .”

  “But that girl . . . that monster . . . Now she will want to avenge her father.”

  Goebbels smiled. “But now we not only know what she looks like, but of what she is capable. I intend to deal with her personally, Heinrich. It will be a great pleasure. But it must be done when it cannot harm the party. To allow the police in here, for them to find the bodies and discover what had happened, that would be front-page news in every newspaper in the country. In Europe. With us looking very bad. Can you imagine what that girl might say if she were brought to trial? Schuler would have a field day. What do you think those policemen were doing, so close by, at such an inconvenient moment? Schuler knew that something was going to happen. Thus we must make sure that nothing did happen. Now, telephone central office and tell them we require a squad up here, to deal with this mess.”

  *

  “Are you awake, sir?” Mary Lockwood was still somewhat overawed by her new duties, not that she would have wanted anything better.

  Berkeley stirred. “I’m awake.”

  “I have your breakfast.”

  She placed the tray beside his bed and sidled from the room. Berkeley looked at his watch. It was nine in the morning, which made it just over twenty-four hours since Martina and Druce should have arrived in Berlin. Which meant that if they had succeeded in their mission, they should be on their way to Poland. If they had succeeded. Not knowing, not knowing if Anna was alive or dead, was almost unbearable.

  The doorbell rang, and Mary hurried through from the kitchen.

  “Just a moment,” Berkeley said.

  “There’s someone at the door.”

  “It sounds like it. Is there a car in the yard?”

  Mary frowned. “No, sir.”

  “A bicycle?”

  “I didn’t see one, sir.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  The kitchen overlooked the drive.

  “Just this man, sir. He suddenly appeared.”

  “Having walked here,” Berkeley mused. “From where, do you suppose?”

  “Oh, sir!”

  “I think we won’t answer the door,” Berkeley said. “You go back to your kitchen and tell me if he attempts to go round the house. But under no circumstances must you let him see you, or become involved in what may happen.”

  “Oh, sir,” Mary said again, but she left the room.

  The doorbell jangled again, for longer than before.

  Berkeley reached into his bedside drawer and took out the Browning. He checked that it was loaded, then slipped it beneath the covers, resting against his thigh. He experienced a surge of elation. He would show them there was life in the old dog yet.

  The doorbell rang a third time.

  The telephone had been placed by the bed. Berkeley picked it up, gave the number of Northampton Police Station. “Chief Inspector Watt, please.”

  The bell had stopped ringing, and the sound had been replaced by a scratching noise.

  Mary appeared in the doorway. “I think he’s trying to break in, sir. What cheek.”

  “He probably thinks there’s nobody at home. Now go to the kitchen and stay there.”

  “Shall I close this door, sir? Keep him out. If he gets in.”

  “I think we’ll leave the door open, Mary. If he gets in I’ll need to deal with him as quickly as possible. Ah, Peter. Good morning to you.”

&
nbsp; “And to you, Colonel,” Watt said. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “Yes, there is. There is a man attempting to force his way into my house. I would say he intends to kill me.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You know the score, Peter. Now, I shall defend myself to the best of my ability, but there is only me and a single, very young, maidservant. I do think it would be very helpful were you to send some people, or better yet, come yourself.”

  “Yes,” Watt said. “Yes. We’ll be right out. It may take half an hour. If you can keep him talking . . .”

  “If I can think of anything to say, certainly. However, Peter, I think you and your people should be armed.”

  Berkeley replaced the phone and put his hand under the covers to rest on the gun. His position was a strong one: the assassin could not possibly suspect that he was downstairs. The only information he would have would be that his victim was badly wounded and crippled. That indicated bed and an inability to move. The drawback of his situation was that he could not see the front door. His line of vision through the open door ended at the foot of the stairs leading up.

  But it would be to those stairs that the man would go.

  The noises from the front door had been growing louder. Now they suddenly ceased. He had picked, or broken, the lock.

  Berkeley brought the Browning out from beneath the covers and levelled it at the door.

  He heard no footfalls; the man was tiptoeing. Then he appeared at the foot of the stairs. As Berkeley had expected, he was nondescript in appearance, with a little moustache. One hand was in the pocket of his light overcoat, and his hat was pushed back on his head.

  “In here,” Berkeley said.

  Hassler turned sharply, drawing his Luger as he did so. Berkeley fired as the gun came up, saw the man buckle beneath the impact of the bullet, and then was aware of pain. Briefly.

  *

  “Perhaps I should not say this, Miss Anna,” Peter Watt said, “but I cannot escape the feeling that your father died as he would have liked to die.”

  “Gun in hand, facing his enemy,” Martina said softly.

  They stood round the graveside; the brief service of interment had just concluded.

  “My men and I came as quickly as we could,” Watt said anxiously. “But it happened too quickly.”