Angel in Jeopardy: The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance (Anna Fehrbach Book 4)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘And you found nothing suspicious?’

  ‘She is a travelling saleswoman who has had no previous connection with Signor Bartoli. I was able to ascertain this by a couple of questions to which she did not know the answers. She was apparently given Bartoli’s name as a possible customer by one of her Swedish clients. Everything she had with her bore out this claim, and her story never wavered even when she was being flogged.’

  ‘You attended to that personally?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did.’

  ‘Then I am sure you are right in your judgement. What did you do with her?’

  ‘I also ascertained,’ Anna went on, ‘that she is a profound Fascist and a believer in our regime, as well as being a fanatical supporter of Mussolini.’

  ‘You are sure these were not just claims?’

  ‘It is hard to make such claims, coherently, when one’s buttocks are being torn to pieces.’

  This time he used the handkerchief to wipe his neck.

  ‘She was, however, somewhat upset by her treatment, so I brought her to Berlin with me, let her spend the night in my apartment, and this morning put her on a train for Milan. That is where she lives.’

  ‘She spent the night in your apartment?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I considered it important to – shall I say, smooth her ruffled feathers.’

  ‘And did you succeed?’

  ‘I think so, sir,’ Anna said modestly.

  *

  ‘Miss Hoskin is here, sir,’ Amy Barstow said, apprehensively. Belinda had never visited MI6 before.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Clive hurried round his desk. ‘Belinda! I had almost given you up for lost. Belinda?’

  It was definitely Belinda, well dressed as always and well groomed as always . . . and yet he had a sudden sensation that this was not, actually, Belinda. Or, at least, not the Belinda with whom he had been sharing part of his life for the last seven years. Now she came into the office without speaking. Clive looked past her at Amy, whose eyebrows were arched so high as almost to merge with her hairline.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Barstow. Close the door, will you, please?’

  Amy looked almost inclined to disobey, if only to protect her boss. Then she left the room and closed the door.

  ‘Belinda!’ Clive took her in his arms, but to his surprise she wriggled free without offering her mouth, and sat before the desk, carefully. Clive returned behind it and also sat down. ‘Am I to understand that you encountered problems?’

  ‘That depends upon your definition of the word “problem”.’ Belinda opened her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes, at which Clive stared in consternation: Belinda had never smoked.

  ‘But you’re here,’ he said brightly. ‘You’re back. God, I was so worried when you didn’t turn up at Jacques’s on schedule.’

  ‘There were delays.’

  ‘So it seems. But you got into Germany all right. And you saw Anna?’

  Belinda looked at him through a cloud of smoke, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘How well do you know Anna?’ she asked.

  ‘I would say I know her as well as anyone. As well as it is possible to know Anna. She has hidden depths.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ Just what did she mean by that? ‘But anyway, you got to her without difficulty. You didn’t have to use Bartoli?’

  ‘Bartoli is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Officially, he committed suicide, minutes before being arrested by the Gestapo.’

  ‘But . . . what went wrong?’

  ‘He was betrayed by his wife.’

  ‘Damnation. Anna always said that she didn’t trust that woman. But Anna . . .’

  ‘Anna is perfectly well. She killed Bartoli.’

  ‘She . . .?!’

  ‘She said it was to prevent his being arrested, which would have involved her.’

  ‘Holy smoke! But it was always likely to happen. The important thing is that she is all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Belinda said. ‘I assume you know that she is very high up in the SD? – Himmler’s right-hand woman.’

  ‘That is why she is so important to us.’

  ‘She seems to have unlimited power.’ Belinda looked around the desk, could not see an ashtray, and flicked ash on to the floor. ‘Are you sure you know all about her?’

  ‘You mean, do I know that she can kill without hesitation or compunction when she feels threatened? Yes. And so do you. You saw her do it, once.’

  ‘The Gehrig woman. I shall never forget that.’

  ‘She was saving your life.’

  ‘I know. I still don’t think you know her as well as you think you do. Anyway, you may be pleased to know that she saved my life again, two weeks ago.’

  ‘My God! What went wrong?’

  ‘She got me out of a Gestapo cell, as they were about to start torturing me. So she took over torturing me herself. She said it was the only way.’

  She related what had happened, and Clive listened in consternation. ‘I know it was my fault,’ Belinda admitted when she finished. ‘I should not have mentioned Bartoli’s name. As Anna said, a spy’s business is to listen, not to talk.’

  ‘She is right. But this whipping . . .’

  ‘It was genuine, Clive. It had to be, because apparently we were being filmed. And it wasn’t half as bad as being searched, having them put their fingers into me . . . ugh! But she enjoyed it. Whipping me, I mean.’

  ‘She didn’t search you herself?’

  ‘No, the men did that, before her arrival. They took away my clothes, and left me naked, for a whole day.’

  It was impossible, from the way neither her expression nor her voice had altered while she was speaking, to determine what she really felt about what had happened. ‘But this was all a part of Anna’s plan for getting you out of the hands of the Gestapo.’

  ‘That’s what she said, yes.’

  ‘But you don’t believe her.’

  ‘Oh, I do. I mean . . . there was no other way.’ Her expression was almost defiant.

  ‘And you had the guts not to use the capsule. My dear girl—’

  ‘I didn’t use the capsule because I didn’t expect to be arrested almost the moment I stepped off the ferry.’

  ‘Jesus! All I can say is, thank God for Anna, even if she did have to rough you up a little.’

  ‘Yes,’ Belinda said. ‘Thank God for Anna. Will you want me to go back again?’

  ‘You mean you would be prepared to risk all that again?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Her tongue emerged and circled her lips. ‘The way Anna arranged things, I am now entirely in the clear. I mean, they accept my cover that I am a travelling saleswoman. From Italy.’

  ‘Despite the fact that you were caught in possession of a capsule? Or didn’t they find it?’

  ‘Oh, they found it. But Anna took care of that too. As I said, she seems to have an awful lot of clout. I think she would like me to be her regular contact.’

  ‘It would still be very dangerous.’

  ‘I know. But if it will help to win the war . . .’

  ‘I’ll have to talk to Billy. Now you’d better tell me what Anna had to say. I hope it was important.’

  *

  Baxter filled his pipe. ‘Do you believe any of it?’

  ‘Anna has never invented information in the past. This could be the decisive moment of the war, Billy. If there is any one man who is the driving force behind the Nazi ethos, the Nazi war machine, it is Adolf Hitler. If he disappears, who have they got left? Göring? Himmler? Goebbels? None of those is a leader of men.’

  ‘Is Beck?’

  ‘He was once. He could be again.’

  ‘It is still all airy-fairy. According to Anna, they don’t even have a plan as to how it is to be done, yet. Much less an assassin prepared to do it. Unless . . .’

  ‘No way,’ Clive said. ‘You can just forget that.’

  ‘But you must admit she’d be useful in setting it up.
I mean, she set up the Heydrich business.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ Once again Clive considered telling his boss the truth about that. But involving Anna in what more and more appeared to be a hare-brained plot would be too risky. ‘Yes, she did. But she came under suspicion, and but for Himmler’s support, she could well have been done.’

  ‘Strange bedfellows,’ Baxter commented, leaving Clive unsure as to just what he was referring. ‘Well, we can do nothing further until I can put Beck’s terms to the big boys. You say that Belinda survived her ordeal pretty well?’

  Clive considered. ‘She survived the ordeal,’ he said at last.

  ‘Sounds like there could be a but in there.’

  ‘There is. At this moment, she is not the Belinda I have known for the past seven years.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing surprising in that. I mean, she’s a well-brought-up young woman. Having her knickers torn off by a couple of thugs so that they could shove their fingers up her ass is tantamount to being raped. And then to be whipped by someone you were told to regard as a friend . . . well! And yet you say that she’s willing to go back. That woman has a lot of guts. You really should marry her.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d go for that, right now,’ Clive said, thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, I’d better get on.’ Baxter picked up his house phone. ‘Miss Lucas, get me an appointment with the boss. Tell him it’s an extremely urgent matter.’ He replaced the phone and grinned at Clive. ‘Wish me luck.’

  *

  Baxter felt exactly as he had done some thirty years before when he had been facing his first job interview. He sat in a straight chair facing a long desk and three men, not one of whom looked the least pleased to see him. The General he knew. The Foreign Office minister he had met. The third man was unknown to him, but he gathered he was a cabinet secretary.

  The FO minister began proceedings. ‘This is a very remarkable situation, Mr Baxter. I gather that you are prepared to vouch, absolutely, for the accuracy of the information that you have placed before us.’

  Baxter looked at the General; he had gone through all of this the previous week. ‘I am, sir. It comes from our most reliable agent in Germany.’

  ‘And how did this agent obtain it?’

  Baxter had already prepared his reply; the less these people knew about the links between the OSS and MI6 the better. ‘She was approached, quite inadvertently, by one of the conspirators, who thought she might be sympathetic. She holds a high position within the Nazi hierarchy.’

  ‘Are you telling us that your principal agent in Germany is a woman?’ The minister looked at the General in turn, in search of an explanation.

  Here we go again, Baxter thought: a case of rampant misogyny. He reflected with some satisfaction that none of these gentlemen, or indeed, all three together, would last a moment in Anna’s company if they encountered her when she was in a bad mood.

  The General was prepared to support him. ‘Mr Baxter has every confidence in this – ah, lady. And I have every confidence in Mr Baxter’s judgement.’

  ‘I see. And when you say that she is well placed within the Nazi hierarchy, exactly what do you mean?’

  ‘The lady is Reichsführer Himmler’s Personal Assistant.’

  ‘Good heavens! Therefore we must conclude that not only is she a German, but that she is a Nazi herself. Yet she is prepared to be involved in this project?’

  ‘She is prepared to become involved, minister, if we tell her to,’ Baxter said. ‘And she is not a German. She was born in Vienna, and has an Irish mother.’

  ‘Ulster or Eire?’

  ‘I’m afraid, Eire.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘I should point out that not all Irish republicans are IRA terrorists,’ the General said.

  ‘And this creature has been worming her way up the Nazi tree. How long has she been doing this?’

  ‘She has been working for us since the spring of 1939.’

  ‘After growing up in the Nazi Youth Movement, no doubt. Working for us, you say. Has it occurred to you that she could be a double agent?’

  ‘She is a double agent,’ the General agreed. ‘But she is our double agent. As for growing up in the Nazi Youth, as Mr Baxter said, she was born and grew up in Vienna. She had nothing to do with the Nazi Youth. She was only eighteen when we recruited her.’

  The minister stared at him with his mouth open, while Baxter held his breath. As this man worked in the Foreign Office, he would almost certainly have known Ballantyne Bordman, and his wife, who was still considered, even by certain people in the government who lacked the requisite information, as a German arch-spy. But the General did not let him down by saying anything further. The minister was amazed in any event. ‘You recruited an eighteen-year-old girl as a spy?’

  ‘As an agent,’ the General corrected.

  ‘And now you say that she is Himmler’s PA? How old is she now?’

  ‘Well, as that was in March 1939, she is now twenty-three. She was born in May,’ the General added, helpfully.

  The minister scratched his head and turned to the secretary, who was looking somewhat impatient: he dealt in facts, not personalities.

  ‘I have, of course, placed the matter before the Prime Minister,’ the secretary said. ‘He was sufficiently interested to refer it to President Roosevelt. But before it is carried any further, there is one thing he wishes made abundantly clear: there can be no restatement, or watering down, of the Casablanca Declaration. If these people are prepared to go ahead with their plot, and they succeed, we shall of course be very pleased, as it should definitely shorten the war. But the only aim they can have, as regards the western democracies, is to expedite the unconditional surrender that we require.’

  Baxter opened his mouth, but the General beat him to it. ‘You would not consider that to be somewhat counterproductive?’

  ‘What I, or you, may consider, is of no importance. That is a directive from the Prime Minister, and he has no doubt that it will also be the point of view of the President. However, as I have said, he fully understands that such a coup, if it were to be successful, would greatly help the Allied cause. Now, this agent . . .’ He paused to look at the minister. ‘I hope you understand, sir, that whatever is said here today is absolutely confidential, and is to be repeated to no one. No one at all.’

  ‘Well, of course I understand that,’ the minister snapped, bridling.

  ‘Well, then . . .’ Now the secretary looked from the General to Baxter. ‘I am assuming that we are talking about the woman Anna Fehrbach?’

  The General gulped, and Baxter reached for his pipe, only he hadn’t brought it with him.

  ‘Alias the Countess von Widerstand, alias the Honourable Mrs Ballantyne Bordman.’

  The minister turned in his chair. ‘What did you say? That bitch is—’

  ‘Our leading agent in Germany,’ the secretary said smoothly. ‘Don’t look so horrified, gentlemen. The Prime Minister has a file on the glamorous Countess. He is very interested in her. After all, was she not sent here to assassinate him?’

  ‘She was already working for us,’ the General muttered.

  ‘Of course. But these things create a bond, do they not? Mr Churchill remembers meeting her at an official function, and being impressed.’

  ‘But . . . this woman . . . Bordman . . .’ the minister was spluttering.

  ‘How is the poor fellow?’ the secretary inquired, solicitously.

  ‘Well . . . he’s never recovered. He’s in a state of permanent decline.’

  ‘Remembering, no doubt,’ the secretary said with an unexpected touch of black humour. ‘He did share her bed for a year.’

  ‘He’ll never work again,’ the minister grumbled.

  ‘Very sad,’ the secretary agreed. ‘But as I recall, he did bring it on himself by falling hopelessly in love with a girl less than half his age. These things never turn out well. We are drifting away from the point. As I was saying, the Prime Minister, while unable to o
ffer these conspirators any terms, is well aware that the elimination of Hitler, and his replacement by someone who might be willing to surrender, would be greatly to the advantage of us all and would enable us to regard them, and possibly the German people as a whole, in a more favourable light. And when I put the information before him, he said immediately, Fehrbach!’

  Both the General and Baxter stiffened. ‘Just what are you proposing?’ the General asked.

  ‘Well, you claim that she is Himmler’s PA. Frankly we were unaware that she had risen so high . . .’ He paused, censoriously, to indicate that the PM might well wish to know why he had not been kept up to date on Anna’s progress. ‘However, if this is true, then she must move in the highest Nazi circles, with ready access to all the Party leaders, including the Führer. Now, he understands that you will be reluctant to risk compromising such a valuable asset, and he is content that she should remain on the sidelines if that is possible. However, should this conspiracy collapse or come to nought, he directs that you should tell your agent definitely to become involved and carry the project to a successful conclusion.’

  ‘Are you telling us that you wish Fehrbach to attempt the assassination of the Führer herself?’

  ‘That is her profession, is it not?’

  ‘Then do you understand that you are asking me to sentence our best agent to death?’

  ‘As she is our agent, is her life not in extreme danger in any event?’

  ‘Not so long as she maintains her position as a faithful servant of the regime, and confines her activities to relaying information to us.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Baxter, but this is too big a subject for us to take personalities, or their sex, into consideration. We could be talking about the saving of hundreds of thousands of lives. But as I have explained, we are not requiring Fehrbach to risk herself, except as a last resort. If she, or the conspirators, can find someone else to carry out the actual assassination, well and good. If not . . . as I say, we are fighting a war. However, we would like the business completed by the end of this year. That gives her three months to set things in motion.’

  ‘That is a directive from the PM?’ the General asked.

  ‘It is.’ The secretary stood up. ‘The Prime Minister would like to be informed as to the progress of this venture. Good morning, gentlemen.’