She placed the bag on a chair beside the bed and left the room, carrying her valise. Hermann was seated in the antechamber, and rose at her entry. ‘The Führer . . .?’
‘Is asleep and does not wish to be disturbed. He said there would be a car waiting for me.’
‘Of course, Countess.’
She gathered this was a regular routine. As she reached the car, she was joined by Engert. ‘Is he happy?’
‘I think so,’ Anna said, and seated herself.
‘Then I will not again wish you good fortune,’ Engert said, closing the door, ‘because yours is already made.’
She stepped back, and the car moved away. Anna looked at her watch. It was only five minutes since she had punctured the bottle. Fifteen minutes to the airstrip, another five to be airborne. Then she would be beyond anyone’s reach, and as she had no doubt there would be complete confusion following the explosion, she would be in Berlin well before anyone got around to wondering just what had caused the explosion . . . and how.
Then . . . She had not been in a position to alert Steinberg as to what she was going to do. But she had established that she would be interrogating him the moment she returned. He would then have to contact Beck and set the coup in motion. Until then, again, there should be no thinking, even about what Hitler had said – no brooding, no anticipation.
The airstrip was in sight, with the waiting Heinkel. But . . . ‘What is that noise?’ she asked the driver.
He looked in his mirror. ‘It is a motorcycle, Fräulein.’
‘Following us?’
‘I believe so, Fräulein. Shall I stop?’
‘No. Go on. It cannot be important.’
But of course the motorcyclist would catch them up before she could gain the plane. Her throat was dry, her stomach light. She could not imagine what had happened. There was another ten minutes before the bomb was due to explode. Had Hitler woken up and looked into the bag? The thought of being dragged back to face him after what had happened between them . . . But had she an alternative? She had no weapon, and for this trip she had carefully not packed her capsule; it would certainly have been found when she was searched and would have aroused suspicion – would any woman, summoned to share the Führer’s bed, travel with a suicide pill?
Now . . . The car stopped, and the door was opened for her. ‘Fräulein!’
Anna had to make a mental effort to move her legs. She got out, and the motorcycle pulled to a halt beside her.
‘What is the matter?’ the officer demanded.
The rider saluted. ‘I have something for the Countess von Widerstand.’
The officer looked at Anna.
‘I am the Countess von Widerstand,’ she said. If she was about to die, no doubt horribly, she was determined to do so with dignity.
The rider reached into the side pocket of his machine and produced her shoulder bag. ‘You left this behind, Countess.’
Anna took the bag, slung it on her shoulder, and climbed into the plane. The temptation to throw it away was enormous. But that would have been an admission of guilt, and to die quickly in a sudden vast explosion was infinitely preferable to what would seem a lifetime in a Gestapo torture chamber followed by a slow hoisting from the floor, her naked body wriggling and kicking – just as she had described to poor Bartoli, she remembered. Talk about being hoist with one’s own petard. So, think of the bomb against her shoulder as the capsule she did not have; death would certainly be instantaneous.
But what would happen then? Would anyone ever know exactly what had happened to the aircraft, which was now taxiing to the end of the runway? She doubted there would be many pieces left to be picked up. In fact, would anyone outside the inner Nazi circle ever know that anything had happened at all? Clive and Joe certainly would be left entirely in the dark: their prize agent, and possession, would simply have disappeared without trace. Goebbels and Himmler might shed a crocodile tear; perhaps even Hitler would mourn her, briefly. Essermann she felt might genuinely regret her demise. Laurent would consider her as a ship that had passed in the night, pausing only just long enough to give him an unforgettable experience. And all of the beauty she possessed, all of her mental ability, her physical skills, would be gone to perdition.
As for the fate of her family, that did not bear consideration. The plane was now airborne, winging its way into the bright morning sky, following the path of the still rising sun. She looked at her watch: she had left the bedroom twenty-five minutes ago. Five minutes left. She gazed at the back of the mechanic’s head: this morning he was sitting in front of her. He seemed utterly relaxed, utterly confident. But why should he not be, as he was only doing what he had done so many times before?
But . . . Why not shout in his ear that if he wanted to live he should allow her to throw something out? But that would be tantamount to signing her own death warrant; she could not hope to take over the plane: she had no idea how it worked.
She realized that she was holding her breath, let it go in a rush, and again looked at her watch. Too late! Thirty-one minutes! But she was still alive! Well, she supposed it was impossible to achieve spot-on accuracy with a device like this. But . . . She found herself staring at the second hand, proceeding slowly on its way, round and round . . . The temptation to look inside the bag was enormous. But she dared not, at this moment. Besides, what did she want to find?
Another five minutes passed, and she realized that the device had failed. How, she had no idea. But she was going to live! An enormous glow spread through her body. On the other hand, Hitler was also going to live. Suddenly her euphoria was tempered by anger. As with the assassination of Heydrich, London’s elaborate plans had come to nothing, because of the inadequacy of their weapons, and she had been exposed not only to terminal risk but also to a sexual experience she could have done without. Now . . . Hitler knew something was going on. And, like Himmler, he expected her to do something about it. Because she was his most trusted aide. And she had no means of contacting London! As for Freddie – should she warn him to call the whole thing off, or solidify her position with the Führer by arresting him and forcing him to confess and name names? To secure her future and that of her family . . . and to damn herself through all eternity.
The aircraft was descending, and she caught her breath. However aware she, and every other Berliner, had been of the immense blows the RAF had rained on the city almost every night for the past six weeks, their concept of what was happening had been limited by what they had been able to see or hear from the ground. This was a bird’s-eye view, and wherever she looked there was nothing but devastation. From the smoke still rising on the still winter air, she knew there must have been another raid last night, while she had been in the relative safety of Rastenburg.
There were craters on the runways at Rangsdorf, but the pilot brought the machine down safely, and a car was waiting on the tarmac. As before, her escort did not speak, merely held the door for her. She sank on to the cushions, gazed at the shattered buildings and rubbled streets as she was driven to . . . ‘Is my apartment building damaged?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid it is, Countess.’
Shit! she thought. Talk about disasters. She saw what he meant when they rounded the last corner, and she looked at a fresh pile of rubble. The building itself still stood, but part of the roof had collapsed into the street, and workmen were boarding up the shattered windows of the lower apartments. She picked up her valise and went into the lobby. ‘Countess!’ the concierge said. ‘It is good to see you back.’
‘Tell me that it is good to be back,’ Anna said. ‘Is my apartment still there?’
‘Oh, it is still there,’ he assured her. ‘But all the apartments have been damaged.’
‘Fräulein Birgit?’
‘I do not think she is hurt.’
Anna went to the elevator. ‘That is not working,’ the concierge said. ‘I am sorry, Countess, but there is no electricity.’
Anna made a face and began to clim
b the stairs. Fit as she was, she was exhausted, more emotionally than physically, she knew. She reached the sixth floor, opened the door, and Birgit came running from the kitchen to throw herself into her arms. ‘Countess! Oh, Countess!’
Anna hugged her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, it was terrifying! I thought I was going to die.’
Anna released her. ‘But you didn’t, did you? Always look on the bright side.’ She went into the lounge, gazed at the shattered windows over which a workman was busy nailing some boards, at the sideboard which was a litter of broken glass, filling the room with the odour of alcohol, and then up at the crack in the ceiling; there were four more apartments above hers.
‘A man was here from the Gestapo,’ Birgit said. ‘He said that the building is not safe, and we should move out. But I refused, until you returned.’
‘You told him I was away?’
‘Well . . .’ Birgit licked her lips, anxiously.
‘Of course you had to,’ Anna agreed. ‘He could see I wasn’t here.’ She went into her bedroom. Here too the window had been shattered, but the wardrobe, and thus her clothes, seemed undamaged. And the bathroom was untouched. But there was no water. ‘Damnation,’ she said. She desperately wanted a bath. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘It looks as if we will have to move out. Pack my things up, and yours, and wait here. I will make arrangements and come back for you.’
‘Oh, Countess, do you think we could leave the city?’
‘I doubt that will be practical, right now. But I will see if I can find somewhere safer for us to live. Now leave me.’
Birgit closed the door. Anna opened her shoulder bag, inhaled the strong smell of the acid. The lipstick had certainly been punctured, and the acid, as predicated, had spread everywhere, ruining her toiletries. But it had only scarred the glass bottle. What a fuck-up!
She emptied the remaining acid down the toilet, bundled the shoulder bag and its contents up in the sheet, which was covered in plaster from the ceiling in any event, and stuffed them into the dirty-clothes hamper; she did not suppose Birgit would waste her time delving into that while packing in a hurry. Then she repacked the valise with her office uniform, her Luger and her spare jewellery. ‘I will be back for you, hopefully, in a couple of hours,’ she said. ‘Please be ready.’
She went down the stairs and to the gymnasium, picking her way through the rubbled streets. It was just coming up to ten, and Stefan was surprised to see her at that late hour. But he was also delighted, and hastily dismissed the three other young women he had been working out. ‘Countess!’ He peered at her. ‘Are you all right?’
Anna undressed. ‘Do I not look all right?’
‘You look . . . agitated.’
‘I have every reason to be agitated. I have been bombed out of my home.’
‘My God! But you are unharmed. And a good workout is the best answer to jangled nerves.’
‘My nerves are not the least bit jangled,’ Anna snapped, both irritably and untruthfully. ‘And I have no desire to work out. I wish to use your shower, and then I must get to my office.’
As usual, he followed her into the shower stalls. ‘Where is it going to end?’
‘I don’t think it is something you wish to think about,’ Anna recommended, and turned her face up to the flowing water.
*
‘Anna!’ Himmler as usual looked about to embrace her, but as usual thought better of it at the last moment. ‘I did not expect you in today. I have been so worried. They told me your building had been hit, but the man I sent along to see if you were all right could not find you.’
‘The water main burst,’ Anna explained, fudging the time issue, ‘so I went along to the gymnasium to work out and use their shower.’
‘Good heavens! What dedication!’
‘What I now need,’ Anna pointed out, ‘is somewhere for me and my maid to live.’
‘Ah! Yes. Quite. I had been planning on moving you anyway, in view of these continuing raids. I want you to be safe, Anna.’
‘I would like that too, Herr Reichsführer.’ She was in a thoroughly abrasive mood.
‘So I have had an apartment prepared for you, downstairs. You will be absolutely safe down there. Nothing can possibly get to you, and even if the building were to collapse, there is a solid concrete floor – or roof, I suppose.’
Anna nearly exploded herself. ‘Did you say downstairs? You mean, under this building?’
‘It is the safest place.’
‘How do I breathe?’
‘Oh, there is constant air conditioning. Several of our leading people have moved down there already.’
You are turning me into a troglodyte, Anna thought. She had always valued fresh air more than most other things. And how would the air conditioning work if the building did collapse on top of it? ‘How long will I have to live there, sir?’
‘Until – well, things have been sorted out. In that regard, I wish you to take another little trip for me.’
Oh, shit, she thought. She needed time to think, and hopefully plan what came next. Right that moment she had no idea. Only that London, and New York, were going to wake up one day very soon to the realization that the year had ended and Hitler was still alive. It was never going to occur to them that it was their incompetence that was at fault.
On the other hand, to see Laurent again would be a treat – especially after last night’s ordeal – and . . . She wondered if he could be turned; if she dared take the risk of attempting it?
‘Sit down,’ Himmler invited, and she sank on to the chair before his desk. ‘I wish you to go to Stockholm.’
Anna could not believe her ears. Could he really be giving her an out? – a means of contacting London? But she had to ask, ‘Has Herr Laurent let you down?’
‘No, no. This is nothing to do with transferring funds. I merely wish you to carry a letter to an acquaintance of mine. Now, I must warn you that this man moves around a lot and although I shall inform him that you are coming to see him, he may not be immediately available. So it may be necessary to remain there for a day or two before you are able to contact him.’
Again Anna could not believe her ears; he might as well have been working for MI6.
‘Of course,’ Himmler went on, ‘I know that this is the worst possible time of year to be visiting Stockholm, but you survived a Russian winter three years ago, did you not?’
‘Yes, I did,’ Anna said bravely. ‘When do I leave?’
‘Not for a week or so.’
Damn, she thought. But she merely said, ‘Oh!’
‘There is the matter of this conspiracy to be sorted out first.’
Suddenly even the winter sunshine disappeared. ‘Sir?’
‘I understand that you intend personally to interview Freddie von Steinberg.’
‘Well, yes, sir. I told Colonel Essermann that I felt, as Count von Steinberg and I are acquainted, that I could get more out of him with a friendly conversation than with threats.’
‘You mean you told Hellmuth.’
‘Sir?’
‘Oh, come now, Anna. You and Essermann are lovers, are you not?’
There could be no point in denying what he obviously knew. ‘You told me I should cultivate him, sir.’
‘So I did. I entirely approve. But, ah . . . you do not confide in him as to the secrets you and I share?’
‘Of course I do not, sir. Whatever my . . . carnal desires, my allegiance is only to you.’
‘I was sure of it. You are a treasure. However, this conspiracy thing . . .’
‘I find it difficult to take it seriously, sir. This man Freiling is clearly demented, and now that he has been found out he is throwing out accusations left and right.’
‘Ah, but Anna, you have overlooked something. Even Homer can nod, eh?’
‘Sir?’
‘Freiling was not found out. He went to the Gestapo of his own free will.’
‘He could still be suffering from dementia,’ Anna i
nsisted.
‘For all your brains and your beauty, I fear that you are, still, just a woman – reluctant to give up a point of view, even in the face of overwhelming evidence.’
Anna refused to be offended; she could not afford to be. ‘I still do not see where this overwhelming evidence is, Herr Reichsführer. One man’s denunciation?’
‘Straws in the wind, Anna. Straws in the wind. Such as a reported conversation between Colonel Ballon and another person.’
‘Colonel Ballon?’
‘Colonel Ballon is aide-de-camp to Field Marshal von Beck. Did you not know that?’ He seemed surprised that Anna did not know everything.
Oh, my God! Anna thought. What had Steinberg started? If this got back to Hitler, on top of his suspicions . . . and he wanted her to report direct to him! But she kept her voice even. ‘General von Beck retired some time ago, sir. When I was a junior operative.’
‘He was sacked by the Führer,’ Himmler said severely. ‘That breeds resentment.’
‘And this Colonel Ballon was heard saying what, and to whom?’
‘The conversation was indistinct to our listener, and he cannot say to whom it was addressed. What he did hear was the name of General Stieff, who is, I quote, “definitely one of us”. I assume you know General Stieff?’
‘He commands the Berlin Garrison,’ Anna said slowly.
‘Correct. That is to say, he commands a large body of troops on our very doorstep. But that is not all. The other person went on to say, “Stieff may be important, but the man we want is Rommel. With Rommel on our side we cannot fail.”’
‘We still do not know about what they were speaking,’ Anna said desperately.
‘Oh, come now, Anna. Beck is our senior soldier, even if he is in retirement. Stieff commands a force which could dominate Berlin. He is not at this time engaged with any enemy. Rommel has just been appointed commander of our Atlantic defences. What possible project can they be sharing, either for aggressive action against our enemies or for the defence of the Reich? There is a plot afoot, Anna. It is our business to discover just what this plot is, against whom it is directed and, above all, who is involved.’
Angel in Jeopardy: The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance (Anna Fehrbach Book 4) Page 20
