Angel in Red: The thrilling sequel to Angel From Hell (Anna Fehrbach Book 2)

by Christopher Nicole

  *

  ‘Mr Andrews,’ Lavrenty Beria said. ‘I’m afraid I can only spare you five minutes. I am sure you understand the situation.’ He was a very tall man, who wore a pince-nez on the bridge of his big nose. The nose and the glasses were the only notable features in the large, bland face and the entirely bald head. But unlike all the members of staff Andrews had encountered on his way up to this office, he seemed to be entirely calm.

  ‘I do,’ Andrews said. ‘Those bastards. Have they given any reason?’

  ‘I understand Count von Schulenberg called on Comrade Molotov just before dawn this morning, and presented him with a long list of so-called Soviet outrages and broken promises, accompanied by a declaration of war.’

  ‘What did Molotov do?’

  ‘I believe he was as polite as diplomacy requires.’

  ‘And the German Embassy?’

  ‘The staff are receiving their passports now, and will be out of Russia this afternoon.’

  ‘You are very civilised.’

  Beria gave a brief smile. ‘Not really. We wish the return of our Embassy staff from Berlin. Now, what did you want to see me about?’

  ‘There are two matters, actually. Have you drawn any conclusions regarding the link between this German invasion and the assassination of Marshal Stalin on Friday afternoon?’

  Beria’s brows drew together, a formidable sight ‘How do you know about that? No one knows about that.’

  ‘It is my business to know about everything.’

  ‘Well, you were misinformed. Marshal Stalin is alive and well and preparing to take command of our armed forces.’

  ‘There’s a relief,’ Andrews said, not entirely truthfully. ‘But there was an attempt on his life?’

  ‘I really must discover the identity of your informant,’ Beria remarked. ‘Yes, Mr Andrews. There was an attempt. Fortunately, we were forewarned, and were able to prevent the assassin from gaining access to the marshal.’

  ‘I congratulate you. What happened to the assassin?’

  ‘She is now in the Lubianka, where she will remain until she is tried and executed. In our present circumstances, this may take a little while. However, it will be worth it, as what she will say in public will reveal the depths of perfidy to which the Hitlerite gangsters are prepared to go.’

  ‘Absolutely. You mean she has made a full confession?’

  ‘At the moment she is being a little stubborn. We have not even found out her true identity. She persists in calling herself by that ridiculous title, the Countess of Resistance. However, I am sure we will be able to persuade her to cooperate.’ Another brief smile. ‘We are good at that.’

  ‘Oh, quite.’

  ‘Besides, we have been provided with a dossier on her. It is not complete, and frankly, much of what it contains is simply unbelievable. Still, it is something to use in tripping her up when she starts to talk.’

  ‘Would you like me to fill in the blanks?’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Her real name is Anna Fehrbach, and she is an Austrian by birth. For the past three years she has been employed by the Germans as an assassin. She has considerable skills. We know of at least seven murders she has carried out for the SD. And there have been others.’

  ‘My God! That is what our informant claims. But I could not believe it. She is only a young girl.’

  ‘Well, let’s see. I believe that Queen Joanna I of Naples was only a teenager when she did her first husband. Not that she stopped there.’

  ‘How do you know all this? About Fehrbach, I mean.’

  ‘We also have a dossier on her. Far more complete than yours.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This is confidential. Just over a year ago she attempted to assassinate President Roosevelt.’

  ‘I have never heard of this.’

  ‘Is anyone going to hear about the attempt on Marshal Stalin, until you are ready to make it public? Fehrbach failed, but she did kill two of the President’s bodyguards. She is top of the FBI’s most-wanted list. But she got out of the country before she could be arrested, and disappeared. I have been tracking her for two years. We are actually in the process of preparing papers for a possible extradition. But now this has happened. We want her, Commissar Beria.’

  ‘So do we, Mr Andrews. And we have her.’

  ‘Her attempt on Roosevelt was before her attempt on Stalin. Don’t you think we have a prior claim?’

  ‘In a case like this, Mr Andrews, it is finders keepers. But thank you for your information. I am sure it will be most useful.’

  ‘And that is your last word?’

  ‘I am afraid so.’

  ‘Is that because you are afraid of upsetting Comrade Chalyapov?’

  Beria raised his eyebrows. ‘Comrade Chalyapov has problems of his own. It is not overlooked by Marshal Stalin that he was responsible for introducing this woman into the Kremlin in the first place. So one could say that without a full confession from the Countess, he could well wind up in the Lubianka himself. But as I say, I regard that as his problem.’

  ‘I have an idea that you do not like Comrade Chalyapov, Comrade Commissar.’

  It was impossible to make out Beria’s eyes behind the glasses, but his smile was bland. ‘You are a perceptive man, Mr Andrews. But that has nothing to do with my decision to bring the Countess to trial. It is my business to uphold the law, and demonstrate the perfidy of the Nazi regime.’

  ‘Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.’ Andrews got up. ‘Thanks for your time, anyway. And good luck with this war you’ve accumulated. Do you reckon you can win it?’

  ‘We will defend our sacred motherland to the last drop of our blood.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. And my information is that it may come to that. In modern wars, oil and machinery counts more than blood. Isn’t it true that your air force, all nine thousand planes, is antiquated and no match for the Luftwaffe? And isn’t it true that while you have a huge army you are very short of modern equipment, and especially transport?’

  ‘This is not something I wish to discuss.’

  ‘Pity. Ambassador Davies said to me this morning, when he heard I was seeing you this afternoon, “make it plain to Mr Beria that we want to help his country in any way we can, especially as regards materiel.” Still . . .’

  ‘Mr Davies said that? You mean America would be prepared to help us? As she has been helping Britain for the past year?’

  ‘Well, of course.’ Andrews took a deep breath. ‘I happen to know that there is a top-level delegation leaving the States today to come here and find out what you need. Mind you, there’s going to be opposition. A lot of people over there hate your guts. But if the President were able to convince Congress that you were really prepared to accept our help in the spirit in which it is intended, and that in small matters of protocol you would be prepared to play ball, you know, the odd quid pro quo . . . As for illustrating the perfidy of Nazi Germany, I don’t think anyone can have any doubts about that, after this unprovoked attack.’

  Beria studied him for several seconds. Then he said, ‘I think that my people could probably learn a lot from yours about the art of blackmail, Mr Andrews. I feel like a schoolboy.’ He picked up his telephone.

  *

  The young officer saluted. ‘You are Mr Andrews.’

  ‘Correct. And you are Captain Skorzy.’

  ‘Yes, comrade. You have something for me?’ Andrews held out the sheet of paper, and Skorzy studied it. ‘You are to take possession of a prisoner in the female block.’

  ‘Right first time.’

  ‘This is very unusual.’

  ‘The order is signed by Comrade Beria.’

  ‘I am not disputing that, sir.’ He pressed a bell. ‘If you will come with me.’

  Andrews followed him from the office into the hall. He had never liked prisons, and this was the most forbidding prison he had ever entered. They came to a door where an armed guard stood to attention, clicking his heels at the sight of
the officer. Skorzy opened the door. ‘This is the Women’s Section,’ he explained. ‘Ah, Olga!’ He greeted the slender, attractive, dark-haired young woman who was waiting for them.

  ‘Comrade Captain!’ Olga’s eyes were hostile as she looked at Andrews.

  ‘We have come for the woman Widerstand.’

  Olga frowned. ‘Come for her? You wish to take her?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘There must be some mistake.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘You will have to see Colonel Tserchenka.’

  ‘Then take us to her.’

  Olga hesitated, then led them along a corridor. The odour was mainly disinfectant; the sounds were all feminine, if muted. Olga paused before a closed door, and knocked. ‘Captain Skorzy to see you, Comrade Colonel. And . . .?’ She glanced at Andrews.

  ‘My name is Andrews, and I am from the United States Embassy.’

  ‘Comrade Captain!’ Ludmilla beamed at Skorzy. ‘Isn’t the news terrible? Those swine.’ She looked at Andrews.

  ‘They say they have come for the Countess,’ Olga explained.

  ‘What?’ The good humour faded from Ludmilla’s expression.

  Skorzy presented the paper. ‘The woman is to be released into the custody of Mr Andrews.’

  Now Ludmilla scowled. ‘Are you making a joke with me? This woman is a German spy and assassin. She is guilty of attempting to assassinate Premier Stalin.’

  ‘Has she confessed to this?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘That is not relevant. She is not to leave this prison. I have the orders of Comrade Chalyapov himself.’

  ‘This order is signed by Commissar Beria,’ Skorzy pointed out.

  ‘Give me that!’ Ludmilla snatched the paper. ‘This has to be a mistake.’

  ‘You must take that up with Commissar Beria,’ Andrews said. ‘If you will look at the paper, it says “immediately”.’

  ‘I will have to telephone for confirmation.’

  ‘Immediately,’ Andrews repeated, getting a sliver of steel into his voice. ‘I will see the Countess now.’

  Ludmilla hesitated, looked at the paper again, then jerked her head. Olga stood by the door and the two men stepped into the corridor, following her.

  ‘Who would you suppose has the higher authority?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘Commissar Beria commands the NKVD,’ Skorzy said reverently.

  ‘Those words are manna to my ears.’

  Skorzy glanced at him, obviously not understanding what he meant.

  Olga stopped before one of the several doors they had passed. ‘Do you wish to look first? She is very pretty.’

  ‘I wish the door opened,’ Andrews said.

  Olga shrugged and unlocked the door. It swung in, and Andrews gazed at Anna, who gazed at him. She had heard the sound and risen from the bare floor on which she had been sitting. She was naked, and for a moment he was quite entranced, but when she opened her mouth in consternation, he gave a quick shake of his head, and she closed it again.

  ‘Countess,’ he said. ‘The end of a long road. These people have been good enough to find you for me.’ He spoke Russian, and went closer to gaze at her. Her marvellous hair was damp as if recently washed, and despite the fact that it was a warm day she was shivering. He could see no bruises.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, her voice low.

  ‘Why, you, my dear Countess. You have a date with a Federal Court.’

  Anna looked at Skorzy, and then Olga, unable to believe what was happening.

  ‘Where are her clothes?’ Andrews demanded.

  ‘We have them,’ Olga said.

  ‘Then take us to them.’

  Olga bit her lip. ‘It is along here.’

  ‘Come along, Countess,’ Andrews said.

  Anna stepped past him and followed Olga, the two men behind.

  ‘She is quite a beauty,’ Skorzy remarked. ‘Those legs . . . what will you do to her?’

  ‘Fill her full of electricity.’

  ‘Ah. That would be better than a firing squad.’

  ‘Is there a difference?’

  ‘Of course. Bullets would tear her body open. Perhaps even mark her face. Your way, her beauty will remain after death.’

  ‘I guess you haven’t seen too many people after they’ve been electrocuted,’ Andrews suggested.

  Olga opened another door and showed them into a room filled with clothes, some on hangers, some lying on tables.

  ‘You mean everyone in this place is naked?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘It is good for prisoners to be naked,’ Olga said, apparently making a serious comment. ‘It places them at a psychological disadvantage, makes them less likely to rebel.’

  ‘Interesting point.’

  Olga began sifting through clothes. ‘Do you remember what you were wearing, Countess?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anna’s voice remained low. ‘Those.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. A pretty dress. And these.’ She held up the cami-knickers. ‘I have never seen underwear like this before. But there are no shoes.’

  ‘We will manage without shoes,’ Andrews said. ‘Get dressed, Countess.’

  Anna dressed herself, while Skorzy moved restlessly as he watched; it occurred to Andrews that it was actually more evocative to watch a woman dressing than undressing. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘If you will take us out of this place, Captain, I have a car waiting.’

  He looked at his watch; he had been here more than half an hour, and he had a distinct, if illogical, feeling that he and Anna were living on borrowed time. And there was Ludmilla, standing in the corridor outside the door of her office, like some latter-day Brunhilde ready for combat. ‘I am instructed,’ she announced, ‘that you must not leave until after Comrade Chalyapov has come.’ She had obviously been on the telephone.

  ‘And we are instructed, by Commissar Beria, to leave immediately.’

  ‘You will stay,’ Ludmilla insisted, and drew her pistol.

  Anna drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Are you mad, comrade?’ Skorzy asked. ‘Would you defy Commissar Beria?’

  ‘There is treachery here,’ Ludmilla declared. ‘Comrade Chalyapov will know what to do.’

  Anna looked at Andrews, but he was looking at Skorzy, apparently having determined that the captain was the key to the situation. But Skorzy was looking totally uncertain as to what to do next. She herself had no clear idea of what was happening, or how it was happening. She was in fact only just recovering from the shock of seeing Andrews, so unexpectedly, and of being offered her freedom, equally unexpectedly. Her emotions were in a jumble, but of one thing she was quite certain: she was not going back into that cell to suffer the water torture again.

  The outer door opened to admit Chalyapov, and then closed again with a clang. ‘What is happening?’ Chalyapov demanded.

  ‘I told you on the phone, comrade,’ Ludmilla said. ‘These people are trying to take Widerstand away.’

  Chalyapov looked at Andrews, who had arranged his features in a smile. ‘Well, hello, comrade. Nice of you to drop by.’

  Chalyapov looked at Skorzy, who had come to attention. ‘I am acting on the orders of Commissar Beria, comrade.’

  Chalyapov snorted, and pointed. ‘This man is an American spy!’

  ‘Is that an accusation, or a compliment?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘And clearly,’ Chalyapov went on, ‘he is acting for the Germans in attempting to regain possession of this bitch. Arrest him.’

  ‘Commissar Beria . . .’

  ‘I am in command here. Olga, take the Countess back to her cell. Ludmilla, if anyone attempts to prevent this order being carried out, shoot him.’

  Andrews and Skorzy both stared at him in consternation. Olga touched Anna’s arm. ‘Come along, comrade.’

  Anna acted with all the speed and pent-up fury that always hovered on the edge of her subconscious. Olga’s hand was still on her arm. She half turned, seized Olga’s arm in turn, exerting all her strength and except
ional timing, and threw the girl forward. Olga gave a shriek as she was propelled through the confined space to cannon into Chalyapov and knock him against the wall. Ludmilla brought up her pistol, but Anna had not checked her movement, and as she released Olga’s arm swung her left hand into Ludmilla’s neck with bone-crunching force.

  Ludmilla uttered no sound as she in turn fell against the wall, and slid down it to the floor. Skorzy had regained his nerve and was drawing his own pistol, but Chalyapov was quicker, producing a gun from inside his jacket and firing in the same instant. Skorzy gave a cry and went down. Chalyapov turned his gun on Andrews, his lips drawn back in a snarl, but Anna had now taken Ludmilla’s gun from her inert fingers and fired in the same movement. The bullet struck Chalyapov in the middle of the chest, and he went down with a gasp.

  ‘Holy Jesus Christ!’ Andrews shouted.

  Anna stood above Chalyapov. Blood was pouring from his chest, but he was still breathing, and stared at her. ‘You . . .’ He gasped. ‘You are . . .’

  ‘You can wait for me in hell,’ Anna told him, and fired again.

  ‘Holy Jesus Christ!’ Andrews repeated.

  Anna looked at Olga, who was trying to push herself along the wall, still sitting. ‘Please . . . I did not . . .’

  Anna lowered the gun. ‘You have a file on me,’ she said. ‘Fetch it.’

  Olga licked her lips, then pushed herself up and went to the office. Anna followed her, still pointing the pistol.

  Andrews knelt beside Ludmilla. ‘My God! She’s dead!’

  ‘It will happen,’ Anna said over her shoulder, watching Olga sifting through the filing cabinet.

  Skorzy groaned, and Andrews knelt beside him in turn. ‘How is it?’

  Skorzy’s hand was red where it was pressed to his tunic. ‘I am hit.’

  ‘Yeah. But you’re lucky you’re on our side. You’ll live. Listen, these people were going to kill you, and they would have done had not the Countess intervened. Remember to tell Commissar Beria exactly what happened.’ He stood up as Anna returned, the file tucked under her arm, Olga in front of her. ‘We will leave now, comrade. See what you can do about the captain. Give us five minutes, and then call for help. Remember that what we have done is a result of direct orders from Commissar Beria.’