Angel in Jeopardy_The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Two nights. You have to get back.’

  ‘I can take my time about that. I can cross into France and contact Jacques, and you can send a Lysander to pick me up.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? France is no longer Vichy, you know. It’s all German, now.’

  ‘I can get to Jacques. And once I do, he can get me out.’

  Baxter sighed, but he studied the transcript again. ‘Most urgent,’ he muttered. ‘It had better be.’

  *

  ‘Cancel any appointments I may have for today and the next week,’ Clive told Amy, pausing only to pick up his overnight bag, which he kept permanently packed with the necessary changes of clothing he might need on the continent.

  ‘Ah . . . you are taking Miss Hoskin out to dinner tonight.’

  ‘Bugger it. Well, you will have to telephone her and tell her I can’t make it.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should do that, sir? The last time you gave me a message like that to deliver, she cursed me out.’

  ‘Remind her there’s a war on,’ Clive recommended.

  *

  The train reached the border at six, but at the end of July it was still broad daylight. Several policemen came on board, and a couple of very obvious Gestapo agents. They moved slowly through the compartments, checking passports and travel documents. Anna had had a good lunch, the case always beside her, and had actually dozed during the afternoon. She felt totally relaxed. Whatever its implications, her assignment was one of the least exacting she had ever had, and while she was curious as to who might be waiting for her, as she was sure it couldn’t be Clive, there was no point in thinking about it. Just to be in touch with the world outside Germany was a treat. Now she opened her eyes to blink at the uniformed man standing over her. ‘Your passport, Fräulein.’

  She opened her shoulder bag – the Luger was well concealed beneath her change of clothing – and handed over the booklet.

  ‘Anna O’Brien? Is your journey business or pleasure?’

  ‘I hope to combine the two,’ Anna said, pleasantly.

  ‘You are leaving Germany?’

  ‘I shall be returning to Germany tomorrow.’

  ‘You mean you live in Germany.’

  ‘That would seem to be obvious.’

  ‘But this passport says you are an Irish national.’

  ‘So it does. That is because I am – an Irish national.’

  ‘Travelling on business in and out of the Reich.’ He looked at the attaché case. ‘I hope there is nothing illegal in that case, Fräulein.’

  ‘Of course there is not. The case contains my clothes and personal effects.’

  ‘But you say you are returning tomorrow. It is surely a very large case to be taking for one night.’

  ‘I am attending a dinner party, and have my ball gown, with accessories.’

  ‘I think I will have to look inside.’

  ‘And I would prefer you not to.’

  He gazed at her, uncertainly, while the other two passengers seemed to huddle against each other. But before he could come to a decision, they were joined by one of the Gestapo agents. ‘Is there trouble?’

  ‘This Fräulein will not let me look inside her bag, Herr Inspector.’

  ‘Then I must insist, Fräulein,’ the agent said.

  Anna opened her shoulder bag again and took out the carte blanche. The agent unfolded it, gazed at the contents, and gulped. ‘I apologize, Fräulein. If there is anything . . .’

  ‘I do not require assistance at this time,’ Anna said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. You’ll forgive me. Come along, you fool,’ he said to the bewildered policeman, almost pushing him out of the compartment.

  The other two passengers stared at Anna, who smiled at them. ‘They are really very reasonable,’ she explained.

  *

  The train reached Geneva at eight, and Anna was in her hotel room by a quarter to nine. It was a double, and had a well-appointed bathroom. She ordered a late supper and a bottle of wine, undressed, had a shower, and put on her dressing gown. A waiter arrived with her meal a few minutes later, and she poured a glass of wine and settled herself in front of the table, suddenly becoming conscious of how tired she was.

  She found herself staring at the attaché case. She was still absorbing all that its contents implied, both for Germany, for Himmler, and for herself; and then found herself wondering where the OSS involvement came in, and whether the two could possibly be connected. She had something to eat, her thoughts drifting to who was going to come knocking on her door, possibly in a few minutes’ time . . . and was taken by surprise when the door suddenly opened: the waiter had apparently taken it off the latch after serving her meal.

  She found herself looking at two men, whose belted trench coats and fedoras could leave her in no doubt that they were policemen. One was fairly large, with a moon-like face; she had never seen him before. But the other . . . She regarded the short, slight body, the ferret-like features, the piercing eyes . . . ‘What in the name of God are you doing here?’

  Joachim Feutlanger snapped his fingers, and his aide closed the door, this time locking it. ‘I am here in the name of the Reich, Countess.’

  ‘I see.’ Anna did some calculations. She realized that if she did not do something about the situation she was in danger of at the very least being manhandled. Nor did she doubt that Feutlanger’s sidekick was armed, and her pistol was still in her shoulder bag, which was lying on the bed. As for dealing with them without a weapon, she did not suppose Feutlanger would be a problem, but his companion might be, certainly as, in whatever happened, he would be backed up by his superior. She would have to bide her time and use all her assets: Feutlanger had never actually seen her in action, although from that earlier Prague episode he knew of her prowess with a gun. On the other hand, she felt sure that his desire to deal with her as a policeman was subordinate to his desire for her as a woman – her secret weapon, time and again. ‘And you are stationed in Geneva, now?’ she asked pleasantly.

  ‘I am Commandant of the Gestapo Office in Munich,’ Feutlanger announced, importantly. ‘But when my people at the border reported that they had encountered you in the act of fleeing Germany, I considered it my duty to come down here and investigate personally.’

  ‘Your people reported me by name?’ Anna asked, interested.

  ‘They did not recognize you, if that is what you mean. But they found your behaviour suspicious, and thought it necessary to report it. And when I asked for a description – well, I knew immediately who it had to be, Fräulein O’Brien.’

  ‘And how did you know where I was staying?’

  ‘I did not know where you were staying, Countess. As soon as I received the news from the border I telephoned our local office here and told them to put a tail on you until I could get here. They picked you up at the station.’

  ‘And I never noticed. I am a silly woman.’ Because I was in a daydream, she thought. The same thing had happened once before, in Washington, when she had carelessly walked into that NKVD trap. That had cost six lives. Well, she thought, there are only two involved here. ‘Oh, do sit down, Herr Feutlanger. I’m afraid there is only the one chair, but your friend can sit on the bed, if he likes.’ She crossed her legs, allowing the dressing gown to drop away from above her knees.

  The agent gulped, and remained standing, staring at her. Feutlanger sat down, facing her.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Anna asked. ‘There is only the one glass, and I have already drunk from it, but I do assure you that I am not diseased.’

  ‘Your effrontery never ceases to amaze me,’ Feutlanger said. ‘But this time I have caught you red-handed.’

  ‘Have you? I am sure your man at the frontier told you why he did not attempt to arrest me.’

  ‘Some document. No doubt forged.’

  ‘I think you should look at it, before you make a judgement which may be gravely mistaken.’

  ‘That will not be necessary. I w
ish to look at the contents of that attaché case.’

  ‘And I cannot permit you to do that.’

  ‘But there is no one going to burst in here and rescue you, as that swine Essermann did in Prague last year. There is just you, me, and Otto here. No one knows we are here, save the waiter who let us in, and he is in my pay. And I know all about your little tricks. Otto.’

  Otto produced a Luger fitted with a silencer, levelled it.

  ‘If she attempts to attack us,’ Feutlanger said, ‘shoot her in the belly. It will be a shame to destroy so much beauty, but at least we will have the pleasure of watching her die, slowly, and in agony. Do you want to die like that, Countess?’

  Anna permitted herself a shudder. ‘I should hate that, Herr Feutlanger. The case is locked.’

  ‘But you have a key.’

  While exposing her legs, Anna had carefully kept the dressing gown closed across her breasts. Now she sighed in apparent defeat. ‘It is in my bag.’

  ‘Very good. Empty the bag on to that table. Watch her, Otto, and if she does anything you do not like, shoot her.’

  Otto looked suitably determined; Anna supposed that was as good a way to die as any. She got up, went to the bed, picked up the bag, and turned towards the men. As she did so, she released the dressing gown and allowed it to swing open, exposing her naked body. Otto gaped, and Anna acted with her usual lightning speed, thrusting her hand into the bag, grasping the pistol, and firing through the material. She had not yet fitted the silencer, but the bag muffled the sound of the shot.

  The first bullet smacked into the wall behind Otto’s head, but Anna had fired twice before he could react. And the second bullet struck him in the thigh. He gave a little squeal and fell to his knees, blood pouring from the severed artery to soak his trousers. He did manage to get off a shot but it hit the wall well wide of his target. Then he dropped the pistol to grasp at his wound.

  ‘Fucking bitch!’ Feutlanger dived for the gun, but Anna had dropped the bag and her gun and was already moving forward to kick him on the side of the head and send him rolling across the floor. Then she knelt beside the stricken Otto and took the pistol from his hand; she needed the use of the silencer.

  ‘Fräulein!’ he gasped. ‘Countess!’

  Anna shot him through the heart and turned to face Feutlanger, who was slowly regaining his feet. ‘We have unfinished business,’ she reminded him. ‘From last year.’

  ‘You would not dare,’ he snarled. ‘You would not dare. I am—’

  ‘One of nature’s more serious mistakes,’ she told him, and shot him three times.

  *

  Anna sat down and drank some wine. She no longer felt like eating, knew herself well enough to expect the waves of revulsion that were about to sweep over her. Numbers twenty-three and twenty-four. Easy to remind herself that she had had no choice. Himmler’s express orders had been that no one other than the man Laurent should open the bag.

  Equally easy to say that if ever a man had deserved execution Feutlanger was the one. She might feel sorry for Otto, but he had certainly been going to obey his instructions and shoot her in the stomach. Yet the fact remained that she had now killed twenty-four people, and she was only twenty-three herself. But she had been protecting not only herself, but her family and, in this instance, Himmler. There was a sick joke . . .

  There was a knock on the door. Anna put down her wine glass. Number twenty-five? The adrenaline was still flowing, still transforming her from a normal woman into a killing machine. She picked up her bag and took out her own silencer, then screwed it into the muzzle of her gun.

  There was another gentle tap. She pulled Feutlanger’s body away from the door, closed her dressing gown and tied the cord, opened the door, gazed at the man who stood there, and gasped. ‘Clive! Oh, my God, Clive!’ She fell into his arms.

  Clive half-carried her into the room, kicked the door shut behind them. ‘My darling girl! What . . .’ He looked around him even as he inhaled. ‘Holy Jesus Christ! What happened?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘It generally is. But I’m here to listen.’

  Anna put down the gun, poured herself another glass of wine, drank, and then handed it to him to drink in turn. ‘They came to arrest me.’

  ‘They being . . .?’

  ‘Gestapo. That one’ – she pointed at Feutlanger – ‘is the bastard who tried to torture me in Prague.’

  ‘The Gestapo came here to arrest you, in Geneva? You mean you’re coming out, at last? Thank God for that! But if you’d just let us know, we’d have arranged it for you.’

  ‘I am not coming out, Clive. I am here for the SD, for Himmler. Listen.’

  She told him what her mission was and what had happened. He listened in silence, occasionally looking at the two bodies. He had known Anna long enough to accept that anyone who attempted to get in the way of what she conceived to be her duty, or even her allotted path, was choosing the short way to the nearest cemetery.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, in the first instance, we must get you out of here.’

  ‘I cannot leave here, until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘My dear Anna, you cannot stay here with two corpses.’

  ‘As I do not believe in ghosts, they are unlikely to trouble me, and they are unlikely to become a nuisance in twelve hours.’

  ‘But the police . . .’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, I shall leave this room at half past eight, having hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door. The maid will certainly not come in for another couple of hours, by which time I will be on a train for Germany. It leaves at ten.’

  ‘They will close the border.’

  ‘I do not think they can do that before I get there. Think. The police will have to be called, and they will spend some time checking things out. I am registered under the name of Anna O’Brien, and my passport is in that name. The passport was issued in Dublin, or so it says. There is no indication as to where I have come from or where I am going. Before I leave I shall also remove all identification from the pair of them. For the Swiss police to close all the borders to find an Irishwoman who might just have killed two unknown males would be an absurdity.’

  ‘They’ll track you to the station. You’re not exactly easy to miss.’

  ‘By the time they do that, I will have changed back into being the Countess von Widerstand, and will be in Germany.’

  ‘They’ll ask for extradition.’

  ‘They won’t get it. Once I am across the border, Anna O’Brien ceases to exist. The fact that this alleged murderess might bear a resemblance to the Countess von Widerstand will not be acceptable to the German government.’

  Clive scratched his head. Her coolness never ceased to fascinate him – and terrify him. ‘So you will deliver the money and go back to Berlin.’

  ‘I must do that, or forfeit Himmler’s confidence. What I need to know is whether you will use this information.’

  ‘I will have to check with Billy. But if we do use it, won’t that endanger you?’

  ‘Not if you make it plain that your source is someone in Switzerland.’

  ‘We shall certainly do that. You’ll have to give me a week or so to get home. Check with Bartoli next week. We’ll have been in touch by then.’

  ‘I do not wish Bartoli to know of this.’

  ‘I know you don’t like the man—’

  ‘My personal feelings have nothing to do with it. I have an instinct that he, or certainly his wife, is getting set to betray us.’

  ‘And you would like to take him out.’

  ‘If necessary. But his wife is even more dangerous.’

  ‘Are you as bloodthirsty as you sometimes appear?’

  ‘I hate to think that I am bloodthirsty at all. But I am fighting a war. So are you, and millions of others. And it is a war we have to win. I do, anyway, or everything I have done these last five years has been a colossal crime.’

  He sque
ezed her hands. ‘I know, my darling girl. I’m on your side, to the bitter end. It’s just that I find your so-clinical approach a little startling, from time to time. Especially when I am looking at you. Well . . .’ Another squeeze.

  Anna freed herself and poured the last of the wine. ‘There is another matter we need to discuss. And this, I feel, does endanger me.’

  ‘Oh shit! What?’

  Anna related her conversation with Johannsson. Now Clive stroked his chin. ‘They obviously have some devious scheme on their minds.’

  ‘And you have no idea what it might be?’

  ‘Not a clue. I’ll see what I can find out. But . . . When are you meeting this bloke Steinberg?’

  ‘At dawn a week tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s a bit soon for me to make any headway. It’s going to take me at least the week to get back to London. But you’ll probably be able to discover what’s up from this chap.’

  ‘Clive,’ Anna said, ‘I am sure I will find out. What is bothering me is that down to a couple of days ago my identity as a double agent was known only to two people in Germany: Bartoli and his wife. And I’ve never been too happy about that. Now this Swede knows who I am.’

  ‘But you tell me he said that Steinberg does not.’

  ‘Steinberg certainly knows I work for Himmler. Yet apparently he has been persuaded that I will lend a sympathetic ear to whatever he, and the OSS, have dreamed up. That virtually puts me in Ravensbrück, at the very least, if anything goes wrong.’

  Clive looked at her, then at the two dead bodies. ‘You reckon it may be necessary . . .’ He gulped.

  ‘This whole thing could be a trap.’

  ‘I cannot believe that Joe Andrews, or Wild Bill Donovan, would sell you out. I mean, did not you and Joe – well . . .’

  ‘Does that still rankle?’

  Clive sighed. ‘I am not going to let it. Joe is an old friend, and you – well, you are just Anna. And I know you felt you owed him.’

  ‘You say the sweetest things. Yes, I owed him my life. And I also do not think that either Joe or Wild Bill would ever dream of betraying me. But I can’t say the same for everyone they have working for them. Listen, I can handle the situation, for a while. If it is a set-up, I can always tell Himmler that I went along with it to find out what these people are after.’