Belinda could not suppress a faint sigh of relief as she turned towards the door. She glanced at the two plain-clothes policemen, looked away, and one of them said. ‘Excuse me, Fräulein, will you step into the office a moment.’
Belinda raised her head. ‘What for?’
‘Because I asked you to,’ he pointed out, and showed her his wallet.
Gestapo! Belinda took a deep breath. Heads were turning, and then hastily turned away again. None of the other passengers, several of whom she had spoken with on the voyage, wanted to know anyone who was being questioned by the Gestapo. But these thugs could not possibly know anything about her. ‘Am I allowed to ask what this is about?’ She was still pleased at the evenness of her voice.
‘We will discuss that in the office.’
Was she being arrested? But that was impossible. She had done nothing to be arrested for. The capsule! But it was in her shoulder bag. Anyway, she could not possibly commit suicide just because she was being questioned by the Gestapo.
The other agent was holding the door open for her. She stepped through. The room contained a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet and a table against the far wall. There was no window. Both men followed her, and the door was closed. ‘Sit down,’ the first man said.
Belinda sat in the straight chair before the desk; he went behind it. The other agent stood against the wall, arms folded.
‘My name is Werter,’ the man behind the desk said. ‘You may call me sir. And you are Signorina Claudia Ratosi.’ He raised his head to look at her.
‘That is correct,’ Belinda said. ‘Am I under arrest? I would like to know the charge.’
‘Why should you be under arrest, signorina? Have you committed a crime?’
‘Of course I have not. I have only been in your country fifteen minutes. You mean I can leave?’ She stood up.
‘Sit down,’ Werter said. ‘Give me your bag.’
Belinda hesitated, then sat down. Now she could be in trouble. She simply had to brazen it out. ‘You have no right to search my bag, unless you are arresting me. If you are arresting me, I wish to call a lawyer.’
‘You have a lawyer in Germany?’
‘Of course I do not. I will telephone the Italian embassy, and they will take care of the matter.’
‘The Italian embassy,’ Werter said thoughtfully. ‘The shoulder bag, signorina.’
‘I have said—’
‘You talk too much. Wilhelm!’
Before Belinda could grasp what was happening, the shoulder bag had been ripped off, pulled over her head, dislodging her hat, and placed on the desk.
‘You bastard!’ Belinda cried.
In response, Wilhelm’s hand closed on her shoulder, with such strength she thought his fingers might be eating into her flesh. She gave a squeal of agony.
‘Do not antagonize Wilhelm,’ Werter advised. ‘He can be very brutal.’ He emptied the contents of the bag on to the desk
‘You have no right,’ Belinda gasped.
‘No, no, signorina: you are the one with no right. Remember this.’
Belinda panted, but Wilhelm’s hand was still resting on her shoulder, although he was no longer actually squeezing. Werter opened his drawer and took out a magnifying glass to peer at the back of her compact. ‘Max Factor,’ he remarked. ‘Is that not an English name?’
‘I think it is American,’ Belinda snapped.
‘Then how did you obtain it? Italy is at war with America?’
‘I bought it in Rome, ten years ago,’ Belinda said, refusing to allow herself to panic.
‘I see.’ He sifted the rest of the contents of the bag, held up the pill box. ‘What is this?’
‘A digestive tablet.’
He regarded her for several seconds, then swept the contents back into the bag, higgledy-piggledy. ‘Undress.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I wish you to take off your clothing, signorina. Strip!’
‘You have no—’ Belinda bit her lip as she felt Wilhelm’s fingers tighten. ‘You wish to search me?’
‘That is correct.’
‘You cannot ask me to submit to this except in the presence of a woman officer and a doctor.’
‘You keep telling me what I can and cannot do.’ Werter leaned across the desk. ‘I can do anything I like to anyone I suspect of acting against the best interests of the Reich. You come into that category.’
‘But why? How?’ Belinda realized she was wailing. ‘What am I supposed to have done? I am on my way back to Italy from a business trip to Sweden.’
‘You are going to Berlin to see a man named Bartoli.’
Oh, my God! Belinda thought. What can have happened?
‘His name was given to me by one of my customers in Sweden, as someone who might be interested in the line I am selling.’
‘I do not believe you. Now take off your clothes. If you refuse to do so, I will have Wilhelm take them off for you. I must tell you that he will almost certainly tear the material, and probably bruise you as well.’
Belinda took a deep breath. Then she stood up and unbuttoned her jacket.
*
Anna wore a pale-green sheath evening gown with a deep décolletage, and replaced her crucifix with her pearl choker, but remained staring at the gold accessory while Birgit piled her hair on the top of her head and secured it with pins. Was she being the ultimate hypocrite in wearing such a Christian symbol at all, when only twenty-four hours ago she had condemned a man to death, and sat before him to watch him die?
He was number twenty-five but the first she had executed in cold blood since Heydrich in Prague a year ago. Nearly all the others, before and since Heydrich, had been in combat, against people who had been armed and determined on her destruction. Before Heydrich there had really only been Marlene Gehrig, in Moscow, two years ago, in cold blood. But Marlene had been intending to betray her. In fact, the little witch had already betrayed her, although she had been unaware of it. Bartoli was different. She did not know if he had truly ever considered betraying her, but because of his weakness he had become too vulnerable, and once the Gestapo had him in their sights, whether or not they had actually intended to arrest him at that time, he had become too much of a risk. So, she thought, I have become accuser, judge, jury and executioner.
Only the crucifix, and the thought of Clive, offered the slightest hope of salvation.
‘Is that satisfactory, Countess?’ Birgit asked, as anxious as ever.
‘Very. If you ever leave my service, Birgit, I recommend that you set up as a hairdresser.’
Birgit’s expression became more anxious yet. ‘Am I ever going to leave your service, Countess?’
‘I hope not, Birgit. I sincerely hope not. There is the bell. Let the gentleman in, and give him a drink. I will be out in a moment.’
Remarkably, she was nervous. Simply because she was uncertain. If only Belinda – whoever Belinda turned out to be – had got here before tonight to give her a lead. Surely Clive would have been able to get hold of Joe by now and find out the score. The unfortunate thing was, if their decision was to drop the idea, the obvious concomitant was that Steinberg, and his entire group, would have to be turned over to the Gestapo with all that that entailed. Right this minute she had no wish to play judge and executioner, even by remote control, ever again. And Steinberg was such a nice young man. Whereas, if London were to say go for it . . .
‘Countess! May I say how beautiful you look.’ Steinberg bent over her glove.
‘Of course you may say it, Count. Even if you do not mean it.’
‘I do mean it.’ He straightened. ‘Can we . . .?’
‘Go to the opera,’ Anna said. ‘We may be late returning, Birgit. Do not wait up.’
‘Yes, Countess.’ Birgit gave a brief curtsey and withdrew.
‘You do not trust her,’ Steinberg suggested as they rode down in the lift.
‘I do not trust anybody, entirely, Count. Birgit is a good and faithful servant of Anna, Countess von Widers
tand, whom she only knows as a devoted servant of the Reich. I would not like to confuse her. She will be in bed by the time we return tonight, and I will invite you in for a nightcap. Just remember to play it my way, without question. The apartment is bugged.’
He clearly found the mental intimacy they were sharing almost as exciting as the mere fact of having such a beautiful woman on his arm, the envious and admiring glances cast his way by the other theatre-goers, most of whom knew Anna at least by sight. She tried to relax him by allowing him to hold her hand when the lights went down, but she doubted he saw or heard much of Lohengrin.
‘I should like to kiss you,’ he whispered in the taxi on their way back to the apartment.
‘Most men want more,’ she breathed into his mouth.
‘Ah, well . . .’
‘You will have to be patient.’
He possessed himself until they were in the lift, then took her in his arms. She put her hands on his chest. ‘We are working. When I am working, I am working. Afterwards, perhaps. But remember that my apartment is bugged, so I will permit you some intimacies. But what you have to say is more important.’
He released her, reluctantly. ‘Then you really are what they say of you.’
‘What do they say of me?’
‘Two things, really: that emotionally you are a block of ice, and that sexually you prefer women to men.’
‘Well, you will have to make your own judgement.’ The lift stopped, and she led him into the apartment. ‘There is cognac on the sideboard,’ she said. ‘I will put the gramophone on.’ She put some soft music on the turntable, then sat beside him on the settee. ‘Now snuggle up close and keep your voice down.’
‘This is a splendid apartment.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It was given to me by Reichsführer Himmler.’
He had been nestling his cheek against hers. Now he pulled his head back. ‘You mean you . . .’
‘Have you forgotten that I work for him? Is that not why you are here? But perhaps you did not realize that I do whatever he wishes me to.’
He licked his lips. ‘You know how to floor a man.’
‘Actually, I do. But if I choose, I allow them to recover. Now hold me close, and tell me what you have to say.’
He took her in his arms again, his lips against her ear. ‘I considered what you told me when we met in the park, and decided you were correct in your judgement as to what we might need. So I went to see Field Marshal von Beck.’
It was Anna’s turn to jerk her head back. ‘What did you say?’
Steinberg pulled her against him. ‘Have you ever met the Field Marshal?’
‘Yes, I have. When he was commander-in-chief of the Wehrmacht.’
‘Before Hitler fired him.’
‘And you have taken this crackpot idea to Germany’s senior living soldier? Now I know you are mad.’
‘I have known the Field Marshal since I was a little boy. He was – is, a friend of my family. And it may interest you to know that he listened to me, and agreed with much of what I had to say.’
‘Well of course he would,’ Anna pointed out. ‘He resents having been dismissed. But the man I said you needed was one with an active command, preferably close to or in Berlin. Beck commands nothing.’
‘He is still looked up to by many of the generals and field marshals. They respect his judgement.’
He was now caressing her breast, but she was too agitated to notice. ‘And you told him about me?’
‘No, I did not. I told him that we had a contact high in the SS who was of the opinion that Himmler might be prepared to take over were we to remove the Führer.’
‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He refused to accept that idea. He does not trust Himmler.’
Anna moved his hand. ‘Well, then . . .?’
‘I think he would prefer to be the new Führer himself.’
‘I’m sure he would. Then he is prepared to commit himself to your project?’
‘There is a caveat. Well, two, actually.’
‘I had no doubt that there would be.’
‘He will only commit if we obtain a guarantee from the Allies that they will withdraw their demand for unconditional surrender and negotiate with whichever government succeeds the Führer.’
‘How are you supposed to obtain such a guarantee?’ She held her breath.
‘I know it will be difficult,’ Steinberg said. ‘I am thinking of approaching Johannsson.’
Anna breathed slowly and carefully. ‘Do you think he has any connection with the Allies?’
‘I don’t know. But he is a Swede, and presumably can contact the British or American embassy in Stockholm.’
‘And increase the risk of your betrayal.’
‘It is a risk we have to take. But the Field Marshal said something else that is far more important. An echo of your own opinion. He said that we could not simply depose Hitler, that we would have to kill him. His reason is not any fear of a shoot-out but simply, as he pointed out, that when Hitler assumed supreme power on the death of Hindenburg in 1935, he made every soldier in the Wehrmacht, the Luftwaffe, and every sailor in the Navy, take a personal oath of allegiance to him, as Führer. Were he deposed but still alive, that oath would still have effect on the hearts and minds of most of the troops. But if he were dead – well, they would have to look to his successor.’
‘So now you contemplate murder,’ Anna said. ‘Have you thought about what it will entail? Have you ever killed a man?’
‘Well, no. I have never served in the Wehrmacht.’
‘It is not necessary to have fought in a war to have killed somebody,’ Anna pointed out. ‘Could you kill somebody?’
‘I don’t know. Could you?’
Anna was grateful that with their cheeks pressed together he could not see her eyes. ‘That is not the question. I am a woman. If you are not sure you can do it, then you can’t. Certainly not the Führer. Certainly if by doing so, or attempting to do so, you would be risking death yourself.’
‘You almost speak as if you have had such an experience.’
‘Let’s say that I have a very close friend who has had such an experience.’
‘Well, I know I am not the man for the job. He will have to be recruited.’
‘You mean you have no one in mind. None of your group who might be able to do it.’
‘I don’t think so. As I told you—’
‘You are all intellectuals. Yes, you told me. Well, I will wish you good fortune.’
‘But will you be on our side? May I tell the Field Marshal this?’
‘Certainly not, Friedrich. My terms are the same as before. If you ever tell a soul that you have even spoken with me on this subject, I will turn you over to the Gestapo.’
‘But Himmler . . . We need . . .’
‘I understand this. But now a new factor has been introduced. You are asking him to accept the command of Beck. I do not know if he will be prepared to do this. In any event, even more than the Field Marshal he will need to be certain of your success before he will commit himself.’
‘But he has told you that he will commit himself.’
‘I did not say that, and I will not have you putting words into my mouth. Go away, find your assassin, make out a plan of campaign, in your head, please, not on paper, and then come back to me. If it is at all viable, I may put it before the Reichsführer. Just remember that the word is “may”.’
‘And once you have our plan, you can turn the whole thing over to the Gestapo.’
‘Why, that is a risk you have to take. If you are not prepared to do that, I suggest you leave now.’
He moved back to stare at her, his expression a mixture of longing and apprehension. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. ‘But I think you would rather stay.’ She held his hand and stood up. ‘Let us go to bed for a while.’
He gasped. She wondered if he would make it. But she felt it was important to make him her slave, at leas
t until she knew for certain whether this hare-brained plot was going to get anywhere and, more importantly, whether London wanted it to get anywhere. Besides, she felt like being sexually dominant, just for a change.
*
‘Anna!’ Himmler announced, entering her office, which was sufficiently surprising to have her head jerk: he usually sent for her. ‘You will never guess what has happened.’
Oh, shit! she thought. She had been feeling deliciously relaxed. On the one hand, she had bought herself some time, quite a lot of time, as she did not suppose Friedrich would find his assassin very rapidly. And on the other, he had proved himself a very acceptable lover, so terribly anxious to indulge her every whim just as he had been so very clean and well groomed. Though she could not escape the feeling that he was doomed, he might prove a very satisfying companion for a while. But to have Himmler marching into her office . . . On the other hand, the Reichsführer did not look either disturbed or angry. ‘I am sure I cannot, sir,’ she said.
‘Your coup,’ he said. ‘The man Bartoli.’
Anna’s stomach muscles tightened. ‘Sir?’
Himmler actually sat on the desk. ‘I told you that when we raided his house we found all that radio equipment, and received a message from London that a contact was on his way.’
‘Ye-es,’ Anna said cautiously.
‘Well, it would seem that the contact may have turned up.’
Oh, my God! She thought. ‘Can it be possible?’
‘That is what I want you to find out, because it is your baby, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. This contact—’
Himmler held up his finger. ‘I don’t want you to go jumping to conclusions. You must keep an open mind. The woman may be entirely innocent. It is just such a coincidence.’
‘Woman?’
‘Some Italian. Named . . .’ He thought for a moment. ‘Claudia Ratosi.’
‘Claudia Ratosi.’
‘Do you know of her?’
‘I have never heard the name before. And you say she has been arrested . . .?’
‘In Lübeck, after getting off the Malmö ferry. I telephoned you last night as soon as I received the report. But your maid said that you had gone to the opera.’
And she never thought to tell me you had called, Anna thought. ‘Yes, sir.’
Angel in Jeopardy_The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance Page 12
