The Spy Who Never Was

by Tom Savage

  “Wow,” Nora said. “Okay, tell me, have you ever made an anonymous phone call?”

  Fanny grinned. “How anonymous?”

  Nora explained the acting job, then handed the remarkable Fanny her black phone from Jacques. She watched the subsequent performance in amazement. Fanny called the police and tearfully explained in Alemannic German that she was a working girl whose client, Charles O’Rourke in room six of the pension known simply as Pension, had taken drugs and waved a loaded gun in her face. Seventeen minutes later—Nora clocked it—they watched from the car down the street as Chuck was led out of the place in handcuffs by four Swiss officers.

  Nora nodded grimly to herself, thinking, That ought to keep Chuck busy for a couple of days, and then he’ll be thrown out of Switzerland. He won’t be bothering the Hoffmans again, and he won’t be in Alpenberg. One down—but how many to go? She called Sonya with the news, then turned to her accomplice.

  “Okay, let’s roll,” she said, and Fanny complied.

  Evening had fallen on Lucerne by the time they passed through the southernmost reaches of the city. The car entered the A2 motorway, heading south past the exits to Horw and Hergiswil, two lakeside municipalities at the base of Mount Pilatus, then exited the motorway onto a two-lane road. They rose steadily as they passed fields, forests, and the occasional village, and Nora realized that they were climbing into the mountains southeast of Pilatus. She turned around in the backseat, hoping for a glimpse of the great mountain in the distance, but it was already too dark; she saw only the black shapes of the tall trees beside the road.

  In addition to her other talents, Fanny was an excellent driver. She maneuvered the car quickly but efficiently, and Nora never felt uncomfortable, despite sharp switchbacks and more than a few sections of the road being lined with railings giving onto sheer drops. Nora also noticed that her young driver was much more quiet when she was driving. She sensed that the girl was eager to ask about the incident back in the city—after all, her phone call to the police at the request of a complete stranger had just landed a man in jail. But she politely avoided posing any questions, for which Nora was grateful.

  Nora looked at her watch. “How far is it to this village?”

  “Not far,” Fanny said, checking her GPS screen. “Another ten kilometers on this road, then we turn up the final one. My father says most of these little mountain roads were dirt when he was young. I’ve driven people up here a couple of times; it’s a cool-looking village, like a postcard. And the road has always been paved because of the Todhaus.”

  Nora leaned forward in the backseat. “The toad house?”

  Fanny’s light laughter filled the car. “I forgot that the word is pronounced the same as your little frog, isn’t it? No, not toad; Tod. The Death House.”

  “You must mean the Brandt Clinic,” Nora said.

  “Yes. It’s along the road past the village, another two kilometers around the mountain. When I first heard that the client wanted to come up here, I thought you must be, you know, sick. But now I’m guessing you’re visiting someone there.”

  “That’s right,” Nora said. “Are there no other reasons for people to come to Alpenberg? What about skiing, or climbing?”

  “No, these mountains are in between all that. If you want to ski around here, you go east to Klosters or west to Chamonix. And climbing is mostly west of here—the Jungfrau and the Eiger are thataway.” She waved an arm in that direction. “There aren’t any good slopes or peaks around here. There’s only farming, and sheep and cows and goats, and some forestry, but mostly the Death House.”

  Nora was trying to get the lay of the land; she needed to know how her enemies could arrive. “Where’s the nearest train station?”

  Fanny jerked a thumb toward the rear of the car. “We just passed it, about two kilometers back. Ah, here’s the turn.”

  Nora saw in the headlights that a small road led away from this main one, rising up on their right through a steep field and vanishing into an evergreen forest. As the car made the turn, she noticed the signs beside the new road. A green metal sign on a metal post indicated ALPENBERG 3 KM and GANS 9 KM in white Helvetica lettering. But it was the big, freestanding wooden sign beside the official highway sign that arrested her attention. In the headlight glow, she saw the black Gothic letters burned into the wood:

  BRANDTKLINIK

  DAS SCHLUSSHEIM

  GEGRÜNDET 1928

  5 KM

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “I’m guessing gegründet means ‘established,’ but what is the second line? What does Das Schlussheim mean?”

  Fanny avoided Nora’s gaze in the rearview mirror. In a small voice, practically a whisper, she said, “It means ‘the final home.’ ”

  “Oh,” Nora said. “Well, I guess it sounds better than the Death House…”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. The car moved up the road through the field into the forest, where it continued to climb through the trees, emerging into a wide meadow. The lake in the center of this field was lovely, with moonlight dancing across its black surface and glinting on the waterfall of the stream that fed the lake from the hills above. Until this moment, Nora hadn’t noticed the nearly full moon.

  The village was on the ridge above them. The road skirted one side of the lake, then rose up into a second, smaller wood. They entered the trees, only to emerge seconds later onto a wide plateau protected on three sides by the mountain itself and in front by the steep hill to the lake below. This pocket of shelter halfway up the mountain, with a stream cascading down beside it from a source high above, was the site where long-ago farmers and shepherds had decided to build a community.

  The road continued on before them along the ridge, crossing a little stone bridge above the stream and disappearing around a curve of the mountain a hundred yards away. That’s the way to the clinic, Nora reasoned, and a higher village called Gans, probably the only other settlement in the area. Fanny turned off the road, then immediately turned left into the cobblestoned main street that doubled as the town square and paused for a moment. The only lighted windows at this hour were in a garish, bright pink building beside the car and a handsome chalet at the far end. Nora peered out at the sign on the nearer structure: GASTHOF WUNDERBAR. The inn at the other end would be Gasthof Kleiss.

  “Welcome to Alpenberg,” Fanny said.

  Chapter 31

  Fanny rolled the car slowly down the bumpy street, trying to avoid making any noise. The houses and shops that lined the square were dark and still. Nora consulted her watch: ten-twenty. A rural community high above the city would be in bed by ten, probably earlier. But this particular village had two guesthouses to accommodate visitors to the clinic and occasional hikers, and outsiders might stay up later.

  There were no other cars in evidence. Fanny explained that there was a parking lot outside the square for the people who lived on this street. Visiting vehicles were allowed to enter the space for drop-offs and pickups, but otherwise it was a pedestrian plaza. The houses in the hills beyond would each have a shed or carport for cars and small trucks, and the little Roman Catholic church up the hill from the square had its own parking lot. This made Nora wonder just how big Alpenberg was. Fanny guessed that the population was about two hundred, and fewer than half would own a vehicle.

  Nora resolved to have a good look around the area tomorrow morning, paying particular attention to the parking lots. Her enemies, when they came, would most likely arrive by car.

  An attractive, cheerful-looking older woman was waiting in the open doorway of Gasthof Kleiss when they rolled to a stop. Fanny opened the trunk and swung Nora’s suitcase down to the cobblestones, then wheeled it to the door. Nora preceded her.

  “Madame Lanier?” the woman said. “I’m Trina Kleiss. Welcome!”

  “Thank you,” Nora said. “Please call me Marianne, and this is Fanny.” She followed the woman inside, with Fanny right behind her.

  Nora stopped just inside the
doorway, taking in the sight. The ground floor of the guesthouse was the usual setup, with a large central room doubling as a lobby and reception area. An archway at one end led to a dining room, with the kitchen beyond it, and the opposite end was dominated by an ornate wooden stairway leading to the rooms above.

  What distinguished Gasthof Kleiss from the usual small inn was the décor. Overstuffed couches and armchairs upholstered in a variety of earth tones; lacy throw pillows and antimacassars; pine tables and chairs; shelves of figurines and knickknacks; even a big, intricately carved cuckoo clock above the stone fireplace: This gleaming, pine-paneled room was a Walt Disney dream of a Swiss chalet made real.

  “Let me show you to your room,” Trina Kleiss said, “and then I will give you tea before we send this young lady back down the mountain.”

  Nora was about to protest, to tell the woman not to go to any trouble, but she sensed that Frau Kleiss was used to making all the decisions around here; Nora wondered where Herr Kleiss was. She also caught a glimpse of Fanny’s delighted expression at the prospect of a hot beverage, so she merely smiled and accompanied the woman up the stairs. Fanny followed with the suitcase.

  The upper hallway had six doors, three on each side: four bedrooms and two baths. Her host raised a finger to her lips as she led the way to the nearest bedroom on the right.

  “You are the last to arrive—the other guests are asleep,” she whispered, ushering them into—surprise!—a pine-paneled bedroom with a thick mattress and pillows piled high on a solid pine bedstead. A pine dresser, an armchair in the corner, a royal blue rug, and royal blue curtains framing two windows completed the look. Blue curtains also covered a doorway between the two windows. Frau Kleiss opened the curtains to reveal a glass door leading out to a long, railed balcony above the road that looked down on the valley, the lake, and the distant lights of the city. The stream was on her right, and the great dark shape far away on the left would be Pilatus. This stunning view would be even more stunning in daylight.

  “How beautiful!” Nora whispered.

  Back downstairs, Nora and Fanny were waved into armchairs while Trina vanished into the kitchen beyond the dining room. By the time she’d emerged with a tray, poured two cups, and then set a plate of sugar cookies on the pine coffee table between them, Nora was ready with her pertinent questions.

  “Your other guests, Frau Kleiss—”

  “Please, call me Trina.”

  “Thank you. Trina, are your other guests visiting the clinic?”

  “One is—Frau Leydon. Her brother is there. My others are local; old Herr Shuler is in room three while his wife is away visiting relatives, and the young couple in room two are just married—their cottage up the hill is still being prepared and painted, so they are here until next week. You booked my only free room tonight.”

  Nora smiled and nodded, filing the information away. No room at the inn: Whoever came looking for Julie would have to stay at the vulgar place at the other end of the square or sleep in their car. Good to know…

  “May I book my room for a second night?” she asked. No point in making it easy for these people if they arrived tomorrow.

  “Of course,” Trina said. “And now you ladies must excuse me. It has been a long day, and I’m for bed. Please leave the tea things there on the table; Frau Gund will see to them in the morning. She serves breakfast at seven o’clock. Guten Abend.” She went off through a door under the stairs.

  Fanny finished her cookie, drained her teacup, and leaped to her feet. “I should be going—it’s late, and I have classes in the morning. Then I’m going to a hair salon with my friend Helga. Helga says I should do something about my hair. You’re an acting teacher—what do you think?”

  Nora rose and accompanied her to the door. “I think you should do whatever you like with it. You have unusual taste in clothes, and that’s a good thing for an actress. Think about your hair, and do what you think is right for you. Trust your instincts.” She smiled at her new friend. “Thank you for everything, Fanny. You made tonight much easier for me.”

  Fanny adjusted the collar of her brightly striped sweater. “That guy tonight, Charles O’Rourke—was he some sort of threat to you?”

  Nora decided not to lie, even though she couldn’t tell this girl very much.

  “He was a threat to quite a few people,” she said, “and what you did tonight will help them. He’s a dangerous man. But you mustn’t tell anyone about what we did tonight because—well, his friends are also a threat to me. It’s our secret, okay?”

  “Okay,” Fanny said. “I’m cool with that. Do you have your phone handy?”

  Nora pulled the black phone from her pocket. Fanny recited a phone number, and Nora entered it.

  “Okay,” Fanny said. “Call me when you’re ready to go back to town, and I’ll come and get you.”

  “Actually, I’ll probably want to go straight from here to an airport.”

  “That’s cool. There are only two around these parts, and I can get you to either one of them in ninety minutes.”

  “Great! I’ll call you,” Nora promised. She waved from the door as the Mercedes rolled away through the silent village.

  She hoped she could keep that promise.

  Chapter 32

  Upstairs, Nora went into the bathroom next door to her room and got ready for bed. She took off the blond wig, brushed her teeth, and washed the Marianne Lanier makeup off her face, eyeing the big bathtub with longing. No, she decided—I’ll take a bath tomorrow morning.

  In her room, she slipped into her T-shirt and running shorts, then opened the glass door and went out onto the balcony. She stood at the railing in the cold mountain breeze, allowing it to ruffle her hair as she gazed down at the lake below the road and out at the lights of the city far beyond it. She was blessedly alone for the first time tonight, and now she could think.

  Edgar Cole and Amanda Morris. They were partners, romantically as well as professionally. They were looking for Mr. Cole’s great creation, Chris Waverly, the legend known as Rose. They’d gone so far as to hire a professional actress to pose as the woman, whose real name was Julie Campbell.

  Julie Campbell. She was a legendary agent and assassin like her legendary parents, John Campbell and Fiona Fenwick. She had apparently obeyed Cole’s instructions, completed his missions, for nine years—until last Christmas.

  Three years ago, Julie—not a CIA agent in Moscow—broke up a Russian mob’s human trafficking business. The mob hired Yuri Kerensky to track her down and kill her. Instead, he fell in love with her and eventually married her.

  Last Christmas, Julie—not Amanda Morris—killed a human trafficker named Carla Clement. Carla’s husband, Bernard, tried to kill Nora, thinking she was Julie. Julie’s husband, Yuri Kerensky, caught up with Bernard Clement, broke his neck, and dumped him in a trash bin.

  Last Christmas…

  Last Christmas, three things happened. Julie killed Carla Clement, married Yuri Kerensky, and vanished from the face of the earth. A short while later, in January, Edgar Cole assembled a team in Paris: Amanda, Chuck, and a rookie CIA agent named Ben Dysart. Nora suspected that Ben Dysart was the only legitimate CIA agent in this whole scenario. Ben was eager to be on the team—until two days ago, when his entire demeanor had changed. Now he was missing in action, presumed dead.

  Last Christmas…

  Last Christmas, one single thing occurred that altered Julie Campbell’s life. This event threw her mission for Edgar Cole into a tailspin, and she vanished. Mr. Cole was not pleased. He was so displeased that he came up with a hoax, a bogus blackmail scheme against the CIA, in order to smoke her out of the woodwork. He hired Nora and sent her to Paris. He trapped and caught Julie’s uncle, Daniel Fenwick, an aging man in poor health.

  Franz Hoffman overheard Chuck on the phone, explaining about doses. Drugs. Scopolamine? Pentothal? Something had been used to make Julie’s uncle talk. He was one of three people in the world who knew where Julie was, the others being h
er husband, Yuri, and Yuri’s sister, Sonya.

  They couldn’t get Yuri, thanks to Nora.

  They couldn’t get Sonya, thanks to Nora.

  They got Daniel Fenwick…thanks to Nora.

  Daniel Fenwick blurted Sonya’s location to his captors. If he hadn’t already blurted Julie’s location to them, it was a matter of time and chemistry. They would be here soon, perhaps tomorrow. They wanted to kill Julie Campbell.

  Why?

  Last Christmas…

  Last Christmas, Julie Campbell apparently learned that she was dying. She finished one last op, the assassination of Carla Clement. She married her lover of three years, the assassin originally sent to kill her. And she vanished. She came here, to the Brandt Clinic.

  Nora had boiled it all down to two questions:

  Why do they want to kill Julie Campbell?

  Do they know that Julie Campbell is dying?

  Nora smiled to herself, thinking, I should be making one of my lists. I should write this down…

  She was turning to go back into the warmth of her room when she heard it. The wind was whistling up from the field below, and the distant rush of the stream was audible, but under or above it she heard another distinct sound: the rustle of displaced gravel. It had come from near the road below the balcony, on her left. She stood still, straining to listen. There it was again, a soft crunch as gravel was disturbed.

  Then she felt it. It was a feeling familiar to actors, and it wasn’t like any other sensation in the world. It was the distinct sense of being observed. She was onstage. Somewhere, out there in the dark, someone was watching her.