“I’m afraid,” Ludlow began, “the timetable for your journey to Belgium and Dover has been moved up. You’re leaving now.”
“Why? What happened?”
Henry turned to her. “Just following orders, yeah?”
She bristled, then ignored him. “What happened?” she asked Ludlow.
“Henry had a run-in with the last member of the German spy ring. There was an altercation. Henry came out on top, but left things in a rather sordid state.”
“Look,” Henry said, “I had no choice. It was him or me.”
“True, my boy, but your emotions prompted you to take Klein out in a rather gruesome way.”
Henry stopped pacing. “Don’t tell me about emotions. I have had to stifle them for months! I’ve hated listening to him brag about all the people he’s killed and tortured. You weren’t there. So don’t you damn well tell me what I should have done.”
“But your actions will bring undue attention to our operation,” Ludlow persisted. “I can assuage the locals, but if the building burns to the ground, we’re going to have to reimburse all the new homeless.”
Lillian put her gun in the robe’s pocket. “You burned down a building?”
“Casualty of war,” Henry grunted. “Get dressed and pack your bags. We’re leaving as fast as possible.” When she didn’t snap to it, Henry said, “Come on!”
Ludlow turned his head and smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid he’s right, Sergeant. The authorities will be asking questions. Those questions will lead directly back to me. If you both are gone, it’ll just be easier all around. Take my car. I’ll catch the train down to London and get another.”
“I need some money,” Henry blurted. “I had to leave everything in the flat.”
Ludlow pulled out his wallet and forked over everything he had. “Sergeant, on the jump!”
Still bristling at being ordered around by both of them, Lillian complied. Within a few minutes, she had changed into a brown traveling suit. All her belongings were in her leather valise. Her pistol was in the pocket of her jacket.
Henry gave her the once-over and cocked an eyebrow. “Always dress up for spy work?”
“You always burn down buildings?” she retorted.
“Touché to the both of you,” Ludlow said. “Now, be on your way. Let me know when you get to Dover. I’d advise you to keep your homecoming as short as possible.”
“Will do.” Henry stopped in front of Ludlow and extended his hand. “Sir, thank you.”
Ludlow grasped the proffered hand and shook it. “Always, my boy.”
With a curt nod, Henry beckoned Lillian to follow him. They descended the stairs and hurried to the street. Ludlow’s car turned out to be a four-door Armstrong Siddeley. Lillian didn’t have a clue what kind of car it was until Henry mumbled the name out loud.
“Guess your boss likes to travel in style.” Lillian threw her valise in the back seat.
“And he likes to drive fast, which’ll help us now.”
They both slid into the front seats. Henry started the car and gunned the engine. A grin creased his face. “I’m dog-tired but I’m gonna love driving this thing.” Henry checked his rearview mirror and pulled out into the street. Neither one of them said anything while Henry concentrated on getting out of town.
When the lights of Liverpool dimmed along their rear horizon, Lillian asked, “How long a drive do we have?”
“Five hours.”
Lillian turned and rummaged in her valise. She sat back in her seat. In her hands was a small alarm clock. She checked her watch, set the time, and then set the alarm. Finally, she placed the clock on the floorboard.
“I’ll relieve you in two hours.” Lillian said. “But for now, please drive with as few bumps as possible. I need to get some shuteye.”
With that, Lillian Saxton eased herself lower in the seat and promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER 21
George Ludlow watched his prized Armstrong Siddeley drive away under Henry’s strong hands. He loved that car. It took quite a few strings to pull in order for MI-5 to allow Ludlow to drive a private car for government business. But he had done it. And he was the talk of the bureau for it. His car was known among the diplomatic corps. The mere sight of it was enough to announce Ludlow’s arrival. It was just like being the king.
He chuckled. Wide awake now, he moseyed across the room to the phone. He picked it up and asked for a line to London, the home office. While he waited, he poured another glass of brandy. Outside his windows, shadows overwhelmed all light.
There was a sound at the door. A rasping of metal on metal. It came from the doorknob and its lock. Dear God, Ludlow thought. Someone was breaking into the house.
Ludlow placed the phone on the table. He purposefully didn’t end the call. He sipped the brandy, then placed the empty glass on the table. Opening a drawer, he slipped a snub-nosed revolver into his hand.
The rasping stopped when the lock clicked open. Ludlow considered rushing across the room and slamming the deadbolt back into place, but it would ultimately do no good. Whoever was out there would just pick the lock again and again. Better to make a stand now.
Ludlow settled into one of the wing chairs and doused the light. The movement outside the door stopped. A cough, then a groan. Then, the knob began to turn.
Ludlow pulled the hammer back. He waited.
The knob fully turned. The door whooshed open.
Ludlow fired. His bullet thunked into the far wall across the hallway. He was an excellent shot. He aimed where a man’s body should be.
No person appeared in the doorway.
A dark shape darted across the open door. Ludlow fired again. He hit only air. Frustrated, Ludlow violated a cardinal rule in warfare: don’t give up a secure position. He stood and walked to the door. He held the gun at the ready. Whoever was playing this game was going to lose.
Ludlow didn’t see the object that flew through the air and hit him in the face. He only felt the searing pain of the thing as it struck his cheek. He grunted and staggered backward. The object rolled on the floor.
The person in the hall took that opportunity to surge into the room. The silhouette appeared odd to Ludlow. He couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. Nevertheless, he brought his pistol up to shoot the intruder.
The other person’s foot connected with Ludlow’s hand and sent the pistol skittering across the floor. The pain of the blow numbed Ludlow’s arm for a moment.
The intruder bent down and grabbed handfuls of Ludlow’s suit and shirt. He hauled the intelligence officer’s body to his feet. Ludlow’s shoes met only air.
Ludlow didn’t wait long. He kicked out with one foot; it only glanced off the intruder’s shin. Ludlow tried to knee the stranger. Surprisingly, the man—Ludlow knew it was a man; who else could lift him up?—pivoted and the knee missed.
In retaliation, the intruder slammed his forehead into Ludlow’s face. Ludlow saw stars just after he heard his nose crack. Darkness met him. He blacked out.
***
George Ludlow woke. He didn’t know where he was. His face was wet so he tried to raise his hand to wipe ut. His hand wouldn’t move. Within seconds, he determined he was tied to one of his wooden chairs. The lights in the flat were on and he angled his head to see how bad the bindings were.
They were bad. Both wrists and ankles were secured to the chair arms and legs. The attacker had used Ludlow’s own belts, drilling new, ragged holes for the belt pin. Ludlow felt no clearance in the bonds.
He frowned. Over in the corner, sitting on the floor, was a grenade. The pin was still in place. That must have been the object that had struck him in the face.
“Good,” the stranger said, “you’re awake.”
Ludlow spun his head and wished he hadn’t. Waves of nausea flipped his stomach. All the brandy and food he had consumed flooded up and out of him. The sickness landed on his lap and down his shirt.
“That’s disgusting.” The intruder ste
pped into Ludlow’s field of vision.
If he hadn’t already vomited, chances were he’d have done it at that moment. The other man’s left side was burned. The wound was fresh. Blood and pus seeped from the other man’s cheeks. The eyes weren’t affected, but the lower half of the left side of the face appeared melted.
“Dear God,” Ludlow muttered. “You’re hideous.”
“Do I look that bad? There wasn’t anything I could do. Your man did this to me. I knew him as Becker. What’s his real name?” The stranger stood in front of Ludlow.
The intelligence man frowned. “Are you wearing my clothes?”
The other man shrugged. “Turns out, we’re almost the same size.”
Ludlow gazed up at the man and studied the undamaged side. In his mind, he ran through photographs of men he had been watching until he found a match. “You’re Klein.”
“You know me. That’s wonderful. It’ll help our chat.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Ludlow recognized it as his own. “You would be George Ludlow. British intelligence. That means the man I knew as Becker is British intelligence as well. I had already figured that, but confirmation is always good.”
Klein walked across the room, grabbed a chair, and returned. He sat in the chair on Ludlow’s side. The German made sure to keep his burned side close to the Briton.
“That’s a bad burn,” Ludlow said. “You should put something on that.”
“Hurts like hell, but we’ve got something to discuss. What is Becker’s mission?”
Ludlow found his inner strength. He sat up straighter in the chair and stared straight ahead. “You will get nothing from me.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Ludlow put as much anger in his voice as possible. “You forget: I have been through the last war. I can resist.”
Klein smacked Ludlow across the face. “You arrogant Brits. You haven’t figured out this is a new war.” From past Ludlow’s field of vision, Klein picked up something and showed it to Ludlow.
It was the brandy decanter.
Klein opened the lid and threw it across the room. He sniffed the liquor. He put his lips to the rim and drank deep. Some of the alcohol ran up and over his lips and down his burned cheeks. The German sucked air through his teeth at the pain.
“Damn, that hurts.”
With nonchalance, Klein poured some of the brandy on Ludlow’s thigh. “Do you want to know how your man did this to me?” He poured enough to soak the pants fabric. “We were fighting. I was going to best him and he knew it. So he cheated.” Klein pulled Ludlow’s handkerchief from Ludlow’s breast pocket and shoved it into Ludlow’s mouth. “Let me show you.”
He took a matchbook from the writing desk. He lit one match and dropped it onto Ludlow’s leg.
The heat was almost instantaneous. The fabric caught fire up and down his thigh. Some of the brandy soaked up to his groin. The flame followed where the brandy was.
Ludlow screamed like he had never screamed before in his life. It seemed like forever, but it was only seconds. Before he knew it, Klein had taken a towel and tamped out the fire.
Breathing heavily through his nose, Ludlow moaned. The next thing he knew, Klein poured some of the brandy on the burned leg.
The stinging seared though him. He yelled again.
Klein waited for Ludlow to regain his composure.
“Now, Mr. Ludlow, how much more of this can you endure?” Klein leaned forward and lit another match with his fingernail. “Tell me what Becker’s real name is and his mission. And who was that woman he left with?”
***
Herr Colonel finally arrived at his house after midnight. He opened the door with his key. The door creaked like a clarion call. He cursed. He had been meaning to take care of that squeak for days now, but work always interfered. He made a mental note to tend to the hinges first thing in the morning before the day’s activities.
Unfortunately for him, the squeak woke up his wife. Even here, in the entry foyer to his house, he heard the stirrings and the springs creak. He sighed. She was a light sleeper. Chances were he’d fall asleep faster than she would.
In a concession for quiet, he sat and removed his boots and socks. His feet ached from being cramped all day. He enjoyed being a part of the military organization here in Berlin. He didn’t particularly enjoy having to wear a proper uniform all the time. Give him the traditional professor’s uniform of a suit, tie, and loafers and he could go all day and never be uncomfortable.
Herr Colonel padded his way down the main hall. His reading room appeared ghostly in the dim light. He noted the little table next to his favorite chair. A small stack of books remained unread, waiting for him to return. With the impending invasion, he had been working longer hours than before. Whatever free time he earned he spent with Wilma. Reading was what he had to give up for der Führer.
Walking down the hall, Herr Colonel unbuttoned his uniform coat and removed it. The waft of stress sweat met his nose and he grimaced. He detoured to the bathroom. Without turning on the light, he wetted a washcloth and wiped his face, neck, and armpits. He brushed his teeth, making sure to get the little tendrils of beef out from between his teeth. Satisfied, he continued his walk to his bedroom. He hoped his wife had fallen back asleep.
“Long night,” Wilma said when he silently opened the bedroom door. He had already made sure to fix those hinges.
He sighed deeply. “Ja.” He draped his uniform jacket over a chair and unbuckled his pants.
“Can you tell me about it?”
He sighed again. “Nein.” He peeled off his undershirt and boxers. He sauntered over to his dresser to retrieve a fresh pair of underwear.
“You won’t need those,” his wife said.
The next thing he knew, he felt her touch on his arm. It was light but firm, pulling him to bed. He didn’t resist. He slid into the warm sheets and felt his wife’s soft skin all along his body. Despite the hour, his excitement grew.
His lips found hers. Long hours had kept him away from her. She had complained, quietly, but always understood. The needs of the government sometimes outweighed the needs of the individual.
Not tonight. Tonight, the needs of two individuals would be met.
After they finished, they lay together. They had thrown the sheets off them. Their breathing calmed. Wilma turned on her side and put her arm over her husband’s chest. Her lips whispered in his ear, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Herr Colonel drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
That was broken an hour later by a ringing phone.
He jumped awake. The arm that was under his wife’s neck felt numb.
Wilma wife cursed and sat up.
Herr Colonel retrieved his numb arm, all tingling with pins and needles, and stumbled across the room to the phone stand. He snatched the receiver.
“What is it?” With so little sleep, he made no attempt to mask his anger.
“Herr Colonel, sir, my apologies for waking you, but it’s urgent.”
“Then get on with it.”
“We’ve got a message from England. Liverpool in particular.”
Anger vanished from him. “Tell me.”
“He’s still on the line.”
“Who?”
“Our agent in Liverpool. Rolf Klein.”
Herr Colonel sat at the table. He flicked on the small lamp.
Wilma groaned. She turned over and put a pillow over her head.
Herr Colonel pulled a pad and pencil over. “Go.”
There were a few moments of static and rustling. Then, a voice. “Herr Colonel?”
“Ja.”
“This is Klein. We have a problem in Liverpool.”
“Tell me.”
Herr Colonel jotted notes as fast as Klein talked. The operation in Liverpool had been compromised. Otto was dead. Buckley was arrested. Becker wasn’t who he said he was. He was a man named Henry Clark. He worked for British intelligence. He
left with a woman.
“Who was she?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Any clue as to Clark’s mission?”
“The man I questioned gave up some information, but not that.” The note of frustration in his voice sounded real.
A chill ran down Herr Colonel’s spine. He knew men such as Klein were an integral part of intelligence work and the methods deployed were sometimes necessary, but he didn’t like it. He knew Klein only through reports, but other members of the organization spoke highly of the field agent. Over beers in pubs, those other men, all military, laughed at what Klein would do to get what he wanted.
“Well, he gave up some information, but I’m not sure I trust it,” Klein went on.
“What is it?”
“He said Clark was heading down the London for further instructions.”
That seemed a blanket misdirect. On a whim, Herr Colonel asked about the American, Frank Monroe.
“The subject didn’t come up. I didn’t know to ask.”
Of course he wouldn’t. If the reports were accurate, Klein had been temporarily deployed up to Glasgow to take care of a traitor who had revealed sensitive information to the local police. His memory wasn’t as sharp at this time of night, but Herr Colonel thought the mission was supposed to last another day. He asked Klein about it.
“The mission went better than expected. I finished early.”
Another chill coursed through Herr Colonel.
Thoughts raced in Herr Colonel’s mind. He tried to put some of the pieces in a logical order. Frank Monroe, an American banker, was being followed all the way from the United States. He landed in Liverpool with a traveling companion, a woman. Word from higher up in the chain of command had instructed an agent named Johannes Bauer to acquire a book Frank Monroe carried. In addition, the daily report from Liverpool was empty. Herr Colonel chalked that up to the raid.
But Bauer would have reported in before that. He was to pick up Monroe’s tail two nights ago. His activities should have been in that earlier report. They weren’t. That indicated something had gone wrong.
“Klein, listen. Our task was to follow the American, Monroe, and see where he was going. He is carrying a book we need. It might lead us to figure out why Monroe met with another American down in Belgium last month.” He told Klein what he knew about the meeting.
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