The Girl with the Silver Stiletto

by Vic Robbie

  She bustled into the room and added some toiletries to the holdall before flashing a smile at Freddie. ‘We’re ready. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where to now, maman?’

  ‘Ben’s apartment. We’ll be safe there.’

  For how long? He checked the corridor before ushering them out and led them down to the lobby. As he paid, the receptionist didn’t raise his head. Outside, a taxi cab’s light shone through the gloom, and he leapt into the road and flagged it down. The driver was as morose as the weather. Relieved he didn’t try to engage them in conversation, Ben glanced out the rear window to make sure no one followed.

  She brightened on entering the apartment, walking around and checking out where they would sleep as if intending a long stay.

  ‘Nice place, you’ve got here.’ She smiled at him, and it rekindled his feelings for her. The wind and the harsh climate of the Shetlands had sucked the lustre from her blonde hair and face, but it added a different dimension to her attractiveness. ‘Thanks for helping us.’ She nodded.

  ‘I’ve not done anything yet.’

  He showed the way to a small third bedroom, not much larger than a cupboard, housing a single bed. It was adequate for Freddie, and he jumped on it with a yawn.

  ‘You need to sleep, mon fils,’ she said. ‘It’s all been far too exciting for you.’ And he nestled down under the blankets.

  While she moved a few belongings into the guest bedroom, he made them a coffee and also took a bottle of twelve-year-old Macallan and a jug of water with some ice into the sitting-room. How could he protect them? If MI5 and MI6 could no longer be relied on, he was their only hope. Going to the police would not help. It would be difficult for them to understand her story and, if they did, they could not provide round-the-clock protection. Although they had won the war, there were still many Nazi sympathisers in Britain. Thousands, perhaps millions, wanted Nazism to rise again.

  She switched off the light and emerged from the bedroom. ‘He’s asleep already.’

  Making space for her on the couch next to him, Ben said: ‘Try to relax for a moment.’

  She kicked off her shoes and settled into the sofa, giving him quick, almost furtive glances, and grabbed with both hands the coffee he proffered. He showed her the whisky bottle, and she smiled, and he added a generous slug of Scotch to the hot drink, releasing the aroma of the spirit. Taking a slow sip, she reclined her head and closed her eyes. ‘I wish all this would go away.’

  ‘Including me?’

  ‘No, you know I didn’t mean that.’ She laughed a warm, deep-throated chuckle that filled the room. ‘With you, I feel safe, but it won’t be long before we have to move on again.’ And she put a hand in his. ‘I hate all this. I want a normal life for Freddie.’

  Believing that might be beyond Freddie’s reach, he said: ‘You can stay for as long as you like.’

  Alena seemed to agree and took a drink. ‘God, this tastes good.’ She held out the mug for another drop. ‘What can I do, Ben? What’s the answer? Is there an answer?’

  While he refreshed the drink, he was aware of her watching, and he turned. A hesitant smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and an unblinking stare devoured his face.

  ‘We’ll find a way out of this,’ he replied, doubtful that a return to France was an option. There would be more Nazis on the Continent and just as organised. ‘There’s always America.’

  Wide-eyed, she stared at him. ‘America? Why?’

  He put up a hand. ‘Well, I’m an American. I’ve got contacts, and it’s a much bigger place to get lost in.’

  ‘Could we be safe there?’

  ‘I’m not saying America doesn’t have its Nazi supporters, but I’ve friends who could help until the Nazis lose interest.’

  Although she thought that might take some time, she nodded. ‘How would we…’

  ‘That’s the problem.’ He flashed her an awkward smile. ‘We need Pickering to get the paperwork through his contacts and then we could travel as a family.’

  ‘That gives me a sense of déjà vu.’ She laughed. ‘The last time it was…’

  ‘Fun?’

  ‘No,’ she chuckled. ‘Terrifying.’

  ‘I don’t intend taking you into danger but away from it.’

  She rocked back and forth holding the drink in both hands. ‘Could work, I suppose. What else is there?’

  ‘It’s not ideal, but it’s the only–’

  A knock startled them and panic swept across a face already troubled, and she pulled her knees up under her chin. He put a finger to his lips.

  Peering through the peephole, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was Pickering, wearing the new clothes he had bought.

  He opened it, and Pickering bundled into the hall. ‘Sorry to bother you, old man. Those damn Intelligence wallahs are on my tail again. Need somewhere to crash for the night.’ And on seeing alarm on Ben’s face, he touched his arm. ‘Don’t worry, came in through that escape hatch of yours. What with the fog and all, gave them the slip.’

  ‘Go through.’

  ‘Thanks, old man. What I need now is a strong heart-starter.’

  After checking the door was bolted, he followed him into the sitting-room and heard Pickering gasp. ‘What? What are you doing here?’

  Alena rose to her feet, and they both embraced self-consciously. ‘Good to see you.’ But she didn’t sound sure.

  ‘How? Where?’ Pickering turned to him. ‘Where’s Freddie?’

  ‘Asleep,’ she said and poured him a large measure. ‘We’re in trouble.’

  ‘I guessed that. You fled Shetland, but surely MI6 have your back?’

  Like a wife deserted, she looked defeated. ‘Went to your headquarters in Victoria, but they hadn’t heard of us and didn’t want to know. Apart from Ben, we’re on our own.’

  Pickering found a seat and knocked the drink back in a gulp and looked at the empty glass in surprise. ‘Damn strange things going on with that lot. Look at my situation.’ He shook his head as though no one would understand. ‘Officially, I can’t help you. Unofficially, I’ll give you every assistance, but at the moment I’m not even sure I can help myself.’

  ‘We’re looking at the options,’ Ben said. ‘And there aren’t many.’

  ‘Won’t be safe in London.’ Pickering reached for the bottle to refill his glass. ‘Those Nazis in Shetland will have come to London, and they’ve a strong network here.’

  Alena glanced at Ben.

  ‘For the time being,’ Pickering added, ‘it’s important you keep moving.’

  Pickering made sure no one was watching as he slipped out of Ben’s block in the early hours of the next morning through what he called the escape hatch. Where Ben lived would have been ideal for a Lothario who would have time to smuggle out his friends’ wives before their husbands arrived. The apartment block on the corner of Kensington High Street and Kensington Church Street had a service back door that led to a passageway leading to the graveyard of St Mary Abbots Church. From there, it was a brisk walk past the gravestones before emerging onto Church Street. This way, you could come and go unobserved.

  Once out on the street, he increased his pace. The Nazis would soon discover where Alena and Freddie were hiding. Nothing had changed, they would be just as ruthless in peacetime. No matter where they fled, the Nazis would track them down. Ben would do his best to protect them but would be up against it. And why had Natalie reappeared? She was a rogue element that could complicate the whole operation. Ben and Natalie had history, but the timing of her reappearance was suspicious. With her background, you could not take anything for granted. She chose sides that suited her best, and she had switched teams to keep on the winning side before. At Broadway, they seemed to have no idea who she worked for or her intentions, but she was dangerous. There was that time in Manhattan when he wasn’t sure whether she was trying to kill Ben or save him.

  After a ten-minute walk, which helped clarify his thoughts, he hailed a cab and headed home to pick up som
e necessary equipment. He made the cabbie drive around the block to check for any unwelcome attention and then paid him and went up to his apartment. He checked the various traps he had set earlier to show if anyone had visited. In his office desk, he found his 9mm Browning Hi-Power semi-automatic, extricated his passport from a pile of papers, and removed from the leaves of an old encyclopaedia some twenty-pound notes. Enough for immediate expenses.

  He looked around the sitting-room before going over to the window to check outside. The coast appeared to be clear. When about to close the door behind him, he hesitated and went over to a case opened on the floor. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and thumbed through them, selecting a few sheets and folding them before putting them in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  He strode to the table beside the sofa and reached for the telephone. After a couple of rings, someone picked it up, but all he heard was breathing.

  ‘It’s Pickering,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Alena and the boy are with Peters at his apartment.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The chase is on.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  Pickering waited until the other person clicked off before replacing the receiver.

  17

  Natalie became aware she was awake and blinked hard to focus. How long had she been this way? She was lying in a pleasant enough room with a recurring pattern of three oak trees on the cream wallpaper. Sunshine streamed through an open window and highlighted the motes drifting in the beams. From where she lay it was impossible to see out, but the lack of the sound of traffic suggested it was somewhere outside the city. Why was she here? The more she tried to remember, the farther the answer tiptoed out of reach. She stretched out. The bed and pillows were soft, and she wanted to slip back into sleep. Instinctively, she rolled over to the bedside table and reached for her cigarettes. They weren’t there, and she wasn’t alone.

  The man sat in a cane chair and did not avert his steady gaze. Handsome but for a nose broken too many times, he resembled an unsuccessful boxer. Blond close-cropped hair matching his eyelashes. Eyes grey, not dull as the fog, but almost blue like steel.

  ‘These what you’re looking for?’ Unhurried, he rose with a packet of Passing Clouds in his hand.

  ‘How long have you been there?’

  ‘Since we brought you in.’ He lit up two cigarettes at the same time and offered her one.

  She inhaled and, as the warmth of the smoke crept into her lungs, it made her feel more like her old self. ‘What am I doing here?’ She sat up and winced as pain stabbed her ribs.

  ‘Actually, you’ve been sleeping.’

  Whatever he did, his eyes never left hers as if watching a snake that could strike at any moment.

  ‘Where the hell am I? And who are you?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Humour me. I enjoy bedtime stories.’

  ‘We took you here.’

  ‘Oh!’ She hesitated as she assessed the possibilities. ‘Kidnapped me?’ She attempted to rewind her memory and remembered following Ben then crossing the road for a coffee. No more.

  ‘You’re lucky.’

  In an instant, it flooded back. The car hit her, but there was no pain. She glanced down at her hands and arms and felt her face.

  He watched as she checked herself and gave what might have been a smile. ‘The doctor says you’ll live. Nothing broken.’

  ‘You brought me here?’ Her brow furrowed as she tried to work out what had happened.

  He nodded.

  ‘Where’s my bag?’ She looked around in panic.

  ‘Here.’ He lifted it from the floor and threw it to her.

  She rummaged about in the bag.

  ‘Something missing?’ he asked, holding up a long silver spike.

  With a sigh, she fell back on the pillow.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t check?’

  She wondered how much he knew.

  ‘This is your tool for dispatching victims. Get them into bed. And when they’re asleep, ram this point straight into an eardrum, causing instantaneous death. Very efficient. In most cases, looks like death by natural causes to the untrained eye.’

  Instead of meeting his gaze, she stared out of the window. How many people knew? They had run her down to incapacitate and imprison her. But why? ‘Where in the country is this?’

  ‘A clinic on the edge of Hampstead Heath.’

  At least she was still in London. ‘Thank you for taking care of me, and if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.’ She started to get out of bed.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Ah, so I’m not free to go?’

  ‘The doctor has to check you first.’

  ‘A bit heavy-handed, running me down. Why didn’t you kill me?’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Really?’ The tone was strong with sarcasm.

  ‘As we’ll be working together, there would be no point in hurting you.’

  Natalie drew hard on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke straight at him as she attempted to decipher what he meant. ‘If this is the job interview, don’t think I want it.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘What if I say no?’

  He laughed. ‘You’ve no choice.’

  Instead of speaking, she gave him a stare that showed he couldn’t intimidate her.

  ‘Then we won’t let you leave.’

  ‘So you know me. Who are you?’

  ‘Harry Kline at your service.’ He twirled the stiletto in his fingers. ‘At present, you go by the name of Natalie Baudin. French. Few morals, maybe none. A killer. Works for the highest bidder. During the war, paid by the Americans, the British and us.’

  ‘And who are us?’

  ‘The Germans.’ He expected a reaction but got none.

  ‘You sound English and have a northern accent. Are you German?’

  ‘Why aye, pet,’ he broke into broad Geordie. ‘Of course.’

  ‘So this is part of your disguise?’

  ‘Not at all, but it helps. I grew up in England – Newcastle – and just before the outbreak of war moved back to Germany.’

  Unsure what to say next, she hesitated. ‘You’re a Nazi?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Abwehr? Gestapo?’

  ‘My German name is Harald Klein, and I was an Obersturmführer in the Waffen-SS.’ He saluted and clicked his heels. ‘That’s a lieutenant.’

  ‘I’m well aware of your ranks.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ He flashed a wicked grin. ’I understand you have been friendly with several German officers, but not such a low rank as me, and you have killed a few.’

  ‘Hasn’t anyone told you the war’s over? You lost.’

  ‘I’ll be a soldier until the day I die. One day there’ll be a Fourth Reich. And that’s why we require your help.’

  ‘Who are we?’ Her eyebrows arched.

  ‘Those who will continue the fight.’

  Her laugh was sharp enough to cut. ‘I want nothing to do with you and your lunatic friends,’ she shouted.

  ‘Yell dee as yer telt,’ he said switching back to Geordie.

  Realising she had no option but to listen, Natalie tried to relax to conserve energy. She recalled the meeting with Solomon in Paris and didn’t need any complications. Only when she gave Solomon what he wanted would her war be over. ‘Many agencies are looking for you and your deluded friends. You won’t be able to evade them forever.’

  He offered a confident smile. ‘For the moment we’re here.’ He exaggerated his Geordie accent. ‘And you must help us.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘You followed a man, and we followed you. When the accident happened, it provided the opportunity to talk to you.’

  The ironical turn of events made her chuckle. ‘Very convenient.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She lowered her voice. ‘You want me to run an errand?’ She swung her legs around, wondering if
escape was possible. ‘I don’t come cheap.’

  Klein’s lips curled in a sneer, confident she would not get far. ‘You won’t be paid.’

  Not wanting to hear what he had to say, she frowned.

  ‘It depends on how much you value your life.’

  She stubbed out the cigarette and put her bare feet on the cold linoleum. ‘Explain.’

  At that moment, a man walked into the room with a stethoscope around his neck.

  ‘Go away,’ Klein ordered, not averting his gaze, and the doctor scurried off after apologising.

  ‘You must locate and deliver a package for us.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, her curiosity engaged. ‘And where do I find this package?’

  ‘Here in England.’

  ‘Be more specific.’ She reached for another cigarette and lit it with her gold lighter.

  ‘He’s in London.’

  ‘That narrows it down. So it’s a man?’

  ‘You must deliver him to Buenos Aires.’

  The longer Klein talked, the more time she had to plan a way of extricating herself from this situation. ‘Why do you want him?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant.’

  ‘Why not buy him an air ticket?’

  ‘Not that simple. We will have to persuade him. He’s important.’

  ‘I’m not much good at the strong-arm stuff.’ Her eyes crinkled and she laughed. ‘It’s not Adolf, is it?’

  ‘This isn’t a joke.’ Klein’s face hardened.

  That didn’t sound impossible. ‘Who?’

  ‘A boy of ten years of age.’

  Natalie’s stomach performed somersaults, and she exhaled another cloud of smoke to camouflage her emotions.

  ‘No harm must come to the boy, but the mother is of no consequence. If you lose her along the way, so be it.’

  Her mind racing, she swallowed hard. This must be the boy Solomon wanted dead. She recalled what Solomon had said in Paris. If she killed him, her past would be eradicated, and she would be free to live a new life. But Klein and the rest of the Nazis wanted him alive.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘You know Ben Peters.’

  ‘Ben who–’

  ‘Don’t waste my time.’ Klein looked as if he had tasted something unpalatable. ‘The boy’s mother will contact the man you followed last night to seek his help in getting them to safety.’