Angel of Vengeance_The thrilling sequel to Angel in Red

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘My dear girl! But, after such an ordeal, would you not like to lie down?’

  ‘I am all right, really.’ Anna put on a dressing gown, thrust her toes into slippers. ‘What I would really like is a drink. May I pour you one?’

  ‘That would be very nice.’

  She led him into the drawing-room, where the SD men were removing the last traces of what had happened, and poured two glasses of schnapps. It seemed several light years since she had done this for Schlutz, but now she had an even stronger sense that she was feeling her way. If she had absolutely no desire at that moment to have sex or even get too close to anyone, her future existence depended on this man even more than it had ever done on Heydrich.

  They touched glasses, and she sat on the settee. He waited a few minutes until the last of his policemen had left the apartment, casting longing glances at Anna’s legs as they did so, and then sat beside her. ‘This does not bother you? I mean, in view of what happened here just now.’

  ‘I have to accept what happened.’

  ‘Oh, quite. Absolutely. Your approach to life, your calmness, is astonishing in one so young. I think the man who could arouse your passion would be very fortunate.’

  That was unanswerable. He had just suggested that he found her reaction to Schlutz and her near rape, as he believed it to be, close to unnatural, so suggesting that he might be that man at this moment might be highly risky. But to indicate that she did not wish his company in bed might be equally risky. ‘I am sure that man exists, Herr Reichsfuehrer,’ she said. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I know you are coming here tonight,’ she said. ‘And in fact I have very little to offer you now. My maid is out buying what we are going to eat. But as you are here now, and it is past lunchtime . . .’

  ‘And you are hungry. For food.’

  ‘Yes. I am hungry. For food. There is some cold meat in the icebox. I can make us up a sandwich.’

  ‘I think that would be very pleasant. May I watch you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She led him into the kitchen, began slicing bread.

  He followed, stood in the doorway. ‘Have you ever been to America? I mean, the United States.’

  ‘No, Herr Reichsfuehrer, I have not. But I understand that you wish me to go. To do what, exactly?’

  ‘What you do best.’

  ‘Ow!’ Anna exclaimed at the sudden sharp pain.

  ‘Oh, my dear, you have cut yourself.’

  ‘It is just a nick. You took me by surprise.’

  ‘I am so sorry. Let me look at it.’ He took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and sucked her finger. Anna was totally taken aback. Various men had sucked almost every inch of her body, but never her finger . . . And this man was about to start murdering people on a scale unimagined even by Genghis Khan. But then, he was already shooting them at the rate of more than a hundred a day.

  He took his mouth away; the bleeding had certainly stopped. ‘Is the idea distasteful to you?’

  ‘You are sending me to kill someone?’

  ‘To kill . . . Oh, good heavens, no! You are to gather information. Points of view. Opinions. Possibilities. I thought you understood that that was the reason the Fuehrer wished to meet you, to see for himself if everything we had told him about you was true. As for the assignment, you are perfectly qualified. You are fluent in English, are you not? In fact, I am told that you speak English with an Irish accent. The Irish are very popular in America, at least on the east coast, which is where you will be going.’

  Anna buttered bread. ‘I believe so. But . . .’

  ‘And you have a friend there already, have you not? Ah . . . Joseph Andrews. An important diplomat, I believe.’

  Anna, spreading slices of ham, turned her head sharply.

  ‘Is he not the man who got you out of the Lubianka?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘He is.’ She added lettuce leaves and mustard, put the sandwiches together, slowly and carefully. ‘Would you like some wine?’

  ‘That would be very nice. He was your lover?’

  Anna placed the plates on the dining table, opened the icebox and took out a bottle of hock. Joe had never laid a finger on her. He had saved her life because his friend Clive had asked him to, but he had known of their relationship and was too much of a gentleman even to consider muscling in. But to protect herself, she had told Heydrich that he had been the man she had been meeting clandestinely in the Hotel Berlin in Moscow. Heydrich had not approved, but he had been prepared to accept that she was a woman of strong passions, and Joe had been a neutral American.

  At this moment, however, the important point was that Heydrich might well have noted the impropriety on her file . . . ‘Yes, Herr Reichsfuehrer, he was my lover.’

  ‘And he proved his love by getting you out of the Lubianka, at some risk to himself, I understand.’ Himmler seated himself at the table, making no effort to help her with the corkscrew. ‘Have you been in contact with him since?’

  Anna placed the bottle and two glasses on the table and sat down opposite him. ‘He wanted me to go to the States with him, but of course I could not do that. My duty is here, to the Reich. So we agreed to part. We have not corresponded since.’

  Himmler masticated, somewhat noisily. ‘But if you were to turn up in his life again . . .?’

  ‘I have no idea what his reaction might be. Are you suggesting . . .?’

  ‘Yes,’ Himmler said, and drank some wine. ‘You will go to America to join the Embassy staff in Washington, and you will contact Andrews, discreetly, of course – you should allow him to make the first move towards resuming your relationship, as I am sure he will – and make it plain to him that you are available. And then, from your privileged position at his side, you will commence your operation. It is roughly the same assignment as you carried out so successfully in Russia over the last year.’

  So successfully, Anna thought, and sipped her wine. But she could feel relieved that she was not being instructed to murder anyone. At least for the moment.

  ‘As I am sure you know,’ Himmler went on, ‘our relations with the United States are . . . difficult. They pretend neutrality, yet they are providing all the aid they can to Great Britain and now, it seems, Soviet Russia, a nation to which they have always shown considerable hostility in the past. This man Roosevelt is particularly difficult. Had the Americans not broken their own rules and re-elected him for a third term last November, I do not believe we would still have a problem. But there it is. Our business is reality, not theory, and while the fact that they are providing aid to the Western Powers – we can hardly still call them democracies as one of them is a Communist dictatorship – is a nuisance, that in itself will hardly affect the eventual outcome of the war. I mean, it is obvious that Russia is defeated, and will collapse entirely before this coming winter, after which Great Britain can be dealt with at our leisure. The Americans obviously realize this. Yet they are still pouring weapons and munitions into England and Russia. They must have a plan, Anna. We need to know what that plan is. We need to know whether Roosevelt is doing this on his own or at the behest of the Jewish lobby, whether he has the backing of the country as a whole, and whether he has already made up his mind to go to war, at some stage. And, most important of all, when will that stage be reached? Of course, we need to know if our plan to rid Europe of the Jews, should it become known in America, will affect any of those decisions, in view of the huge Jewish lobby over there. You are the woman to get us that information.’

  ‘You flatter me, Herr Reichsfuehrer.’

  ‘No one could flatter you, Anna.’ He wiped his lips, finished his wine, and stood up.

  Oh, my God! she thought. Here it comes.

  He moved round the table to stand behind her, ran his fingers through her hair. Now she would have to wash it again, to get rid of the butter.

  His hands moved from her hair down to her shoulders, pulling the dressing gown apart to expose her breast
s, slipping down to give them a quick, but at least a gentle, caress. More butter! Then he moved away. ‘Show me your legs.’

  Anna turned in her seat and opened the dressing gown entirely. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  To her surprise, he did not touch her again, just gazed at her for several seconds. At last he said, ‘I do not believe there is a man in the world who could resist your body, your charm, your charisma, Anna. Not even that poor cripple in the White House.’

  She remained sitting, making no effort to cover herself up; her heart had actually slowed now the moment had come. But to her surprise, he turned away and picked up his cap. ‘In the circumstances, I do not think it will be necessary for me to come here for dinner tonight. You will receive your passages, your travelling funds, and all other requirements, tomorrow. You will travel by an American ship out of Naples, and our submarines will be warned under no circumstances to attack the vessel. I will wish you good fortune, and of course, success.’

  ‘My maid . . .’

  ‘Oh, yes, your maid. Someone will telephone you to get her name and particulars for her documentation. Very good, Anna. I will look forward to getting to know you better when you return.’

  Anna stood up and closed the dressing gown. She was having a little trouble with her breathing, and inhaled deeply. ‘Herr Reichsfuehrer, there is something you should know.’

  Himmler had gone to the door. He now turned back, frowning. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Two things, actually. The first is that Joseph Andrews is not an important diplomat. He is a Government Agent.’

  ‘He seems to have carried some clout with the Soviets.’

  ‘He had a personal acquaintance with Lavrenty Beria, and was able to persuade the commissar that it would be in his interests to let me go.’

  ‘I would say that proves he is a man of some influence. He will certainly know the right people for you to meet in Washington.’

  ‘Perhaps. But the second caveat is the more important. Andrews knows that I am a German assassin.’

  Himmler came back into the room. ‘How does he know this?’

  ‘Beria told him. Andrews only knew that I had been arrested. He did not know why. So he went to Beria, as boss of the NKVD, to find out and intercede for my release. Beria told him that I had been sent to Moscow specifically to assassinate Marshal Stalin. He had the proof, supplied by the traitor Meissenbach.’

  ‘And yet he let you go, because Andrews asked him to?’

  ‘He did not let me go. He committed me to Andrews’ custody. Andrews told him that I was wanted in the States for attempting the murder of President Roosevelt.’

  Himmler frowned. ‘That can’t be true. We never ordered that.’

  Anna suppressed a sigh; this dimwit virtually ruled Europe! ‘Of course it was not true, Herr Reichsfuehrer. Andrews made it up. It was the day after our troops invaded Russia. The country was in a panic. Those in power knew immediately that they were in deep trouble unless they could get outside help, and there was only one source from which that help could come. But they did not then know that America was going to help them. Andrews told Beria that the best way to obtain American support would be to convince Washington that the Soviet Government wanted to cooperate in every possible way, and a quick early way to prove that would be to allow him to take me back for trial and almost certain execution.’

  ‘He is a devious man, this American of yours.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But the point is that he knows exactly what I am.’

  ‘No, no, Anna. The point is that, knowing what you are, he still rescued you. And then turned you loose to return to Germany. That is not love. That is adoration. I think you will do very well in America.’

  The door closed, leaving Anna staring at it. However much she had detested the thought of having to share her body with such a man, she had been mentally braced for it. And in the end he had hardly touched her, while repeatedly assuring her that there was no man who could keep his hands off her if the opportunity arose. Perhaps he was one of those men who did not believe in sleeping with the help. Or, equally likely, his essentially timid sexual personality could not accept the idea of sleeping with a woman who had just killed a man.

  And he was convinced that he could deduce the reason behind everyone’s actions, based on his peculiar mental make-up of cold-blooded ferocity and wild romanticism, and, she was concluding, rather limited powers of perception. It apparently had not occurred to him that there could be a far more prosaic reason for Joe having helped her: simply that he had been asked to do so. Of course, Himmler could not know, or even be allowed to suspect, that Joe’s reason was because Clive had called on him, and in order to do that he had had to convince him that she was actually a British double agent. Even if he had been sworn to secrecy, and she was sure that he was trustworthy, it had still been an enormous risk for Clive to take. Would it stand up to her suddenly turning up in Washington, when Joe would have no doubt that she was there to work?

  But whatever happened, once again she was being sent out of Germany, to a neutral country, where all things might be possible. Which meant, in the short term, that there was a great deal to be done.

  *

  Anna had a bath, washed the butter from her hair, then dressed and put the hair up under a cloche. She had had enough of taxis for one day, so she walked; it was only a few blocks and this enabled her to make sure she was not being tailed.

  ‘Countess?’ Frau Hedermann was clearly astonished to see her again, perhaps because this was the first time Anna had visited the Boutique twice in one day.

  ‘Is Signor Bartoli in his office?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But . . .’ Frau Hedermann looked left and right, as if wondering whether or not to summon help. But while there were three assistants present, there were also several customers.

  Anna ignored her, crossed the room, and opened the office door.

  ‘What the shit . . .?’ Bartoli stared at her, and the young woman seated on his lap hastily rose and pulled down her skirt, which had been gathered round her waist.

  ‘Exactly,’ Anna said.

  Bartoli squared his shoulders. ‘You had better leave, Erika.’

  ‘Yes, Signor Bartoli,’ the girl gasped. ‘Yes.’ She sidled round Anna and through the door, which Anna closed and locked behind her.

  Bartoli was doing something under his desk, which she assumed meant he was putting his own clothes back together. ‘You have no right to come barging in here without even knocking.’

  ‘I have every right, in the circumstances.’ Anna advanced to stand before the desk. ‘Has my message gone?’

  ‘Of course it has not. I do not send messages from here. It will go tonight.’

  ‘Good. You will have to add something to it.’

  ‘You seem to forget that I am your Controller.’

  ‘And you seem entirely unaware of what is going on around you.’ Anna sat down. ‘When I left here this morning I was arrested.’

  ‘What? My God!’ He looked past her as if expecting to see a Gestapo agent appear in the doorway. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I hate to disappoint you, Luigi, but nothing happened to me.’

  ‘But, if you were arrested . . .’

  ‘Fortunately for us, the man who arrested me suffered from the same problem as you.’

  ‘He . . . what?’

  ‘So I disposed of him.’

  ‘You . . . My God!’

  ‘Which is something you should bear in mind. However, he did have a reason for arresting me, apart from a desire to get his hand under my skirt.’

  ‘But . . . got rid of him . . . the police . . .’

  ‘Something else you seem to have forgotten is that here in Berlin I am the police. Concentrate. Agent Schlutz had been informed that there is something underhand going on in this boutique, specifically involving you and me. The tip-off came from one of your people.’

  ‘One of my people? That is impossible.’

  ‘In fact, it was
your top woman, Edda Hedermann.’

  ‘Edda? I cannot believe that.’

  ‘I suggest you ask her, as soon as possible, but I would also suggest you do it when you and she are alone and no one else is within earshot. Ask her to remain here this evening after closing time to discuss something with you.’

  ‘But . . . Edda . . . If she has betrayed us to the Gestapo . . .’

  ‘She has not betrayed you to the Gestapo yet. She betrayed me to Agent Schlutz, who was Abwehr, and who happens to be her lover.’

  ‘Edda? A lover?’

  ‘Did you suppose she had eyes only for you?’

  ‘This man Schlutz . . .’

  ‘Calm down. I do not believe, from what he told me before he departed—’

  ‘You said you disposed of him.’

  ‘I mean I broke his neck, Luigi.’

  Bartoli swallowed.

  ‘As I was saying, I am sure that he had not yet filed a report. Edda suggested I was worth investigating, and he looked me over, and decided that I was indeed worth investigating, but not necessarily for subversive activity. Now, as I have said, I have sorted that out and he will not trouble us again. However, we have no means of knowing what Edda’s reaction will be when she discovers he is dead. If she is in any way suspicious of you, and me, she may well decide to take the matter further.’

  Bartoli pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. ‘You are saying . . .’

  ‘Yes, Luigi. That is what I am saying.’

  ‘My God, my God, my God! How will you do it?’

  ‘I am not going to do it. It is your responsibility.’

  ‘Mine? You are the expert.’

  ‘There are two reasons why I cannot be involved. It will have to be an accident, and it will have to be done right away. Now, I have just killed a man and explained it to the satisfaction of my SD employers. I feel that for me to have to explain another fatal accident within twenty-four hours, or even forty-eight, might get them wondering if I am safe to be allowed out.’

  Bartoli put away his handkerchief; he was obviously wondering the same thing.