Lisbon Crossing, The

by Tom Gabbay

  “Whatever Harry’s having,” I said, knowing that was a safe bet.

  “Canadian blend,” Harry informed me. “Not bad, actually.”

  “Miss Lange?” Stropford offered.

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  Harry headed back into the bar to fetch my drink.

  “So…” Stropford grinned across the table at Eva. “Everyone’s been looking for you, and here you are.”

  “Here I am,” she echoed.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” I said to Stropford.

  He paused, scrunched up his forehead, and shifted his gaze toward me. “When Harry told me that you were inquiring about passage to England for a single female, my natural skepticism was aroused. I checked, and found that Lisa Foquet had already sailed, Wednesday night, on the Avoceta. When I wired the captain, he informed me of the last-minute arrest by the local authorities. They, of course, have no record of any such incident.”

  “That was me,” I confessed with a grin.

  “So I assumed.” Harry reappeared with the whiskey, and Stropford paused long enough to watch me sample it before turning back to Eva. “I take it, then, Miss Lange, that you’ve decided against a life in Hollywood.”

  “You take it correctly.”

  He nodded his head sympathetically. “Most people would view the chance to leave Europe for the sunny climes of California as an opportunity not to be missed. Particularly when the offer comes under the auspices of the likes of Lili Sterne.”

  “I don’t want to live under anyone’s auspices.”

  “I quite understand.” He smiled. “Still, one can’t help wondering why you would choose to give up the safe haven of America in favor of an uncertain future in London.”

  “I think I understand what you’re implying, Mr. Stropford,” Eva said. “And, given my background, I know that I must be subject to a certain amount of scrutiny before I’m to be fully trusted, but surely I’ve already gone some way in proving myself.”

  Stropford cocked his head. “I’m not sure I follow you. Are you referring to the death of Dr. Kleinmann?”

  “And the surrounding circumstances…”

  He frowned. “My understanding is that his murder—if you will—was the result of a disagreement of a personal nature. Is it not true that you and he—”

  “Excuse me,” I broke in. “But we didn’t come here to get the third degree.”

  “Of course not.” Stropford nodded sympathetically, then leaned forward and frowned. “Why exactly did you come?”

  “So you could—”

  “—arrange entry into Great Britain for a German agent without asking any questions? I must say, I think you’re being somewhat naive if that’s what you expected.”

  Eva shifted in her seat. “Former German agent,” she said.

  Stropford gave her a contemptuous look, reached into his coat pocket, and removed a pipe. He looked her over as he took the stem between his teeth, struck a match, and fired up. “Perhaps,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “And perhaps not.”

  Eva exhaled a short, sharp breath, and tried to smile. “I spent two weeks locked in the basement of your embassy in Paris, being thoroughly interrogated—”

  “Yes, I’m aware of those interviews,” Stropford interrupted dismissively. “But just two days ago you were attempting to sneak into Britain using a false identity. What am I to make of that?”

  This was headed nowhere good and I was losing patience. “Look,” I said. “We can sit here playing ‘what if’ games all day long, but we’re just gonna go around and around in circles. So how about we jump to the bottom line? Are you going to help her get to England or not?”

  Stropford gave me a weary look, leaned forward, and dropped his spent match into a dirty ashtray. “I must consider all the facts before making any sort of decision along those lines.”

  “Then how about considering the fact that every German in Lisbon is trying to kill her?”

  He shrugged. “She looks very much alive to me.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” was all I could say.

  “What about Bicycle?” Eva said softly.

  “Bicycle?”

  “Didn’t you see his report?”

  Stropford was stumped. “I’m sorry…Which report is that?”

  Eva stared at him from across the table. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “I must confess that I don’t.”

  Eva sat there for a moment, gathering steam, then sprang to her feet and started pacing the room. We all watched for a moment, then she stopped as suddenly as she’d started and swung around on Stropford.

  “Then you don’t know about the letter?”

  “What letter is that?”

  “The one from the Duchess of Windsor to von Ribbentrop.”

  Stropford needed a moment to take it in. He looked to Harry, who shrugged, and then to me. “There exists a letter from the Duchess of Windsor to the German foreign minister?” He spoke slowly, clearly enunciating each syllable, ensuring there would be no communication errors.

  “Yes,” Eva said.

  Stropford narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve seen it?”

  She nodded.

  “And the Gestapo know she saw it,” I said. “Which is why they want her dead.”

  “What exactly did the letter contain?” Stropford asked warily.

  “Would you like me to recite it word for word, or just give you the gist?”

  “The gist will do, for now.” He laid his pipe upside down in the ashtray, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

  “Well…” Eva closed her eyes and looked upward, as if she was reading from an image that she’d burned into her memory. “The duchess begins by saying that her husband wouldn’t stand idly by and watch England be destroyed…And that he’s working on a peace plan which has the support of—‘others in positions of influence’—is the way she put it.”

  Stropford shifted in his seat. “She said that to von Ribbentrop?”

  “Bloody hell…” Harry exclaimed.

  “It gets better,” I said.

  “Go on,” Stropford instructed Eva.

  “She said that the duke would like ‘AH’ to know that there are documents that would shorten the war, and that they could be ‘made available’ once their ‘affairs had been settled.’ Then she asked him for money.”

  Stropford went pale. He reached for his tea, but changed his mind and replaced the cup in its saucer. “Anything else?” he said.

  “He’s asked Lili to carry a letter to Roosevelt,” I explained. “Asking America’s support for the peace proposal. That’s what my dinner was all about.”

  “I see.” Stropford nodded his head slowly up and down for what seemed like a very long time, then he turned to Eva. “Do you have any proof of this letter’s existence?”

  “No physical proof, no. I wasn’t in a position to—”

  “Where is the actual letter now?”

  “In Berlin, I suppose. It was sent over two weeks ago.”

  “Hmm…”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “It means that it would’ve been helpful to have had this information sooner.”

  “I thought you did have it,” Eva said.

  “Yes. This Bicycle chap…”

  “Who the devil is Bicycle?” Harry sputtered.

  “He’s the Lisbon contact that Geoffrey Stevens gave me,” Eva said.

  “Geoffrey Stevens?” Harry looked perplexed.

  “Our man in Paris,” Stropford explained, adding, “When we had a man in Paris.”

  Eva continued. “Stevens told me that Bicycle was a British agent who would help me get to London. He gave me an address, that’s all. He didn’t even know his name.”

  Stropford sat forward. “I presume that you’ve learned it since?”

  “Yes,” Eva replied. “His name is Popov. Roman Popov.”

  “Let me be clear about this,” Stropford said,
once the stunned silence had worn off. “Roman Popov is not, never has been, and never will be an agent of His Majesty’s government.”

  A look of dismay spread across Eva’s features.

  “Are you sure about that?” I said, and Stropford bristled at the implication.

  “I assure you that he could not be operating in Lisbon without my express knowledge and consent.”

  “Then why would this guy Stevens steer Eva to him?”

  “I have only her word that he did.”

  “Why don’t you check with him?”

  “Indeed,” Stropford responded coolly. “I would certainly do so if that were possible. Unfortunately, Geoffrey Stevens was killed in an artillery attack in northern France as he made his way back to England.”

  I stole a glance at Eva. She looked exhausted and, not surprisingly, on edge. Her situation was painfully clear. The British government had never heard of Bicycle, let alone about the von Ribbentrop letter, and they believed that Eva was a German agent who had walked into the Paris embassy in an attempt to infiltrate British intelligence. They explained her shooting of Dr. Kleinmann, the head of Abwehr in Lisbon, as the result of a lovers’ spat, and the fact that she claimed Roman Popov as her contact in British intelligence made her all the more suspect.

  “Even if she was still working for the Germans,” I said, “why would she invent something like that letter?”

  “Any number of reasons.” Stropford shrugged. “As bait, to draw us in. Or to make us think the German High Command knows more than they actually do. They might believe that if we feel our defenses have been compromised, we’d be more likely to come to terms.”

  “Sounds pretty far-fetched,” I said, noticing Eva move back around the table toward the seat she’d vacated.

  “Possibly,” Stropford allowed. “Clearly, the only acceptable course of action is for both of you to accompany me back to—”

  He stopped there, his face frozen. I wasn’t sure why until I looked sideways and saw that Eva had removed a Luger from her handbag and was pointing it across the table at the two Brits.

  “Eva…?” I said.

  “I’ve decided against going to London.” She moved a couple of steps toward the door. “You can come with me or you can stay, Jack, but you’ll have to decide quickly.”

  I stood up, but didn’t move. Harry piped up.

  “You’re a bloody fool, Jack, if you go along with this. If there was ever any doubt about what she’s up to, it’s gone now. Look at her!”

  I did look at her, and she looked back. It couldn’t have been for more than a couple of seconds, but it was enough for me.

  Eva handed me her bag. It was heavier than it should’ve been, and when I looked inside I saw why. She’d been collecting guns. Five, in all. Three Lugers, including the one in her hand, a Colt .38 Special, which must have been Eddie’s, and a little Glock, which I took to be the weapon Popov had given her, the one she’d killed Kleinmann with. I chose the .38 and trained it on Harry, who just shook his head ruefully.

  “Oh, Jack,” he moaned. “She’s not worth it.”

  “Be quiet, Harry.”

  “You’re an American,” Stropford said. “None of this has anything to do with you.”

  “I guess it does now,” I said.

  “It’s not too late. If you put the gun down, you can remain neutral, but once you go through that door—”

  “Get their wallets,” I said to Eva.

  “Their wallets?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m broke.”

  Eva nodded, moved around the table, and slipped her hand into Harry’s jacket. She came up with a sad, empty piece of leather.

  “Skint.” Harry smiled, looking embarrassed. “As usual.”

  Eva tossed the wallet onto the table, then performed the same operation on Stropford, resulting in a much healthier-looking billfold. She flipped through the bills.

  “About seventy escudos and a ten-pound note,” she reported.

  “Take the escudos,” I said. Eva nodded, removed the notes, and replaced the wallet. “Give them to the bartender and tell him to go home. We’ll lock the place up for him.” Eva nodded and headed toward the front room.

  “And ask him for some rope!” I called after her.

  “Are you sure about this, Jack?” Harry said.

  “Of course not.” I shrugged. “But you know, Harry, sometimes you just have to close your eyes and take the plunge.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Welcome to the war,” Eva said as I threw the car into gear and punched the gas.

  “Just one question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Which side are we on?”

  She gave me a look. “I’m not sure we have a side anymore.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You and me against the world.”

  She smiled and turned toward the window, watched as I swerved to avoid a young boy who was leading his fully laden mule along the side of the dusty road.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Why did Geoffrey Stevens send me to Roman? If he isn’t a British agent, what is he?”

  “Let’s ask him.”

  I pulled the car onto the main road, gunned the engine, and headed east, toward Lisbon.

  The warehouse had been swept clean—not a speck of dust left, let alone a Rembrandt or a Cézanne. “Looks like he flew the coop,” I said, pushing the door open. “And took it with him.”

  Eva crossed to one of the long windows at the far end of the loft, and stood looking out across Lisbon’s rooftops, tinged with the pink and yellow of the western sky. The light cast her face in a deep, rich, radiant glow, and I stood there taking it in. She felt me watching and turned, leaving her right side drenched in sunlight as the left slipped into shadow.

  I moved toward her.

  “Jack…” She sounded hesitant.

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope you didn’t do this just for me…Just so we could be together.”

  “Why the hell else would I do it?”

  We stood there for a moment, defying the laws of gravity, staring into each other’s eyes. When we finally succumbed, we didn’t so much fall, as slide into each other. Holding her sent an unexpected shudder through my body, which she must have felt, because she pulled me tighter, and then we kissed. I don’t know how long we stayed there, lost in each other, but by the time we resurfaced, we were standing in total darkness.

  And somebody was standing there with us.

  We sensed it at the same moment. A figure, just inside the door, peering into the darkness. He wasn’t aware of us yet.

  We didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

  Eva let her arms fall slowly to her side, then she stepped back and held herself flat against the wall. There was just enough ambient light filtering through the window to illuminate her eyes, which were locked onto me, waiting to see how I’d react.

  I watched the intruder.

  He took a couple of steps—heels echoing off the hard wooden floor—then he stopped again. He sensed us, too, now. Eva reached out, tried to take my arm, but I avoided her grasp. I was tensed, waiting for my moment. I couldn’t get entangled.

  A movement—a fleeting shadow, or perhaps just the intuition of one—then a shaft of crisp white light cut through the darkness. The flashlight’s beam swept across the floor and flitted up the walls, crossing the room like a prison searchlight, moving steadily closer to our exposed position.

  I looked back to Eva. Her face was flushed, head tilted back, heart beating as wildly as mine. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought the trace of a smile spread across her parted lips, and it sent a shiver up my spine. Was she enjoying this?

  Was I?

  I exploded out of my stance and raced toward the light. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM…My footsteps shook the hollow floor and reverberated through the building.

  I counted…

  ONE…TWO…THREE SECONDS…

&n
bsp; The spotlight found me.

  FOUR…FIVE…FLASH…CRACK!

  A bullet ripped through the air, and sailed past my ear like an angry wasp. I didn’t react, didn’t adjust. He wouldn’t miss again…I had to get there first…A glimpse of cold gray steel made me feel the point-blank emptiness of a gun aimed at your face. Then white light burst into my eyes…

  CRACK!

  The gun discharged again. I leapt forward, tucked my chin into my collar, and rolled over my shoulder. I hardly touched ground, finding my feet again before I knew which way was up. Swiveling around quickly, I located the light, pushed off my right leg, and buried my shoulder into the man’s lower spine. He was smaller, lighter than I’d expected, and he came sailing off the floor—I could hear his neck snap backward as I drove him at full speed into the wall. We came down in a heap, and I quickly pulled myself up to a sitting position. The guy was facedown, lying perfectly still. I thought for a moment that I’d broken his neck, but then he grunted and started to come to. Unable to find the gun, I crawled back to pick up the flashlight which lay on the floor, its beam scraping the surface of the warehouse’s old wooden floorboards.

  When I swung the light back around, I found Eva standing over the guy, a Luger gripped tightly in her hands, pointing at his back. The intruder groaned and squirmed, but he wasn’t aware of his surroundings yet. Certainly not that he was about to be shot in the back. Eva stood taut, ready to fire, but undecided. I turned the flashlight onto her face.

  “You gonna do it?” I said.

  No answer. She remained fixed, unable to stand down, but unable to pull the trigger. I pulled myself onto my feet, walked over, and gently removed the pistol from her grip.

  “If you were gonna shoot him, you would’ve done it by now,” I said. She sighed and let her arms fall to her side. The man on the floor was slowly coming around. He made a move to push himself off the floor, but didn’t get far because his face met Eva’s boot on the way up. The force of the blow flipped him over onto his back and he was out for the count this time. I moved the light to his face and recognized him right away.