Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘The doctor wishes to see you, now, yes.’

  ‘I thought he was in Rastenburg.’

  ‘He has returned. This very afternoon.’

  The vultures, all coming home to roost, she thought. But she said, ‘And he immediately wishes to see me? How sweet of him.’

  She got into the car and sat down. And immediately wishes to get his hands under my skirt, she thought. Bugger it! Although he had never actually tried that.

  The man sat beside her, and the car moved off. ‘Your name is on everyone’s lips, Countess.’

  ‘Put there by your absurd propaganda,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Deservedly,’ he argued.

  Anna looked out of the window. There went any prospect of thinking for the next hour. The car stopped at the Ministry of Propaganda, and she was ushered upstairs to the office.

  ‘Anna!’ Josef Goebbels limped towards her and threw both arms round her. As he was several inches shorter than her, he was able to bury his face between her breasts while his hands immediately closed on her buttocks. Then he stepped back. ‘Anna of the black silk stockings and the black silk underwear. You smell so sweet. As if you have come straight from your bath. And your hair is wet.’

  ‘That is because I have come straight from my bath, Herr Doctor. Or at least, a shower. I have been at the gymnasium.’

  ‘What a woman,’ he said. ‘If she is not working, she is training.’ He gestured at the settee against the wall, and she seated herself, crossing her knees although she knew that even that small measure of protection was not going to do her much good.

  Her relationship with this man was unlike any she had known, with anyone else. He was short, and she liked tall men. He was grotesquely ugly, where she liked her men to be, if not necessarily handsome, at least pleasant to look at. And he had a club foot, where she liked her men to be, if not her equal physically – she had never met one who was – at least fit and well formed.

  He had taken her over without a by-your-leave, not as an employee, but simply because he believed it was his God-given right to appropriate any woman he chose. But it was not a God-given right, there was the rub. It was a Führer-given right, and in Nazi Germany that was far more important. The first time she had been summoned to his office, as always being plucked off the street by his henchmen, she had not known what to expect. But she had known that, however easily she could have disposed of him with a few – and probably only one – well-placed blows, such a reaction would mean her instant destruction. So she had allowed herself to be virtually raped, and been surprised. If he was a very rough lover, he also knew how to turn a woman on.

  But the spin-off had been far more important. He had intimated that not only could he get her into the Führer’s bed, but that he thought she might be good for the great man. That had opened a path that had seemed like a dream come true to her MI6 and OSS employers, and had led to this catastrophic situation. Now she assumed that he considered her even more his creature, a weapon to be used in whichever direction he chose. Well, all her employers, beginning with Heydrich, and then Himmler, and then Clive Bartley and Billy Baxter, and now Wild Bill Donovan and Joe Andrews, had so considered her. The difference was that all of those had directed her against the enemies of the regime that employed them; this man would use her to destroy his apparent brothers in arms. If she was around to be used. As that was not going to happen, she could stand even his company. But she had to act her role to the end, and accept and if possible enjoy whatever was about to happen to her.

  However, for the moment he remained standing in front of her, surveying her. ‘I have just returned from Rastenburg,’ he announced.

  ‘So they told me. Did you come back with the Reichsführer?’

  This was an intended rhetorical barb; Himmler and Goebbels loathed each other.

  ‘We used the same plane, yes.’

  ‘And the Reichsführer is now Commander of the Home Army.’

  ‘Such as it is. The Führer has appointed me Reich Plenipotentiary for Total War Effort.’ He paused to peer at her. ‘You are not impressed.’

  ‘I would be, sir, if I knew what the position entails.’

  ‘The position,’ Goebbels declared, and now he was making a speech, ‘means that I am the supreme commander of every aspect of German life. That includes the Home Army.’

  ‘Then it is important. May I ask, does the Reichsführer know this?’

  ‘If he does not, he is very soon going to find out. I am empowered to do any and everything I consider necessary for the victorious survival of the Third Reich. As of this moment, this country is at war.’

  ‘Forgive me, Herr Doctor,’ she said. ‘But have we not been at war for five years?’

  ‘The Wehrmacht has been at war. And the Luftwaffe. And the Navy. And the industrialists. Some of them,’ he added darkly. ‘But the nation . . . do you realize, Anna, that the Soviet Union has whole battalions, regiments, of women serving in the front line? That half the women in England are working either in the fields to produce more food, or in the factories to produce more tanks and airplanes? That half the women in the United States are also in the factories? While our women sit at home and wail. Apart from a few dedicated ladies like yourself. I know this was a deliberate decision on the part of the Führer: it is men’s task to fight, women’s to keep the home fires burning for their men, and have as many children as possible . . .’ he paused. ‘Why have you never had children, Anna?’

  ‘I am not married, Herr Doctor.’

  ‘You were married once. Couldn’t that Englander manage it?’

  ‘Apparently not, sir.’ Although, she remembered, it had not been for lack of trying. ‘In any event, I did not wish to have children by Bordman. I do not wish to have children at all, until the War is over and I can marry again and settle down.’

  ‘So you take precautions. Very wise. I would hate to see you with a bulging belly. But they are not infallible, you know. As for settling down . . . you? As what? As for marriage . . . would any man dare? That fellow Essermann was your lover, was he not?’

  ‘For a while, Herr Doctor.’

  ‘And you shot him dead, without compunction.’

  ‘I shot Hellmuth Essermann, Herr Doctor, because you had just given me orders to execute everyone I discovered implicated in the plot against the Führer. Besides, he had drawn his pistol against me.’

  ‘The ultimate crime, eh? The ultimate fatal crime. Ha ha.’ Without warning he hurled himself at her. As usual, she had to exert an effort of will not to destroy him, but she felt entitled to put up her hands in an entirely feminine and protective gesture.

  That did not do her a great deal of good. He parted the hands and had her stretched across the settee, nuzzling her neck and then her breasts while he pulled up her skirt to get at her crotch. This was so unlike the previous times he had raped her – he apparently knew no other way to approach a woman, sexually – that she didn’t know how to respond. Normally he wanted her to undress, slowly and sensually, so that he could take in all of her beauty, stage by stage. So she did nothing, and after worrying her, like a dog, for a few seconds he suddenly pushed himself away, rolling across the settee to sit up.

  Anna also sat up. Her tie was askew, her shirt was out of her waistband, and she had an idea that her stockings were laddered. But there were, or could be, more important matters. ‘Herr Doctor?’ she asked.

  ‘Making love to you is like making love to an iceberg,’ he grumbled.

  That is because you have never made love to me, she thought. ‘I am sorry, Herr Doctor. You took me by surprise.’

  ‘When last did you have sex?’

  ‘I had sex last Wednesday night, sir. In Rastenburg.’

  ‘Of course. With the Führer. He said you were magnificent.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘In fact, he said that it was that night with you that carried him through the trauma of the next day.’

  ‘I am flattered, sir. May I straighten my cloth
es?’

  ‘Oh . . . go home. I have too much to do to have sex.’

  You are overwhelmed by your new powers. Anna thought, and so you, of all people, cannot erect. She supposed it was a sad indictment of the state Germany was in, that of the three most powerful men in the country, one wouldn’t do it at all, the other found great difficulty in doing it, and the third, who boasted of being the greatest lover in the country, seemed to have run out of steam . . . after attempting to savage the most beautiful woman in the country.

  She straightened her clothes. ‘I hope you soon feel better, Herr Doctor.’

  ‘Of course I will soon feel better. Then I will send for you again.’

  ‘I will look forward to that, Herr Doctor.’

  Because by the time he did, she would be beyond his reach, for ever.

  *

  Birgit bustled, as always. She was a small, dark, pretty woman, who valued her position but was terrified of her employer. She did not know precisely what Anna did, but she knew she was a senior officer in the SD, which was sufficiently intimidating. And over the years they had been together she had noticed that from time to time various people had dropped dead in her mistress’s close vicinity.

  But for the past few days the news, not only that there had been an attempted coup d’état against the regime, but that it had apparently been largely foiled by her mistress, had her in even more of a twitter than usual.

  ‘I have prepared dinner, Countess,’ she said hesitantly. She could never be sure when Anna was going to be in or out.

  ‘Thank you, Birgit,’ Anna said. ‘I will have a bath first. But open a bottle of champagne, will you? Now.’

  ‘Of course, Countess.’ She hurried off.

  Anna surveyed the tiny lounge/diner. How are the mighty fallen, she reflected, thinking of the luxury that the RAF had forced her to abandon. The strange thing was that at this moment she was more powerful than at any time in her life. She was the heroine of the hour, and her word at every level below the very top, was just about law. She wondered what Clive was thinking of it all.

  She went into the equally small bedroom, took off her clothes. Although it was hardly an hour since she had showered at the gymnasium, even five minutes of being pawed by Goebbels left her feeling as if she had been rolled in cow dung.

  She turned on the taps in the bathroom she now had to share with Birgit, waited with some trepidation: it was impossible to be certain, in Berlin in July 1944, which mains might have been severed by the last air raid. But the water gushed out, and it was hot; at least in Gestapo Headquarters the boilers were always lit.

  Clive, she thought, as she watched the tub fill. Was it possible that she could be with him, perhaps permanently, within the next couple of weeks? Sooner than that, if everything went according to her plan; once he knew that she was in Switzerland and prepared to come out, she was sure he would act very quickly; he had begged her to come out so often in the past five years.

  But where would that leave Henri? Her plan would not work without his complete support. She did not know if she would obtain that. She actually knew almost nothing about him, save that he laundered money for Himmler, and also had other contacts in Germany. He claimed to loathe the Nazis, had indeed criticized her for working for them . . . but he worked for them himself, and they were clearly very important for the business of himself and his partners. Now she was going to have to ask him to endanger that relationship. For her. He also claimed to love her more than life itself, and if that were true he might very well go along with her. But would he go along if he knew that her ultimate objective was another man?

  So the answer was simple. Do not mention any objectives save getting her parents out of Nazi Germany, until it was done. Was she that ruthless? Her employers, all the world, perhaps Clive himself, had no doubt that she was. But she had never betrayed a man’s love before. She needed love too desperately.

  She tied her hair on the top of her head and sank into the suds. Birgit appeared with a tray on which there was a bottle and a glass. ‘Thank you, Birgit. Why do you not take one for yourself?’

  ‘Countess?’

  ‘I would like you to join me in a drink.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Countess.’ She scurried off and came back with another glass, poured.

  ‘Have you enjoyed working for me, Birgit?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Countess.’

  ‘Despite . . . well, some of the things that have happened?’

  ‘I know that whatever you have done has been for the Reich.’

  ‘That must be a very comforting thought.’ Anna raised her glass. ‘Well, then, to us. Our years together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Countess.’ But the maid was frowning.

  ‘I am going away tomorrow morning.’ And you will never see me again.

  ‘Am I to come with you?’ Birgit asked.

  ‘No. It is one of my trips for the Reichsführer.’

  ‘I understand. But you almost sound as if you will not be coming back.’

  How perceptive you are, Anna thought. But, however often she had to do it to stay alive, she hated telling lies. So she said, ‘Have I not always come back in the past?’

  *

  Unusually, Anna slept badly. She was too excited, and next morning decided to skip a visit to the gym and go straight up to her office. She packed her valise with two changes of clothing – the rest of her wardrobe, including sadly, her sable, would have to be written off – but also with her best jewellery, apart from what she was wearing; made sure her shoulder bag contained her Luger and two spare magazines – she had no idea how much opposition she might encounter in Poland – kissed Birgit, much to the maid’s surprise; and climbed the stairs to the ground floor, where the day staff were just coming in, smiled at them as she invariably did, and went to the next flight of stairs, to stare at the man who was coming down.

  He was staring at her in turn, and whereas she was registering a mixture of surprise and irritation, his expression was one of apprehension, which did not go well with his rather harsh features, his heavy shoulders. ‘Countess!’

  He made to step past her, and she checked him. ‘Herr Werter! What are you doing here?’

  He was very close to the top of her hate list, as he undoubtedly knew. She had last seen him in January, when she had stepped off the Malmo ferry at Lubeck, after her trip to Stockholm for Himmler, and having been forced to kill three Gestapo agents who had unwisely attempted to arrest her. Before they had realized that they were going to die, they had told her they had been alerted to the fact that she might be fleeing Germany by this man. More importantly, she knew that in his capacity as commander of the Gestapo Lubeck office, he had been the man who had arrested Belinda Hoskin, and submitted her to the humiliation of a strip search. He had been planning to do a lot more than that when she had turned up, armed with an order from Himmler that the prisoner was to be released into her care. She fully intended to take care of him, when the opportunity arose. But she had never expected to see him here.

  ‘I have been seconded,’ he said proudly.

  ‘You are joining the SS?’

  ‘I have been recommended for membership of the SD.’ His tone was prouder yet. ‘Perhaps we will be working together.’

  ‘I regard the possibility of us ever working together as remote. And I doubt that you would enjoy it, if it happened.’

  Anna went upstairs, now feeling thoroughly out of sorts, but before she reached her office was accosted by one of Himmler’s secretaries. ‘The Reichsführer is waiting for you.’

  He must still be agitated, she thought, to have come in so early. She went through to his office. ‘Heil Hitler! Good morning, Herr Reichsführer.’

  ‘Good morning, Anna. One attaché case.’ He held it up. ‘Here is the key.’

  It was attached to a long loop of string. Anna knew what he required, dropped the loop over her head, fluffing out her hair over it, and settled the key inside her décolletage, beside her gold crucifix.

 
‘Fortunate key,’ Himmler remarked, as he always did. ‘You look as if you are going to a party.’

  I am, Anna thought. ‘I find travelling easier when the men I meet are anxious to help me,’ she explained.

  This morning she was wearing a pale blue suit with a calf length skirt, a white shirt, flesh-coloured stockings, and a broad-brimmed straw hat with a pale blue ribbon. Her earrings were tiny gold bars dropping from gold clips – she had never had her ears pierced – and she wore an enormous ruby solitaire on the forefinger of the right hand, although this was concealed by her white gloves. The watch on her left wrist was a gold Junghans: she was travelling with all her most precious possessions.

  ‘As long as you don’t let any of these admirers get too close, eh? Ha ha.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Anna agreed. ‘I met Agent Werter on the stairs just now.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. You know him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know him.’

  Himmler snapped his fingers. ‘Of course. I remember. He was unhappy when you removed that woman . . . what was her name?’

  ‘Her name was Claudia Ratosi, sir.’

  ‘And you took quite a liking to her, as I recall.’

  ‘I merely ascertained that she was innocent of the charges Werter wished to bring against her.’

  ‘And he did not like that.’

  ‘No, sir, he did not. May I ask what he is doing here?’

  ‘Well, you know, he has spent two years in Lubeck. He was very efficient there. So when he applied to join the SD I thought it might be an idea to give him a chance. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. Now, tell me what you think of Laurent.’

  Anna frowned; he had never before raised the question of their possible relationship. ‘Sir?’

  ‘I have never met him, you know.’

  ‘Yet you trust him with all this money?’

  ‘He was highly recommended. And he has proved trustworthy. Has he not?’

  ‘As far as I am aware, sir.’

  ‘So what sort of man is he? How old is he?’

  And they have never met, Anna thought, and surrendered to her Irish sense of humour. ‘I don’t really know, sir. I suppose he’s about sixty.’