Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Hm. Has he ever made an advance?’

  ‘Good heavens no, sir. Our relationship is strictly professional.’ At least, out of bed.

  ‘But he knows who you are.’

  ‘He knows I am the Countess von Widerstand,’ Anna said cautiously.

  ‘And because of that business in Geneva last year he knows that you are a killer.’

  ‘He knows that I am a member of the SD, sir,’ Anna corrected primly. ‘And therefore, trained to protect myself.’

  ‘Just as he knows where this money –’ he tapped the briefcase – ‘comes from. Would you not say that he knows too much about us? Both of us?’

  ‘Sir?’ Alarm bells sounded in her brain.

  ‘This transfer will bring my total deposit with his bank . . . our total deposit, Anna . . . to over three million US dollars. I think that is probably enough for us to go on with. In any event, the way things are going here, that is as much as we can hope to accumulate. I think the time is coming for us to terminate our business arrangement with Herr Laurent.’

  Anna gazed at him. You unutterable scum, she thought. But hadn’t she always known that?

  ‘How many of his staff know of these transactions?’

  ‘One or two, sir. But they only place the money on deposit in your . . . our numbered account. They do not know to whom the account belongs.’

  ‘And we are the only ones who can access it. Apart from Laurent, of course.’

  ‘You are the only one, sir,’ Anna corrected.

  ‘I shall give you the number when you return from this trip.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ But I am not going to return, she thought.

  ‘But Laurent also knows the number. I will leave this in your hands, Anna.’

  How casually he condemned people to death. And she knew, that on the rare occasions he had been present at an execution, he had been physically sick. ‘Yes, sir. But you do realize that when I hand over the money, it takes at least twenty-four hours for it to reach the account?’

  He nodded. ‘Thus you will remain with him for those twenty-four hours. Or longer if you feel it necessary. Make his last hours happy, eh? You are accomplished at that.’

  If ever she had felt physically sick, as now, it was in the company of this man. ‘You flatter me, sir.’

  ‘No man can do that, Anna. Now, your parents. You have not forgotten about them, eh? Ha ha.’

  ‘I have not forgotten about them, sir.’

  ‘I did not think so. When you are finished with Laurent, take the train to Berne. It is only eighty kilometres. I assume you will as always cover your tracks to give you time to get out ahead of the Swiss police. At Berne you will go to one of my agents, who will be waiting for you.’ He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Memorize that address and then destroy it. This agent will accompany you in the aeroplane. He will be your bodyguard, eh?’

  ‘Did you say, aeroplane, sir?’

  ‘You have flown before, have you not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ But it had only been four times, and each time she had been on her way to, or from, Hitler. Each occasion had been nightmarish . . . for different reasons.

  ‘Then you will not be afraid. In any event, there is no alternative. It is eleven hundred kilometres from Lucerne to Posen. To make that journey, either by road or rail, in the present conditions, would take you several days, and God knows what you might encounter. By aeroplane it will take you only a few hours, all in perfect safety.’

  With Russian fighters roaming at will? she wondered.

  ‘At Posen, you will be met and driven to the internment camp.’ This time he gave her a sheet of stiff, headed notepaper. ‘Here is the order for the release of your parents, into your custody as the Countess von Widerstand. You don’t want to burn that, eh? And here are your passes and your carte blanche as my agent. Then you, and they, will be driven back to Posen, where the aircraft will be waiting to bring you to Berlin. Is that satisfactory?’

  ‘Very, sir.’ But although she knew, in view of her plans, that it was a hypothetical question, she could not resist asking, ‘And what will happen to them then, sir?’

  ‘Why, we shall find them a new home, eh? Safe from the Russians.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She stood up. ‘The car will be waiting. So, auf wiedersehen.’

  To her surprise, he also stood up, came round the desk, and held her shoulders. ‘I am placing my absolute trust in your fidelity, Anna.’

  He’d have her weeping in a moment. But they would be tears of joy. ‘I understand that, sir.’

  ‘Well, then . . .’ To her utter consternation, he kissed her on the forehead.

  *

  Anna carried the attaché case and her valise into her office then placed the various passes and tickets in her shoulder bag, beside her Luger.

  Katherine stood in the doorway of the inner office. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘In a couple of days. Why, will you miss me?’

  ‘With Essermann gone, and now you – well – it will be lonely. And now our investigation is over, I have nothing to do.’

  ‘I will find you lots to do when I come back. Until then, rest up and read a good book. Come here.’

  Katherine advanced, cautiously. Anna took her into her arms and hugged her tightly. Katherine gasped. ‘You are coming back?’

  Anna kissed her. ‘Don’t I always?’

  The Best Laid Plans

  This was Anna’s third trip to Lucerne, and if it felt odd not to be escorted to the station by Essermann, as always in the past – this was an SS officer she had never met before, who was tongue-tied throughout the short car ride – the journey as before went off smoothly and peacefully, in such strong contrast to her first delivery to Switzerland, when she had been sent to Geneva. And wound up having to kill two other interfering Gestapo agents.

  But she needed the peace, and having made it clear to the two businessmen sharing her first-class compartment, and who could not believe their luck at being cooped up for several hours with a beautiful woman, that she was interested in neither chitchat nor a flirtation, she was left alone with her thoughts.

  For the first time in a long time she was at once impatient and apprehensive of the future, and this disturbed her. Her success had been built upon her patience, and her refusal to consider more than one step at a time, confident that, within the parameters of the overall plan she was required to carry out, she would be able to deal with each problem as it arose. But she had never before undertaken a project quite as large as this, and this time she was not acting on orders, confident of support if she really needed it. Now she was on her own. Certainly if she could not obtain the support of Laurent.

  The staff at the Lakeview Hotel welcomed her as a favourite customer. Eyebrows were no longer raised at her peculiar habit of retiring to her room and remaining there, at least until she was visited by her gentleman friend; it had never occurred to any of them that she might be unable to abandon her luggage for a moment, and to go down to the bar or dinner lugging an obviously heavy attaché case would have made her too conspicuous.

  So as always she had a room service supper and went to bed, remaining there until ten the next morning, when she had a bath and dressed. The temptation to use the phone to call Clive and tell him what she was planning had to be resisted; securing the active support of Laurent came first, otherwise she could be endangering Clive needlessly.

  He always came at eleven, and punctually on the hour there was a tap on her door. Although she had no doubt who it was, Anna was so conditioned to caution, at least when not actually in Gestapo Headquarters, that as always she stood to one side of the door, her pistol, the silencer already screwed into place, resting against her shoulder. ‘Come.’

  She had unlocked the door, and a moment later was in his arms, the silencer resting on the nape of his neck. He took his mouth away from hers. ‘Do you ever make mistakes?’

  ‘I’m alive.’

  ‘I meant, as regards the o
ther chap.’

  Anna released him, rested the gun on the table, while she remembered that unforgettable day in Prague when she had gunned down two obvious assassins, unaware that they were British agents sent to dispose of the chief secretary to the German Protector. ‘I have made mistakes,’ she confessed.

  ‘Then I should say, I’m alive.’ He held her arms, and brought her back for another kiss. ‘Seeing you is like watching the sun rise over the lake.’

  ‘I like looking at you, too.’

  This was no lie. Henri Laurent was by far the most handsome of all the many men with whom she had shared a bed, willingly or unwillingly. He was astonishingly young for a financial tycoon, still in his early thirties, and roughly her own height, which was always a bonus. His features were splendidly carved, only slightly aquiline, his black hair brushed straight back from his forehead, his eyes lively, and she knew that his body, presently encased in a flawless three-piece suit, was hard-muscled and filled with vigour.

  They had known each other for just a year, since that first delivery, and he claimed to have fallen in love with her at first sight, even if the discovery of those two bodies in her hotel room immediately after she had left, had left him uncertain as to just what he had become involved with. Now he did not seem to care who or what she actually was, as long as from time to time she was his. But the operative word, this far, was ‘seem’.

  ‘So what does it feel like to be a heroine of the Third Reich?’

  Anna made a face. ‘If you start believing Goebbels’ propaganda you’re in deep trouble.’

  He kissed her again, then released her and went to the attaché case, which waited on the settee. ‘You’ll need this,’ she suggested, drawing the key from inside her shirt.

  He took it. ‘How warm it is. One day, when this is all over, I am going to set this key in stone, for all time.’

  A cue? Anna took a deep breath. ‘There is no time like the present.’

  Henri had already inserted the key. Now he raised his head, slowly. ‘Would you say that again?’

  ‘If you will help me, I would like to come out.’

  ‘Help you? My dearest girl. But I thought . . . you mean Himmler is letting you go? Because of what you did? Or is it this Russian breakthrough?’

  ‘What Russian breakthrough?’ Anna’s voice was suddenly sharp.

  ‘They crossed the Vistula last night. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said, ‘I did not know.’ Because Himmler had not told her. That was the reason for his agitation, his suggestion that it might be too dangerous for her to travel by train or car. Yet he was letting her go to Posen, which might already be in Russian hands. Was he trying to get rid of her?

  Then the penny dropped. She was to remain here until the money was safely deposited, then she was to kill Henri. And flee . . . into the arms of the Russians. But only Himmler would know that. To the Nazi hierarchy, and most importantly, to Hitler, he was bending over backwards to help her, allowing her to go to Poland to reclaim her parents. He would be heartbroken when news arrived that she had been overtaken by her most bitter enemies.

  ‘The crossing was made well south of Warsaw,’ Henri said. ‘And your people are throwing everything they have into a counter-attack to drive them back. But frankly, they don’t seem to have all that much to throw. And according to the latest bulletin, the Russians are holding. Anyway, that’s not relevant if you’re getting out. From what you have told me, I really never thought he’d let you go. Didn’t you say he had some kind of hold on you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘I did.’ Because, whatever Himmler had planned, or might be hoping would happen, she had to go through with it. She had spent six years protecting her mother and father; to abandon them now would make a nonsense of her life, and make her everything most people considered her.

  Henri frowned. ‘But he doesn’t any more? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

  Anna sat beside him on the settee. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Love you, Anna? I adore you. To be able to . . . well . . .’

  ‘I am about to place my life in your hands.’

  He frowned. ‘I had always supposed, that if push came to shove, my life would be in your hands.’

  ‘That is quite true. I have been sent here to kill you.’

  He stared at her, then looked at the pistol, which remained on the table.

  ‘Do you suppose that I need a weapon to kill?’ she asked. ‘Or that I would tell you about it, if I intended to carry out my orders?’

  ‘You have been ordered to kill me? By Himmler?’

  ‘This is to be our last transfer. I suppose there is no one left to rob. I am to wait here with you until the money is deposited, and then I am to get rid of you. You are the only person who can identify the source of the money, you see.’

  ‘And you are disobeying him? Because . . .?’ He held her hands.

  ‘Because I need your help.’

  The grasp on her fingers only slightly relaxed. ‘I have said that I will help you, in any possible way. So you would like the money, transferred to an account for your use?’

  ‘Now, Henri, you know that is not possible. That money does not belong to me, any more than to Himmler.’

  They had had this conversation before, to his incomprehension. ‘I know, you want to give it all back. And as you can’t possibly do that, as at least half the people from whom it was taken are dead, you want to give it all to charity. Three million dollars! I give up. So what are you planning to do?’

  ‘I am going to leave here tomorrow, and hopefully return the same day, with two people. These people will have no identification, no papers at all, and they may be in a confused state. I need you to take care of them, and me, until I can make the necessary arrangements to get them to safety. Again, if you are prepared to help me, I can make those arrangements now, but it may take a day or two for them to be implemented.’

  The frown was back. ‘These people . . .’

  ‘Are my parents.’

  He stared at her for several seconds. ‘Your parents. And they are . . .?’

  ‘They are in a camp in Poland. Because of the Russian advance, Himmler has given me permission to remove them from the camp and take them to Germany.’

  ‘My God! And they are . . .?’

  ‘Yes. They are the reason that I have worked for him, and for the regime, for the past six years.’

  The fingers had tightened again. ‘Oh, my dear girl. My dear, dear girl. I knew you could never be a Nazi. Of course I will help you. But . . . he is letting you take the count and countess . . .’ He frowned at her expression. ‘Of course, they cannot be the count and countess, if you are a countess. Anna, what is your real name?’ He had only ever known her as the Countess von Widerstand, or the name she had used, Anna O’Brien, on the occasion of their first meeting, and he now knew that had been an alias.

  Anna hesitated. But again her years of having to protect herself were telling her, much as she wanted to, not to trust even this man absolutely . . . until he had proved worthy of that trust, absolutely. ‘I can’t tell you that, Henri.’

  He gazed at her. ‘But you want me to help you.’

  ‘If you love me. Or have you changed your mind about that?’

  ‘Of course I have not,’ he protested, and took another tack. ‘But the danger—’

  ‘Is all on the other side. You must trust me.’

  ‘I trust your skill. But what of the Russians? Suppose you fell into their hands? They may know you are an SD officer.’

  They know a lot more than that, Anna thought. ‘I think I have time, if they are still south of Warsaw. In any event, it is something I must do. I have spent the last six years carrying out the most dreadful crimes for the SD, simply to protect my parents. I am not going to abandon them now.’

  ‘Of course. But your courage, your determination . . . is there nothing I can do to help? I can come with you . . .’

  ‘Have you ever fired a gun, Henri?
’

  ‘Of course. I am a Swiss. I have done my national service.’

  ‘Let me put that another way: have you ever killed man?’

  ‘Well . . . no. But—’

  ‘It is not something most people find easy to do.’

  ‘And you find it easy to do.’

  Anna made a moue. ‘I have been trained for it.’

  ‘Are you saying that those two men in Geneva were not the only men you have killed?’

  Anna sighed. But he had to take her warts and all. ‘I have killed twenty-nine people, Henri.’

  His hands fell away.

  ‘But some of them were women.’

  ‘You have carried out twenty-nine assassinations for Himmler?’

  The crunch moment had arrived. ‘No. Less than a quarter were for the Reich. I have another, and superior employer.’ Which was unfair on MI6; most of the remainder had been in her own self-defence. But that confession would have to come later, if at all.

  Almost insensibly he had moved away from her, as if expecting her to claim to be an emissary of the Devil. Well, she thought, he would not be so very far wrong.

  ‘My other employer,’ she said, ‘is my ultimate salvation. And more important, he is the salvation of my parents, to whom I wish you to deliver them.’ And me, of course, she thought. But it would be unwise to say that at this moment.

  ‘Anna . . . I am totally bewildered. This employer . . .?’

  ‘I am going to telephone him now, and I would like you to speak to him.’ She got up and picked up the phone. Like most continental phones, it had a duplicate earpiece, and this she handed to him. Then she gave the number to the switchboard operator.

  ‘That is an English number,’ Henri said.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘The lines are busy, Countess,’ the switchboard said. ‘If you will remain in your room, I will call you back the moment I have a connection.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Anna hung up.

  Laurent was still gazing at her as if he had never seen her before. ‘I do not understand,’ he said again. ‘You work for the Nazis, and yet you have a superior in England . . .’