‘I told you that I was placing my life in your hands.’
‘You mean . . .?’
‘I have been an English agent since before the war started.’
He took his handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his forehead. ‘Do they know what you do . . . what you have done, for Himmler?’
‘Not everything. They are satisfied with the job I am doing for them.’ At least, she thought, I hope they are.
‘But . . . Berlin is telling the world how you saved the regime, saved Hitler . . .’
‘It is a complicated business, which I will explain to you when we have the time. What I need to know is whether you will back me, despite what I have just told you.’
He licked his lips, and glanced at the pistol, which still lay on the table, beside the telephone and therefore close to her hand. He might never have seen her in action, but he could have no doubt of the consequences should he reject her.
‘I had thought you loved me,’ she said, quietly.
‘I do,’ he insisted. ‘But you must understand . . . It will mean the end of my business.’
‘Only as regards Herr Himmler. And as I have just explained, that business is terminated with this transfer.’
‘But . . . will he not send another assassin when he discovers that I am not dead?’
‘The way things are shaping up, by the time he discovers that, the war will be over, and he will be behind bars awaiting trial as a war criminal.’ Unless he happens to be in his grave, she thought; that was the end she had in mind.
The telephone rang. ‘I have your call, Countess.’
‘Thank you.’ Anna indicated the extension, and Henri put it to his ear.
‘Countess?’
‘Good morning, Miss Barstow.’ Anna spoke in English. ‘Is Mr Bartley available?’
‘Yes, he is. But—’
‘Just put me through.’
A moment later Clive was on the line. ‘Anna! My God, but it is good to hear from you. Where are you?’
‘Lucerne.’
‘Lucerne? That’s in Switzerland.’
‘Yes, it is.’ She frowned. ‘Is that important?’
‘My darling girl . . . can you stay there for a day or two?’
‘Ah . . .’ but she intended to return the following night. ‘I will be here, yes.’
‘That’s splendid. Listen, Belinda is on her way to see you. We were going to get her into Switzerland, and she was going to cross the border as an Italo–Swiss national, and contact you. But if she can see you there . . .’
‘It will be safer for everyone. Is there a problem?’
‘There could be a problem, yes. She’ll explain it when she sees you.’
‘Then I’ll be patient. Has she left yet?’
‘We’re still setting things up.’
‘Well, it would be best if she could arrive tomorrow, or at worst the day after, and there are some things she must bring with her. Specifically, whatever documentation is necessary to get my parents and me into England, as well as blank passports and things like that.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Would you repeat that?’
‘I think you heard me the first time,’ Anna said. ‘I have been given the opportunity to get my parents out of prison and myself out of Germany, and I am taking it.’
‘That is the best news I’ve ever had. Of course she’ll bring the documentation. Anything you could possibly need. Although the passports will have to wait until you are actually here. Tell you what: I’ll come with her, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. This will absolutely make Billy’s day.’
‘You reckon?’
‘He loves you too. Where can we contact you?’
‘I can’t tell you precisely where I’ll be.’ It might not be safe to return to this hotel, which was known to Himmler. ‘But I have a contact here in Switzerland who will tell you where I am.’
Another brief silence. ‘A contact.’
‘He is absolutely trustworthy.’ She smiled at Henri. ‘He loves me too.’
‘Anna . . . this contact . . . he’s not OSS, is he?’
‘I wish you could stop fighting over me,’ Anna said. ‘No, he is not OSS. He’s here. Speak to him.’ She handed the phone to Henri, who was looking more uncertain than ever. ‘Mr Bartley is my MI6 controller,’ she explained, reverting to German. ‘He is fluent in German. Give him a contact number.’
Henri regarded the phone as if it might be about to explode, then took it. ‘Henri Laurent, at you service, monsieur.’
‘You’re French.’
‘No, monsieur, I am Swiss.’
‘And you’re prepared to help the countess get out?’
‘Of course. I will give you a telephone number where I can be reached when you and your people are in the country. When you contact me we will set up a meeting. Will you write this down?’ He gave the number, then handed the phone back to Anna, who was frowning; she had not realized that Henri was fluent in English, but he had to be if he had understood what they had said. ‘He wishes another word.’
‘Anna . . .’
‘I know,’ she said, continuing in German. ‘I am breaking every rule in the book. But this is my first chance, and it may be my last. I cannot pass it up, Clive.’
‘I understand that, and I, all of us, are on your side. I just hope to God this character doesn’t let you down.’
‘He’s on the extension.’
‘Ah! Well, then, Herr Laurent, I’ll repeat that. If you let the lady down you’ll have the entire staff of MI6 on your back. Auf wiedersehen.’
Henri replaced the receiver. ‘Is that man your lover?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The way he spoke.’
‘We have loved, yes,’ Anna said carefully. ‘I suppose it goes with the job. More importantly, he is my boss.’
‘And what is this OSS he seems to be worried about?’
‘Some American organization. He doesn’t want them to know about me.’
‘And this documentation he is bringing . . . it is to be for you too.’
She had already decided how this should be handled. ‘Yes. There are two reasons. I need to have the same nationality as my parents, and whatever course you and I may choose to follow, it has to be safer for me to have a British passport than any other: I have been working for them for the past five years, and only they know that.’
He was still looking doubtful. It was time to move on.
‘Listen . . .’ She held his hand and led him to the settee. ‘You understand that I cannot return to this hotel.’
He nodded. ‘How are you getting to Poland?’
‘By plane.’
‘From where?’
‘Berne.’
‘And how are you coming back?’
‘By the same plane.’
‘But . . .?’
‘I told you, I can take care of it.’
He considered for a few moments then said, ‘When?’
‘I am leaving tomorrow morning, and it is my intention to return tomorrow night. It may be quite late.’
‘And this plane . . .?’
‘Will be German. But I will be in control.’
He looked at the pistol on the table. Then he nodded. ‘I will meet the plane, in Berne, tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, my darling!’ She kissed him. ‘And now, we have had nothing but business all morning. And I have to be off again at the crack of dawn. Let us have a room service lunch with a bottle of champagne, and then go to bed for the afternoon. And the night.’
He kissed her in turn. She knew there were huge problems ahead, but she felt that for the time being, at least, she had things here under control as well.
*
‘Shall I come with you now?’ Laurent asked, lying in bed and watching Anna emerge from the bathroom, towelling her hair. ‘To Berne?’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’ She draped the towel across a chair and dressed, quickly and prec
isely as always. ‘I am meeting a German agent there, and you are supposed to be dead, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘But in any event, I shall be back tonight.’
‘With your parents.’
‘Indeed.’ She added her jewellery, checked the contents of her shoulder bag, and smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, they’re not going to share our bed. But if I may, I will leave these two bags with you.’
‘I know what is in the attaché case. Will you tell me what is in the other?’
‘Of course. My clothes. Now I must hurry: the train leaves in half an hour.’
He caught her hand. ‘And when you come back, we will be together, for always.’
‘If that is what you would like.’ She kissed him again, freed her hand, and went to the door. ‘Ciao!’
He watched the door close, remained lying still, staring at it. He thought, I have spent the night in the arms of a mass murderess! In Anna’s presence, surrounded by the feel of her, the touch of her, that realization had only lurked at the edge of his consciousness. It was too bizarre to be taken seriously. But, thinking about her, thinking about what he knew of her, he knew it was true.
Could such a woman, such a creature, ever love, without reservation? Could she be loved, without reservation, with the knowledge that if they ever quarrelled she could, and very probably would, kill him without compunction? When one has killed twenty-nine times, does number thirty really matter? So perhaps he could make sure that she never had access to a weapon, but she had indicated that she did not need a weapon, to kill. And he believed that too.
She had promised to be his . . . what? He had actually considered marriage. But that was before she had revealed so much of herself. Without actually revealing anything! She would not even tell him her real name! And quite apart from her homicidal background, there was her emotional background to be considered. Could any woman who had worked hand in glove with the Nazis, and killed for them, be entirely normal? She had said it was all to protect her parents. If that were true, she could claim to be a heroine. But at the same time, did that not mean that she valued them above everything else in life . . . including every man? He had no desire to marry a family, only a woman.
She had also refused to consider using any, or all, of the $3 million. Was that another aspect of her essentially heroic character? Or just a sop to her conscience? A $100,000 a killing!
So she also claimed to be working, and have done most of her killing, for the British Secret Service, and like everything else she had said, that also appeared to be true. But if so, even if the war ended, as now appeared certain, in Nazi defeat, could she ever turn her back on such a commitment? And this man Clive . . . there had been more than merely servile admiration for her boss in her voice when she had spoken to him. So where did he fit into the emotional picture?
He swung his legs out of bed and sat up. It all came down to one simple question: with all her beauty, all of the desire she could generate . . . was she worth an open-ended involvement?
*
Anna was in Berne by ten, and took a taxi from the station to the address she had been given. As she hoped to be back in Lucerne in a few hours at the outside, she was carrying only her shoulder bag with her Luger, its spare magazines, and, of course, her precious passes and carte blanche.
For the moment, she felt totally relaxed, not only because she always did relax when actually started on an assignment, but because of what she had left behind . . . and would be returning to. Henri was a delightful lover, at once positive and yet gentle, more eager to please her than himself. She felt enormously guilty at her intention to abandon him the moment Clive appeared, but then she reflected that over the past year she had given him several hours of sexual bliss, and a relationship he could dine out on for the rest of his life. So, concentrate.
The door was opened for her by a young woman. ‘Yes?’
‘I am the Countess von Widerstand,’ Anna said. ‘I am to meet someone at this address.’
‘Oh! Ah . . .’ She turned. ‘Herr Udermann. The lady is here.’
Shit, Anna thought. Udermann? Another unwanted relic from her past.
Udermann hurried into the hall to greet her; if she was irritated at having to come into contact with him again, he was obviously no less apprehensive than Werter had been. ‘Countess!’ he gushed. ‘It is such a pleasure to be working with you again.’ He was a stocky man with blunt features and a close-cropped head, on whom such hypocrisy did not sit well. ‘Or perhaps you have forgotten me?’
Anna entered the hall. ‘I remember you very well, Captain Udermann. You were with Colonel Essermann in Lisbon when I was last there. Three years ago.’
‘I do assure you, Countess, that when I was appointed to Colonel Essermann’s staff, I had no idea that he was contemplating treachery against the Reich.’
‘I know that, Captain.’ Because Essermann had had no idea either, she thought. ‘Or you would not be here now.’
He ushered her into a small sitting room and produced a bottle of schnapps. ‘I am a major, now.’
He was in civilian clothes. ‘Then I congratulate you.’ She raised her glass.
‘And how is that charming maid of yours?’
‘She is very well. I will mention you to her.’ She recalled that on their return from Washington, to be unexpectedly met by their ‘escort’ from Portugal to Berlin, while she had had Essermann round her neck, Birgit had been both embarrassed and alarmed at the attentions of this man.
‘I would like you to give her my regards. Perhaps I could see her when we return to Berlin.’
‘I am sure she will be delighted.’ He was, of course, going to have to die, but she did not think that would upset Birgit. ‘Is everything ready?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘You imagine so?’
‘Well, we did not expect you before tomorrow at the earliest.’
‘I completed my business sooner than I expected. Did you know that the Russians are across the Vistula?’
‘I did hear a rumour. But they will not stay there long. We will soon throw them back.’
‘I am sure of it. But I still do not intend to take any risks. I wish to be in and out of Poland today.’
‘I’m not sure that will be possible, Countess.’
‘Is there not a plane waiting for me?’
‘Well, yes but—’
‘I understand it is a three-hour flight to Posen. We can be there by two this afternoon. From Posen it is an hour’s drive to my destination, and an hour back. I do not intend to spend more than a few minutes there. We should certainly be able to take off again by six. As it should be only two hours from Posen to Berlin, we will be in Germany by eight o’clock tonight.’
‘I suppose that it could be done . . .’
‘Then it must be done. The plane is ready?’
‘I will have to telephone. Like me, the pilot is not expecting you so soon.’
‘Then telephone, Major Udermann.’
He gulped, and left the room.
*
It seemed to take him a long time to get through. Anna poured herself another glass of schnapps while she waited, forcing herself to sit still and keep calm. Her feeling of relaxed anticipation was beginning to dissipate.
The young woman appeared. ‘Will you have lunch, Countess?’
‘Thank you, no.’
She would not be able to eat a thing. Suddenly she was actually more apprehensive than on any lethal assignment for the SD, and it had nothing to do with any possible dangers. She had not seen her parents for four years, when, after her dramatic return from England, with, so far as anyone in Germany knew, every security service in Great Britain out for her blood, Heydrich had allowed her to visit them in their internment camp. Actually, as her father had refused to see her at all, she had not laid eyes on him for more than six years, ever since that dreadful day in March 1938 when the whole family had been arrested by the Gestapo. Jane Haggerty Fehrbach
had received her errant daughter, but her anger and contempt at what she conceived as Anna’s betrayal had been unbearable; she had, of course, no inkling of the truth, assumed that Anna, with her glowing health, her expensive clothes and jewellery, had become at best the mistress of some high-ranking party official at worst an SS whore. Aware as she had been that the room in which they met was bugged, there had been no way Anna could give her mother even an inkling of the truth. And the attitudes of both her mother and her father would only have hardened during their years of captivity. And now they had lost Katherine as well.
And still there was no way she could tell them the truth, until they were on their way to freedom, and by then they would have had to watch her at work.
‘There,’ Udermann said. ‘It is all arranged. Now all we have to do is have lunch . . .’
‘No lunch, Herr Udermann,’ Anna said. ‘I have told you that I am in a hurry.’
‘But—’
‘No lunch.’ She stood up. ‘I am waiting.’
*
Half an hour later they were at the little airfield, and Anna was gazing at the aircraft that was to be her ride to freedom. ‘What is that?’ she asked.
‘It is a Storch, Countess,’ the pilot said.
‘It’s very small.’
‘It is a six-seater, Countess. I was told there will only be four of you for the flight to Germany.’
‘But it only has one engine.’
‘As long as the engine works, Countess, you have nothing to worry about. Will you board?’
Anna glared at him and then climbed through the small door. She was again wearing her blue suit, and was forced to reveal a lot of leg while stepping up. She slid across the seat and Udermann sat beside her. ‘You have flown before, Countess?’ he asked, solicitously, as she fumbled with her belt.
‘Several times,’ she snapped. She still hated the knowledge that for all her skill and experience, her life was entirely in the hands of the pilot, and the weather.
They were airborne, but flying it seemed only a few hundred feet above the ground. ‘Shouldn’t we be higher up?’ she asked Udermann.
‘It is safer here, Countess. We are less likely to be seen by Russian aircraft.’
Shit, she thought, looking out of the window. But the sky appeared to be clear, although far to the east she could see dense clouds of smoke.
Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5) Page 7
