Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘He’s all we’ve got,’ Clive shouted. ‘And anyway, I don’t think I need to mention that Johannsson works for the Americans. Wherever Laurent’s sympathies lie, he has to be against the Russians.’

  ‘You’d better wear your thermal underwear,’ Baxter recommended. ‘It’s snowing in Switzerland.’

  *

  Laurent listened to what Clive had to say, his face expressionless. ‘You’ll forgive me for being confused,’ he admitted. ‘I thought that Great Britain and the United States are allied with Soviet Russia against Nazi Germany?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Yet you are saying that Soviet Russia wish to execute Anna. Your number one agent in Germany.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for being confused, Herr Laurent. The point is that the Russians do not know that Anna is our agent, and I don’t think it would make a lot of difference if they did. It so happens that three years ago, on the orders of her Nazi masters, Anna made an attempt on the life of Marshal Stalin. Obviously she didn’t succeed, but she managed to escape the country. They have been after her ever since, and their feelings have been rather accentuated by her habit of killing, virtually on sight, all of the people they send to arrest her.’

  Laurent regarded him for some seconds without speaking, so Clive went on. ‘Had you known that when you and she, ah, first got together, would it have made a difference?’

  ‘To wishing to get close to Anna? I don’t think so. I already knew that she killed those two men in Geneva. But despite the fact that she seems to kill people who are actually your allies, you continue to employ her, and indeed, you are prepared to go to any lengths to preserve her.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Touché. Tell me, you have no doubts that she is working for you, and not the Nazis?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Laurent, you know the score. She works, or she appears to work, for the Nazis because they hold her family.’

  ‘I know this is what she has always claimed.’

  Clive frowned at him. ‘She was bringing her family to you, when something went wrong.’

  ‘That is the assumption we have made, yes.’

  ‘Well,’ Clive said. ‘I seem to have made a serious mistake. And so has Anna.’

  Laurent smiled. ‘You do not know all the facts.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘As I told you when last we met, Anna has been visiting me, on an irregular basis for more than a year, bringing certain instructions from Herr Himmler. I am not at liberty to discuss these with you. But Herr Himmler apparently has no more use for my services. He sent Anna to me last July to terminate our relationship.’

  ‘My God! And . . .?’

  ‘I am still here? That is because she did not carry out her assignment, and indeed told me of it. In exchange for which she asked me to help her get her parents out of Nazi hands. As you know, I agreed to this. However, the plan did not work, for whatever reason we do not know. The point I am making is, we also do not know what she told Himmler. That she did not carry out her orders? In which case he would hardly have agreed to her being made Minister of Morale. Or that she did carry out her orders, in which case he must think I am dead.’

  ‘Shit! You mean, if you were to turn up in Berlin . . .’

  ‘I very much doubt Herr Himmler will suppose that I am a ghost. Although he may resume his interest in making me one.’

  ‘Shit!’ Clive said again.

  ‘However, I have a colleague who might be prepared to carry your warning.’ He studied Clive’s expression; there could be no doubt what was going through his mind; he was a secret service agent, who was being asked more and more to forget about the secret part in order to save the life of his chief agent. A woman with whom there equally could be no doubt that he was in love. That was a problem which would have to be dealt with in due course. But was it a problem? On the one hand a man who was clearly about twice Anna’s age, by no means good-looking, and a no doubt underpaid civil servant even if he had a glamorous sounding job, and on the other a man only a few years older than her, handsome and sophisticated, with a bulging portfolio – even if she did not know that yet – with whom she had shared what had to be some of the most passionate moments of even her life. There could surely be no comparison. So, back to the question: apart from the thrill of the chase, the pleasure of beating another man to the winning post . . . was she worth the risk?

  But she was certainly worth preserving, if it could be done without risk, at least to himself. And it was an intriguing situation. ‘You say this man Johannsson is known to Anna. Do you mean that they have worked together?’

  ‘No. She does know of him professionally. But we are afraid that she may trust him as a friend.’

  ‘And you believe that he has been commissioned to murder her. Anna has always given me the impression that she is very capable of looking after herself.’

  ‘She is. But she is also inclined to trust those she regards as her friends. As you seem to have found out, Herr Laurent.’

  ‘Again, touché. And this man, this Johannsson, is employed by whom? The Russians?’

  ‘We agreed that you should know nothing more than the essentials. All that is required is that a message be got to Anna that Johannsson has been assigned to kill her. I think, as you have said, that we can leave the rest to her.’

  ‘As I will be unable to deliver this message personally, will she believe my messenger?’

  Clive drew a deep breath. He was breaking every rule in the book. ‘He should tell her that he comes from Belinda.’

  *

  ‘Anna!’ Himmler embraced her. This was now becoming an increasingly nauseating familiarity, overshadowed, in her experience, by the fact that men who embraced her usually had bed in mind. After three years? Then he must be overcoming his subconscious fear of her. ‘It is so good to see you.’ He held her at arm’s length, retaining his grasp on her shoulders. ‘You are like a breath of fresh air. No, no. Like the sun, rising out of my office floor.’

  She supposed he could be right. She had taken off her sable and its matching hat on entering the room, and today she was wearing her pink frock, with her hair loose on her shoulders.

  ‘Come, sit down.’ He gestured her to the chair before his desk, then seated himself behind it, rested his elbows on the blotting paper. ‘You have heard the news?’

  ‘Roosevelt’s re-election? Yes.’

  ‘The Americans seem to be intent upon making him dictator for life. It is very disturbing. Had he been replaced by someone not so friendly with Churchill, as should have happened, it would have had to be to our advantage.’

  ‘How is the Führer taking it?’

  ‘Surprisingly calmly. He holds the opinion that Roosevelt is a mental defective in any event, as a result of his polio. Anyway, he is more concerned with events closer to home. As should we all be. We were so distressed to hear about your sister. Those swine. Do you think she is dead? They have made no announcement about it.’

  ‘That is because they made a mistake in taking her instead of me. To announce it would make them look like fools.’ As for whether she is dead, she wondered, would that not be preferable to a lifetime of torture at the hands of someone like that little bitch Olga, supposing she was still around? She had determined that she had to write Katherine off in her endeavour to rescue her parents, but she had still held a vague hope of being able to get her too out, at the end. Now . . .

  ‘But you are bearing up magnificently, as one would expect. You have proved a true heroine of the Reich, eh? We have had nothing but glowing reports of your tour.’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Reichsführer. I don’t think I did all that much good. The men I spoke with may have been pleased to see me, but almost without exception they were exhausted, and their morale was non-existent. They do nothing but retreat, retreat, retreat. And always there are more and more enemy soldiers coming after them, more and more tanks, more and more aircraft. The aircraft are the worst. Their fighter-bombers attack every
thing that moves, all day.’

  ‘You almost sound as if you have personal experience of these attacks.’

  ‘I do have personal experiences of these attacks, sir.’

  ‘What? You were told not to expose yourself to enemy action.’

  ‘That is the point I am making, Herr Reichsführer. It is not possible for anyone to be within a hundred miles of the front line, in either France or Poland, without being constantly exposed to attack.’

  ‘My God! But you are not hurt?’ He peered across his desk in search of bandages.

  ‘No, sir. I am not hurt, thanks to the unfailing gallantry of the men protecting me. But I knew I was coming home, whenever I had had enough. Those men know they are not coming home. If only they could look up and see the Luftwaffe taking on the Spitfires and the Typhoons and the Mustangs . . . but there are never any German planes to be seen.’

  Himmler was studying her, frowning. ‘You have not, I hope, revealed these . . . observations to anyone else?’

  ‘No, sir. I have not.’

  ‘Very wise. The Führer wishes to see you.’

  Oh, lord, Anna thought. It must have registered in her expression, because Himmler added, ‘I do not think he will wish sex with you. I do not think he is capable at this moment; he has still not fully recovered from that explosion in July, and he has a lot on his mind. I know that he is planning some huge operation which he believes will alter the course of the war in our favour, although he has not told me the details. All of which means that his moods are uncertain. So please be careful what you say to him, and please do not attempt to contradict anything he may say to you.’

  ‘I understand, sir. May I ask if I am now to resume my duties here?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. We shall have to find you a new secretary, eh? But first, I would like you to undertake a little trip for me.’

  ‘Sir?’ Her heart leapt. But he could not possibly be sending her back to Switzerland as he obviously believed that she had carried out his orders as regards Laurent.

  ‘I know,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You have just returned from an arduous tour and would like to put your feet up, eh? And so you shall, as soon as you come back from Stockholm.’

  ‘Stockholm?’ Anna’s heart was doing handsprings again. The last time she had been sent to Stockholm she had been able to contact MI6, and although Clive had been unavailable, she had had that amusing meeting with Baxter. The important thing was that she would be able to re-open contact, bring them up to date with what had happened in July, and find out what they wanted her to do next. Of course, that visit had also included her encounter with three over-eager Gestapo agents who had attempted to arrest her on suspicion that she was fleeing the Reich. They had been thoroughly unpleasant men, and she had had no compunction about sending them to hell, even had they not been Gestapo, a force for which she held an in-built hatred at all times. But that situation was extremely unlikely to arise again.

  ‘I know,’ Himmler said, more sympathetically yet. ‘I am again sending you to the North Pole in the dead of winter. Still, you survived the last trip, did you not? And it is urgently necessary for you to deliver a letter to Count Bernadotte. You liked him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She had indeed liked the handsome middle-aged man who had entertained her with such studied elegance the previous January, had been unfailingly polite, and, whatever his private feelings, had shown neither an overt interest in her as a sex object nor criticism of her as a representative of the Nazi Government. But that she had made an impression had been revealed at their second luncheon, when, before saying goodbye, he had indicated that if she ever needed his help in the collapse he could clearly see ahead, he would be happy to respond. If only she could take advantage of that.

  ‘As before,’ Himmler went on, ‘it will be necessary for you to wait for his reply.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ At least two, perhaps three, days in the peaceful sanity of Sweden!

  ‘There is, however, a problem,’ Himmler said.

  Shit! she thought. ‘Sir?’

  ‘You will not yet be aware of it, but the Swedes have closed their ports to our shipping. Rats, eh, deserting the sinking ship, after appearing to be our friends for so long. These measures include the Malmo–Lubeck ferry.’

  Anna could not restrain herself from asking, innocently, ‘Are we a sinking ship, Herr Reichsführer?’

  He gazed at her for several moments, then said, ‘That is how some people view the situation, certainly. They are entitled to have their opinions, however erroneous, providing they do not air them publicly, at least here in Germany. The point is that this move creates certain obstacles to our people getting in or out of the country. These obstacles are not insuperable; they merely involve certain delays. You will have to travel by a Finnish vessel. This actually is something of an advantage, in that it will deliver you to Stockholm itself, after a pleasant overnight voyage.’

  Surrounded by Soviet submarines and aircraft, Anna thought. But she said, ‘That does indeed sound very nice, sir.’

  ‘I knew you would be pleased. I have booked a room for you at the Falcon Hotel. You enjoyed that the last time, did you not?’

  ‘It was very comfortable,’ Anna acknowledged.

  He handed her an envelope of Swedish money, an open return ticket on the Finnish ferry, and a passport. ‘It will be necessary to use a false identity.’

  ‘With respect, sir, I am known both to Count Bernadotte and at the Falcon as the Countess von Widerstand.’

  ‘Oh, quite. The Finnish passport is simply to get you in and out of the country without any questions being asked. Once you are in, you can revert to your true identity, certainly when you are with people who already know you.’

  Anna flicked open the little booklet, looked at her photograph, and read the details. ‘Anna Halfden. Well, that is quite a pleasant name.’

  ‘I thought so. Well, the Führer is waiting. There is a car to take you to the Chancellery. I would like you to report to me tomorrow morning to receive the letter for Bernadotte before you leave for the journey to Rostock.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Anna got up. ‘Heil Hitler!’

  ‘Heil. Ah . . . Anna?’

  She had reached the door, here she paused. ‘Herr Reichsführer?’

  ‘You, ah . . . never discuss with the Führer any of our private arrangements?’

  He had asked her this so often before. She suspected that he was close to being a nervous wreck. ‘Of course I do not, sir.’

  ‘Not even when in, ah . . . the throes of passion?’

  The man has got to be joking, she thought. Throes of passion, with Hitler? ‘No, sir. Not even then.’

  ‘Because you keep yourself under such perfect control at all times, eh? It is one of your great assets. But then, you have so many great assets. You are a treasure. Oh, by the way, during your absence you had a visitor.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘That Italian woman you became, ah, friendly with last year, after you had interrogated her.’

  ‘Bel— Claudia was here?’

  Clive must indeed be desperate to find out what happened, she thought. But here?

  ‘Bold as brass,’ Himmler confirmed. ‘Just walked up the steps out there and asked to see you. You know, Anna, while I am prepared to overlook your, ah, peccadilloes in view of your multiple talents, I really cannot condone them if they are, well, displayed too publicly.’

  ‘I assure you, sir, that I really never expected to see Signorina Ratosi again.’

  ‘I think that is a very wise decision. I mean, suppose the Führer were to find out? You know how he feels about, well . . .’

  ‘Homosexuality,’ Anna suggested, helpfully.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘May I ask, sir, when she discovered that I was not here . . .?’

  ‘Oh, she was arrested.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘She had the misfortune to run into her old friend Werter. Now I would not like you to get work
ed up about this, Anna. He recognized her, and for some obscure reason she was travelling under an assumed name. Ah . . . Valentina Sabatini. Apparently she was claiming to be a relative of the novelist. I suppose she was trying to be discreet. Well, you see, you can’t blame Werter for being suspicious. I mean, he remembered her from last year.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Anna kept her emotions under control with an effort. ‘So where is she now?’

  ‘I imagine she is back in Italy, or Switzerland, or wherever it is she comes from.’

  Breath rushed through Anna’s nostrils. ‘You mean . . .?’

  ‘I told him to let her go.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. May I ask, for how long she was in Werter’s custody?’

  ‘I’m afraid, a few hours. You know what Werter is like. But I am assured that she was not harmed. Well, not in any permanent fashion.’

  ‘I see,’ Anna said, grimly.

  ‘So there you are. As I said, you really have to keep your personal, ah, weaknesses separate from your job. I will see you tomorrow.’

  *

  ‘Inspector Martine is here, Monsieur Laurent,’ said the male secretary. ‘He telephoned for an appointment.’

  ‘Of course,’ Laurent said. ‘Inspector. Come in.’ He shook hands. ‘Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.’ He was watchful, but not concerned; in Switzerland, top bankers, provided they broke no Swiss laws, were very seldom troubled by the police.

  ‘It is good of you to see me, monsieur.’ The inspector, a little man with grotesquely long bushy eyebrows, settled himself. ‘It is rather a delicate matter.’

  ‘Feel free.’

  ‘Well, sir, I believe a few weeks ago you released from your service a Mademoiselle Essene.’

  A little alarm bell tinkled in Laurent’s brain. ‘That is correct.’

  ‘The lady seems to have been upset by this.’

  ‘I am sure she was. She had been with us for some time, and had always proved reliable. But then, I think it was something to do with an unhappy relationship, she began to drink, very heavily. This was obvious from her breath. Well, as I am sure you understand, Inspector, my business relies absolutely on confidentiality. I simply cannot afford to employ anyone who might be indiscreet.’