Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘You have always wanted to get your hands on me,’ she agreed, sympathetically. ‘Well, now you have achieved your lifetime ambition. How were you proposing to do it? Kill me, I mean?’

  He didn’t reply, so she moved her foot. ‘Don’t get up,’ she advised, ‘or I will hurt you very badly.’ She went to the table, picked up the bottle of insulin, and then the full hypodermic. ‘Of course. How simple. Now tell me who you are working for. I imagine the Soviets have got to you.’

  Johannsson drew another deep breath and pushed himself up with all his strength. But he was too slow. Anna crossed the room in two strides and swinging her right leg with the speed and precision of a champion footballer, crashed her bare toes into the side of his head. ‘Ow!’ she remarked.

  Johannsson had gone down without a sound, and lay on his back, arms outflung, again gasping for breath.

  Anna stood above him. ‘I did warn you,’ she pointed out. ‘You were going to tell me something.’

  Slowly he raised his head. Blood dribbled from his cut mouth.

  ‘You are making life very difficult for yourself,’ Anna told him. ‘Try to remember not to move.’ She went to her shoulder bag, took out the Luger and the silencer, screwed it into place.

  Johannsson had by now got his eyes back into focus, and now he rolled on to his side. Anna returned to him, put her foot on his shoulder, and pushed him on to his back again. He stared at the pistol. ‘I’m quite good with this thing,’ she said, and knelt, grasped his penis, and held the muzzle of the silencer against it. ‘If you don’t tell me, now, I will blow this off and leave you to bleed to death. That would be both painful and humiliating, don’t you think?’

  To her surprise, he was actually reacting to her fingers. But that was probably because he had got his brain working. ‘Andrews,’ he muttered.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Joe Andrews,’ he gasped. ‘He didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do it. But it was orders from Washington.’

  Anna released him and sat on the bed. Her knees felt quite weak, and she could feel her stomach solidifying into a vast lump. ‘Am I allowed to know why?’

  ‘They think you have betrayed them. Hitler did not die. And now, the Russians are claiming that they, the Americans, have been protecting you. They say you have killed fourteen Russians. The Russians are America’s allies . . .’

  ‘And they regard that alliance as more important than me,’ Anna mused. ‘Well, I suppose that is logical, if, in my opinion, mistaken. Thank you for your cooperation, Lars.’

  His eyes were enormous. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I always take one step at a time. But there is something I would like to explain to you. I hate being raped.’

  ‘I accept that. I behaved terribly. I was so overwhelmed with your beauty . . .’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I will make it up to you, I swear it.’

  ‘You won’t, you know. You are begging for your life. But the other eight of the nine people who have raped me are dead. And the ninth is going to die, some time soon. And then, I hate people who try to kill me. All of those are dead. And most of all, I hate people who I have believed to be my friends, who have said that they are my friends, who then betray me.’

  He licked his lips. ‘Anna . . . I . . .’

  ‘So, I will see you in hell.’ She shot him between the eyes.

  *

  Anna unscrewed the silencer and replaced it and the gun in her bag, along with the spent cartridge. There was a small bathroom at the back of the apartment; she had a shower and douched herself, then dressed. She put on her gloves, washed the cups and saucers, carefully dried them, and replaced them in the cupboard. She had not touched anything else, save the bottle of insulin. This she also washed and dried, and replaced it and the hypodermic in the bedside drawer. Then she put on her coat and hat, her dark glasses, and wrapped her scarf around her face, slung her shoulder bag and picked up her valise. She left the apartment and went down the stairs.

  As she reached the lobby, the street door opened and a woman came in, carrying a shopping bag. She smiled at Anna and made a remark, but as Anna did not speak Swedish she could only assume that it was good morning, so she grunted in reply and went outside. She had no clear idea where she was, but the breeze was off the harbour, so she walked towards it and soon found herself on a busy street. She hailed a taxi and uttered the two words, ‘Falcon Hotel.’

  A few minutes later she was in her room and able to take off her outer clothes. She had refused to think while making the brief journey, nor did she want to now. But it was becoming very necessary.

  She kicked off her shoes and threw herself on to the bed, lying on her face across it, absolutely still. As she had told Johannsson, she was very angry. But she knew she was also suffering from shock. Joe Andrews, she thought. Acting on orders from Washington, which could only be Donovan. Who took his orders from the very top. Well, fuck them, she thought. But did that very top also control the British attitude? Although the room was pleasantly warm, she was still chilled from the outside temperature, but now she suddenly felt very hot.

  If that were so, she had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, except Laurent. She rolled on to her back. It couldn’t be so. Clive had known about the failure of the attempt on Hitler’s life when she had spoken with him in July. He had been as supportive and loving as ever. And if the Warsaw incident had not then happened, he had always known all about Chalyapov and Colonel Tserchenka, and about the six NKVD agents in Washington.

  But so had Joe Andrews and Wild Bill Donovan! The sudden atmosphere of mistrust with which she was surrounded would have been amusing had it not been so desperate. When she considered that the only people she was betraying, as she had done for the past five years, were the Nazis, who trusted her absolutely, while the Americans, for whom she had tried to do her best, wanted her killed! Joe Andrews, to whom she had once given her all – admittedly only out of gratitude for his help, in getting her out of the Lubianka – who had welcomed her to his home in Virginia, who had once told her he loved her more than life itself, and who had now, when the chips were down, decided that his loyalty to his job and his superiors were more important than any promises he might have made to her.

  She realized that her fists were so tightly clenched her nails were eating into her palms. This was getting her nowhere. She had a lot to do, a lot to find out, and it had to be done now. Firstly, Bernadotte. He would at least bring a breath of sanity to her world.

  She placed the call, remembering that the last time she had been here she had been unable to contact him right away. But this time, the moment she mentioned the name Countess von Widerstand she was put through.

  ‘Countess?’ Bernadotte was obviously surprised. ‘It is good to hear your voice. But where are you calling from?’

  ‘The Falcon.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I know. I should not have been allowed in. Are you going to have me deported?’

  ‘Of course I will not do that. Am I to suppose . . .?’

  ‘I have something for you from the Reichsführer, yes.’

  Bernadotte was silent.

  ‘Don’t you want to receive it?’ she asked.

  ‘Frankly, Countess, no.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘That is because I am quite unable to accomplish any of the things he desires. But I would very much like to see you again, and so I will accept the letter. Will you lunch with me?’

  ‘I would like that very much.’

  ‘Excellent. Then . . .’ She gathered he was either looking at his diary himself, or was silently communicating with his secretary. ‘Unfortunately, as I received no warning of your coming, I have an engagement today. Will you still be in Stockholm tomorrow?’

  ‘I shall be in Stockholm until I can deliver the letter to you, and until I receive your reply.’

  ‘My car will pick you up at twelve tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I look forward to that.’r />
  She hung up, then put through a long distance call to London. ‘Good morning, Amy.’

  ‘Good . . . oh! Countess?’

  ‘I need to speak with Mr Bartley.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  A moment later Clive was on the line. ‘Anna? Oh, my dearest, dearest girl.’

  The words that above all she wanted to hear.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Well . . . that Warsaw business . . .’

  ‘Do you condemn me for that?’

  ‘Of course I do not. Those bastards had it coming. But now . . . we’ve been moving heaven and earth to get in touch with you.’

  ‘So I understand. Is Belinda all right?’

  ‘Mention the name Werter to her and she is inclined to start breaking the furniture. But listen, you haven’t been in touch with anyone else, have you?’

  She had to be absolutely sure. ‘Who did you have in mind?’

  ‘Well, your friend Laurent was going to try to get a message to you.’

  ‘I have heard nothing from Laurent.’

  ‘Hm. And, ah, nothing from the OSS?’

  ‘I need to speak with you, Clive, very urgently.’

  ‘Oh, shit! You mean . . .?’

  ‘It is not something that I can discuss over the telephone. Listen. I am in Stockholm, and I can stay here for two days after today. Can you come to me?’

  ‘I’ll be with you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I am having lunch with someone, but I should be back here by four at the outside. May I assume that you will be staying the night?’

  ‘If you’d like me to.’

  ‘I want that more than anything else in the world.’

  ‘So do I. Anna . . . are you all right?’

  ‘I will be all right, Clive. After I have seen you.’

  Friends

  At last she could relax. Clive knew something about the OSS. But then, so did she. That would be sorted out. And he had been trying to reach her. Poor Belinda, she thought again. As for Henri, she had no idea what was going on there; he surely would not dare show his face in Germany, much less Berlin. But they would be able to sort that out as well. And they would be together. And she would be able to tell him about Hitler’s offensive. And about Joe! She wondered what his reaction would be to that. And now she had thirty-eight deaths on her conscience. No, never on her conscience. With the exception of those three British agents in Prague four years ago, everyone had been an enemy. And she was fighting a war. As she had thought on several occasions before, if she had been a fighter pilot she would have been decorated.

  She undressed and went to bed. Although she had slept soundly on the voyage, her experiences this morning had left her exhausted, and she was also feeling some discomfort from Johannsson’s forced and unassisted entry. She knew that would wear off, but she had no desire for any company, had a room service dinner, and again slept heavily. The knowledge that tomorrow she would see Clive took away all the stress.

  *

  But first, there was Bernadotte. She wore the same dress as the previous day – no one save Johannsson had seen it beneath her coat – and tucked her hair out of sight as before. His car was punctual, as always in the past, and then she was in the restaurant, which she remembered very well; it was apparently his favourite.

  He bent over her glove, a tall, very distinguished looking man in early middle-age, wearing uniform; she knew that he was a descendant of the Napoleonic general, who had been chosen King of Sweden, and had founded the present dynasty.

  He had been waiting for her in the lobby, and regarded her with a quizzical expression as she divested herself of her coat, hat and gloves, handed them to the waiting maitre d’, took off her dark glasses, and fluffed out her hair. ‘You do not change,’ he remarked.

  ‘Would you like me to change?’

  ‘I personally would hate you to change, Countess. However . . .’ He escorted her to their table, set in a discreet alcove.

  ‘I don’t think you can stop there, Count,’ she suggested as she sat down.

  He spoke to the waiter in Swedish, and champagne cocktails were brought. ‘Shall we order?’

  ‘I am in your hands. Linguistically.’

  He gave a little smile and instructed the maitre d’. Then they gazed at each other for a few moments. ‘May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed.

  ‘How long have you been in Sweden?’

  ‘I arrived yesterday morning. By Finnish ferry.’

  ‘Of course. Using a false name. You had no trouble with Customs or Immigration?’

  ‘None.’ Little alarm bells were beginning to tinkle. ‘Should I have?’

  ‘Well, you see, since last you were here . . . was it really last January? You have become a rather high profile figure. Oh, I know that you have always been a high profile figure in Germany, and I suppose, after the Bordman business, in England as well . . . Do you regret any of that?’

  Anna sipped her cocktail. ‘As I am sure you understand, Count, I serve the Reich. I cannot afford to have regrets. If it will make you happier, while I was married to Ballantine Bordman I was a good and compliant wife. In every way.’

  His flush faded rapidly. ‘But you were betraying him.’

  ‘I was betraying his government,’ Anna said carefully. Because that was not entirely true; she had still been married to Bordman when she had had that unforgettable encounter with Clive. How she wished that she could explain that to this so honourable and upright man. But as she couldn’t . . . ‘Are you saying that my reputation has spread to Sweden?’

  ‘It could hardly avoid doing so, after the splash Dr Goebbels made about your exploit in Warsaw.’

  ‘I would have preferred it had that not happened.’

  ‘The incident, or the splash?’

  ‘Count Bernadotte, those men tried to kidnap me.’

  ‘Why should they do that?’

  Anna grimaced. But he now knew sufficient about her to make further concealment absurd. ‘I was once sent to Moscow to assassinate Stalin.’

  He stared at her. ‘You?’

  Anna finished her cocktail, and the first course was served. The waiter poured the wine, and she drank that as well.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Bernadotte said, signalling the waiter to refill her glass. ‘I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘I was thinking that I had upset you.’

  ‘You surprised me. I mean . . .’

  ‘I don’t look like a professional assassin. I suppose that is my greatest asset.’

  ‘But . . . ah . . . Stalin . . .’

  ‘Is obviously still very much alive.’

  ‘So you don’t always carry out your assignments.’

  ‘In his case, I was betrayed before I could do so. So the NKVD got to me first.’

  It was Bernadotte’s turn to finish his wine. He signalled the waiter to refill them both. ‘You were arrested by the NKVD? And you are sitting opposite me now, apparently in the best of health?’

  Anna made a moue. ‘They’re still looking for me.’

  ‘You know, Countess . . . or may I call you Anna?’

  ‘Oh, please.’

  ‘I realized last January, when we first met, that you were quite an exceptional young lady. I thought, how lucky Himmler is to have such a treasure working for him.’

  ‘And now you’ve changed your mind,’ Anna suggested.

  ‘Now . . . I would like to spend about a week talking with you. But I suppose that’s not possible.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Their main course was served, and the wine changed.

  ‘Then may I ask one or two more questions now?’

  ‘You may not like the answers.’

  ‘I’d still like to hear them.’

  Anna shrugged.

  ‘This assignment, to, ah, eliminate Marshal Stalin. Was it . . .?’

  ‘It was not my first
such assignment, no.’

  ‘And you are still here. You must be very, very good.’

  ‘I am the best,’ Anna said, simply.

  ‘It is difficult to doubt that. Now for the big one. Why? Are you that dedicated a Nazi?’

  Anna gazed into his eyes. ‘I do what it is necessary for me to do, Count Bernadotte.’

  He returned her gaze for several seconds. Then he said, ‘That relieves me greatly. But I’m afraid I am also a little confused. Perhaps you can help me. You may remember that we last lunched here on the seventh of January.’

  ‘I remember it very well.’ She began to anticipate what was coming next.

  ‘Then you’ll remember that although it was already dark when you left the restaurant, and very cold, you elected to walk back to your hotel. You said you wanted to feel the true Stockholm.’

  ‘I am flattered that you should remember the conversation so well.’

  ‘My memory has been stimulated. You told me you were catching the early train to Malmo the following day. I assume you did this?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘That morning three German businessmen were found dead in the office they shared. They were apparently operating an import–export business.’ His eyes never left her face. ‘There was not a single clue as to why they had died. They had all been shot, with a single pistol, although there was another gun that had been fired. The pistols were still there, regulation issue Luger automatics. It appeared as if they had had a fight and exchanged fire, although the bullet extracted from the brain of one of the men came from the gun he was still holding, which suggested that having killed his two compatriots he then shot himself. It was quite a cause célèbre for a few weeks, but the case was never solved. I believe the police contacted the German Embassy to see if they could shed any light on the matter, but they did not appear to be interested.’

  Anna sipped her wine.

  ‘Of course,’ Bernadotte went on, ‘there could be no possible connection between the beautiful, glamorous, Countess von Widerstand, on a hurried visit to Stockholm, and this rather sordid event in a dingy office.’

  ‘But you were . . . interested.’

  ‘No. Not in that event. I mean, I thought of you only as a beautiful and glamorous woman. Until I read about Warsaw. But even then the idea was immediately rejected. Until, well . . . Have you read this morning’s newspaper?’