Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5)

by Christopher Nicole

  And he doesn’t know half of mine, she reflected.

  ‘So it’s difficult to see how they can relate Johannsson’s death, here in Stockholm, with you, when you’re supposed to be in Berlin.’

  ‘I suspect they will eventually,’ Anna said. ‘But that doesn’t solve the overall problem. When they discover that Johannsson is dead, whether or not they have any idea why he died or who did it, they’ll have to realize that he didn’t complete his mission. And send somebody else.’

  They gazed at each other.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘I can probably take him out as well. But what happens when the shooting stops? How long do you think we have?’

  ‘Well, everything is snowed up at the moment. But come the spring . . .’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘That’s still four months away,’ he protested.

  ‘No, no. We’ve been so caught up in my problems that we haven’t got around to the big one.’ She told him of Hitler’s plans.

  ‘Wow! Before Christmas? Today’s the fifteenth.’

  ‘Will you be in time to warn them?’

  ‘I’ll be in London tomorrow morning. But . . . Shit!’

  ‘I know. You really should go now. Is your plane standing by?’

  ‘Yes. But Anna—’

  ‘I want you too. But this is too big.’ She looked at the window; the curtains were drawn, but it was obviously dark outside. ‘Can you take off in the dark? And in sub-zero temperatures?’

  ‘No problem. Well . . . what a fuck-up. And your problem is still on hold.’

  ‘Not entirely.’ She told him of Himmler’s plans and hopes.

  ‘That’s a non-starter.’

  ‘Which is Bernadotte’s opinion as well. However, he’s prepared to do what he can.’

  ‘So he would like to end the war. I don’t think he can do it any sooner than military action, certainly if we can nip this latest plan in the bud.’

  ‘He’s doing it to help me, Clive. He reckons he can bargain with Himmler: his help in exchange for my parents.’

  ‘I really must meet this character. But hold on a moment. If he does that, Himmler will know you have confided in him.’

  ‘Yes. But he is confident that Himmler is so desperate for his help he’ll go for it, if he can be made to understand that unless he releases me, there isn’t going to be any help. It’s a risk But it’s a way out. And I have a big trump of my own.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I’m Hitler’s favourite woman, right now. If I were to tell the Führer that Himmler is negotiating for a separate peace under his leadership, that would be the end of him.’

  ‘Can’t you do that anyway?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do me much good if Hitler doesn’t know where my parents are. In any event, I don’t think the Führer intends to let me go any more than Himmler does. Threatening to tell him about Bernadotte is a bluff, but Himmler is in such a nervous state, and is so terrified of his Führer, I think it would work.’

  ‘It never ceases to amaze me,’ he said, ‘what a remarkable woman you are. You seem able to cut your way to the core of every problem, instantly, no matter how deep your emotional involvement.’

  ‘You say the sweetest things. Or perhaps you don’t mean it that way. Now listen. There is no way I can contact you until this is over. If it works, I will make for Switzerland, with Mama and Papa, and contact you from there.’

  ‘You mean you will go to Laurent.’

  ‘Now, Clive . . .’

  ‘No histrionics. And I won’t argue that I may be slightly prejudiced. But I must tell you that I was a little disappointed when I saw him in September and asked for his help in warning you of the situation.’

  ‘Because he wouldn’t risk coming to me himself?’

  ‘Not just that. There was a . . . hesitancy in his commitment to you.’

  ‘As you say, you’re prejudiced. I know what you mean. I have observed it myself. But he is a banker by profession. Bankers are by definition men of cautious attitudes, not instant decisions, and even less, instant action.’

  ‘Will you tell me exactly what he does, for Himmler?’

  Anna considered, then nodded. ‘I take large sums of money from Himmler to Laurent, and he places it in a number account for future reference.’

  Clive gave a low whistle. ‘Now that is very interesting.’

  ‘You can’t use that information, Clive. As I said, he is still my safest route out of Germany.’

  ‘And you trust him.’

  ‘Yes, Clive, I trust him.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘If only because there is no one else I can trust. Except you. And, I hope, Billy.’

  ‘On those last two you can rely.’

  ‘Even with Uncle Sam breathing heavily down your neck?’

  ‘Even with the Devil himself sitting on our laps. You tell us when you are ready to come out, my dearest girl, and we will look after you. You have my sacred oath. Now –’ he sighed, and kissed her – ‘I suppose I had better be on my way.’

  Anna held his hands. ‘Is fifteen minutes going to make that much difference?’

  *

  The Lysander droned into the darkness. Ice was forming on the cabin windows, but the de-icers were keeping the wings from being over-burdened. Clive looked at the luminous dial of his watch. 1930. The pilot had said they’d be down by 2030. So just an hour to go.

  An hour to think? Or to remember? He would far rather remember. Because he never knew when there was going to be a next time. She was the most compelling woman he had ever known, or could ever imagine. And she lived her life on a constant knife-edge, which he accepted was the only way of life she had ever known. So, supposing he extricated her, what was he going to do with her? He knew what he wanted to do with her: place her somewhere no one else would ever reach her, save only himself.

  But to attain that happy state . . . he could only hope Billy would have some ideas, because he knew enough about the Americans to understand that they had very long memories, and if they had determined that Anna was an enemy, and when the war ended they would be, as seemed inevitable, the greatest power in the world, and a power on which Britain would have to depend for her survival, much less recovery, in a post-war world with the threat of Russia looming perhaps just across the English Channel . . .

  And the problem was already in his lap. What he had to tell Baxter the moment he landed, could only have come from Anna. They could claim that she was not the only agent they had in Germany, but anyone who knew anything approaching the reality of the situation, which certainly included the OSS, had to know there was only one source in Germany from which such secret information could have come. One would have supposed they should be grateful, if they were able to check the German onslaught. But the OSS also knew that MI6 had lost normal contact with Anna, and thus the information had to have been passed verbally, face to face. Once their thoughts took that road, they would know it could only have been either Switzerland or Sweden, as Anna had no access to any other neutral country. And when they discovered that the agent they had sent to eliminate her had mysteriously been murdered in Sweden . . . well, they weren’t that dumb. In fact they weren’t dumb at all.

  Yet the warning had to be delivered. He looked at his watch; 2020, and they were descending. He looked out of his window again, and gulped. What he had thought was thickening ice was, he realized, actually thickening cloud. He leaned forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. ‘Can we get down?’

  ‘Ground control says not at Hendon: visibility is down to a hundred feet.’

  ‘So do you have an alternative?’

  ‘They say to try Biggin. It’s a bit clearer there. We don’t have too much choice.’ He indicated his fuel gauge; the needle was hovering above empty.

  ‘Shit!’ Clive muttered.

  ‘Ah, we’ll get down, Mr Bartley.’ The voice was reassuring. ‘We always do.’

  Clive remembered being shot down over the Mediterranean, on his way to Anna rather than on his way back
. That pilot had said something similarly reassuring minutes before the Italian fighter had opened fire.

  The seat-belt light came on, and he thrust the steel tongue into the buckle socket. He still could not see a thing, even by peering forward over the pilot’s shoulder and past the propeller; he was not even sure he could see the propeller.

  The pilot was chattering into his radio, but with the mike against his mouth Clive could not make out what he was saying. Then he turned his head. ‘No go. We’re out of fuel.’

  As he spoke the engine died. ‘So what do you recommend?’ Clive asked, pleased with the steadiness of his voice; the air was not his natural environment. ‘Do we jump?’

  ‘We’re too low. But they have us on radar. They tell me we’re over some open country. I’m going to bring her down there. Don’t worry; we don’t have enough fuel left to catch fire. Just sit tight until we stop bumping.’

  *

  The pain was in the background, almost obscured by the waves of the analgesic drug drifting through his mind. But that was not strong enough to take away his sense of urgency.

  Clive blinked at the ceiling and realized it was daylight. Holy shit! he thought.

  But he must have said it aloud, because a face peered at him. It was a female face, exposed because whatever hair it possessed was tucked out of sight beneath its starched white hat. He supposed it could be an attractive face, in the right circumstances, but these were conspicuously absent. The face was also looking severe. ‘Mr Bartley?’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are in Reading General Hospital.’

  Clive could remember nothing of the crash. And now he realized that a far greater pain than that in his leg was the pain in his head; he must have hit it a colossal whack. ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘You were brought in at nine thirty last night.’

  ‘My God! You mean I have lain here for . . .?’

  ‘You were severely concussed, as well as physically injured. Now, you must not agitate yourself, or I shall give you another sedative.’

  ‘Fuck it!’

  ‘Really, Mr Bartley, that simply will not do.’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Your effects are over there.’

  He glanced at the table on the far side of the private ward, and then down at himself, realized he was wearing a bed gown. ‘You did all of this?’

  A faint flush appeared. ‘There were three of us. You were . . . restless.’

  ‘Where is Pilot Officer Brian?’

  ‘I’m afraid Pilot Officer Brian was dead on arrival, sir.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’

  ‘Sir! Dr Close . . .’

  The doctor, all little moustache and large horn-rimmed glasses, who had been passing the open door, hurried over. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’

  ‘I have to get out of here,’ Clive told him. ‘I have to get out of here, and this woman is being difficult.’

  ‘I am being difficult?’ the nurse remarked.

  The doctor assumed a benevolent expression. ‘My dear Mr . . . ah . . .?’

  ‘Bartley,’ the nurse muttered.

  ‘Mr Bartley, apart from a severe concussion, your leg is broken in two places. You cannot possibly leave that bed for at least a week. As for leaving hospital . . . we are talking of probably a month.’

  Clive glared at him. ‘Then you had better get me a telephone.’

  ‘Your next of kin are being informed . . .’

  ‘I have no next of kin,’ Clive said. ‘And I must make a telephone call.’

  ‘I’m afraid there are no facilities for telephones in the wards . . .’

  ‘Holy Jesus Christ!’

  ‘Really, sir! In front of a nurse! I must protest!’

  ‘Now you listen to me very carefully,’ Clive said. ‘Because if you do not do exactly as I tell you, and do it now, you are going to be locked up and tried for treason, and very likely hanged. In my wallet over there you will find a card with a telephone number on it. Telephone that number and ask for Mr Baxter. If there is any query, tell them that you are calling on behalf of Clive. When you get Baxter on the phone tell him that I have got to see him immediately. Tell him it is a matter of life and death. Go.’

  The doctor looked at the nurse, who shrugged. Then he went to the table, found the card, and looked at Clive again.

  ‘A matter of life and death,’ Clive reminded him, ‘And we are talking about the nation, not me.’

  Dr Close hurried from the room, and Clive turned to the nurse. ‘Now you,’ he said. ‘I need a bed pan.’

  *

  ‘What a dump,’ Baxter commented. ‘They say I can’t smoke. Bloody little Hitlers.’ He surveyed his aide, sceptically. ‘Do you realize that you have a lump on your forehead the size of a hen’s egg?’

  ‘I hit my head when we crashed,’ Clive explained.

  Baxter placed the chair beside the bed and sat down. ‘And you have a broken leg and are going to be out of action for God knows how long. So, was a night between the sheets with Anna worth a broken leg? But you didn’t spend a night, did you? You must have had a hell of a spat to come charging back at night at this time of year. You could have been killed.’

  ‘Poor Brian was killed,’ Clive pointed out.

  ‘Well, there you go. You need your head examined.’

  ‘I came back last night, Billy, because Anna gave me an absolutely vital piece of info. Now will you be quiet and listen?’

  Baxter listened. ‘The bit about Antwerp will be very useful,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘Billy, the whole front is about to go up.’

  Billy nodded. ‘The whole front went up four hours ago.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘News is still coming in. The Yanks are in a panic. They had no idea that anything like this could happen, so they don’t have much in the Ardennes area, and those that are there seem to have been caught with their pants round their ankles. They’re being scattered in every direction.’

  ‘So Jerry is through.’

  ‘Early days,’ Baxter remarked. ‘He seems to be doing pretty well at the moment. But he has a long way to go, and we seem to be hampered by the same weather you ran into last night, which limits our air activity. But we have our own people on the northern flank of the push, and reinforcements are being rushed up from everywhere. Best of all, Montgomery is being placed in overall command of both the Yanks and us. I should think we’ll stop them. But as I said, knowing that their target is Antwerp will be very useful. I’d better get back and see the boss.’

  ‘Hold on one moment. How are you proposing to tell him?’

  Baxter raised his eyebrows. ‘Exactly as you told me. It’s a godsend for us as regards Anna. We’ll be able to put a spoke in the Yanks’ wheel.’

  ‘No we won’t.’

  Baxter raised his eyebrows, and then sat down again as Clive outlined the situation. ‘That girl does pose us some problems,’ he remarked.

  ‘You mean you think she should have lain there and let Johannsson get on with it?’

  ‘You mean that bastard actually raped her while she was unconscious? He should be castrated.’

  ‘Anna considers that her way of dealing with these things is more effective. I think she was more annoyed that he had done it when she was out than that he did it at all; she does like to know what’s going on. The point is, Billy, that no one except you and I can ever know that Anna was in Stockholm on the day Johannsson was killed. Ergo, no one except you and I can ever know that I was in Stockholm either, as Joe Andrews would have no doubt that the only reason I would go there would be to see Anna.’

  ‘Hm. Won’t the Stockholm police make the link?’

  ‘Anna says not. She was travelling on a Finnish vessel and as a Finnish journalist. No one seems to have queried this. She reckons no one knows she was there save for the chap she went to meet.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Folke Bernadotte.’

  ‘What? The Red
Cross johnnie? What on earth—?’

  ‘Listen.’

  Again Baxter listened. ‘Well, well, well,’ he commented. ‘Now that is very interesting.’

  ‘You can’t use it without blowing Anna’s position vis-à-vis Himmler.’

  ‘It may still come in handy. And you don’t think this chap Bernadotte is going to go to the police when he finds out about Johannsson? That Anna is guilty of murder?’

  ‘Bernadotte knows everything about Anna.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Keep you hair on. Not that she works for us, or that she is connected with the OSS. Only that she is a member of the SD and does what Himmler tells her to because of her parents. She says he is trying to help her to get out.’

  ‘Why should he want to do that?’

  ‘She says he is one of her closest friends.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I thought I did too, at first. But she swears their friendship is strictly platonic.’

  Baxter pulled his nose, and got up again. ‘I have to rush and unload this info.’ He held up his hand. ‘Relax. I’ll be discreet. Anna isn’t our only agent in Germany. It’ll be information received from an impeccable source.’ He went to the door, paused. ‘What do I tell Belinda?’

  ‘If you really think she’ll be interested, tell her I got in a car smash.’

  The Task

  Anna slept badly. The sex had not been good. This had been at least partly because she was still uncomfortable from Johannsson’s efforts – a discomfort she had determinedly concealed from Clive – but also because of the shortage of time. Hurried sex was never good. They had both also had too much on their minds. Was the end really in sight? She had thought so before, and had all her plans collapse. But before had not included Count Bernadotte!

  As soon as she had breakfasted she telephoned the ferry company and discovered that there was a boat leaving that afternoon. She booked a cabin and then it was just a matter of waiting, which she did in her room, as despite her confidence that there was almost no risk of her being connected with Johannsson’s death, at least as things stood, she knew that her striking looks were liable to stay in people’s minds, and she had no desire for anyone outside of the hotel to remember her being here at all.