‘I don’t think you could ever be a bore, Mr Andrews.’
‘Don’t press your luck. And how about calling me Joseph, if we’re to share a secret? Although,’ he went on, ‘I prefer Joe.’
‘Are we going to share a secret?’
‘I sure hope so.’
‘It would have to be a secret. My life could be involved.’ There was a sick joke.
He gazed at her for several seconds. Then he said, now serious, ‘That bad?’
‘I want you to do something for me. But before I tell you what it is, I want you to promise that you will ask no questions, just tell me whether you’ll do it or not. And that if you can’t do it, you’ll forget this conversation ever took place.’
‘I promise.’
‘How well do you know Clive Bartley?’
Now she had really surprised him. ‘I don’t really know him at all. No, that’s not true. We worked together, once. We were both after the same thing, and as we were outnumbered by the bad guys, it seemed sensible to pool our resources.’
‘And?’
Andrews drank some champagne. ‘Hell, Anna, I thought he was one hell of a guy. You could say that without him I wouldn’t be here now. On the other hand, I guess without me he wouldn’t be here either. Don’t tell me he’s getting too close?’
Anna took the envelope from her bag. ‘Can you have this sent to England in your Diplomatic Pouch, and delivered to Clive at MI6?’
Andrews did not move for several seconds. Then he said, ‘You’ll have to forgive me while I try to get my brain in gear. You want me to send this envelope to Clive Bartley? You?’
‘You promised to ask no questions. Just tell me you can do it. Or not.’
‘Of course I can do it. But Anna . . .’
‘You promised.’
‘So I did. I have got to be a nerd. But I’ll keep my promise. I’d just like to get my facts straight. The British suspect that you are a German spy. In fact they have gone so far as to describe you as a reincarnation of Mata Hari. Right?’
‘They flatter me.’
‘I would dispute that. However, Clive Bartley is the MI6 officer who just failed to get you before you left England. Right?’
‘So I believe.’
‘And you are sending him something, but you cannot do it through the British Embassy.’
‘Of course I cannot. As you say, I am a German, and the British think I am a spy.’
‘But you brought this envelope here tonight, to give to someone, who didn’t show.’
‘You’re very close to breaking your promise, Joe.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry. I just need to be sure of one thing.’ He fingered the envelope, could feel the solid objects inside. ‘You wouldn’t be sending him a bomb, would you?’
‘There is nothing lethal in that envelope. I give you my word.’ Except for the damage it just might do to his heart, she reflected.
‘Okay. I’ll believe you. This will go off tomorrow morning, and be in London tomorrow night. I’ll have to write a covering note for our security people there, but I have a fair amount of clout. Clive should get it some time on Friday.’
And London is several hours behind Moscow, she thought. Whatever his reaction, it could not possibly take effect in time to alter the course of history. ‘That would be very satisfactory. I can only say thank you.’ She finished her drink. ‘Now I should be getting back.’
He rested his hand on top of hers. ‘Anna, I’m not looking for any reward, I promise. But would it be possible for us to have dinner together again, say next week?’
‘Next week,’ Anna said thoughtfully, and chose her words with care. ‘I would like to think that could be possible.’
‘Shall we say, right here, at seven on Monday?’
‘I would like that very much,’ Anna said, again telling the absolute truth.
*
Andrews placed the envelope on his dressing table, where he would see it first thing in the morning; the plane carrying the Diplomatic Pouch left at eleven.
He got into bed and switched off the light. But he knew he wasn’t going to sleep; the envelope might as well have been giving off a brilliant white light. In view of the fact that it obviously contained some solid objects, he would have to enclose it in a larger envelope, marked Private, Confidential and Top Secret, and hope that he carried as much clout as he supposed.
So what exactly was he doing? Getting involved with a very beautiful spy was one thing. Getting mixed up in some clandestine exchange between said spy, working for Germany, and a senior member of the British Secret Service, was another. Which one was the traitor? And having been brought into the picture, as it were, could he now just close his eyes and pretend it wasn’t really happening?
That was just not possible with a girl like Anna. Oh, Anna! To get together with Anna would be a dream come true. But could he ever truly get together with her unless he knew exactly what she was? It would mean betraying his promise to her. But he was a secret service operative. He lived in a world of secrets and betrayals, which could be matters of life and death, and for one’s country as much as any individual. He had never allowed personal feelings to interfere with his duty.
He switched on the light, got out of bed, and took the envelope to his desk. It was sealed, but with ordinary wax; he could not make out any design, and he had sufficient wax to replace it. He broke the seal, unstuck the flap, and emptied the contents.
Her jewellery! He had known something was off about her tonight, but had been so fascinated by her very presence that it had not immediately registered: her ears, her neck, her hands and arms had been bare. And now she was sending these very expensive personal items to the man who was supposed to be her arch enemy?
He was suddenly reluctant to open the letter; he had the strangest feeling that he was about to look into Anna’s soul. He drew a deep breath and unfolded the sheet of paper.
My dearest Clive,
I have received my final orders, and they are as you thought they might be, last January. And as I have not succeeded in extricating myself you know that I must carry them out. So much for hope. It is to happen when I take tea with you-know-who on Friday afternoon. H has of course devised a plan for my safe return to Germany, but I do not think even he believes that it will work. However, should it, I will be in touch as soon as possible. If it does not work . . . I enclose these items which are very dear to me for you to remember me by. Do not weep for me, Clive. Does the Bible not say ‘those that live by the sword shall die by the sword?’ But I do wish you to know that throughout the horrendous events of the last three years of my life, the fact that you have been there to support me and encourage me and even, I hope, to love me, has alone kept me going. Give Billy and Belinda kisses for me, and . . . see you in the hereafter. All my love, Anna.
Andrews remained staring at the sheet of paper for several minutes. He had uncovered one of the great secrets of modern espionage. And, even more important from a personal point of view, a woman who in addition to an almost unearthly beauty also possessed a quite unearthly courage and determination.
This was, to all intents and purposes, a suicide note. Only she did not intend to kill herself; she intended to die, because she knew she must, in carrying out some special duty.
Think, God damn you, he told himself. There could no longer be any doubt that she was a double agent, with the Brits. But if the Brits had given her a suicide mission, she would hardly be writing to Clive in these terms. Therefore it had to be her German masters. Thus the H she referred to would probably be Himmler, or more likely his demonic assistant, Heydrich. But what was the mission? Someone with whom she was going to have tea on Friday afternoon. Nothing could be more innocent than that. How could it turn into an event that might involve her life?
He pulled on his dressing gown and went downstairs to the Communications Room. The rather sleepy young woman on duty was painting her fingernails, and looked up in alarm as he entered. ‘Mr Andrews?!’
‘Hello, Carol. I need to send a telegram.’
‘Yes sir. I’ll get out the book.’
‘No. I’ll send it in clear.’
‘Yes sir,’ she agreed doubtfully.
Andrews sat at the table, regarded the form for a moment, then wrote rapidly.
mutual friend in deep trouble stop possibly terminal stop you know I don’t stop Friday deadline stop letter in mail but do something now stop Joe
Carol regarded it. ‘In clear,’ she repeated. ‘We don’t have a wire address for anyone named Bartley.’
‘We have one for MI6 in London, don’t we?’
‘Yes, we do. But . . . well . . .’ She peered at the form.
‘Okay, Carol. Send that, and I’ll square it with the ambassador in the morning. Okay?’
*
‘Good morning, Mr Bartley.’ Amy Barstow always greeted her boss brightly, even if he did not always respond.
‘Morning, Amy. Anything from Moscow?’
He had asked this question, increasingly morosely, every morning since his return three months before, and she had been finding it rather tiresome. But today she was able to wave a sheet of paper at him. ‘Came in overnight. In clear, believe it or not. Unless it’s some code I don’t recognise. It’s certainly gobbledygook.’
Clive snatched the telegram, scanned it, and frowned. ‘Oh, my God! Billy in?’
‘Half an hour ago. Shall I call . . .?’
But Clive was already running up the stairs. Baxter was drinking coffee and reading the Times. ‘What the hell . . .?’
Clive thrust the telegram at him. ‘I have to get to Moscow. Today.’
‘Just simmer down.’ Baxter studied the form. ‘Who the hell is Joe?’
‘Joe Andrews. You remember him, Billy. His lot cooperated with us on that African business about five years ago. He’s now running security at the American Embassy in Moscow.’
‘And this is his idea of security, is it? I assume your “mutual friend” is Anna?’
‘Yes. And . . .’
‘Just tell me how he knows she is your friend? And why she should be his?’
‘Well . . . I know he met her at a reception at the German Embassy, and I could see he took a shine to her. Well, I mean, who wouldn’t?’
‘I can think of one at least. So are you telling me that she is now working for the Yanks, as well as the Germans, as well as us? As I have said before, this woman is a walking cataclysm waiting to happen.’
‘Of course she’s not working for the Americans, Billy. But somehow Joe has become involved. He’ll explain it in the letter he says is on its way.’
‘I hope he can. I would like to see it the moment it arrives.’
‘Okay. You open it when it comes in. But I can’t wait. She can’t wait.’
‘Can’t wait to do what? Look, go and take a sedative and calm down, and bring me that letter when you get it. And hope that it does explain what’s happening.’
Clive placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. ‘Billy, don’t you remember my theory on why Heydrich should send Anna of all people to Russia just to find out what they’re thinking? His most highly trained and successful assassin, just to hold a watching brief? Don’t you remember my report back in January? For Christ’s sake, you showed it to the PM, didn’t you?’
‘I did. And he was unwise enough to act on it. And got roundly snubbed by Stalin. And now we are well into the summer and there has still been no German invasion. I can tell you that the boss is not happy, because Winston is not happy.’
‘I’m more interested in Stalin’s reaction to the conclusion I drew from Anna’s presence in Russia.’
‘As to that, I have no idea. We decided not to use it.’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘No, no, Clive. It is I who should be saying for God’s sake. Did you seriously expect us to ask the PM to inform the head of another country – a country that has rejected any idea of an alliance with us, and with which, in fact, we have come close to being at war more than once in the past year – that we feel there is a chance he may be in line for assassination?’
‘May be in line?’
‘Well, I suppose someone like Stalin is in line for assassination every time he leaves the Kremlin, and is protected accordingly. But that is his business, not ours. And in any event, to attempt to explain that one of our people could be involved would be to open the biggest can of worms in history, certainly in view of Russia’s paranoiac distrust of us and everything we do or say.’
‘Billy, I am not talking about what may happen outside the Kremlin. Anna has gained virtually free access to Stalin.’
‘And you seriously think she has been commanded to murder him? In her capacity as a Nazi agent? My dear fellow, that is madness. It would mean war between Russia and Germany.’
‘That is what I have been trying to convince you is going to happen for the past six months.’
Baxter picked up his pipe and his tobacco pouch. ‘And you seriously think she would carry out such a command?’
‘She would have no choice. You know that. There are lives she values more than her own: those of her family.’
‘But it just isn’t practical. She’d never be allowed to take a gun, or a knife, into the Kremlin.’
‘Billy, you know as well as I that Anna does not need a gun or a knife. Think of Hannah Gehrig, or Elsa Mayers. Or the night porter at the Hotel Berlin.’
‘And you think that this assassination attempt is fairly imminent.’
‘According to Andrews, it is going to happen on Friday.’
‘You said that Andrews doesn’t know anything about Anna.’
‘He doesn’t, to my knowledge. But he has discovered that something involving Anna is going to happen on Friday. Something terminal, he says. That can only be the assassination. Billy, I have got to get to Moscow before then.’
Baxter struck a match, and puffed with great satisfaction. ‘War,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Between Russia and Germany. Do you realize, Clive, what a help that could be to us? I mean, even if Germany wins, which I suppose will be the most likely outcome, it’ll still occupy her for a year or so. Maybe longer: Russia is a big country.’
‘Billy, I hope, for the sake of our friendship, that you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting.’
‘Even if I let you go to Moscow, Clive, just what are you proposing to do? What can you do?’
‘Just get me there, Billy. I’ll think of something.’ With Joe Andrews, he thought. Having been in a couple of tight spots with Joe in the past, he had the highest regard for the American’s guts and determination, and more important than either, his ingenuity. But he decided against mentioning this to Baxter.
‘Whatever you think of, the Embassy cannot be involved.’
‘I have no intention of involving the Embassy.’
Baxter thought for a few minutes. ‘You understand that the only way you can get to Moscow in a hurry is by the Med? Which is a hell of a lot hotter now than it was last year.’
‘Lightning never strikes twice in the same place.’
‘It’s a philosophy,’ Baxter conceded.
‘But I do need the best you can get. Fast planes and no delays. This has to be top priority all the way.’
‘Hmm. And Belinda?’
‘You handle this right, Billy, and I’ll be there and back before she knows I’ve gone.’
*
Baxter did indeed pull out all the stops. Clive just had the time to wire Joe the words Expect me and then he was at Hatfield where he was met by an anxious looking Flying-Officer.
‘Glad to have you aboard, sir,’ he said. ‘Name’s Revill.’
‘Bartley.’
‘Yes sir. Flown before?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
‘Of course you have, sir. I meant have you flown a Mosquito before.’
‘A what?’
Revill gave him an old-fashioned glance. ‘This, sir. The machine you
are here to try out. The de Havilland Mosquito.’ His tone was reverent.
‘Ah, yes. Of course.’ A few pennies were starting to drop, although not all were landing right side up. ‘Nifty little thing.’ He had to hope it was, because its twin engines did not suggest a great deal of speed. ‘The guns are concealed, are they?’
‘There are no guns, sir.’
‘Say again?’
‘This is a PR machine, sir.’
‘Ah, yes. I get it. Public Relations, eh? But I’m trying to get to Gibraltar ASAP. Will it do it?’
‘PR means Photo Reconnaissance, sir,’ Revill explained with great patience. ‘Not a fighter. It is also a prototype; there are only a couple in existence. I believe there are plans to build a fighter version, and a bomber, if these prove as successful as anticipated.’
‘A prototype,’ Clive said thoughtfully, wondering if Baxter was taking the easy route to get rid of him. ‘And it’ll take me to Gib? Without guns? What happens if we’re attacked over the Bay?’
‘We cannot be attacked, sir.’
‘That is very solid reasoning, Mr Revill, but is it based on anything more solid than hope?’
‘Speed, sir. Speed. The fastest Messerschmitt in the best possible condition cannot fly at much over three hundred and sixty miles an hour. This little gem will do four hundred and twenty. So if we are attacked, we simply fly away. When they get around to arming the new models, it will be the most formidable fighting aircraft in the world.’
Clive had to be impressed, but when he climbed into the cockpit – the two seats were placed side by side – he had a strange feeling. ‘This is very odd material,’ he remarked. ‘I’ll swear it’s not steel. Or aluminium.’
‘Well, no, sir. It’s wood.’
‘Hold on just one moment. You are proposing to fly a wooden machine at more than four hundred miles an hour? Won’t it fall apart?’
‘Good heavens no, sir. The wood is laminated and glued together under extreme pressure. There are one or two steel struts, of course. But it really is as safe as a house. And it has a range of fifteen hundred miles.’
Angel in Red_The thrilling sequel to Angel From Hell Page 21
