A Prince and a Spy

by Rory Clements

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Wilde lied.

  Harriet just smiled and said, ‘Good morning. Can you make some phone calls for us, please? We need to discover the location of that island.’

  ‘Of course, but first some coffee.’

  Wilde looked at Harriet reproachfully. Her moods were like quicksilver. Last night she had been surprisingly tender in comforting Kerstin, now she was very bad at camouflaging her extreme irritation and impatience. Had last night’s kindness been nothing but an act?

  He too felt ill at ease and wanted Kerstin to get on with the matter in hand, but he had calculated that they stood a better chance of securing her cooperation if they were pleasant and cheery. He was also concerned that she might have decided she was too loose-tongued last night and could now clam up and refuse to help them any more. He took out his wallet and handed some of the krona banknotes which Bill Phillips had supplied. ‘Is that enough, Mrs Larson?’

  She took two notes from his hand and pushed back the rest. ‘Thank you, that is ample.’

  ‘And yes, coffee would be very much appreciated.’

  ‘It’s ersatz, I’m afraid, but not too bad. I quite like it now. Imported foodstuffs are hard to come by, but we have plenty of home-grown potatoes, berries and livestock.’

  ‘Ersatz will be fine. But tell me, have you anyone in mind who might have some idea about the location of Huggorm Island?’

  ‘I do. There is an old retired fisherman named Skoog in Ekberg. Everyone calls him Skipper. He spends every day on the quay smoking his pipe, reminiscing about his seafaring days or playing chess with his friend. I always pass the time of day with him when I cycle by, so yes, I think I would call him a friend and he will be the one to help if anyone can.’

  ‘Do you have a car?’

  ‘Of course, but I haven’t used it since last December because there is no fuel to be had. I keep it in the barn and cycle everywhere.’

  ‘But the car has some fuel in it?’

  ‘A little, yes. I keep it for emergencies.’

  ‘Will the fisherman be at the quayside now?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then can we use your car?’

  ‘We will take you, Pernilla and I. We can drop her off at school. But we will not go until after Mr Axel has been, and only then if he does not agree to accommodate your wishes.’

  *

  At eight o’clock, the telephone rang and Kerstin Larson picked it up, knowing it would be Axel Anton. She listened in silence under the watchful eyes of her guests from England. After a few moments, she said, ‘OK, Mr Axel,’ then directed a question at Wilde. ‘He wishes to know whether you have secured the money, sir.’

  ‘We’re working on it,’ Wilde said.

  She repeated the words, then turned back to Wilde. ‘Do you perhaps have some other figure in mind, because he might be open to negotiation? He says he would much rather deal with you than others.’

  ‘What others?’

  She repeated the question, then passed on the answer. ‘Hypothetical others, he says.’

  ‘Tell Mr Anton that if he takes us to the island, we are certain that Herr Coburg will be able to find the sum he requires. By the way, I had thought Anton was going to be here to meet us face to face.’

  Kerstin repeated Wilde’s answer word for word, then listened intently. She shook her head before holding the phone away. ‘He says he was unhappy with your response last night. He is even more unhappy this morning. He says this is your last opportunity – do you have an offer to make?’

  ‘Only what I just said. Our problem is that a sum like the one he is asking cannot be secured at great speed – and we are ourselves on a very tight schedule. Look, let me talk to him.’ He reached out for the phone, but Kerstin held it at arm’s length.

  ‘He will only speak to me, sir. He is saying he cannot afford to do business with you.’

  ‘Please, give me the phone. Let me speak to him.’

  ‘He won’t talk to you, sir.’

  Wilde pulled the phone from her hand. ‘Anton? This is Tom Wilde.’

  There was a click. The line was dead.

  *

  At first the engine of the old 1920s Volvo flooded. It took Wilde ten minutes to get her going and then the four of them headed eastwards towards the picturesque community of Ekberg, which stood in a sheltered bay at the end of a short sea inlet. First they dropped Pernilla off to school and, yet again, she performed her little curtsy for the guests as she said goodbye and skipped along the path to the schoolhouse.

  They parked outside a bakery and walked down to the quayside.

  Kerstin pointed towards a man sitting on a bench. ‘There he is, as always.’

  Anders Skoog looked every inch the grizzled old seafarer. He had a white beard, a weathered blue shirt and clenched an ornate unlit pipe in his left hand. Kerstin approached him. ‘Hello, Skipper, how are you today?’

  ‘Ah, today you speak English, dear Kerstin.’

  ‘Because I wish to introduce you to two English-speaking visitors.’

  Wilde and Harriet were now at her side.

  ‘This is Professor Tom Wilde, he is an American. And his friend is Miss Harriet Hartwell.’

  With the introductions over, Anders Skoog fiddled in his pocket for a box of matches and attempted in vain to light his pipe. Wilde immediately saw the reason; there was no tobacco in it. The Swede looked beseechingly at him. ‘Have you tobacco, sir? Perhaps a foul old cigarette I could break apart?’

  ‘I’m sorry, we don’t smoke. But I could give you some money.’

  ‘Money? Yes, I’d like a little money. Perhaps we can trade? What can I offer you?’

  ‘We’re looking for an island called Huggorm. Kerstin said you were the best man to help us.’

  ‘But I don’t go to sea these days. My hips, professor, I can’t move well.’

  ‘Have you heard of Huggorm Island?’

  ‘Like the snake? No, I haven’t heard of it. But I know islands where you can find the huggorms. That’s easy.’

  ‘There’s more than one such island?’

  ‘Of course. But there is one tiny island which is well known for having many, many snakes. It is beyond Svartsö, towards the open sea. I don’t know what it’s called. There are too many islands in the archipelago to know one-hundredth of their names, even if they all had names, which I doubt. It could be called Huggorm, of course. Why not? But no one goes there. It is rocky and small and full of snakes, and all they do is sunbathe and swim. Not the best place for humans.’

  ‘Is it far from here?’

  ‘An hour or so by fast motorboat, but could be twice that in something slower. All depends on the boat speed.’

  ‘Is there a boat here that could take us there?’

  ‘You look a strong man, Professor Wilde. Would you help me?’

  ‘Ask, and I’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘Then I will take you.’

  ‘How much will I pay you?’

  The old man shrugged and raised his spidery eyebrows. ‘Whatever you want.’

  Chapter 32

  At a private mooring in the south of the city, close to Stockholm Palace and the ferries, Heinrich Müller and his two Gestapo subordinates, Huber and Felberg, climbed into Axel Anton’s motor cruiser, the Solpalats. The three Germans were all in civilian clothes and armed with concealed pistols.

  The day was bright and clear. Endless blue skies and dead calm waters. Müller was feeling pleased with himself. This would all be over within a couple of hours and by the end of the day he would be back in Berlin. With luck, his absence would not even have been noted. Kaltenbrunner would have ensured that no awkward questions were asked at the Führer’s headquarters. Both men agreed this should never have happened; Coburg’s erratic behaviour should have been spotted a great deal earlier, either by Eichmann or, latterly, by Philipp von Hessen, and he should have been put away in a concentration camp.

  Müller nodded at Axel Anton and wondered about him
. It was in his nature to examine every human being he met, both their faces and their souls. Sometimes the face gave everything away; at other times it told you nothing about what lay hidden within. Anyway, who cared in Anton’s case? The deal had been done and Müller would have his man. ‘You have made a wise decision in accepting our offer, Herr Anton.’

  ‘That was the easy bit, Herr Gruppenführer. The difficult bit was squeezing information out of various contacts.’

  ‘We don’t have to play that game now, Anton. We all know how you operate. Now, drive this boat fast and safe and get us to our friend as quickly as you can.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere without my help. I would ask you one thing, though – please, no hard tactics while you are in Sweden, and certainly not while I am with you. You gave me your word on that – and I have to carry on living here long after you have gone. It would do neither of us any good to have the waters fouled.’

  ‘Do you doubt my word? I am a German officer, Herr Anton.’

  ‘Of course. I meant to cast no aspersions. I am just a little tense. I know how important this man is to you – and to your enemies. I just want to be sure everything goes smoothly. Now then, I have some bottles below in the cabin if you would like a little aquavit. Please, you and your men must settle down and enjoy the scenery.’

  ‘Fuck your shitty Swedish scenery, Anton. This is not a pleasure cruise.’

  *

  Anders Skoog did not need to consult a map as he wove his way through hundreds of shallow waterways, around rock shoals and scores of islands, both big and small. They all seemed to have shores of stone, washed smooth over the millennia. Some had areas of woodland and vegetation and sandy beaches, others were sparse.

  The bigger islands had cabins and a few were occupied by full-time residents as well as far greater numbers of holidaymakers from the city. Occasionally, they passed islands with shops and guest houses and restaurants.

  Despite his preoccupation with what lay ahead, Wilde found himself mesmerised by the strange, labyrinthine beauty of the archipelago in the late-summer sun. But a pain gnawed at his gut, the fear that this might all be in vain, that Skoog might have imagined the wrong island, or that Anton had made other arrangements and had got to Coburg before them.

  The boat, the Arethusa, was rather luxurious in a quiet way. Long decks of varnished oak, a well-appointed little cabin with two bunks. It belonged to Skoog’s wealthy grandson, who was away working in Stockholm. ‘Something in the government or public service – I never quite understand what,’ Skoog said. ‘But I keep an eye on this fine new boat for him at Ekberg and he is happy if I use it. You have found me on a good day, for my hips are not so bad, which means I can move a little and I am happy. We all win, yes?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Wilde had replied.

  They had said goodbye to Kerstin at the quayside. Wilde had wanted to give her more money than she asked for the food and lodging, but she wouldn’t accept it. ‘I trust no problems will arise for you with Axel Anton,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to worry about us causing you any problems. We won’t reveal anything.’

  ‘I don’t care if you do. Talking to you and Miss Harriet made me realise I have been living a lie. I now understand that I should never have agreed to work for him. He is a war profiteer; he makes money from misery and death even if he doesn’t pull the trigger himself. I was protecting him – keeping his clients and enemies at arm’s length.’

  ‘If he is as ruthless as you suggest, you may not be safe from him.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have a plan to deal with that. My good friend Gustaf Lund is a policeman. He will be receiving a visit from me and I will leave a sealed letter in his possession detailing everything I know about Axel Anton. If Mr Axel should approach me, he will learn of this and understand that he cannot harm Pernilla or me without destroying himself.’

  Wilde nodded. ‘You’ve thought this through well.’

  ‘Of course, I am a mother. Anyway, good luck to you and Miss Harriet with your mission – and make sure you win this war. I must confess there was a time when I rather hoped the Nazis would crush the Soviet Union after what they had done to my Johan and all our friends in Finland. How dare they attack an innocent, peace-loving nation like that! But when I saw what the Nazis did in Norway, shooting innocent hostages, I couldn’t forgive them either. Now I hate them all – the Communists and the Nazis. They all treat the lives of others with contempt.’

  She kissed Wilde on the cheeks and did likewise to Harriet, though with a slight hesitation, Wilde thought. Or was that just his imagination? He wondered again about the mercurial Harriet Hartwell; had Kerstin seen something that he had not?

  Now they were an hour out in the archipelago and the islands were beginning to thin out as they approached the open waters of the Baltic. Wilde sat beside Anders Skoog, their eyes fixed on the horizon. He listened to the old man’s stories of his younger days when he travelled the world on the wool clippers from London to Australia, by way of the Cape of Good Hope and back via the Pacific and Cape Horn. His tales were laced with the romance of the sea – and Wilde, an amateur yachtsman in his own younger days, soaked them up with pleasure.

  ‘But the great days of sail came to an end,’ Skoog said. ‘And so I married my sweetheart and settled down in Ekberg to fish the Baltic in a small trawler. I would be doing so still had the arthritis not done for my hips. How old do you think I am, professor?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know – sixty?’

  ‘Ah, you flatter me! I am eighty-eight years old.’

  Every so often, Wilde glanced at Harriet. She was sitting at the edge of the bow, her legs dangling over the side as she, too, scanned the horizon. She had been terse at best this morning, taciturn at worst.

  ‘Soon be there, professor,’ the Swede said. ‘Another ten minutes maybe.’

  ‘You haven’t asked why we’re going there, Skipper.’

  ‘Not my business. I know when to ask questions and when to keep my trap shut.’

  ‘We’re hoping to pick someone up, a man named Rudolf Coburg. I won’t tell you why he is there.’

  Skoog didn’t react. Then he raised his head into the salt breeze and jutted his chin towards a speck in the distance. ‘There she is, the island of snakes. Let us hope it is the one you are looking for.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  *

  Axel Anton cut the engine of the Solpalats to dead slow as he approached Huggorm. From this direction he couldn’t see the whole island, just the little bay, the cabin and the sauna hut. There were few trees.

  ‘Where is he?’ Müller demanded.

  ‘Probably lying in the cabin. Sleeping, maybe. Not much to do on Huggorm except sleep and think, Herr Gruppenführer.’

  ‘And, God in heaven, are those really snakes there lying on the rocks?’

  ‘That is why the island is called Huggorm – it is Swedish for adder.’

  ‘They look like decadent sunworshippers on the beaches of Sylt. Why does no one kill them?’

  ‘Because they do no harm – and they frighten away unwelcome guests. Come on, sir, I will tie up the boat and you can go ashore and fetch Coburg.’

  ‘How big is this island?’

  ‘About twenty hectares, I believe. And little vegetation, so there is nowhere to hide. I think the owners plan to plant more trees and build a jetty, but these things take time.’ He wasn’t about to tell Müller that he, Axel Anton, owned this island. ‘For the moment it seems it is perfect for its present purpose – keeping your man hidden away. But not from us.’ He chuckled. ‘And you will see that it is too far to swim away to another island unless you were an Olympian . . . or an adder.’ He laughed at his little joke. ‘Anyway, the nearest islands are even smaller, so why would you wish to go to them? Herr Coburg is trapped here, have no fear.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Anton.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir. I was just trying to put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Well, don’t.
You talk too much as it is.’

  The Gestapo chief had already drawn his pistol, a Luger. His junior officers followed suit. With the boat moored securely to the rings driven into the rock wall, Müller stepped lightly ashore onto the higher area, followed by Anton and the other two Gestapo men. All four of them strode towards the cabin.

  ‘Open it,’ Müller ordered, standing back, pistol raised.

  Anton hesitated, then pushed open the door. Inside, the small hallway was dark. ‘Coburg, are you there?’ he said with false bonhomie. ‘I have brought some friends to see you. Your little holiday is over.’

  There was no answer. Anton stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom. He pushed through into the large sitting room with its picture window, but there was no one there, then into the bedroom. Newspapers were scattered over the floor. Among them lay the shrivelled corpse of an adder. Anton’s heart began to pump fast. This was not good. He tried the bathroom and the tiny kitchen. No sign of Coburg.

  ‘Well?’ Müller demanded, now inside the cabin at Anton’s side.

  ‘He is not here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps he is sitting or lying down on the other side of the island, sunning himself. Come, let’s see – it’s only a few minutes’ walk, just over those higher rocks there. And beware the adders. They don’t like to be trodden on.’

  ‘What about this hut?’

  ‘Ah yes, the sauna. Maybe he’s trying that.’

  Müller flung open the door of the sauna room. Still no Coburg. Without waiting for Anton, he gave a curt order to his subordinates. ‘One of you go left, the other right. Find him.’ He took the middle route, marching straight across the higher rocks and the scrubby growth, then down to a little sandy beach. He turned around to see Anton floundering in his wake.

  ‘He’s not here, Anton.’

  ‘There must be a simple explanation . . .’

  Müller was not a tall man; he was even shorter than Anton. Now he grasped him by the neck with one hand and wrenched him off his feet.

  ‘You demand a hundred thousand Reichsmarks from me, you waste my time on a jaunt to a shitty little Swedish rock full of fucking snakes. And then nothing. What is this, Anton? You think you can play games with the Gestapo?’