Death in Focus

by Anne Perry

  “Papers?” she asked, squashing a moment’s panic, while Max handed her a jacket and some light gloves to cover her injured hand.

  Walter patted his pocket. “I’ve got them. I only need to buy tickets to Paris. From there we’ll go to Calais. Different terminal. Not far.”

  “I know!” Then cold reality gripped her again, just for a moment. “What’s my name, please? I think I ought to know…” She tried to make it light.

  He looked for a moment at the ceiling, and then down again. “Anna Hermann,” he replied.

  “Thank you.” She thanked Max again and followed Walter out to the darkening street.

  Walter took her arm a little sharply. “Don’t be so…innocent!” he said. “Don’t look like a fugitive, but you’ve got to damned well think like one! Max doesn’t need to know your new name.”

  “Oh…” She realized her mistake. She had relaxed completely. How stupid. Walter had seemed to trust Max, so she had also, and let her guard down.

  He pulled her more gently. “It’s Marta Lindt, like the chocolate. You ought to be able to remember that, and spell it. Martha, but without the h, and then L, I, N, D, T. Remember Lindt chocolate.” He smiled as if he meant it. “I don’t suppose you’ve had much really good chocolate lately. We’ll buy some when we get to London, to celebrate.”

  She was surprised. “Are you coming all the way to London?”

  “Yes. I’m going to take you right to the door. You’re not fit to be alone.” Then he gave a sudden smile that lit his whole face.

  “Thank you,” she replied. It was the only thing she could say, in the circumstances.

  CHAPTER

  29

  “Come on, Toby,” Lucas said at last. He had been standing in the bluebell woods, looking at the light slanting through the high branches of the wild pear trees. They held small flowers, like drifting snowflakes, high up, catching the sun. It was time to go. He had accepted the decision that perhaps he should have made earlier, even years earlier. He would tell Charles as much of the truth as he wanted to know.

  Toby arrived and sat at his feet, looking up expectantly.

  “Time to go home,” Lucas told him. “Stand still a minute.” He always said that to him, although Toby very rarely fidgeted while his lead was being clipped onto his collar. “Come on.” Lucas set out to walk back to the car.

  It would be difficult talking to Charles now, but he would understand. His own work was highly confidential. The difference was that his family had always known what he did in principle, if not in detail. With Lucas, everything was hidden, secretive.

  What Lucas was really thinking, and what drove him to tell Charles now, was the very real fear gnawing, like an ulcer in the soul, that Elena might not come home. No wonder they called some of them “rodent ulcers”; he could feel the pain of it chewing his insides.

  Charles might believe that the political climate in Germany was a spring storm that would pass, and that better times would come. Lucas knew, or thought he knew, that it was the beginning of a long winter that would kill much of the landscape, including the parts they held dearest. They would need each other. There was no room for quarrels. The real wounds would be deep enough; all others needed to be dealt with first. That meant now…today.

  * * *

  —

  When he got home he telephoned Charles at the Foreign Office and made an appointment for them to have lunch together.

  “Today?” Charles sounded doubtful and suspicious. It was not something Lucas had ever done before. “How about Friday? I’m free then.”

  “Today, Charles,” Lucas replied. “If you have a lunch appointment you can’t change, I’ll see you in your office. But I would prefer meeting where we will not be interrupted.”

  “What’s wrong? Is Mother ill? Or is it Elena?”

  “No, your mother is fine. I’ll be there at noon.”

  “Father…”

  “Noon.” Lucas hung up the phone. This was not something to be told in bits and pieces, and while he could not see Charles’s face to read his reactions, he could picture them perfectly in his mind. It was going to be hard enough now, after all the years of concealment, no matter how necessary they had been.

  He did not drive into the city. There was nowhere near the Foreign Office to park, and traffic was always bad. The city was two thousand years old, and not designed for horse traffic, let alone automobiles. Now it was the biggest city in the world, and a nightmare to navigate. Taking the Underground, then going on foot, was the only way to do it. The trick was to prevent the time between now and then pulling his nerves raw. Rodent ulcers! He could feel the rat’s teeth inside him.

  * * *

  —

  He arrived at Charles’s office at five minutes to twelve, and Charles was waiting for him. He looked relaxed, as if he were receiving some foreign dignitary, but underneath it Lucas could see that he was frightened. He still governed the desire to move his weight from one foot to the other, an obvious sign of tension. If he was not careful, sooner or later he would knock something over.

  Lucas felt guilty doing this to him. He should have found some way to tell Charles the truth when he retired. No matter how difficult their relationship, it was up to him to have tried. No one was supposed to know about the existence of MI6, but Charles understood necessary secrets. He would not repeat any of it.

  “I’ve booked a table,” Charles said, looking steadily at Lucas. “I’m not sure how long I can spare for you.” He came around from behind his desk and walked toward the door. “Are you ready? I’d rather go before the phone rings or somebody wants something.”

  Lucas turned back to the door and opened it. “Right,” he agreed.

  They walked in silence, neither of them wishing to make the pretense of normality. The restaurant was only a couple of blocks away, and Charles had reserved a quiet corner table, slightly apart from other diners. They took their seats and ordered, then the moment the waiter left, Charles spoke.

  “Well, what is so urgent? It can’t be good, or you would simply have told me.” He cleared his throat. “Has Elena got herself into more trouble? Why would you know that, and not me? What was she afraid to tell me? Does she need money?”

  Lucas saw that Charles was talking too quickly, naming the problems he could bear to think of, the ones he could deal with, blocking out the ones that were unbearable. The constant thought of Mike’s death was in his eyes, and Lucas could see it. It was at the back of his own mind also. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any news of her, except that she was alive and well a few days ago, but unable to leave Germany.”

  “What the hell do you mean, ‘unable’?” Charles snapped. “Is she injured? Ill?”

  “No…”

  “For God’s sake, Father! Stop playing the fool and tell me. I’m fed up with your oblique games. You’ve played secrets for years, and I don’t know why! I—”

  “I know you don’t,” Lucas cut across him. “I couldn’t tell you at the time, any more than you can tell me the secret parts of your job.”

  “What the hell is so very secret about the civil service? You shuffled papers for some minister of this or that…”

  “No, Charles, I had a job that even one’s own family can’t know about,” Lucas said sharply. “I could have told you when I retired, and I think now that I should have, and for that I apologize. Secrecy became a habit. I never discussed it with anyone, not even your mother.”

  The little remaining color drained from Charles’s face. “What were you? A hangman, or something?” It was half a joke, and probably the worst thing he could think of, and yet the fear was real in his eyes.

  “MI6. A department no one knows of. Military Intelligence,” Lucas said quietly. “We were not allowed to tell anyone, even family. I suppose because a single careless word could jeopardize so much—lives…
”

  Charles was incredulous. “You? MI6?” Then he stopped abruptly as it dawned on him that Lucas was perfectly serious. “What the hell could you do for them? You’re an academic…aren’t you?”

  “Not really.” Lucas breathed in and out slowly. “Actually, I was head of it.”

  “You…?” Charles still could not grasp it. “Does Mother know?”

  “Yes, she does. At least she’s guessed some of it.”

  Lucas was not sure if that was a greater blow to Charles than the fact that he had not known. Should Lucas tell him the truth, that Josephine had done her own secret work in the war? If they did not get Elena back…He wanted to block out the thought, but his mind refused. If she did not come back, they would need one another more than ever before. It would be too late then to mend untruths. There was no time for lies at all, of any sort.

  “I didn’t tell her,” he said very quietly. “But I found out in the last few days that she knew. She did her own work during the war, decoding work. Secret stuff as well.”

  “You knew.” It sounded almost like an accusation.

  “I had to. We used much of her decoding work in our own.” He looked at the hurt in Charles’s face, a sudden confirmation of the exclusion he had imagined for so long. Lucas reached a hand toward Charles, who ignored it. “It was for everyone’s protection. No one should have to bear the weight of another person’s secrets, of the decisions that go wrong, the deaths you can’t prevent. And I wanted to protect you from ever being suspected should a careless word from someone lead to problems.” He leaned a little farther forward. “Do you tell Katherine every secret grief or betrayal you know about? Every suspicion you have of incompetence? Would you tell Margot, or Elena?”

  “No, of course not,” Charles said hotly. “But you could have told me after you left.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.” Lucas meant it. He regretted it deeply. Perhaps they were so different, they had grown so far apart, that they could not now be reconciled.

  “Or have you really left?” Charles asked. There was accusation in his voice, and hurt at discovering Lucas had held more power and more secrets than he ever would. “Have you left?” he repeated.

  “Yes, I have. I get bits of news now and then, but no action. I mean it. I miss it, but I don’t have the ability anymore, or the trust of any but a very few of the people I used to work with who are still there.” It hurt, putting it like that, so final. He could not tell Charles about Peter Howard. That knowledge was not his to share.

  Charles was silent for a few moments. When he spoke at last, his voice was tight, as if his whole chest hurt. “Is this because Elena hasn’t come back yet? You’re telling me…in case…in case she doesn’t?” His face was too full of fear for there to be any room in it for anger.

  Lucas’s mind raced. One second, two…he had already taken too long. An honest denial would have been instant. If he had to wonder how to phrase it, then it was not the truth.

  “I tried to find her,” Lucas said quietly. “Sent a man out. But it seems your daughter is very resourceful, and apparently violent, when needs must.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Charles burst out. “If you had said Margot, I’d have believed you, but not Elena! She hasn’t the—”

  “It seems they are less different than you think…than we all thought.”

  Charles leaned his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands.

  Lucas did not say anything. Words would only make it look as if he did not understand.

  The waiter came and he waved him away.

  “I’ve got to be able to do something!” Charles said desperately. “I’ve got contacts, favors I can draw on.”

  “We both have,” Lucas said gently. “But things have changed since you or I knew Berlin. She’s got someone helping her. We could make it worse.” He hesitated. He had to tell Charles the whole truth now. “And loyalties change. We have at least one traitor in the ranks. Telling the people we used to trust could put her in more danger.”

  “Not the people I would ask!” Charles said angrily.

  “Charles! People change, pressures change. We all have hostages to fortune. Let it be!”

  Charles stared at Lucas long and steadily, as if searching for honesty in his face. “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  At last Charles seemed satisfied. “Finally, the truth. It makes sense of so many things. I can’t even argue with it. Katherine never asks me about the sensitive stuff. She knows I can’t tell her. Wish I could. Sometimes it’s lonely, especially if you don’t know if you’ve made the right decision—or the wrong one. Far more often…I don’t know. Were you always sure you were right?”

  “No.”

  “How do you live with it?” It was an honest question.

  “One day at a time. Talk to the dog a lot,” Lucas replied with a half smile. “Dogs are endlessly patient, and they never repeat anything.”

  At last Charles smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “I think I’ll get a dog,” he said quietly. “God knows, I need one.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  It was already early dusk when Elena and Walter reached the railway station in Berlin. It was crowded, but it did not take Elena more than moments to pick out the police at every entrance, and at platform ticket collection points. There were also Brownshirts, even more easily recognizable, all heavily armed.

  She felt Walter’s hand tightening on her arm. It was surprisingly comforting, given that she had known him just a short time.

  “Chin up, eyes straight ahead,” he said, leaning a little toward her so no one in the crowd pressing around them would hear his words. “You have nothing to fear. Remember, you are one of the winners! You are fair-haired, blue-eyed, you speak German. You are one of the master race!”

  She smiled in spite of herself. It sounded so ridiculous.

  “That’s better,” he said softly. “Remember it.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “If it makes you laugh, so much the better. You look lovely when you laugh. And far more important than that, you look confident, innocent.”

  She felt a wave of gratitude for his help, both practical and emotional. It banished the present fear, and the dark memories of those she had left behind: Ian, the man in the hotel cupboard she had never seen alive, Jacob and Zillah, who were still in danger, Beimler, who had knowingly sacrificed his life so she could get the photographs out of Germany, a truth that could last forever, as long as there was a single copy in existence. All working together to make possible her escape to freedom.

  “Thank you,” she said quickly, and walked past a group of Brownshirts with a smile, a woman wearing a scarlet dress, with no cause to fear anyone. She smiled even more widely, conscious of the absurdity of it.

  They went to the counter and Walter bought two round-trip tickets for Paris.

  Elena drew breath to speak. It was an extravagance. Money was precious.

  “Return, you say?” the clerk asked.

  “Of course!” Walter said in surprise. “It is fun to travel, but who wishes to live anywhere else these days?” He glanced at Elena for confirmation.

  She smiled at him, trying to make it real. Quickly, think of something! The clerk is waiting for your reaction. She deliberately conjured up a memory of Mike looking ridiculous, riding her infant tricycle, and smiled, blinking away tears. “You leave all your adventures, but you always return.”

  Walter put an arm around her.

  The clerk smiled back. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said cheerfully. “Next, please!”

  The Brownshirts at the entrance to the ticket counter did not stop them.

  “Well done,” Walter said almost inaudibly.

  They walked past a stand selling Reibekuchen, and the delicious aroma snared her with a hundred memories. The chief amo
ng them at the moment was the man who had so nearly caught her only a few days ago. She must make no mistakes. Even one was enough, not only to catch her, but to catch Walter as well. He was risking his life to help her escape, and he did not even know about the pictures of the book-burning. He might guess, knowing her passion for photography, but he had not seen them. And they were gone now, on their way to Lucas.

  She forced her mind to the present. She must look as if she knew where she was going. She did not want to meet anyone’s eyes, yet she must not appear to avoid them either. So this was what it was like to be a fugitive, or one of an inferior station, inferior race, inferior anything! No wonder those so labeled were angry and frightened.

  It was getting darker. The station was still crowded and getting more so. She realized she had no idea what day of the week it was. Perhaps it did not matter anyway.

  They were twenty yards from the right platform. One more set of guards to pass. There were people ahead of them showing papers. She felt her stomach knot painfully. This was it. The first test for her false passport.

  It was their turn.

  “Name?” the guard asked her. He was a middle-aged man. He had missed a little bit of gray stubble on his neck when shaving. She had to force herself not to stare at it. “Name?” he snapped again.

  “Marta…” Her mind was a blank! She had no idea what Walter had told her. She had the passport in her hand. The guard snatched it away from her.

  “Marta Lindt,” Walter said, handing over his passport as well.

  The guard looked at Walter’s passport, then at hers. “Not Mann?” he said with a smile, glancing at the red dress.

  “Not yet,” Walter said with a conspiratorial half smirk at the guard.

  “We’re just going for a couple of days to Paris.” Elena smiled directly at the guard.