Angel Rising, page 20
part #6 of Anna Fehrbach Series
‘So where do we go from here?’ Anna was feeling quite battered from the continuous bumping.
‘We have arrived.’ He pointed. ‘There.’
The track descended the hillside, to join the road, on the far side of which there was another track, which led into a sizeable wood. And looking more closely, Anna could detect a gleam of metal amidst the trees. A fence! The place reminded her of the internment camp in Poland where her parents had been imprisoned for several years, as hostages for her loyalty to the Reich.
‘I see,’ she remarked. ‘I assume that fence is electrified?’
‘Of course. No one can get in.’ Bruno smiled. ‘Or out. Unless the gate is opened for them.’
‘How very reassuring,’ Anna agreed. She was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, and she didn’t know if she had enough fire-power, or indeed, cartridges, to get herself back out.
Bruno drove down the hill, across the road, and along the facing track. The fence was only a few yards within the tree fringe, and he stopped before a large gate which was supported by massive pillars. He got out, and used a telephone set into one of these uprights, spoke for a few moment, and then turned back to the car. ‘Would you come and stand beside me, Fraulein?’
Anna raised her eyebrows, but got out and joined him.
‘Now, would you look up at that box above the telephone?’
Anna obliged. ‘May I ask what is happening?’
‘You are looking into a camera, which is taking your photograph, and relaying it back to the house.’
‘And we have to wait here while it is developed?’
‘No, no. The image is received instantaneously. It is a television camera. You have heard of television?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. Although she had never seen a television screen. ‘And there is one here, in the back of beyond? Oh, don’t tell me. Your benefactor . . .’
‘Exactly. We have all the latest equipment. At this moment, your every movement is being shown up at the house, and your voice is being heard.’
‘Whatever will they think of next?’
‘Ah! We are admitted.’
The gates were swinging in. They got back into the car and drove through, and the gates closed behind them. The drive wound through the trees for about five minutes, then they came to a ranch-house style building, all on one level, which formed an inverse U, stretching away from them. Outside the flat portico facing them were two men, armed with tommy guns, and two Rottweilers. Once again Anna’s memory returned to the internment camp in Poland, which had presented exactly the same picture, except that there had been several houses instead of just one, and the dogs had been Alsatians. She supposed it was reassuring that these people’s lack of imagination made them always act in exactly the same way.
‘Are you afraid of dogs?’ Bruno asked as the car stopped.
‘No.’ Anna opened her door.
‘These are very fierce,’ he warned.
‘Ah, but you see, dogs are afraid of me.’
She got out and the animals came forward, growling, teeth bared.
‘Get back in the car,’ one of the men shouted. ‘I will chain them.’
Anna ignored him and walked forward, projecting unrelenting hostility from her brain into her muscles and her arteries, while keeping her right hand close to her side zip. She knew that while dogs, like most animals, could smell fear in human sweat and would thus attack, they could also smell confident hostility, and would never take on such an enemy, certainly when larger than themselves.
The dogs ceased their advance, and sat down, wagging their tails. Anna went up to them and stroked their heads.
The guards arrived. ‘That is amazing,’ one said. ‘I have never seen them do that before, with a stranger.’
‘You have not studied nature,’ Anna pointed out.
The man swallowed. ‘You are to go in.’
‘Thank you.’
She went up the short flight of steps. The front door was opened for her, by Trudi. ‘Anna! How nice to see you again.’
Yesterday afternoon might never have been. But this was not the Trudi of yesterday either; this woman was trembling, and not actually looking at her. ‘It is nice to be here, at last,’ she agreed, stepped forward, and was plunged into blackness.
A large sack had been dropped over her head. Instinctively, even as her knees buckled, she reached for her side zip, but before she could find it the sack was drawn very tight, pinning her arms to her side, and she found herself on her knees.
Shit! she thought. Shit, shit, shit! She had been taken completely by surprise, by people who had acted with even more immediate determination than herself; she had expected at least a confrontation with Bormann before having to go into action.
Now . . . it was difficult to think as she was forced forward on to her face on the floor.
‘Be careful,’ Trudi said. ‘She must not be hurt. Now.’
When I get my hands on this bitch, Anna thought. But for the moment her hands weren’t going anywhere. Someone was pressing on her back to hold her on the floor, and other hands were feeling beneath the sack, two pairs, finding her wrists and pulling them back, and then forcing them together. She felt the touch of steel, and then heard the click as the handcuffs were closed. She was helpless.
And, she realized, in the most dangerous position in her life. In all her previous tight situations she had had some form of back-up available, a perpetual Plan B, whether it had been an accessible concealed weapon, an actual partner, or even the mere fact that she was a member of the SD, the most feared organization in the Reich. And in the last resort, there had been her beauty and her sensuality. That was what had saved her even from Lars Johannsson, who had assumed that she was entirely at his mercy, and had not secured her arms before raping her.
But here, if Bormann was indeed in command, she was, to all intents and purposes, in the hands of the SD. And if she had a concealed weapon, it was no use to her until she could get rid of the handcuffs, before she was subjected to a body search. That seemed an unlikely scenario. While her back-up had disappeared, and was presumably charging up and down the road wondering what had happened to her.
Her only chance was an arrogant bluff. The hands were dragging her to her feet, and the sack was pulled from her head, taking with it her hat and dark glasses, which had in any event come off, and also her clasp, freeing her hair which was scattered everywhere, including across her face.
‘You are a mess,’ Trudi remarked, and pulled the strands from her eyes.
‘Just what are you playing at?’ Anna inquired, at her coldest.
‘I am obeying orders, my dear. Bring her along.’
The two men holding her arms forced her forward, while Bruno, who had also taken part in the assault, walked beside her, carrying the hat. Well, she thought, she had never really taken to him.
But Gutemann . . . he was waiting in an inner doorway, which she noted was made of steel, leaning on his stick. ‘I am sorry about this, Anna,’ he said.
‘You should be,’ Anna snapped. ‘Kindly instruct these goons to release me.’
‘I cannot do that. But perhaps . . . come inside.’
One of her captors pushed her, and she nearly tripped; Bruno caught her arm to keep her up, and escorted her into the large room, comfortably but rather sparsely furnished, with the usual heavy shutters over the windows. Because of the trees that clustered round the house, there was not a lot of exterior light, but the room was illuminated by various strip lights high on the walls. Standing in the centre of the room were Ohlmann and Martin Bormann.
He did not seem to have changed at all since last she had seen him, presented the same nondescript appearance, chunky, unremarkable features, the same chunky, unremarkable body, of medium height and medium build, clad in a not very well made brown suit. It was difficult even to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or sorry to see her; but he must have caused this to happen.
‘Well, Herr Bormann,’ she said. ‘Is this how you greet an old comrade?’
‘Has she been searched?’ His voice, like the rest of him, was a featureless monotone.
‘She is not armed,’ Trudi said.
‘You are a foolish woman,’ Bormann remarked. ‘And you know nothing of this woman. Strip her!’
Anna opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again; protests were not going to work here.
‘Fool! Do not release her,’ Bormann snapped as one of the men produced a key for the handcuffs. ‘Tear the dress.’
The two bodyguards grasped her arms, while Bruno threw the hat on the floor, stood in front of her and dug his fingers into the bodice of her sundress. He would not meet her gaze, but she could almost see him salivating. He tugged, violently, and the material ripped right down to her waist. The watching men caught their breaths.
Bruno continued tugging, and the last of the material ripped, leaving the dress hanging in two halves from her shoulder straps, which were feeling as if they had been driven into her flesh.
There were more sharp intakes of breath. ‘And you thought she wasn’t armed,’ Bormann commented. ‘Get rid of that.’
Bruno stroked her flesh as he released the belt. He looked over his shoulder. ‘And these?’
‘Remove them as well. They will only get in the way.’
Bruno threw the holster behind the hat on to the floor and then pulled the knickers down to her ankles; she obligingly stepped out of them, losing one of her sandals in the process.
‘I assume you have a reason for this ridiculous behaviour,’ she said. ‘If you wished me to undress, why did you not say so? There was no need to destroy my dress.’
‘I hope you will die as arrogantly,’ Bormann commented. ‘But before you do that, you are going to have to tell me what I require to know. Put her in that chair.’
The two men holding her arms pushed her to the straight chair he had indicated, and made her sit.
‘Keep holding her.’
Their hands moved to her shoulders, pressing down.
‘Now secure her legs,’ Bormann commanded.
Bruno knelt before her, and was handed a length of cord by Trudi. With this he tied her left ankle to the appropriate chair leg. Anna was very tempted to kick him, but that would accomplish nothing more than a probable beating. Her task was to remain as fit and alert as possible, until . . . She had no idea what might turn up, but she had to be ready to take advantage of it.
Trudi provided another length of cord, and Bruno pulled Anna’s legs apart to secure her right ankle. She decided that if ever a man deserved to die, he was the one. After Bormann. But no one was going to die unless she could get free, and that meant some kind of help. She could not see the two men holding her shoulders, but she could look around the other faces. Bruno was again almost visibly salivating as he looked up her crotch. Trudi was clearly no less excited, but not with any affectionate intent; thus yesterday afternoon had had to be a set-up, into which she had blundered with that overconfidence Andrews had criticized. Ohlmann was also looking anticipatory, but Gutemann was apprehensive, and his face was working, as he no doubt remembered making love to her. He was her best hope. But he was a cripple.
Bormann was, as always, showing no emotion at all. And he remained her first problem.
‘I assume,’ she said, ‘that you are going to tell me what this outrageous game is all about.’
‘Game,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, yes, it will be a game.’ He moved another straight chair into a position immediately in front of her, with its back to her, and then straddled it, so close that his knees actually touched hers. ‘Why are you here, Countess?’
‘I assumed I was coming to lunch with friends. I had no idea there were going to be silly games first.’
‘Countess, you really do not wish to try my patience too far.’ He stretched out his hand and grasped her left breast, not squeezing, but just holding it. Despite herself, Anna could not prevent a sudden quick breath, nor, to her disgust, could she prevent the nipple from hardening into his palm. ‘Otherwise,’ he said, ‘I might just cut this off. And apart from the pain and the humiliation, where would the Countess von Widerstand be without her tits and her ass and her legs? Tell me why you are in Brazil.’
Anna got her breathing under control, but she wished he would let go of her. ‘I am here because I was advised that this was the best place for me to be.’
‘Who advised you of this? The American boyfriend you claim to possess?’
‘No. He knows nothing of me. I met a man in Switzerland when I was on the run last year.’
‘Would that be Laurent?’
How on earth could he know about that? Anna wondered.
Bormann actually smiled at her flitting expression. ‘After Himmler deserted the Fuehrer, we had access to his files.’
Oh, the fool, Anna thought, to flee without destroying his files. But hadn’t she always known that, for all his attempts to portray the ruthless policeman, her erstwhile boss had been a very foolish man? For one thing, he had always trusted her!
‘He was condemned to death, in absentia, by the Fuehrer, for desertion. But then so were you.’
‘I was given permission to leave Berlin by Dr Goebbels,’ Anna said.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’
‘It happens to be the truth.’
‘Because you were his mistress?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘The doctor did not reveal this to the Fuehrer when your disappearance was discovered.’
‘I am sure he had his reasons.’ He had told her that he was sending her out into the world because he was sure that she would continue to spread death and destruction even after the Third Reich was history. Well, he had not been too far wrong. But then being a man who could not even trust his own judgement, he had betrayed her to the Russians, just to make sure that she too did not just disappear into history . . . at least without a sensational trial which he hoped would go far towards perpetuating the Nazi myth. But she did not suppose Bormann would appreciate that.
To her relief he at last released her, but remained sitting only inches away, staring at her. ‘You are still sentenced to death.’
‘By a dead man?’
He rested his hand on her knee, and slid it up to her thigh. Her muscles instinctively tensed, bur for the moment he did no more than grasp the flesh. ‘The Fuehrer’s decrees are eternal. But you have not answered my question. Did the man Laurent send you here?’
It was a convenient line to adopt. ‘He did not send me anywhere. He suggested it would be the safest place for me to go.’
‘With all of Himmler’s stolen money?’
She had no doubt that he was using the word ‘stolen’ as regards the German government rather than the victims from whom it had been taken. ‘That money is in a numbered Swiss bank account,’ she said, with absolute truthfulness.
‘To which you have access.’
‘I might,’ she agreed. Was this a possible lifeline?
‘And Laurent also suggested that it might be possible to contact your, as you put it, old comrades here.’
‘He did not. He merely told me that certain of my old comrades had already taken this route.’
‘Including me.’
‘He did not mention you.’
The hand on her thigh suddenly squeezed, very hard, the fingers seeming to eat into her flesh. Again she could not restrain a gasp, this time of pain. ‘And he financed you to come and find me. Or did you use this numbered account?’
‘No,’ Anna panted.
‘Then whose money are you using?’
‘I . . . I told you. I have a friend.’
The grip relaxed, and she sighed in relief. The flesh on her thigh was even paler than usual where the blood had been driven away. ‘This so-called American millionaire.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who sent you here. Why?’
‘He did not send me anywhere. He knew that I wanted to get out of Europe, and he asked me where I would like to go. I said Brazil.’
‘Why?’
‘I have told you. I hoped I could find some old friends.’
‘And the American knew of this.’
‘No he did not. He knows nothing of my background. Only that I am a fugitive from Germany and a Displaced Person.’
His hand moved forward again, and she watched it as if it were a snake about to strike. Now his fingers moved round the back of her neck, under her hair, for the moment caressing her skull, but she braced herself for another agonizing squeeze, which, in that position, might well render her unconscious. ‘But he followed you here.’
‘He regards me as his possession.’
‘And you would like to end that relationship.’
‘I do not like being possessed.’
The fingers were stroking up and down the nape of her neck and her muscles remained tensed ‘Who are these people who have been following you about, trying to kill you?’
‘I do not know.’
The hand left her nape and came slowly round her neck, then the fingers slipped down, hooked her crucifix from between her breasts. ‘Do you pray to your God every night?’
‘No.’
The fingers left the crucifix, and instead moved to her breast again. This time the thumb and forefinger closed on her right nipple, again squeezing as hard as they could. Now she could not contain a little cry of agony.
‘I think,’ Bormann said, ‘that everything you have told me has been a lie. I believe that you were sent here to find me. If you wish to live, you will tell me who sent you, and what he, or they, are planning.’
He paused, expectantly. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Anna said. She did not suppose there was any point in attempting to lie further, or indeed in telling him the truth; he was going to kill her no matter what she said, in which case her best course was to let him get on with it and keep worrying about who might be lying in wait for him.
And that would be the end of Anna Fehrbach, Countess von Widerstand, the most desirable as well as the most dangerous woman in the world. But she would still be beautiful when she died.
‘Defiant to the last, eh?’ Bormann asked. ‘Do you really suppose it is going to be a matter of a bullet in the back of the neck and oblivion? No, no. I am not going to kill you, Anna.’ Her head jerked, and he smiled, the most evil thing she had ever seen. ‘I am going to destroy you, as a woman, before your own eyes. Bruno, bring that can of petrol I told you to have ready.’
