Angel From Hell, page 25
part #1 of Anna Fehrbach Series Series
They are looking well, Anna thought. Do they know by how slender a thread their lives hang? ‘Will they continue to look well after I am dead?’
‘When you are dead, Anna, there will be no further reason to keep them under restraint. General Heydrich asked me to tell you that should this assignment turn out badly for you, as you will have died in the service of the Reich, your family will be returned to their home in Vienna. I’m afraid your father will have to find a job; his newspaper has been shut down.’
It was all so terribly pleasant and civilized. Could she believe a word of it? But she had evidence in her hand that Himmler had so far kept his word. And she had no alternative, other than to believe that he would continue to do so. While she would be in a wooden box in an unmarked grave. But she suddenly saw a straw floating by. ‘You are assuming that I am going to be invited to any of these receptions.’
‘The social calendar indicates that The Honourable Mr Ballantine and Mrs Bordman are invited to just about every reception in London. You are such an attraction, my dear.’
‘You are out of date,’ Anna pointed out. ‘My husband has left me.’
Celestina frowned. ‘When did this happen?’
‘A week ago.’
‘Why?’
‘He thinks I am having an adulterous affair.’
‘I hope you are not. That would be a gross dereliction of duty.’
‘Of course I am not,’ Anna snapped. ‘That sort of thing does not interest me.’
‘So I have heard,’ Celestina mused. ‘But the invitations still come here?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘I pay very little attention to them.’
‘Well, when the appropriate one arrives, you will have to attend on your own.’
‘That would cause a scandal.’
‘My dear Anna, the scandal of your attending a reception without your husband will surely be of little importance beside the scandal of your shooting dead the First Lord of the Admiralty. Now, our people are constantly monitoring these events. I will tell you which one to attend. If you and your husband have become reconciled by then, so much the better. If not, you will go alone and complete your assignment. It will be within a month. I will let myself out.’
*
Anna remained staring at the wall for several minutes after the door had closed. Her brain was numb. But she had to think, very clearly, and very positively. She supposed she had always known that one day the Reich would demand her life. But she had not anticipated it quite this soon. She was only a month away from her twentieth birthday!
She did not want to die. If she could not yet be sure that she loved Clive, that she could love Clive – and more importantly, that he could love her in view of her past, once his infatuation with her body wore off – he was showing her, and promising her, glimpses of a life without fear or suspicion, a life that could be enjoyed, that could even be peaceful. Supposing that could ever be possible for a woman who, when she fell through the trap, would have several murders to her credit.
When she fell through the trap! She found she was grasping her neck in both hands. But her hands were soft. The rope would be rough. Of course, it would not actually touch her flesh; she would be wearing a hood. They would put the hood over her head and she would be plunged into darkness. She would only feel for the next few moments the noose being put in place, and then . . .
Perhaps worse than that, she knew Celestina was quite right when she said the whole thing would be conducted with the utmost politeness and perhaps even sympathy. But then, Blaner and Gehrig, and even Heydrich, had been utterly polite as they had conducted her to the room where she was then savagely tortured.
All of that, for this. She got up, went to the sideboard and poured herself a drink. It wasn’t as if she could accomplish anything to save her family. But as she had thought, once she was dead there was absolutely no reason for them to be kept alive. Therefore, if they were all condemned to death, there was no reason for her to carry out the Reich’s orders and improve their position. She entirely agreed with the Fuehrer that Churchill was far and away his most implacable enemy in the British Government. So why not go out in a blaze of glory, destroying the entire network? Save that the only parts of the network she knew were Schmidt and Celestina. She did not doubt that she could kill them both. But she also did not doubt that the German network in England was like a Hydra, and would immediately grow other heads to replace those struck off.
She felt a crack in her fingers and looked down to see blood mingling with the whisky, dripping on to the carpet. She had actually broken the glass she had been squeezing so tightly. She threw it into the waste bin under the sideboard, went upstairs to her bedroom to wash away the blood, and applied antiseptic and plaster to the two cut fingers. Then she sat on the bed. She supposed she was the loneliest woman in the world. It was a burden she could no longer bear. Whatever happened, she had to look for help. She got up, went to the table and picked up the phone.
*
‘Well,’ Baxter remarked, ‘however you look at it, it seems like curtains for your lady friend. Damn shame. But that’s life.’
‘And death,’ Clive said. ‘It can’t happen, Billy.’
Baxter sighed. ‘Clive, she is in a cul de sac from which we cannot extricate her without blowing wide open everything we have done for the past year. You’re not suggesting we let her shoot Winston?’
‘Of course not. We can easily make sure she can never get to him. But if she had intended to get to him, she wouldn’t have told me.’
‘So, she doesn’t carry out her assignment. We can be pretty certain that Jerry will then write her off.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I suppose we could put her away somewhere safe, but she’d be of no more value to us.’
‘She can’t accept that,’ Clive said, ‘as long as there is the remotest chance that her parents are still being held as security for her behaviour.’
‘Then, as I said, she’s done.’
‘Listen.’ Clive leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. ‘She can still be of enormous value to us. Let’s be rational. We cannot allow her to carry out her assignment. But if she does not carry out her assignment Jerry will, as you say, at best discard her, at worst dispose of her. So either way, her value to them and to us is at an end, here in England. But if she were to be betrayed by her own people here, blown before she can carry out the assignment, and managed to flee the country before being arrested, they should welcome her back in Berlin as being the victim of circumstances.’
‘You mean you would send her back to Berlin? I thought you had something going for her.’
‘I have everything going for her, Billy. More than you could ever know. I am trying to save her life and her reason. If by any chance her family is still alive – and she can’t help praying that that is so – and we close her down and keep her here while they are hanged, well . . . She’s a tough cookie, but I don’t think there is a cookie that tough.’
Baxter reached for his pipe. ‘And she’ll do this if you ask her?’
‘She’ll do it because she wants to do it. And she’s prepared to be contacted by our people on the ground.’
Baxter, opening his tobacco pouch, laid it down again. ‘It’s a brilliant concept, Clive, on both of your parts. But there is one small problem you seem to have overlooked: which one of her people, if any of them, is going to betray her?’
Clive rubbed his nose. ‘All of them.’
‘Eh?’
‘They don’t have to stand up in court, Billy. Will you leave it with me?’
Baxter picked up his pouch again. ‘If I’m thinking what you’re thinking, I can’t know the facts. Nobody can know the facts, except . . . Who and what do you need?’
Clive considered this. ‘A couple of open warrants. She has her British passport. That should get her into Switzerland, and from there she should be able to reach her SD controllers. And a thousand pounds cash, in lire.’
Baxter, busily making notes, raised his head. ‘You’re using Italy?’
‘Southampton–Naples. Italy is officially neutral. They won’t ask any questions about an English tourist, and if there is any problem she can go to the German embassy. Once she makes herself known, they’ll take care of her. And when once she gets to the German border she’ll be home and dry.’
Baxter wrote. ‘Anything else?’
‘Curtis. He’s the best we have and he’s absolutely reliable. When it’s over you will have to take it from there, but from your point of view it will all be straightforward.’
Baxter carefully laid his pipe beside the pouch. ‘My wife thinks I should give this up, and maybe she’s right. You’re dicing with both death and your career, Clive. All for the sake of a pair of legs. You want to be damned sure.’
Clive got up. ‘You’ve never seen the legs, Billy. I’ll pick the warrants up this afternoon.’
*
Curtis was a short, heavy-set man with sleek black hair and a black pencil moustache; his comrades often called him Hitler. He pulled the car in to the kerb and glanced at Clive.
‘Straight in,’ Clive said. ‘No one must have any doubt this is a simple raid. You are loaded?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Clive checked his own Browning; all nine chambers were filled. He restored the gun to its shoulder holster, opened the door and got out. Curtis joined him, and they walked across the pavement together. It was a bright, sunlit early May afternoon, but inside the shop was gloomy. There were the usual half-dozen browsing customers, but none took any notice of the two quietly dressed men.
They went up to the desk, where the woman looked up. ‘Mr Smith in?’ Clive inquired.
‘Yes, sir. Who is calling?’
‘We’ll announce ourselves,’ Clive said and stepped round the desk. Curtis raised his hat and followed.
The woman stood up. ‘You can’t go in there,’ she snapped, but Clive was already opening the inner door.
Schmidt rose from behind the book-covered table. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.
Curtis closed the door in the woman’s face. Clive produced a manila envelope from his inner pocket. ‘Johann Schmidt, alias John Smith. I have a warrant here for your arrest, on a charge of espionage for the German Government. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Curtis took out a notebook, holding it in his left hand; he did not use his right hand to hold a pencil.
Schmidt got up. ‘This is an outrage. And a total mistake. I will sue you in every court in the land.’
‘When you have the time,’ Clive said. ‘And if you can manage it before we hang you.’
‘You . . . What proof do you have?’
‘The full confession of your associate, Mrs Bordman, alias the Countess von Widerstand, alias Annaliese Fehrbach.’
Schmidt stared at him in consternation. ‘You . . . That bitch!’ His head half turned.
Clive saw the movement and drew his pistol. Curtis followed his example as another inner door opened and three men entered the room. They were also armed, but the Englishmen fired first. One of the opponents went down with a shout. The others returned fire. Curtis also gave a shout. Clive dropped to his knees before the table, and behind another pile of books.
The door behind them opened, and the woman came in, also carrying a gun. Clive turned on his knees and brought her down with a single shot. The other two men had been firing virtually at random; books were dissolving in every direction. Clive could see their legs beyond the table. He fired three times himself, and they screamed in agony as their trousers became bloodied. Then a huge weight crashed on to his head.
For a moment Clive was dazed, and in that moment Schmidt ran for the inner door. One of the wounded men shouted something in German and Schmidt replied. Then there was another explosion and a cry, followed by a thump. Clive pushed himself up, still holding his pistol, and looked over the table. One of the men was definitely dead. The other two were lying on the ground in a spreading pool of blood. Now they both held up their hands.
‘Don’t shoot! We surrender.’
Clive stood above them. ‘Do you want to hang?’
‘Nein, nein. We will tell you everything.’
‘But we know everything,’ Clive pointed out. ‘This is much better for everyone.’ He shot them both. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ll survive,’ Curtis said. There was blood on his sleeve. ‘Marksmanship is not these chaps’ forte.’
‘Luckily for us,’ Clive observed. ‘And the lady?’
Curtis stooped over the woman. ‘Straight through the heart. They could learn from you.’
Clive was kneeling beside Schmidt. ‘Very satisfactory.’
Curtis stood above him. ‘Didn’t you want this one alive?’
‘I wanted him dead,’ Clive said. ‘They tell no tales.’ He looked at the crowd gaping in the doorway. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ he said, ‘call a policeman!’
*
Anna looked at the clock. It was six; Clive had said he would be there by seven. She poured herself a drink. Her valise waited by the settee. She could take no more than two changes of clothing, and he had said not to wear her sable; she had to be totally inconspicuous. So her hair was tucked up beneath her cloche, and she wore the most ordinary of her cloth coats. It was a great shame, having to abandon all her beautiful clothes and her jewellery, but she had always known they were only on loan.
The maisonette felt eerie in the absence of the servants. She had given them both the afternoon off and it was the first time she had been alone; on that disastrous afternoon when she had been shot, if the place had been empty she at least had been accompanied by Belinda.
She carried the drink to the settee, sat down and immediately stood up again. She could not keep still. She knew she was following the only course open to her, but she still could not be certain that she was not going, willingly, to her death. She simply had to believe, both in herself and, ultimately, in Clive.
The front door opened. She faced the drawing-room door, taking deep breaths as it also opened. She gave a little gasp and stepped back. The back of her knees touched the settee and she sat down involuntarily, spilling her drink.
Celestina was today wearing a dress instead of a nun’s habit, and she was not alone; two men stood behind her.
‘What . . .?’ Anna gasped, almost refusing to believe her eyes.
‘Bitch!’ Celestina spat. ‘Treacherous bitch! She is probably armed.’
The two men moved, one to either side of her, each drawing a Luger automatic pistol as they did so.
Anna’s brain, acting with its usual lightning decision, had already determined that she had to gain time; Clive would be here at any moment. Surely. ‘I do not understand,’ she said, making her voice quaver. ‘What am I supposed to have done?’
‘You have betrayed the Reich. You have betrayed the organization. You have betrayed your position. You have betrayed me.’ Her tone left no doubt that she considered the last the most heinous offence.
‘How am I supposed to have done that?’ Anna cried. ‘The invitation arrived yesterday, as did your note, saying this was the one I should accept. I am prepared for it,’ she said bravely. ‘I am prepared to die for the Reich.’
Celestina’s lip curled. ‘Then tell me why, an hour ago, Schmidt and his bodyguards were shot dead in a police raid?’
Anna stared at her. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I was there! I was in the shop and by the time I realized what was happening, Schmidt was dead. I saw him from the doorway. They did not know who I was. There were quite a few people who came in from the street when the shooting started.’
‘And you think I betrayed him? How can I have done that? You know the hold the SD have on me.’
‘I also know that Johann had lived and worked in London for six years without there ever having been the slightest indication of suspicion about him. But the day after you receive your final instructions from me, he is killed. Get up.’
Anna slowly rose to her feet. ‘What is to happen to me?’
‘We are going to send you back to Germany. You will have to travel in a trunk, and it will be very uncomfortable. But not as uncomfortable as what will happen to you when you get home. Now, will you come outside to the car quietly, or would you like us to soften you up a little first? I think my friends would enjoy that.’
Another moment for an instant decision. She did have her pistol in her handbag, but she knew she would never be allowed to draw it. On the other hand, they did not seem to wish to kill her here, and it was obvious that none of them, including Celestina, had any idea of what she was capable.
She moved to the door. One of the men stepped in front to open it for her, and she knew that Celestina, who was not carrying a gun, was immediately behind her, thus carelessly impeding the other man. She drew a deep breath and, as the door opened, swung her left hand with all her strength. The man had been looking up at her, and with her invariable accuracy, the edge of Anna’s hand crashed into his Adam’s apple.
He fell against the wall and went down with a ghastly wheezing sound. As soon as he hit the floor Anna was on her knees, taking the pistol from his grasp, turning, and emptying the magazine.
Celestina had been shouting and reaching for her, and took three bullets in the stomach. As she fell, the man behind her fired, but his shot went into the half-open door above Anna’s head. By then he was already dead, a further six bullets having slammed into his head, chest and belly.
Anna drew several deep breaths. The man by the door was gasping, and although his face was suffused, he might well recover. Anna stood up, put the empty pistol on the table, and picked up the other man’s gun. She fired twice into the stricken man’s body. Then she laid down the gun, went to the sideboard to pour herself a drink, and looked at her watch. Ten past seven.
At that moment there was a knock on the hall door. She went into the lobby, opened the door and smiled at Clive.
‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘Almost too late.’
*
Clive peered at her. ‘Trouble?’
