Angel Rising, page 9
part #6 of Anna Fehrbach Series
‘Of course it is lethal. You have just said you have killed with one.’
‘At twenty-five yards, or very close up. I could hardly miss.’
‘But you never miss. And how often have you had to shoot a man at more than twenty-five yards?’
‘Well . . .’ Anna took out one of the two magazines. ‘Seven point six five. That is barely a quarter of an inch. You would have to hit the target dead centre to kill.’
‘Don’t you always hit, dead centre?’
She was not to be mollified by flattery. She took the holster out of the box, drew the pistol and palmed it. ‘They call this the ladies’ gun.’
‘That is because it will fit into a lady’s hand, as you are demonstrating, and better yet, into a small evening handbag.’
She took out the silencer. ‘Brauch.’
‘They are the best. You’ll see that it fits into that little pocket in the belt.’
‘Very neat. But is it necessary? This little thing doesn’t make a lot of noise.’
‘Enough. With that silencer, there is no noise at all.’
‘A silencer,’ Anna pointed out, ‘reduces muzzle velocity.’
‘It will still kill at twenty-five yards.’
‘If I’m to use a silencer in any event, there is a nine millimetre version which is far more efficient.’
‘That makes it too big and too heavy.’
‘Too big and too heavy for what?’
‘The dressmakers coming in tomorrow are going to fit you out with special clothes.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Your dresses, like most dresses nowadays, with have a zip up the back. But there will also be a zip on the side. This will enable you to get your hand inside the dress very quickly and unobtrusively.’
‘What for? Am I supposed to play with myself in public?’
‘I’m trying to concentrate. All the dresses will be made with a full skirt. I understand it is the latest fashion.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘This enables them to conceal any small protuberance on your stomach. They used to do this in the old days to conceal women’s pregnancies virtually up to the moment of delivery. So you will be wearing, under you skirt, this belt with the holster attached. It will fit neatly into your groin, easily accessible through the side vent in the dress, but not easy to discern. Even the normal body search, as you know, is a matter of sliding the hands from the armpits down to the thighs. Not into your knickers. You with me?’
‘When I stop laughing. You’ve obviously never been searched by Albrecht.’
‘Who is Albrecht?’
‘I have an idea it could be was. He was Himmler’s butler, who was required to search everyone visiting the Reichsfuehrer at his apartment. He believed in getting to know his subjects very closely, especially if they were good-looking women.’
‘Please, Anna. We’re trying to protect you in every way we can.’
‘But apart from ruining my love life, you are not offering me a bullet proof bra.’
‘Well, we could do that, I suppose.’
‘Forget it,’ Anna said. ‘I don’t wear the things.’
*
‘There is someone to see you, Herr Laurent,’ said the male secretary.
‘Is there an appointment?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, then, tell him to make an appointment and I may be able to see him in a day or two.’
‘The young lady seems to think that you know her, sir.’
Henri Laurent leaned back in his chair. His youthful appearance, the sleek black hair brushed straight back from his forehead, the athletic body encased like a glove in the immaculate dark blue three-piece suit, the handsome features, the powerful dark eyes, always surprised clients meeting him for the first time, as they invariably expected so well-known an investment banker to be middle-aged and overweight.
The more perceptive might have discerned that he understood the effect his appearance usually had on other people. And especially those of the opposite sex, providing they were the least attractive. ‘Did you say young woman?’ he asked.
‘Oh, indeed, sir.’
‘And is she, ah . . .?’
‘She is most handsome, sir.’
‘I assume she has a name?’
‘Fehrbach, sir.’
‘What?’ Laurent sat bolt upright. ‘Fehrbach? You are sure?’
‘That is the name she gave, sir.’
Laurent stared at the young man, but without seeing him. He was looking at quite another face, which returned to haunt his dreams often enough. If Anna Fehrbach, Countess von Widerstand, was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, much less who had shared his bed, she was also the woman he least wanted to see again. He could not doubt that by now she knew that he had intended to hand her over to the Swiss police to avoid any risk of being implicated in the deaths of the two Gestapo agents she had shot in Geneva in 1943 on her way to see him on behalf of Himmler; his reputation as a banker did not leave him room for a relationship with a wanted international serial killer to become public.
He had been ‘dissuaded’ from that course by that British bastard Clive Bartley, who had simply pointed out that if he did not comply with British requirements to get Anna out of the country, they would publish details of the vast amount of money, stolen from the victims of the Nazi regime, that he had laundered for Himmler. But Bartley had also assured him that he would never be troubled by Anna again. And in any event, would Anna dare come back, even looking for vengeance? If the Swiss police were not aware that the Countess von Widerstand was actually a pseudonym for an Austro-Irish woman named Anna Fehrbach, the countess herself was still wanted for murder.
The secretary was waiting, clearly surprised by his boss’s reaction. Laurent pulled himself together. ‘I think I should see the young lady now, Rudolf. But I would like you to be present.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Rudolf opened the door. ‘Will you come in, please.’
Laurent rose, and gazed at the woman in the doorway. It was . . . the long yellow hair, the same classical features, the tall, inviting body . . . but something had happened to it. The flawless face had become coarsened, the silk-like golden hair seemed to have thickened, the body to have lost its ever-present sensuality .. and the eyes, if large and blue, were curiously lifeless, like those of a shark. Which was not to say that this was not a most attractive woman, but to compare her with the Anna he remembered was to compare a cart horse with a thoroughbred.
‘Anna?’ he asked. ‘It cannot be.’
‘Anna is my sister, sir. I am Katherine Fehrbach.’ She spoke perfect German.
‘Your . . . good God!’ He sank into his chair, and as an afterthought gestured her to one. ‘And she sent you . . .?’
‘No, sir. I have not seen Anna since September 1944. I am trying to find her.’
Laurent gazed at her while he took stock of the situation. Then he remembered that they had company. ‘Thank you, Rudolf,’ he said. ‘That will be all.’
Rudolf looked more mystified than ever, but he left the office, closing the door behind him.
‘In 1944,’ Laurent said, ‘Anna was serving the Reich. And you . . .?’
‘I was her private secretary.’
‘My God! She never mentioned that she had a sister. But you left Germany in September of that year? Where did you go?’
‘I went to Russia, Herr Laurent.’
‘In 1944 Germany and Russia were at war. You mean you defected? To Russia?’
‘No, sir. I was abducted from Warsaw by a Russian undercover squad.’
‘Warsaw! My God! The incident publicized by Goebbels! When Anna shot six Russians dead.’
‘Yes, sir. But she could not stop the rest getting away, with me.’
‘And you have spent eighteen months—’
‘In Gulag Number Forty-One, Herr Laurent. Do you know what a gulag is?’
‘Well . . . I have heard—’
‘It is a prison camp. Where one has no rights at all, and no duties, save those of submission.’
Laurent licked his lips as he found himself imagining what this handsome and voluptuous young woman would have undergone. For eighteen months? ‘But they let you go, eventually. Did they say why?’
Katherine shrugged. ‘They told me the War was over, and they had no more reason for holding me. They kidnapped me in mistake for Anna, you see. But now they say they are no longer interested in her, either.’
If you believe that, Laurent thought, then you really are a dumb blonde. Or your brain has been addled by mistreatment. ‘So they repatriated you . . . to Austria, or to Germany?’
‘To Switzerland.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand. Are you Swiss?’
‘I don’t understand either, sir. As to whether I am Swiss . . . I have a Swiss passport which is apparently genuine. I don’t know why they gave me that. I don’t know why they gave me good clothes to wear, put me in a clinic for a month to regain my health. They said they were trying to atone for the dreadful mistake they had made.’
‘And you believed them?’
Katherine’s lips twitched. ‘No, sir. But—’
‘You are here, out of Russia, and that is all that matters. I quite understand that.’ And, he thought, you don’t have a clue as to what is happening. You do not understand that they are using you as a bait, either to draw Anna out of hiding, or to lead them to her. And in the first instance, you have led them to me. God Almighty! The last thing he wanted was to become involved with the MGB. But . . . ‘How did you know that I was acquainted with your sister?’
‘Anna told me of you. Every time she came to Switzerland, it was to visit you. For Herr Himmler.’
‘Did you tell anyone in the gulags this? Anyone in Russia?’
Now her lips twisted, violently. ‘I did not tell them anything, sir. No matter how often they asked. But now . . . I hoped you would be able to tell me how to locate Anna. She is my only living relative. She will be able to look after me.’
‘Of course.’ How the hell was he going to handle this? But if the MGB really were on her trail, and had pointed her in the right direction, if he played his cards right he would not only make sure that they passed him by, but it might also assist them in catching up with Anna. Did he really want to send all of that beauty, with whom he had shared so many unforgettable hours, to perdition, whether in the form of a hangman’s noose or a living hell in a gulag? But of all his nightmares, the worst was having Anna one day walk through that door: he knew her too well, that she never forgot or forgave an injury, much less a betrayal.
And there was this young woman to be enjoyed, first. She might not be in Anna’s class, but she was an acceptable substitute. And having sex with someone who had been in the hands of the MGB for eighteen months should be a most interesting experience. But there was a caveat, which needed to be explored. ‘You say you were your sister’s secretary?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘That would have been while she was working for Herr Himmler.’
‘Well, of course. That is how I know of you.’
‘Oh, quite. So I may assume that you know about the SD?’
‘I was a member of the SD,’ Katherine said, proudly.
‘Good Lord!’
‘Is there something wrong with that?’
‘Ah . . . when the Soviets released you, did they give you any, well, information, on the state of the world today?’
‘I know that Germany lost the war, Herr Laurent.’
‘And therefore you know that Herr Himmler is dead. So are Hitler, and Goebbels. And the entire remaining Nazi hierarchy are presently on trial in Nuremberg, for crimes against humanity.’
Katherine’s eyes became animated, but cold. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I assure you I’m not.’
‘But that is impossible. The Fuehrer was a head of state, conducting a war against the state’s enemies. How can he be accused of crimes against humanity? Was Bonaparte accused of crimes against humanity?’
‘I’m afraid that times have changed since Bonaparte’s day. Nor, to be fair, were his crimes, caused purely by going to war, comparable with the excesses of the Nazi regime. I hope you agree.’
Katherine’s eyes were blazing. ‘You are insulting the greatest man who ever lived.’
‘Ah. Would I be right in assuming that you were a Nazi?’
‘Of course I was a Nazi. I am a Nazi. I shall be a Nazi until the day I die.’
‘Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t boast of it. They are not very popular right this moment.’
She might not have heard him. ‘Are you saying that Anna is under arrest?’
‘It’s a long story.’ He was thinking very hard. Was any advantage to be gained by telling her the truth about her sister? She obviously had no idea that Anna had been an English spy. Her reaction to learning that, if she was as fanatical a Nazi supporter as she appeared, might be amusing. But did he want to be the one to tell her the truth? Certainly not if he intended to enjoy her, or to send her after her sister. And if she did manage to find Anna, and discovered that she had devoted her adult life to bringing the Nazis down . . . the Russians might be redundant. He would have to feel his way. ‘Did you know that your parents are alive?’ he asked.
Katherine’s head jerked. ‘Where are they?’
‘Anna got them out.’
‘Anna? But then—’
‘I don’t know precisely where they are at the moment. But I think I can tell you where they went. Unfortunately . . .’ he looked at his watch. ‘It is rather a long story and I have an appointment in five minutes.’
‘Oh!’ Her face fell.
‘But why don’t you have lunch with me, and I will tell you the whole story. Would you like that?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘Well, then, return here at twelve thirty, and we will . . . have a long chat.’
*
‘Ahem!’ Amy Barstow said.
Clive looked up. His normal good humour had been totally absent over the past few weeks, even if the events in Scotland had so far been hushed up as an unexplained catastrophe. ‘Yes?’
‘You won’t believe this,’ Amy said. ‘But there is a Miss Fehrbach to see you.’
‘What?’ Clive rose to his feet as if she had just fired a shot.
‘It’s not the one you want,’ Amy said, apologetically. ‘This one’s name seems to be Katherine. But there is definitely a resemblance.’
Clive tried to think. When first outlining her situation, back in 1939, Anna had mentioned that she had a sister, also apparently incarcerated with her parents. But that was seven years ago, and she had not mentioned her since. Not even throughout the last year, when there had been few of the distractions that had surrounded their always brief wartime meetings. Nor, he realized, had she brought her sister out with her; he had been so caught up in getting Anna to safety it had not occurred to him to ask after her.
‘Do you think she’ll know where Anna is?’ Amy ventured.
‘I don’t see how she possibly can. But I’d better see her.’
‘Would you like me to stay?’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘As you wish, sir.’ Amy opened the door. ‘Mr Bartley can see you now, Miss Fehrbach.’
Clive stood up, and did a double take. ‘Miss Fehrbach! Anna’s sister! You are almost the spitting image.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bartley. That is a compliment.’ She spoke English with the same delightful trace of an Irish brogue as Anna.
‘Do sit down.’ He indicated the chair before his desk, and sat himself. Amy rather ostentatiously closed the door. ‘I’m afraid I’m a little confused,’ Clive admitted. ‘I mean, I knew that Anna had a sister. But, well . . .’
‘We were separated, towards the end of the war.’
And not at the beginning, he wondered? ‘And now . . .’
‘I would like to be with her again. Herr Laurent said you might know where she is.’
‘Herr Laurent,’ Clive said thoughtfully; he, of course, had known all along that Anna was alive and in British hands. But that was a secret he had been bound to keep, if he wanted to keep himself out of trouble. Now . . . an act of charity to an unfortunate young woman? That bastard? ‘You have come from Switzerland?’
‘I am Swiss, sir. Now.’
‘I see. What were you before?’
‘Austrian, sir. Well, I suppose, German, after the Anschluss.’
‘Of course. And now you are trying to find Anna. That is very natural. When last did you see her?’
‘About two years ago.’
‘In Switzerland?’
‘In Austria. Before I fled the country.’
‘You met her in Vienna?’
‘Yes. That was where we lived.’
Clive knew that Anna had not been in Vienna, probably since the entire family had been arrested in 1938, but certainly since she had started working for him the following year. And this girl obviously had no idea how involved he was with Anna, or vice versa. Yet Laurent had sent her to him. Was he trying to get his own back for the way he had been blackmailed at the end of the war? ‘May I ask why you fled Vienna for Switzerland, in 1944?’
‘It was dreadful there. Nazis everywhere, strutting about the place. Not enough to eat . . . I only stayed because I hoped that Anna might come home. But when she did, and I found out what she was doing—’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Well, killing people for the Reich . . .’ She frowned. ‘Herr Laurent said you knew all about her.’
‘He did, did he? She is supposed to have done these things because the Nazis held her parents hostage for her loyalty. Do you know about this?’
‘Isn’t that what she would claim?’
‘True. And of course, you were never a Nazi yourself?’
‘God forbid.’
‘Of course. You’ll forgive me, Miss Fehrbach, if I just attempt to get my facts straight. You fled Vienna two years ago, for Switzerland. You had no trouble doing this?’
Katherine shrugged. ‘It was difficult.’
‘But you made it. What did you do when you got to Switzerland?’
