Angel in Red Page 2

  ‘But for how long?’ Katherine almost wailed.

  ‘I do not think it will be for very long,’ Anna said. ‘The war is virtually over. Then things will be different. Be patient and keep your health. Now you had better go.’

  ‘Will I see you again?’

  ‘I am sure of it. One day.’

  *

  ‘An uncooperative woman, your mother,’ Captain Evers remarked as the car made its way back along the track to the highway. ‘It makes one wonder why such a long journey was necessary for such a brief and unsatisfactory interview.’

  ‘It was necessary to me,’ Anna said quietly. ‘Where are we going now?’

  ‘To the airport. There is a plane waiting to take you back to Berlin.’

  He was looking at her, she knew, but she continued to stare straight ahead. The visit had not lightened her mood, but had she really expected anything better? She knew she would be forgiven everything if her mother knew her true situation. But despite her optimistic words of farewell, she had to wonder if that would ever happen. For eighteen months she had been the Honourable Mrs Ballantine Bordman, to the satisfaction of both her husband and her German masters, thanks to Bordman’s position as an under-secretary at the Foreign Office, and his gullible weakness for sharing his professional secrets with the wife he had adored. But she had fled England – and her husband – in the first week of May, when the Allies and Germany had been poised for battle. Both sides had been confident of victory; now, only five weeks later, the Allies were utterly defeated. So where did that leave her, and by extension, her parents? Her value to the Reich lay in her ability to bewitch men as much as to carry out her orders with ruthless efficiency. Were the war to end in an overwhelming German victory, where would her value then lie? There would then surely be no one to seduce and no one to assassinate. Heydrich would have no more use for her, and she knew him well enough to know that he would discard her like a piece of unwanted paper. Her family would undoubtedly follow. As for Clive Bartley, the man for whose love she had agreed to work for the English, while she felt that he personally would do everything he could to extricate her, he was in turn at the mercy of his superiors in MI6. Nor could she ever openly accept his help without destroying her parents. When last they had been together he had been full of confident promises, because soon the British Government would control events in Europe. But as it seemed Germany was not going to be defeated . . .

  ‘On the other hand,’ Evers ventured, interrupting her train of thought, ‘I do not suppose there is any great urgency. Would you like to spend a night in Warsaw, Fraulein?’ He hurried on, terrified by his own audacity. ‘The city has been rather knocked about, but it is still a beautiful place. And there is at least one good hotel still standing.’

  He waited, anxiously, until Anna at last turned her head. ‘I can think of nothing I would like less, Herr Captain. So please take me to the airport and speak a little less.’

  His flush deepened. ‘You are a very arrogant woman, Fraulein. I have heard that you do not like men. I can provide a woman, if you wish.’

  ‘Then do so, Herr Captain. For yourself. You are correctly informed. I do not like most men, but that is probably because I have met so few men worth liking.’

  *

  The door was opened by a secretary. ‘Fraulein Fehrbach, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘Anna!’ Colonel Glauber rose from behind his desk and hurried forward.

  Before he could reach her, Anna came to attention and saluted, arm out flung. ‘Heil Hitler!’

  ‘Ah. Heil Hitler. Come and sit down. You are satisfied?’

  Anna sat before his desk and crossed her knees. ‘I am satisfied, Herr Colonel, that my parents and my sister are alive and appear to be in good health.’

  ‘Well then . . .’ Glauber’s manner was habitually genial; this went with his somewhat overweight figure, bulging against his uniform, and his round red features. Anna knew he was capable of paroxysms of violent rage, but he had seldom inflicted them on her, and she was in a mood to prick him a little.

  ‘But they are depressed and unhappy.’

  ‘Well, they opposed the Reich. They should be in a concentration camp. They would be in a concentration camp but for you, my dear girl. However, it will not be for much longer.’

  ‘Can I really believe that, Herr Colonel?’

  ‘You can. The war is over.’

  Anna sat straight. ‘Sir?’

  ‘France surrendered yesterday.’

  ‘My God!’ If this was the news she had been anticipating, it was also the news she had most feared. ‘And the British?’

  ‘They are still making bellicose and absurd statements of defiance, or at least that lunatic Churchill is. But as we have destroyed more than half of their air force – and all of their army, to all intents and purposes – this can only be a temporary phase. The Fuehrer is about to make a speech pointing out their situation and calling upon them to accept a negotiated peace. He is the most reasonable of men, you know.’

  Anna drew a deep breath. ‘Then I am redundant, Herr Colonel.’

  Glauber chuckled. ‘As regards the British, you were redundant the moment you boarded that ship out of Southampton.’ Anna felt a sudden, physical pain in her chest. ‘But do you suppose a girl like you could ever be truly redundant? I remember the first time I saw you in Vienna two years ago. A seventeen-year-old schoolgirl sitting on a chair in the middle of that cell. What were you thinking of at that moment, Anna?’

  ‘I was wondering how soon I would be raped or tortured or shot, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘What terrible thoughts for a young girl to think. But do you know Hallbrun – you remember Hallbrun?’

  ‘He arrested me, and my family.’

  ‘Yes,’ Glauber agreed. ‘But did you know the lout actually offered you to me as a mistress?’

  Anna’s head jerked.

  Glauber smiled. ‘And I thought to myself, such beauty, such intelligence, such sheer charisma – in a seventeen-year-old girl! What will she be like when she is a woman? And you suppose you could be redundant? We may have defeated the Western Allies, but that does not mean that the task of Nazi Germany is completed. I told you two years ago what that task was, did I not?’

  ‘To combat Soviet Russia,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘And to destroy it,’ Glauber insisted. ‘I don’t suppose you include Russian among your many accomplishments?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Next week you will begin a course. I wish you to be fluent in the language in one month. Can you do this?’

  ‘If I am doing nothing else, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘That will be your principal concern. However, I do not suppose you had a great many opportunities for training in London. And then there was that business of falling down the stairs. You spent several weeks in hospital, did you not?’

  Anna kept her face immobile; she still felt the occasional twinge where Hannah Gehrig’s bullet had slammed into her ribs. There was, in fact, still a blue mark on her flesh, which meant she had to be careful about who she let see her exposed body. Heydrich had certainly been curious but she had told him it was a birthmark. ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘And when last did you have to undertake executive action?’ Glauber asked jovially. ‘That unhappy woman, Mayers, was it not?’

  How little you know, Anna thought. ‘Am I required to execute a Russian, Herr Colonel?’ Her voice could be like the cooing of a dove.

  ‘One would hope not. But you never know. I also want you to spend a week with Doctor Cleiner. You will do this first.’

  Oh, Lord, Anna thought. The week she had spent in that training camp had been the most horrendous of her life. ‘I am perfectly fit, sir, and I have forgotten none of my skills.’

  ‘No one can ever be too highly trained, Anna, not even you. But you do not like the idea of going back to the doctor? He was very fond of you.’

  ‘I know. He will wish to strip me naked and paw me about.’ And see the blue mar
k, she thought.

  ‘The perks of being a doctor. I envy him. You will go to the training camp tomorrow. A car will pick you up at ten. After your spell at the camp, you will undertake concentrated lessons in Russian language, manners, mores and history. That is your programme for the next five weeks. Then you will be given your instructions.’ He beamed at her. ‘I want you to know – and always be sure – that I, and all of us in the SD, are proud of you. Proud to have you working with us. Now go home, have a good night’s rest, and be prepared to start work tomorrow.’

  *

  Anna took a taxi to the apartment block situated in a street just off the Unter den Linden. Berlin sparkled in the summer sunshine. It was, in fact, one of the best summers in living memory, and the Berliners, always eager to enjoy sunshine, had been drinking beer at the pavement cafes. But this year, having achieved the most outstanding military success in their nation’s history – the more euphoric for being so largely unexpected – there were nothing but smiles to be seen. Indeed, as the news of the French surrender had only recently been released, today there were cheers and dancing on the pavements, giving lie to the fact that there was a war on. But apparently the war was over. Anna was in limbo. From everything she had ever read or heard, Russia was not an attractive prospect. True, what she had been told was largely Nazi propaganda. But the British attitude, including that of Clive Bartley, had not been so very different. Oh, Clive! How she wanted to be in touch with him. But her orders, given her on the night she had fled England, had been to wait. He would get to her. But could she afford to wait, now that she was about to receive new orders from the SD?

  When she had left England, she had been given a set of written instructions, to be memorised and then destroyed. They had been simple enough, but the essential words remained burning in her brain: Antoinette’s Boutique. Antoinette’s Boutique. Did she dare? She had been so occupied with Heydrich over the preceding month, and with the anticipation of seeing her family again after so long, but now . . .

  She leaned forward and tapped on the glass. The driver slid it aside. ‘Do you know of a dress shop called Antoinette’s Boutique?’

  ‘Oh yes, Fraulein. It has quite a reputation, amongst the . . .’ He looked in the rear-view mirror and judged that Anna had to be an aristocrat. ‘It is very expensive. Run by an Italian gentleman.’ Now his tone was disparaging.

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘Three blocks, Fraulein.’

  ‘Take me there.’

  He chose his moment and turned across the stream of traffic without further comment.

  *

  As the taxi stopped, Anna realized that his remarks had been entirely appropriate: the only word for Antoinette’s Boutique was extravagant, from the richly dressed mannequins in the window to the garishly large letters over the glass swing doors.

  ‘Wait for me,’ she said before crossing the pavement and entering the large, airy display room.

  A well-dressed woman hurried forward. ‘Fraulein? May we be of assistance?’

  The emporium might be Italian-owned, but this woman was definitely German.

  ‘I am the Countess von Widerstand,’ Anna announced. ‘I am seeking an outfit for a party, and I was told by my friend Belinda that this would be a good place to look.’

  The woman showed no response to either name. ‘I am sure we will have what you require, Countess. If we do not, we shall create it for you.’

  Anna had been surveying the visible stock. ‘You have your own dressmakers?’

  ‘Certainly, Countess.’

  ‘What I am looking for,’ Anna said, having ascertained just what was not present, ‘is a calf-length, pale-blue sheath, with a scarlet hem and belt.’

  The woman clearly had to make an effort not to wrinkle her nose at such appalling taste.

  ‘With scarlet shoes,’ Anna added.

  ‘Yes, Countess. I am sure we will be able to manage that. Unfortunately, two of our seamstresses are off sick, so it may take a week or two.’

  ‘That will be acceptable. The party is in a fortnight. But I must have a fitting by the end of next week. I shall be out of town until then, anyway.’

  ‘Of course, Countess. There should be . . . ah . . .’

  Anna opened her handbag and sorted out a hundred marks. ‘Will that be sufficient?’

  ‘Of course, Countess. If you will just step inside so that we may take your measurements. And we will require a telephone number.’

  Anna took a card from her bag and followed her into one of the fitting rooms.

  *

  Later, Anna entered the lobby of her apartment building.

  ‘Good afternoon, Fraulein,’ said the concierge. Like most men he was always pleased to see his most glamorous tenant. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Anna smiled at him and went across to the elevator. Her apartment was on the sixth floor. Every time she entered this apartment she had a sense of disbelief. Her parents’ home in Vienna had been comfortably middle class; there had been no money for elegance or excessive luxury. When she had been swept into the clutches of the Gestapo training school she had assumed that even such comforts as she had known would be lost forever. Now she lived in this absolutely sumptuous place, with its soft carpets, deep-upholstered furniture, valuable prints on the walls and a bedroom and bathroom of the very latest and most expensive fashion.

  Birgit emerged from the kitchen. Although older than Anna, she was a young, vivacious woman, dark-haired and slender, excitedly enthusiastic at working for who she supposed to be a member of the aristocracy. Anna liked her at least partly because, unlike her previous maids, she was not a superior member of the SD, sent to monitor her every movement and every thought. Did the fact that she had been allowed to find her own maid since returning from England mean that her employers now accepted her as one of them? She had to doubt that.

  ‘Oh, Countess, I did not expect you back until tomorrow.’

  ‘There was nothing to stay for,’ Anna said. ‘But I am going away again tomorrow for a week.’ She looked at her watch; it was just coming up to five. ‘So I would like the evening to start now. I will have a glass of champagne, dinner at seven, and then I will go to bed.’

  ‘Yes, Countess.’

  *

  Anna undressed and peered at herself in the full-length mirror. There was no ignoring the blue mark some four inches below her right breast. She could remember that afternoon as if it were yesterday, even if at the time she had rapidly fainted from shock and loss of blood. But in those few minutes she had broken Hannah Gehrig’s neck, and in doing so all but destroyed her cover. She would have been lost but for Clive. MI6 had acted with a speed and precision not even equalled by the SD disposal squads. The British had let it become known that Frau Gehrig had been uncovered as a German spy, but had managed to flee the country before she could be arrested. The SD were still mystified by her disappearance – still, in fact, expected her to turn up some day, perhaps soon. But that was no longer her concern, except that her story might now have to be revised, and utterly convincingly.

  Anna lay in bed that night and stared at the darkened ceiling. In the early days of her career as a spy and seductress – and executioner when required – her then minder, Elsa Mayers, had put her to bed every night with a sleeping pill. Since her marriage to the Honourable Ballantine Bordman she had abandoned the sedatives. Life had not really been any less traumatic, but the knowledge that Clive Bartley was in the shadows behind her had been totally reassuring. Of course she’d also had to endure the attentions of Bally. To him she had been like a toy; he had been unable to keep his hands off her. His constant pawing, his constant desire for sex, had done nothing to better her low opinion of men in general.

  She knew there were some people who believed her to be a closet lesbian. Others, mainly her employers, thought that she was simply devoid of any emotion, erotic or otherwise. This pleased them. They liked the way she went about her duties with cold and calculated r
uthlessness. They had no idea of the mental anguish she suffered every time a job was completed – the screaming, mind-consuming desire to get out, the utter despair at the knowledge that she could never do that without sacrificing her parents and sister.

  She had, not for the first time, an urgent desire to go to church. She had not confessed for more than two years, since the day before the German invasion of Austria in 1938. But how could she confess now? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Tell me of these sins, my child. I have killed men and women, over and over and over again. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. How have you sinned, my child? I have betrayed people who thought they were my friends, I have betrayed my country, I have betrayed my religion, I have betrayed myself. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. How have you sinned, my child? I have lived a lie, I am living a lie, I will go on living a lie for the foreseeable future.

  Only Clive stood between her and perdition. He was the rock to which she must cling, surrounded as she was by a maelstrom of political, emotional and distressing situations. Did she love him? If she did not, it was because she knew she could not allow herself to love anyone while living in these circumstances. Besides, she could not be sure if he – for all his obvious desire for her when they were alone together – loved her, or wished to do so. She was a prize, who had dropped unexpectedly into his arms, and into the arms of his superiors, a lethal weapon thrust into the heart of Nazi Germany to be used, twisted, as they thought best for the Allied cause. She wondered when the first twist would be made and what it would entail.

  And now she was required to return to the clutches of the man who, of all the dislikeable men with whom she had been forced to associate over the past two years, was the most loathsome.

  *

  ‘May I say, Countess, that it is a great privilege to meet you and to know that we shall be working together.’

  Another nervous young captain was now sitting beside her in the back of a car. His name was Gutemann, and like Evers he kept casting her surreptitious glances, half admiring and half anticipatory, although today she wore a somewhat severe dress. She was on her way to work. He was some years younger than Evers was, and not as good looking. He seemed anxious at once to please her and to avoid being overwhelmed by her.