Angel of Destruction

by Christopher Nicole

  She folded the accessories also into her bag, which was now stuffed to full capacity, then went through the kitchen. The back door was bolted, but it gave access to the garden, and a few moments later she stood beneath the wall. Taking a deep breath she jumped, got her arms on the top, and heaved herself up to sit astride, the bag bumping on her back.

  To turn left would mean that once she reached the road, to get back to the town she would have to walk past the front of the house, and the sentry. So it had to be the building site. She turned right, picking her way over the uneven ground, and a few minutes later was in the midst of concrete mixers and wheelbarrows, piles of timber and bricks, and several men, sprawled in the shade, and not all asleep. ‘Hey!’ one said. ‘You want something, senorita?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. How often does the bus run?’

  ‘It is every half an hour. You want this bus?’

  Anna looked at her watch. It was just three. And a bus had just passed. So the next one would be at half past, if it was on time. ‘And how long does it take to get back to town?’

  He shrugged. ‘An hour, maybe.’

  So she would get back at half past four, which should give her just sufficient time. ‘And where is the bus stop?’

  ‘Just out there on the road. But senorita, why you want to catch this bus? Why you no stay here with us? We work from four until six, then our own bus comes for us. You could wait and ride into town with us. We would make you very happy. We have wine.’

  ‘That sounds entrancing,’ Anna said. ‘But my husband is waiting for me. Thank you, senor.’

  She continued on her way, and the man shouted, ‘But, senora, where you come from?’

  ‘Back there,’ Anna assured him.

  She half expected him to follow her, but fortunately he did not think it worth his while, and a few minutes later she was at the halt. Guimard’s villa was about four hundred yards to her right, but there was no sign of the sentry, who was clearly still seated in the shade. There was no seat or shelter at the halt, so she walked slowly up and down, keeping her mind empty of any possible agitating thoughts. But the bus was only five minutes late.

  There were only three other passengers, and she sat at the back, visited by a rather sad looking dog, who apparently belonged to one of them. ‘I would love to stroke you,’ Anna said. ‘But I have a terrible suspicion that you have fleas. So bugger off.’

  He accepted the menace in her voice and retreated.

  *

  It was twenty to five when the bus finally reached its depot, but this was only a ten-minute walk from Edel’s apartment building. She rang the bell, and again, but there was no reply. Shit, she thought. If he was out, for any reason, she was up the creek without a paddle. But the wife and child were surely at home. She tried again without success, and was turning away in disgust, when a voice behind her asked, ‘May I help you?’

  Anna turned, and faced Mrs Edel, who had her son at her side; school must have ended late today. ‘Perhaps you can,’ she said. ‘I am trying to find a Senor Jan Edel. I see his name here, but he does not answer the bell.’

  ‘He never answers the bell,’ Mrs Edel explained.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I’m his wife.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know. I am sorry. And this is . . .?’

  ‘Little Jan. Our son.’

  ‘How sweet. Do you think I could see Senor Edel?’

  ‘What do you wish to see him about? He is a very private person.’

  ‘I’m from Time magazine. I’d like to do a story on him.’

  Mrs Edel gazed at her for several seconds, and Anna knew exactly what she was thinking: how in the name of God did anyone from Time find us? But she also knew that she had created a situation that simply had to be addressed. ‘Then you had better come up,’ she said.

  The elevator was apparently working. Anna smiled at Little Jan as they rode up, and a few minutes later she was in a small but comfortably furnished lounge. ‘Off you go to your room, Jan,’ his mother said. The boy hurried down a hallway. ‘My husband is in his study,’ she explained. ‘I’ll just tell him you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Mrs Edel also went down the hall, but only as far as the first door on the right, which she opened and then closed behind her. Anna wandered around the room, looking at the books on the shelves, but these were all in Danish, a language she did not have, thus she could not understand the sudden explosion of sound from beyond the wall, also in Danish, although she had a fairly good idea what was being said, especially as it was accompanied by the sound of a slap and a thud.

  She faced the hall entrance. As always when she was working, her brain was ice cold, completely divorced from her normal persona; she had turned herself into a machine, a killing machine.

  The door opened, and Mrs Edel emerged. There was a bruise on her cheek, darker than the flush that suffused the rest of her face, and her clothes were slightly dishevelled. ‘My husband will see you now,’ she said. The words were indistinct; Anna deduced that her mouth was filled with blood.

  ‘I am most terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘I had no idea . . .’

  Mrs Edel’s mouth twisted. ‘That my husband is a violent man? So I must warn you to be careful. He thought . . . well . . .’

  ‘That he was safe here?’

  Mrs Edel’s head came up.

  ‘From prying journalists,’ Anna explained. ‘Again, I am sorry to have inflicted this upon you. But I have my job to do.’

  ‘I understand that. And frankly, I am glad it is over.’

  Anna had moved towards the door. Now she checked, and turned back. ‘What is over?’

  ‘This running. This hiding. This living a false life.’

  ‘I can see that would be tiresome,’ Anna agreed, with feeling. ‘May I ask you a very personal question?’

  Mrs Edel shrugged.

  ‘Do you love your husband?’

  Her mouth twisted again, and she looked over Anna’s shoulder.

  ‘Well?’ Edel snapped. ‘What is that bitch telling you about me?’ He was quite a big man, grey-haired but still possessing powerful shoulders, which he carried slightly hunched. His features were regular enough, but distorted by ill-humour and impatience; his eyes were concealed behind horn-rimmed glasses which were slightly tinged, as if he did not like exposure to light.

  ‘She was telling me how much she loves you. Senor Edel?’

  ‘Of course I am Senor Edel.’

  Anna held out her hand. ‘Anna O’Rourke. Time magazine. May I have a word?’

  He ignored the offered fingers. ‘I wish a word with you,’ he said. ‘Come in here.’

  Anna glanced at Mrs Edel, who mouthed something, but she couldn’t be sure what it was. She followed him into the office.

  ‘Now close the door.’

  Anna obeyed and turned to face him, right hand resting on the catch for her shoulder bag. The room was book-lined with but a single window, closed; the only furniture was a large desk, covered in papers which were themselves covered with scrawling handwriting. Edel sat behind the desk, leaving Anna standing in front of it. ‘Who are you working for?’ he demanded.

  ‘I told you . . .’

  ‘Bullshit! How could they find me?’

  ‘We have correspondents all over the place. In every nook and cranny.’

  He glared at her, and she smiled at him. ‘And they sent you, a chit of a girl, to interview me?’

  ‘I really am very experienced,’ Anna assured him, as always seeking to stick to the truth.

  ‘Bullshit! What is it you want to know?’

  Anna opened her bag and took out a pad and pencil, fingers brushing against both of the guns. ‘First of all, I’d like to be sure I am interviewing the right man.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are Jan Edel?’

  ‘Well, of course I am, you silly bitch.’

  ‘And you are a Dane by nationality?’

  ‘Is that important
?’

  ‘I am sure it is to you. You are an atomic scientist, who was persuaded to leave Denmark in 1940 to go to America and work on the Manhattan Project?’

  ‘If you know my name, that is a rhetorical question.’

  ‘And while working on that project, you became aware that splitting the atom, creating a nuclear bomb, was only a stage on the way to the ultimate explosive device, a thermonuclear bomb.’

  Now he was frowning. ‘How in the name of God do you know about that?’

  ‘I find it difficult to believe that God knows, or wants to know, anything about this business. Unless, of course, He has allowed us to discover this knowledge so that we could destroy ourselves and save Him having to do so. As to how we found out about you and the H-Bomb, we have, as I said, sources everywhere. However, to continue with my résumé, you were always a fascist, indeed, a Nazi, at heart, and when your employers detected this, they removed you from the project and returned you to England, under strict surveillance. This surveillance you managed to escape sufficiently to open negotiations with a Nazi agent with a view to selling your expertise and knowledge to them.’

  She paused, because his frown had faded and he was staring at her with undisguised venom. ‘I would really appreciate it if you would correct me if anything I am saying is inaccurate. However, you were found out, of course, and charged with treason. You were convicted and sentenced to death, but the sentence was reviewed, I assume because you had a wife and small child, and commuted to life imprisonment. However, a few months ago you managed to escape, and fled, here to Argentina, where your wife and child already were. Now, the really important question, and the one to which we require an answer, is to whom are you now trying to sell this enormous, and horrific, expertise you possess. And, of course, whether you are at all concerned about its eventual use.’

  ‘We being Time magazine.’

  ‘We have a reputation for our in-depth coverage and analysis of stories of great importance.’

  ‘You are a lying bitch. However, if you’re interested, I have no concern whatsoever as to what the bomb is used for. I am a scientist, not a moralist or an apologist.’

  ‘You do not care that thousands, perhaps millions, of people may die if the bomb falls into the wrong hands?’

  ‘What makes you think that the Americans, or the British, are the right hands? The moment the Americans got hold of the atom bomb they used it. Twice.’

  ‘I think you will find that their argument was that they were actually trying to save lives.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

  ‘Well, you see, their point of view seems to have been supported by the evidence they have obtained from Japanese archives since the war ended. That Japan was within six months of achieving a bomb of their own. That the Japanese military leaders had determined to fight to the last man, even if that involved the total destruction of their country. That they had already concentrated over two million regular troops, backed by four million state employees, backed by twenty-eight million civilian “volunteers”, all of whom were dedicated to dying for their emperor. You may recall that Hitler had the same idea, but the German people had no six-thousand-year religious belief in an immortal emperor.’

  ‘You should be a lawyer, not a journalist. I am not interested in western rhetoric. And you’ve stuck your neck out just too far this time, young lady. What you do not seem to be aware of is that I am a guest of the Argentine government, and therefore any idea you may have of applying for my extradition is a waste of time. Something else you should know is that here in Pont del Mar I, and my safety, is the personal responsibility of the chief of police.’

  ‘Ah,’ Anna said. ‘Would that be Captain Guimard?’

  ‘I see you have heard of him.’

  ‘He has quite a reputation.’

  ‘He does indeed,’ Edel agreed. ‘And I have no doubt that he would enjoy widening that reputation on your body. So I think I will telephone him now and have you picked up.’ He reached for his telephone.

  ‘I wouldn’t waste your time with that,’ Anna said.

  His head turned back to her, and he was again frowning.

  ‘I had lunch with him today,’ Anna explained.

  ‘You, had lunch with Captain Guimard?’

  ‘At his villa.’

  Edel abandoned the telephone to stare at her. ‘Then he knows that you are not what you pretend?’

  ‘Well, he sort of worked it out. I think he had a gut feeling.’

  ‘And he has just turned you loose?’

  ‘Well, no. I don’t think he intended to do that. But I persuaded him.’

  ‘Persuaded him?’

  ‘Well, actually, I shot him.’

  Edel’s gaze was taking on the aspect of hypnosis. ‘What . . .’ He licked his lips as Anna’s hand emerged from her bag holding the Walther.

  ‘I was sent here by the British Government,’ she explained. ‘They have concluded that commuting your death sentence was a grave mistake. I will confess that I came here with an open mind, well, relatively open mind. But our little chat has convinced me that they are absolutely correct in their judgement. So . . .’ She levelled the pistol and shot him between the eyes.

  GONE FISHING

  Anna opened the office door. Mrs Edel stood in the centre of the lounge, hands clasped together. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘That noise . . .?’

  ‘I’m afraid that I have just shot your husband.’

  ‘You –’ Mrs Edel ran to the door, and Anna stepped aside – ‘my God! Is he dead?’

  ‘Well, when I shoot people, they generally do die,’ Anna explained.

  ‘But . . . why?’

  As Anna had suspected, and hoped, would be the case, there was no evidence of grief.

  ‘He was too dangerous, to all humanity, to be allowed to live.’

  ‘You knew him? I have never seen you before today.’

  ‘I never saw him before today either. You never had the time to answer my question. Did you love him?’

  ‘I –’ Mrs Edel licked her lips – ‘he was the father of my child.’

  ‘Nothing more than that?’

  A faint shrug. ‘I went for a genius. Some people can’t resist that. And when I became pregnant, he said he would marry me. So . . .’

  ‘Do you have any family?’

  One of those now familiar twists of the lips. ‘In Denmark.’

  ‘Can you not go back to them, with the boy?’

  ‘If I can raise the fare, perhaps.’

  ‘Didn’t Edel have any money?’

  ‘Not really. He is, was, being paid a pension by the Argentine government. But that has just been enough to live on. The apartment is theirs.’

  ‘Hm.’ Anna opened her shoulder bag, replaced the pistol, and took out her money. As she had not paid her hotel bill, and had no intention of doing so, she had spent less than a thousand of the original forty. But she was going to need a few thousand to get home. She peeled off thirty thousand, watched in fascination by the woman. ‘Will this be sufficient to get you home?’

  ‘Thirty thousand dollars? My God! But—’

  ‘I have caused you a considerable inconvenience, and am going to have to cause you more. Where will you go, in Denmark?’

  ‘I will go to my parents, in Copenhagen, until I can find a job and some place of my own.’

  Anna indicated the table. ‘Write down their address and give it to me.’

  Frowning, Mrs Edel obeyed, while Anna looked at her watch. Time was ticking by, but this was something she had to do. Mrs Edel held out the piece of paper, and Anna stowed it in her bag ‘Now, do you have any clothesline?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  ‘Show me.’

  There was a long length of strong line. ‘I do not believe that you will betray me,’ Anna said, ‘but in my business I cannot afford to take any risks, and besides, you have to be absolutely innocent of any involvement in what has happened. So I am going to tie you up and gag yo
u. Will you please lie down on that sofa.’

  Mrs Edel looked at her, then at the bag, then at the money, decided that any attempt at resistance would not be worth the risk, and obeyed. ‘Thank you.’ Anna rolled her on her side and tied her wrists together behind her back. ‘I know it is not very comfortable,’ she said apologetically. ‘But I will send someone to release you in a little while. Meanwhile, I shall place the money under this cushion, so that only you will know where it is. I will then give you a month to get back to Denmark, at which time I will wire you a hundred thousand US dollars. I think that should enable you to find a place to live and get settled into a new life.’

  Mrs Edel’s eyes were enormous. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  Anna considered. ‘I think, when you take something, you should give something back.’

  ‘But . . . when I am released, what do I do? I should call the police.’

  ‘I have an idea that it will be the police who release you. At which time you should tell them the exact truth: a woman you have never seen before called here this afternoon, and asked to see your husband. You allowed her in, she went into your husband’s office, and shot him. She then threatened you with her pistol, tied you up, and left.’

  ‘They will want a description.’

  ‘Then give them one. Remember to tell the truth.’

  ‘But . . . if they catch you . . . Do you know what they will do to you?’

  ‘If that was going to keep me awake at night, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Now, I’m afraid that I am going to have to gag you, and lock the door of Little Jan’s room.’ She did so, returned to the lounge, looked around her, and closed the office door. ‘Adios,’ she said, and closed the apartment door behind her.

  *

  It was twenty-five minutes to six when Anna reached the fishing dock, which was a hive of activity as the fleet prepared to sail. She threaded her way through the throng to reach the Bruja del Mar. The two crew were still furling their nets, while Salvador stood on the dockside with his hands on his hips. ‘Salvador!’ she called. ‘Sorry I’m so late.’

  ‘Senorita! I did not think you were coming.’

  ‘Well, here I am.’