Angel in Jeopardy: The thrilling sequel to Angel of Vengeance (Anna Fehrbach Book 4)

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I will do so now.’

  ‘I see. I will consider them also, as I will consider whether it may be possible to approach the Reichsführer.’

  ‘Oh, Countess!’ He seized her hand. ‘You will help us? You will earn the everlasting gratitude of all Germany. Of the world.’

  ‘I do not wish the gratitude of either Germany or the world. Nor do I wish to be hanged by the neck, slowly. So listen very carefully. I have said that I will consider what you have said. Whether I help you or not will depend on the conclusions I draw from my considerations. But if you, or any of your associates, attempt to betray me, or to act hastily, just remember that I have the ear of the Reichsführer, and his entire confidence. He will believe me before any accusations against me. And I will not hesitate to denounce you, and your friends, if, as I say, you act without my agreement, or reveal to anyone, except Johannsson, that we have had this meeting.’

  Steinberg’s fingers twitched against her.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ Anna said. ‘When will you be seeing Johannsson again?’

  ‘I believe he has gone back to Sweden. But I anticipate that he will return here in a few weeks.’

  ‘When he does, tell him that I wish to see him.’

  ‘I will do that, Countess.’

  Anna freed her hand and stood up. ‘Now we must run in opposite directions. I imagine we will meet again.’

  The Doctor

  Anna returned to her apartment in preference to going to the gymnasium. She considered that she had made up for missing the photographic appointment by having after all allowed Stefan to snap her in a variety of poses while she trained. Certainly, if a little cold at first, he had seemed very happy by the end, and she never knew when his infatuation might be useful. Sometimes she felt like a juggler, trying to keep several balls in the air at the same time.

  She showered and dressed. Her brain was still spinning. There were so many considerations to be taken into account. Had the OSS set out to instigate a plot against Hitler, or had Johannsson merely stumbled on it by chance? But to involve her without any previous briefing was unforgivable, and unprofessional. Yet now that she was involved, the possible implications were endless. Quite apart from the dangers for herself, even if she did honestly believe that she would always have Himmler’s support . . . But if she became involved and Himmler were to fall!

  She desperately needed advice and, indeed, orders, but there was nothing she could do until after she left Gestapo Headquarters that evening. Then she hurried to the boutique.

  Edda was in a highly nervous state. ‘Have you heard the news from Rome, Countess?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘But if Il Duce were to fall . . .’

  ‘I doubt that is the least likely,’ Anna said, without conviction, and went into the office.

  ‘Have you—’ Bartoli began.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Anna said. ‘I have an urgent message for London.’

  ‘Urgent. Always urgent. Is it about Rome? The Duce?’

  It was the quickest way to obtain full co-operation. ‘It concerns him, certainly.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Just send the message. Contact urgently required.’

  Bartoli frowned. ‘Didn’t you make contact in Geneva?’

  ‘No,’ Anna said, looking him in the eye.

  ‘What a fuck-up. If you had let me handle it . . .’

  ‘Will you just send the message, and let me know as soon as a reply comes in.’

  As he did not produce one of his glares, she knew he was really agitated. ‘What happens if the Duce does fall?’

  ‘We have one less enemy.’

  ‘But what happens to us? Edda believes that we are working for him.’

  ‘That was your idea.’

  ‘Of course, you would have had her executed when she found out that I was operating an agency. I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Luigi,’ Anna said, ‘in our business it is a fatal mistake to fall in love, with anyone.’ Which was too close to the pot calling the kettle black, so she added, ‘Unless they are absolutely trustworthy.’

  ‘She is so good in bed.’ He paused to peer at her. ‘I don’t suppose you know about things like that.’

  ‘I have been a married woman,’ Anna pointed out, primly. ‘Don’t forget that I wish to know the moment you have a reply from London.’

  *

  She did not hear from him for a week, during which she felt even more isolated than usual, as there was no sign of Johannsson either. To think that she was sitting on what could be the decisive event of the war, and she did not know what to do about it . . .

  ‘There it is,’ Himmler announced on Monday morning, coming into her office. ‘The Italians have gone stark, raving mad. They have put Mussolini in prison.’

  ‘My God!’ Anna was genuinely shocked. Whatever the rumours of a constitutional crisis coming out of Rome, she had not anticipated anything like that, and her thoughts immediately roamed to Bartoli’s possible reaction, and even more that of Edda. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘In the short term, very little. I know you understand that I do not share the Führer’s high regard for that bloated bullfrog. And this fool Badoglio who has taken over the government has declared his intention of continuing the war as our ally, but I would not trust him further than I could kick him. I think we must prepare for the possibility – one could almost say the certainty – that Italy will drop out at some stage, probably fairly soon.’

  ‘What will happen then?’

  ‘Anyone who is not with us is against us. We will treat them as an enemy whose country we occupy.’ He smiled. ‘As I have said, this will actually make things easier for us.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Do not worry your pretty little head about Italy. On the other hand . . . it may soon be time for you to take another trip.’

  *

  When Anna left Gestapo Headquarters that evening, she hurried to the boutique. Edda was not to be seen; Anna ignored the rest of the staff and went straight to the office. No one attempted to stop her.

  ‘I was going to call you tonight,’ Bartoli said. ‘I have heard from London.’

  ‘What has happened here? Where is Edda?’

  ‘She has gone home. She is not feeling well.’

  ‘Because of the news from Italy?’

  ‘Well, it is a serious matter, would you not say?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was that serious for her. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I will calm her down. I will convince her that the Duce may have been arrested, but that it is a political matter which may well be reversed, and that it is our duty to continue our work for him.’

  ‘You think she will believe that?’

  ‘She believes everything I tell her,’ he said proudly. ‘Aren’t you interested in the news from London?’

  ‘Of course I am. What is it?’

  ‘Simply that a contact has been arranged. What do they mean by that? Any contact should come through me. I queried it, of course. But they confirmed. I would like an explanation.’

  Anna smiled at him, as winningly as she could. ‘Like you, Luigi, all I do is obey London, do what they tell me to.’

  ‘They did not tell you to set up that meeting in Geneva. You insisted on it.’

  ‘I possessed something that had to be handed personally to an MI6 agent. It would have been a waste of time giving it to you, as you would not have known what to do with it.’

  ‘And you were unable to make contact. I still should have been told what it was. I am being treated like a messenger boy, not the lynchpin of the entire operation.’

  Anna decided to put Clive, or certainly Baxter, in it: it was their refusal to get rid of this oaf that had created this situation. ‘I agree with you entirely, Luigi. I think they are treating you abominably. You are fully entitled to complain. In fact, I should tell them that unless they take you more fully into their confidence, you are going to quit.’

&nb
sp; Bartoli’s jaw dropped in consternation. ‘You think they would let me do that?’

  ‘How could they stop you?’

  He did not draw the obvious conclusion. ‘But what would happen to you?’

  ‘I would have to manage as best I can without you,’ she said bravely. ‘Ciao.’

  Anna walked back to her apartment, feeling more relaxed than at any time since her return from Geneva. She had no idea who might be coming to take control of her situation – obviously it could not again be Clive here in Germany – but she remembered with a mixture of pleasure and regret that charming woman Judith, so-called Countess de Sotomayer, who, as a Spaniard, had been able to travel freely in Europe. They had taken to each other from the moment of their first meeting, under the very eyes of the unsuspecting Essermann, and their relationship had been both intense and rewarding, even if she had early identified the tell-tale signs of anxiety and indeed fear. She had been totally surprised when Judith had informed her that she was in charge, with the necessary assistance of herself, of overseeing the assassination of Heydrich. She had felt then that London was playing with fire, but she had been horrified when, after the failure of the first attempt, Judith, on being approached, quite inadvertently, by two Gestapo agents, had bitten her cyanide capsule.

  So while she hoped for another good relationship, she also hoped that London would choose more carefully this time. But at least it would be interesting, and she was gradually freeing herself of Bartoli. She reached the swing doors, and found that a man had appeared on either side of her. ‘Do you wish something?’ she asked.

  ‘We wish you, Countess.’

  The alarm bells were muted: she was, after all, Anna Fehrbach. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, we do. You are the Countess von Widerstand. We are here from Dr Goebbels. He wishes to have a word with you, in private.’

  Anna looked at them each in turn. Neither man was of the belted-trench-coat variety; indeed, both were neatly and quietly dressed and looked harmless enough. But Goebbels?

  ‘Could the Doctor not merely telephone me and ask me for a meeting?’ she inquired. ‘I mean, how long have you been here, waiting for me?’

  ‘Not long. We were informed when you left Gestapo Headquarters – though it took you longer to get here than we expected.’

  That needed dealing with immediately. ‘That is because I stopped by my couturier to discuss a new outfit. And I am afraid you are going to have to wait for a while longer. I do not go out in the evening until I have bathed and changed.’

  ‘The matter is most urgent, Countess – and could be of great importance to you. Dr Goebbels said to tell you that it will not take long.’

  There was a car waiting, and Anna could see no point in making a scene on the street. Besides, she was suddenly curious. She had met Goebbels on several occasions, but always at official functions. She knew his reputation as an insatiable lecher, and he had certainly looked at her with devouring eyes, but as she had always been with either Heydrich or Himmler they had never done more than exchange pleasantries. She had no desire to know him better: he was quite the most unpleasant-looking man she had ever met, quite apart from his club foot. But he certainly knew that she was Himmler’s aide. So what could he have to say to her . . . in private? That he had chosen this way of approaching her instead of telephoning her in her office indicated that he did not wish Himmler to know of their meeting – at least until after the event. In view of the intrigue with which she had suddenly become surrounded, she thought it might indeed be very important to find out just what was on his mind. ‘Then I had better not keep the Doctor waiting,’ she said.

  The door was held open for her, and one of the men got in beside her. The other sat in front with the driver. Neither man spoke again on the short drive to the Propaganda Ministry, where there was a female secretary waiting to escort her up the stairs. Late in the day as it was, there were still quite a few people about, all of whom stopped to look at the striking young woman.

  A door was opened for her and she was shown into one of those large offices so favoured by the Nazi leaders. There was the usual big desk, and the usual mammoth portrait of Hitler on the wall. But there was also one difference from the offices of either Hitler or Himmler: a large settee to one side.

  Josef Goebbels stood in front of the desk. He was a little man, several inches shorter than Anna, and had arranged his features into a smile, which she did not find the least attractive. Now he extended his hands. ‘Countess! It is good of you to visit me.’

  She allowed him to squeeze her fingers, but anchored her feet when he attempted to draw her forward. ‘I was told it was an urgent matter. The Reichsführer is always interested in urgent matters.’

  The smile disappeared, but only for a moment. ‘And you are, of course, the Reichsführer’s faithful handmaiden. Except that I suspect you are not a maiden.’

  ‘Of course I am not a maiden, Herr Doktor. I am, or was, a married woman.’

  ‘Of course. The Honourable Mrs Bordman. I had forgotten. And now you are divorced. A divorcee always has so much more freedom of action, hasn’t she? Please sit down.’ He indicated the settee.

  ‘Freedom to do what, Herr Doktor?’ Anna sat down and crossed her knees.

  ‘Whatever she wishes.’ He sat beside her, regarded the slender black-stockinged legs. ‘I think black silk stockings are almost the sexiest of all female garments. Almost. What colour is your underwear?’

  ‘When dressed for the office, it also is black, Herr Doktor.’

  ‘And silk, of course.’

  ‘Of course. Did you invite me here so urgently to discuss my underwear?’

  ‘Ha. You have a sharp tongue. Schnapps?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She could only be patient, humour him, at least up to a point, and wait for him to get to his point.

  He got up, moving slowly, and limped to his desk, from a drawer in which he took a bottle and two glasses. These he filled before returning to sit beside her. ‘Your health.’

  ‘And yours, Herr Doktor.’

  He remained sitting up, half-turned towards her. ‘I enjoy the feel of silk. If I were to stroke your leg, would you scream for help?’

  Anna remained perfectly cool; she was working. ‘Would it do me any good, here in your office, in your building?’

  ‘The thought does not disturb you. Perhaps you would enjoy it. Or perhaps you would dispose of me with one of your lethal blows to the neck.’

  Anna raised her eyebrows, and he smiled.

  ‘I know everything about you. I have a file on you. I have files on a great number of people. Is it true that you are a lesbian?’

  ‘I am what I am required to be, in the course of my duties, Herr Doktor.’

  ‘You are a cool one. Are you this cool when lying naked in the arms of a man? – or a woman?’

  ‘That, Herr Doktor, depends upon the man or the woman.’

  ‘Ha. You are a delight. Do you find me repulsive?’

  Who wouldn’t? she wondered. But she merely said, ‘I do not know you well enough to form an opinion.’

  ‘I meant physically. Some people find the concept of a man with a deformity difficult to accept. But then, did not the great Lord Byron have a club foot? And he was the most famous lover of his age.’

  He was also the most handsome man of his age, Anna thought, whereas you are the ugliest man of yours. It was time to end this absurdity. She finished her drink. ‘It has been very pleasant, to sit here, discussing sexual matters with you, Herr Doktor, but you see, I am required to report to the Reichsführer not only everyone whom I meet but the contents of our conversation, and I suspect he will find a discussion of my underwear somewhat boring. I think I had better leave. I assume there is a car to take me back to my apartment?’

  He gazed at her for several seconds, then he said, ‘As you wish. But before you go, tell me about Bartoli.’

  Anna nearly dropped the glass she was holding.

  ‘You do know Bartoli
, Countess? He is your couturier, is he not?’

  Think, think, think, think, think. But she had to go along with him again, until she learned how much he knew, how much he merely suspected – and how and by whom his suspicions had been aroused. That meant denying nothing that could be proved against her. ‘Signor Bartoli is my dressmaker, yes.’

  ‘And more than that?’

  ‘Certainly not. He is . . .’

  ‘A repulsive little man? I agree with you. But every time you go to see him – and you see him quite often – you are closeted in his office. What do you talk about? Is it Mussolini?’

  Years of practice had enabled Anna to control her facial expressions no matter what was thrown at her. ‘We have talked about Il Duce, yes.’

  ‘Because in addition to your other duties, serving Herr Himmler, you also work for him, Il Duce.’

  If only he would give her time to think, work out a plan of behaviour, work out what he was after. But she could only keep stalling. ‘I have never met Il Duce. In fact, I have never even seen him.’

  ‘That is not an answer.’

  ‘Have you any right to ask me these questions?’

  ‘My dear Anna – you do not mind if I call you Anna? It is such an evocative name. Anna of the black silk stockings and the black silk underwear. That should be the title of a play. But I was saying: I have the right to ask questions of anyone in Germany. I am the eyes and ears of the Führer.’ He rested his hand on her calf and moved it up to her knee, pushing the skirt with it. Anna hastily uncrossed her legs, and he squeezed, gently. ‘So you see, while you are required to report all your conversations to Herr Himmler, I am required to report all of my conversations to Herr Himmler’s master, who is the master of all of us. But I understand that you are obliged to obey your immediate master in all things, and I respect that. All I require is that you do not lie to me, because that would be lying to the Führer.’

  His hand left her knee, but only to slide higher, on to her thigh, again taking her skirt with it. Anna made herself keep very still; she knew she was on the edge of a crisis, but how personal it would be – apart from sexual – she could not yet estimate.