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

by Christopher Nicole

  And she never thought to tell me you had called, Anna thought. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Lohengrin, was it? I didn’t know you were a Wagner fan?’

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’ Anna asked, innocently.

  ‘Oh, absolutely. But . . . You went alone?’

  ‘No, sir.’ She did not know how many of the people she had encountered at the theatre were Gestapo employees. ‘I was escorted by Count von Steinberg.’

  ‘Freddie? Such a nice lad. And talented, too. He has a great future in front of him, you know. But’ – Himmler frowned – ‘I wouldn’t have thought he was your type.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so either, Herr Reichsführer. But he invited me. I do not get many invitations,’ she added a trifle wistfully. ‘About this woman . . .’

  ‘I think that is terrible,’ Himmler said. ‘An attractive young woman like you. Do you know who you should take up with? Hellmuth Essermann. He is very fond of you, you know, and I am sure he is more to your taste than Freddie von Steinberg.’

  Anna laid down the pencil she had been holding just before she snapped it in two. ‘I have no doubt of it, sir. This woman . . .’

  ‘Would you like me to have a word with him? Tell him you are, or might be, receptive.’

  ‘No, I would not,’ Anna all but shouted. ‘You say this woman was arrested yesterday. Where is she now?’

  ‘Oh, she is still in Lübeck. I told them to keep her there for the time being.’

  ‘May I ask why she was arrested?’

  ‘Well, obviously, after Bartoli’s suicide, and the message from London, his name was circulated to all our agencies, with instructions to hold for interrogation anyone attempting to contact him. Frankly, I never expected anyone just to walk into our arms like that, which is why I have a feeling that she may be an innocent coincidence. Still, there it is, she has to be investigated.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Anna took a deep breath. ‘And you say she has been in the hands of the Gestapo in Lübeck for twenty-four hours? Under interrogation?’ In which case, she thought, she has either gone mad or told them everything they wish to know.

  ‘No, no. I only told them to hold her, but not to begin interrogation until someone arrived from Berlin. This business is potentially too important to be handled by some flat-footed policeman.’

  Anna managed to suppress a sigh of relief. ‘I entirely agree with you, sir. I will go up there now. Supposing I encounter opposition . . . I am not the Gestapo’s favourite person.’

  ‘And they don’t even know the truth about Feutlanger, eh? Ha. I will telephone Lübeck now and tell them that the Countess von Widerstand, a senior officer in the SD, is coming to take over the investigation, and that she is to be obeyed in everything without question. You will use an official car. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Entirely, sir. With your permission, I will leave immediately.’

  *

  Anna knew that Lübeck had been heavily bombed by the RAF just about the time of the Hamburg raid in July. Indeed, as it was only a few kilometres north of the devastated city, the whole countryside seemed in a state of febrile collapse; her car had to stop at several roadblocks to reach the Baltic seaport. But her driver’s SD pass eased her journey.

  She had carefully placed her mind on hold, as she had no idea what to expect. She actually knew very little about Bartoli’s business, where he had obtained his stock; it would make sense for him to deal with an Italian wholesaler. In which case this unfortunate female had innocently walked into a situation she could not possibly understand. At the same time, she was expecting an English contact, and as London could not possibly yet know that Bartoli was dead, it would make logical sense for them to have given their messenger the boutique as a cover. Or did it? When, the previous year, she had first expressed her doubts as to Bartoli’s reliability and they had sent Judith de Sotomayer as a back-up contact, they had deliberately told Bartoli nothing about it.

  But now she was here, and the car was drawing to a halt before Gestapo Headquarters. ‘I have no idea how long I shall be, Klaeger,’ she said as she opened the door. ‘But I will require to be taken back to Berlin, some time this afternoon or tonight.’

  ‘My instructions are to wait for you, Countess.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Your business?’ barked the armed guard on the door.

  ‘I am the Countess von Widerstand,’ Anna told him. ‘I am here to see your commanding officer.’

  The man looked at her pass and gulped, then clicked to attention before opening the door. ‘The Countess von Widerstand,’ he said to the corridor within. ‘To see Herr Werter.’

  Anna entered, nostrils dilating as she inhaled the stale but familiar air. A hard-faced woman secretary was just emerging from an office, but there was no one else about; it was in fact a small building with an obviously limited establishment. ‘I think you are expecting me,’ Anna said.

  The young woman looked her up and down. Before leaving Berlin Anna had gone home and changed into a frock, adding her jewellery but leaving her hair loose. This was because of her mischievous sense of humour: she knew, as Laurent had pointed out, that with her hair drifting past her shoulders she looked no more than eighteen. ‘From Berlin?’ the secretary asked, incredulously.

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘The message said the Countess von Widerstand?’

  ‘That is also correct. Are you going to keep me standing here all day?’

  The secretary gulped, and turned to the door as Werter emerged. Anna was congenitally conditioned to disliking all Gestapo agents on sight, and she saw no reason to change her opinion now. ‘What is the trouble, Gertrude?’ he inquired.

  ‘This young lady—’

  ‘I am Anna von Widerstand,’ Anna announced. ‘And I dislike being kept waiting. Were you not informed by the Reichsführer’s office that I was coming?’

  ‘We were informed’ – he also looked her up and down – ‘that a senior SD officer was coming to take charge of the prisoner Ratosi.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘You are a senior SD officer?’

  ‘Listen very carefully,’ Anna recommended. ‘I am the most senior SD officer you are ever likely to meet. I have been sent here, by Herr Himmler personally, to take charge of this prisoner of yours. I wish to see her – now. Or would you like me to telephone the Reichsführer and tell him that you are being entirely uncooperative?’

  Werter considered for a moment, then looked at Gertrude and waggled his eyebrows. She returned to her office, no doubt, Anna supposed, to telephone Berlin and obtain confirmation and a description. ‘If you will come with me, Fräulein,’ Werter said.

  ‘You will address me as Countess.’ Anna told him. ‘I would first of all like to see the prisoner’s effects.’

  ‘Yes, ah . . . Countess.’ He ushered her into his office. ‘Her shoulder bag, and her valise. She was travelling very light.’

  Anna pointed. ‘And what are those?’

  ‘Those are her clothes, Countess.’

  ‘Her clothes? What is she wearing now?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘She is naked in her cell? How long has she been in that condition?’

  ‘Since she was searched, yesterday morning.’

  ‘I see. Is she a good-looking woman?’

  ‘Attractive, Countess.’

  ‘So she was abused.’

  ‘She was not abused, Countess. She was searched.’

  Anna knew exactly what that would have entailed, but it could keep, for the moment. ‘And since then you have kept her naked for your personal gratification.’

  ‘By no means, Countess,’ he protested. ‘Keeping a prisoner naked is an essential part of discovering the truth about them. It robs them of their self-esteem, their confidence. Also, when they have no clothes, it is impossible for them to commit suicide. It is in the manual.’

  ‘You mean she has been given no bedclothes either.’

  ‘It is in the manual.�
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  ‘I am sure it is. But no doubt you have looked at her from time to time.’

  ‘It is my duty to do so, Countess. To make sure—’

  ‘That she has not committed suicide. Having taken steps to make sure that she could not commit suicide even if she wished to. Don’t tell me: that also is in the manual.’ She emptied the shoulder bag on to the desk.

  ‘In that pill box,’ Werter said, ‘there is a cyanide capsule.’

  Oh, the fool, Anna thought. ‘Which she did not use?’

  ‘I think we surprised her.’

  ‘Hm.’ Anna picked up the passport, flicked it open, and could not prevent herself from drawing a sharp breath.

  ‘Countess? You know this woman?’

  Do I know this woman? Anna thought. She had only met Belinda Hoskin on one occasion, and that had been three years ago, but as it was an occasion she would never forget, so Belinda’s was a face she would never forget either. But Belinda, here, in a Gestapo cell . . . What in the name of God could Clive be playing at? But one thing was overwhelmingly certain: she had to play her end of the game with absolute accuracy and absolute certainty. She certainly could not allow Belinda to see her face until she could be put in the picture. ‘No, I do not know her,’ she said. ‘But she is certainly attractive. There is nothing incriminating here.’ She opened the valise, flicked through the clothing, took out the sample charts, giving her heart time to settle down. ‘She appears to be a travelling saleswoman.’

  ‘That is what she claims, certainly.’

  ‘And you found that suspicious.’

  ‘I was acting on instructions, Countess, that I should place under restraint anyone who attempted to enter or leave the country, with any connection to the man Bartoli, who recently committed suicide. Perhaps you do not know of this.’

  Anna had determined how this should be handled. ‘I watched him die,’ she said.

  Werter’s mouth opened, and then snapped shut again. ‘She was also carrying a suicide pill.’

  ‘So you say. I think I will have to take this woman to Berlin. But I will carry out a preliminary investigation now.’

  ‘Because she is a good-looking woman?’ Werter suggested, slyly.

  ‘Why, yes,’ Anna agreed. ‘It is always more amusing to interrogate an attractive woman than an ugly one. Very good. She is in your cell downstairs. You have an interrogation room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then place her in there. Secure her for a flogging. And see that she is blindfolded.’

  ‘Countess?’

  ‘Is that not in the manual? Being blindfolded is far more disconcerting than being naked, Herr Werter. If one does not know who is interrogating one, or what is about to be done to one, one cannot prepare oneself to resist.’

  ‘That is a very interesting point,’ Werter agreed.

  ‘Then, as I say, prepare her, and let me know when she is ready. You have a radio down there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When she is ready for me, switch it on full volume.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Very good. I am waiting.’

  Anna put the pill box in her own bag, then sat in Werter’s chair behind the desk, keeping absolutely still; Gertrude looked in on her once, and hastily went away again. Anna hardly noticed her. She was composing herself for what lay ahead. She had no doubt that she could extricate Belinda from the mess into which she had been dumped, either by Clive or by her own carelessness, but it could only be done if Belinda was prepared to co-operate entirely and accept whatever was going to happen, whatever was going to be done to her. Anna wondered if she could, if her essentially positive personality and the sense of security that had been instilled into her by living in so civilized a country as England could yield as entirely as was going to be required. While she . . . she had known this feeling before, and always endeavoured to reject it. But she had never entirely succeeded. She could not deny that physical mastery, physical dominance, powerfully appealed to her subconscious. What was even more sinister, she knew that if Belinda would not fully cooperate, she would have to be eliminated as ruthlessly as Bartoli had been. Had she, as Werter claimed, been too surprised to take the pill? or had she not been sufficiently trained? or had she simply lacked the courage? On their very brief acquaintance, Anna had not felt that she lacked courage.

  Werter appeared in the doorway. ‘She is ready for you, Countess.’

  Anna drew a deep breath and stood up. The time for brooding was past. ‘Well, then, take me to her.’

  He led her to the inevitable flight of stairs leading down. ‘You understand that we have a limited facility here.’

  ‘Are you telling me that this woman has been sharing a cell?’ That could have been catastrophic.

  ‘No, no. But we only have two cells. We do not have many subversives here.’

  ‘Then you are to be congratulated.’ Anna followed him along the corridor, so redolent of past horrors, and checked beside the table on which was the radio, playing a selection of, inevitably, Wagner. ‘That is not loud enough.’

  Werter raised his eyebrows. ‘Actually, Countess, she has not screamed at all. She complains all the time. She keeps telling me that I have no right to treat her so.’

  ‘But she has not yet been interrogated by me,’ Anna pointed out.

  Werter swallowed and turned up the volume. If Belinda could shriek as loudly as Brunhilde, Anna thought, she could well crack one of the bulbs. Werter opened the door of the interrogation cell.

  Anna was well acquainted with such rooms, having suffered in one herself. She was more interested in the woman standing in the centre of the floor than in the various unpleasant instruments hanging on the walls, although she also noted the security camera mounted just under the ceiling. There could be no faking.

  Belinda’s arms had been carried above her head, her wrists secured to iron rings suspended from the ceiling. There were no marks on her body, which was sufficiently voluptuous to allow Anna to feel that Clive must be a very contented man, in his domestic life. And she was alert; her head turned as the door opened.

  ‘Here we are, Countess,’ Werter said. ‘She is all yours.’

  Belinda’s head turned more sharply yet, and her mouth opened. ‘A—’

  Anna stepped up to her and hit her in the stomach. ‘Bitch! Speak when you are spoken to.’

  Belinda gasped, her body sagging, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for breath.

  ‘Now leave us,’ Anna told Werter.

  ‘Leave you? But . . .’

  ‘It is not in the manual? But I am conducting this interrogation, and there are things I may wish to do to this woman for which I would prefer you to be absent.’ Werter did another of his gulps, and Anna smiled at him. ‘But you can play the film over afterwards. I am sure you intend to do that anyway. Now out.’

  He hesitated, then clicked his heels and left, closing the door behind him. Anna stood close to Belinda, who was just recovering her breath, and pulled the hood from her head. Belinda gasped again as Anna slid her hands over her body. ‘I am sorry about this,’ she said into Belinda’s ear, her voice lost in the booming music. ‘But it is the only way I can talk to you and at the same time get you out of here. Do you understand?’

  ‘Oh, Anna, is it really you? I have been so afraid.’

  ‘It is really me. Now listen, I am going to play with you for a little while. While I do that we will talk. Then I am going to have to whip you. When I do that, you must scream as loudly as you can. Do you understand?’

  ‘Whip me? Oh, Anna . . .’

  ‘They are filming us. I have to interrogate you. It is a choice between being whipped, suffering electric shocks in your genitals, or having your nails pulled out. Believe me, the whipping is the least painful and you will recover from it more quickly than the others, both mentally and physically.’

  ‘But you will not hit me too hard, Anna.’

  ‘These people are not fools. I must mark your body.’


  ‘And you say you can get me out afterwards?’

  ‘Yes, if you obey me. Now gasp and wriggle.’

  Belinda was doing that anyway as Anna stroked her breasts and buttocks.

  ‘Clive sent you. Did he not give you my address?’

  ‘He made me memorize it.’

  ‘And he told you to go to Bartoli?’

  ‘As a back-up if I needed it.’

  ‘Then how did they connect you?’

  Belinda licked her lips. ‘I suppose I mentioned that I was going to the boutique, to the customs officer. He seemed so friendly.’

  ‘In other words you just about dug your own grave. In our profession, our business is to listen, never to offer gratuitous information. Now we have talked long enough. I am going to whip you.’

  ‘Oh, God! But Clive said that you had information to give me.’

  ‘I do. But it can wait until afterwards. Just remember, do not attempt to talk until I tell you it is safe to do so. Disobey me in this and I will kill you.’

  Belinda’s eyes had been half-shut as her breathing had become heavier. Now they opened very wide. ‘You—’

  ‘In this business, and for the sake of our ultimate victory, my life is more important than yours. Remember this.’

  The Directive

  ‘Ah, Anna,’ Himmler said. ‘Did you have success?’

  Anna stood before his desk. The capsule now rested in her own pill pouch; she did not see that there was any way that Werter, essentially a subordinate officer, and having surrendered his prisoner to her superior authority, could ever find out what had happened to her, or to the evidence against her. ‘Yes I did, Herr Reichsführer. But I am afraid that it is negative. The woman Ratosi is entirely innocent of any treasonable or subversive connection with Bartoli.’

  He frowned. ‘She was properly interrogated?’

  ‘I questioned her personally, sir. The session was recorded on film, if you wish to see it.’

  Himmler took off his glasses to polish them; Anna could tell that he was wondering if she had given way to the lesbian tendencies he was sure she possessed. Well, she thought, he would not be disappointed if he watched the film. But it was the surest way to distract him.