Threat

by Hugh Fraser

  I’m feeling tired now and it’s too early to phone Nick, so I lie on the bed and close my eyes. The mattress is really hard and lumpy but in a bit I relax and I’m seeing the view out of the window of the plane again and the tiny houses and roads, and I think how all this aggravation that we have in our lives is only tiny and small as well and doesn’t really matter at all.

  I’m woken by a banging noise and I sit up and can’t think where I am and I start to breathe quickly. I see my suitcase on the floor and I remember I’m in Berlin and someone’s knocking on the door. I unlock it and open up and Olga is there in her cloak holding a towel and a bar of soap. I can see a large leathery thigh where the cloak has parted below her waist.

  ‘I take bath. You want?’

  Not being quite sure what she has in mind I shake my head and say, ‘I’m all right thanks.’

  ‘We leave in one half hour. Ok?’

  ‘Ok.’

  She stomps off along the corridor and I go back into the room and look at the time. My watch says it’s gone six o’clock and I decide to phone Nick. I take some deutschmarks out of my purse, find his phone number and head downstairs.

  The old lady’s behind the desk and at first I think she’s writing in her book again but when I get close I see that she’s asleep with her head resting on her folded arms. I cough a couple of times and she wakes, sits up straight, says something to me in German and smiles. I ask her if she speaks English and she smiles again and says, ‘A little bit, I think.’

  I tell her I want to phone London and show her the number. She pulls an old candlestick phone towards her across the desk, takes the earpiece off the side and dials a short number. She waits a bit and then says some stuff in German and spells out the number. It sounds like she’s spitting the numbers out as if they don’t taste nice. She waits for a minute and then puts the phone on the counter and passes me the earpiece. I pull the phone towards me.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Do not identify yourself.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Fortunately the cheekbone is not broken and the girl, although in severe shock and quite distressed, is expected to make a full recovery.’

  ‘Serves her fucking right.’

  ‘The girl’s parents have been persuaded not to pursue the matter.’

  ‘Can she stay at school?’

  ‘Your sister’s case has been considered by the headmistress and it has been decided that she will enter a probationary period for the remainder of the term. If another serious breach of the rules occurs she will be expelled. I trust that is satisfactory.’

  ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘Your sister has been told of the decision and appears to accept it.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Our arrangements remain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I hang up the earpiece, take a couple of slow breaths and I feel relieved that she’s safe, at least for now. I pass the phone back to the old lady, offer her five deutschmarks and she takes the note and gives me three coins in change. I thank her and go back upstairs.

  I have a wash at the basin, put on some make-up and brush my hair. I look at the clothes I’ve brought and decide on a loose skirt and a silk blouse which will be just about smart enough for a club but easier to move in than a tight dress, in case there’s any rough stuff. I put on my court shoes which have a low heel and a solid enough toe. I pick up my suede jacket and go and knock on Olga’s door.

  She’s wedged herself into a dark red taffeta dress with long sleeves that must have the strongest stitching in the world. The material rasps against her thighs and her armpits as she walks to the bed and picks up an evening bag. Her hair is plastered down with lacquer and she’s wearing red lipstick and black eyeliner. The whole effect is grotesque but when she turns towards me and stands for a moment, it’s clear she’s expecting a compliment.

  ‘You look lovely,’ I say.

  She looks relieved. ‘You also.’

  She takes a light jacket out of the wardrobe and puts it on. I’m wondering where the file can be. It’s too big to be in the evening bag so it must be under the dress somewhere. I open the door for her and we go down the stairs to the foyer. The old lady is either writing or asleep and she doesn’t look up as we walk past her.

  The street is quite busy and as people hurry past us I catch bits of German and see different fashions and colours in the clothes and I really notice it being foreign and not like London. When we get to to the corner and turn onto a much wider street with trees along each side of it and bright lights from bars and restaurants, Olga says, ‘This is Kurfürstendamm, called Ku’damm for shorter. Famous street.’

  We walk on for a bit then she stops outside a restaurant and looks at the menu by the door.

  Through the window I can see white tablecloths and waiters in aprons.

  ‘We go here,’ she says as she pushes open the door.

  A waiter approaches us, takes us to the back of the restaurant and seats us. At the next table an elegantly dressed older couple are sipping soup and ignoring each other. The man has a droopy moustache and wears a monocle. The woman has steely grey hair and a prim look about her and she raises her napkin and dabs her lips between each mouthful. She looks round at us and when she sees Olga she becomes very still and goes rather pale. She dabs her lips again, looks down at her soup and pushes it aside. I try not to smile and pick up the menu. It’s all in German of course so I lay it down again. Olga looks at me over the top of her menu.

  ‘Stew or sausage?’

  ‘I’ll have the same as you,’ I say.

  ‘Beer?’

  I nod and she waves to the waiter and gives him the order. The prim lady is still staring.

  Olga takes a look at her and turns to me. ‘You think she wants me?’

  ‘I reckon if you played your cards right,’ I laugh.

  Olga turns and winks at the woman. She drops her napkin, stands up, nearly knocking her chair over and hurries towards a door with a drawing of a lady in a big hat on it. Her companion glances up briefly, adjusts his monocle and continues sipping.

  The stew is thick and heavy with beans, chunks of meat and two dumplings. Olga leans over her bowl and shovels it in as if she’s going all out to win an eating contest. I manage about half of mine in the time it takes her to finish and when I sit back and indicate that I’ve had enough she reaches for my plate, wolfs the contents, gulps down her beer and calls the waiter. While she’s talking to him the prim lady comes out of the cloakroom, edges towards the table and sits with her back to us. The waiter toddles off and comes straight back with a plate of cakes and pastries and two more beers. Olga offers the plate to me and when I shake my head she makes short work of two apple tarts and a pile of whipped cream. She finishes her beer, burps twice, and looks at her wristwatch.

  ‘You want to go club?’

  21

  Out on the street, Olga puts two fingers in her mouth, whistles at a passing taxi and the driver swerves to the kerb and stops. We get in and she gives him a name. As we move off she groans, rubs her back and says, ‘Mattress so damn hard.’

  ‘Mine was really lumpy,’ I say.

  ‘Stuffed with hair from concentration camps.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘From shaving heads of Jewish women in Ravensbrück.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. By order of SS man, Oswald Pohl.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Hanged.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Hid in Bavaria after war but Americans found him.’

  Olga looks out of the window and keeps rubbing her back then her hand moves over the seat and finds mine. I don’t pull it away as I need to keep her sweet. I’m looking up at the moon through the trees and thinking about the evil that went on in the concentration camps when she squeezes my hand and says, ‘Maybe we go to different kind of club?’

  The way she’s looking sideways at me gives me a good idea of what kind of club she’
s thinking about.

  ‘If you like,’ I say.

  She speaks to the driver and he nods and we go on along the Ku’damm with jostling cars and tooting horns and then turn off and drive along quieter streets for a bit until the taxi turns into a backstreet and stops. Olga pays the driver and we get out, walk along the street, turn into an alleyway and stop outside a door with a sign next to it that says Aquarium Club.

  A bearded man in a sheath dress and a blond wig opens the door when Olga knocks and after she talks to him and hands him some notes he stands back to let us in. We walk along a dark corridor and Olga gives some coins to a dark haired boy of about fifteen who is sitting on a stool in the shadows at the far end. The boy hangs our jackets up on some hooks in the corner and I follow Olga down the stairs.

  The room’s dark and the air’s heavy with cigarette smoke. There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling but most of the bulbs are gone and the lights on the walls only give a dirty glow to the peeling paintwork. Through the gloom I make out a naked man and woman on a dimly lit stage at the far end of the room and as my eyes adjust I can see that the man is giving her one. She’s lying on her back on an iron bed and he’s on top of her and she’s stretching her arms out and moaning. He goes at her like that for a bit then he turns her over and gets into her from behind. She’s up on all fours and trying to look like she’s carried away with ecstasy but just looks bored and pissed off.

  Olga finds a table near the back of the room and I sit facing away from the stage. A man in a rubber dress and fishnet tights wobbles up to the table carrying a tray. Olga orders whisky and I do the same.

  ‘We have bottle?’ asks Olga.

  I want something to take my mind off the cabaret so I nod in agreement. I look round at the next table and there’s a man in a tutu and ballet shoes with a clown mask, beside a young girl with close cropped blond hair who looks like she’s naked until I spot the sequins on her body stocking. Looking at the other punters, who are mostly men in various kinds of dresses and a few butch women in men’s suits, I wonder why the floor show is so tame. I hear a few people clapping and look round and see the couple on the stage give a quick bow and walk off.

  The whisky arrives and I pour a drink for us both and down mine in one. Olga does the same and pours us another. She nods towards the stage.

  ‘You like show?’

  I shrug. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Better later, I think.’

  A fat bloke with a bald head and sunglasses in a blue silk dressing gown with mules on his feet comes up to Olga and starts talking to her in German. She replies to him and he pulls a chair up beside her. When he raises his long cigarette holder to his lips I see that he’s got a small whip tied to his wrist. He slips his arm round Olga’s neck and starts mouthing something into her ear which makes her laugh so I turn away and let them get on with it.

  The next act up on the stage is two women. The older one’s wearing an old-fashioned gold coloured crinoline dress with a crown on her head and the young one’s in a leather jerkin and tights with a pageboy haircut. Some plonky old-fashioned music starts and the Queen calls the page to her and makes her kneel on the floor in front of her. As the Queen lifts up her dress and the page reaches for the waistband of her long silk knickers, I feel a poke in the shoulder. I turn round and Olga and the gent in the dressing gown are standing behind me. Olga bends close to my ear and says, ‘Come.’

  She turns and walks through the tables after the blue dressing gown to a door at the side of the room. I follow her and the man through the door into a long room with a row of three or four beds down one side, with curtains round them and lights inside. There’s moaning and groaning coming from the first one as we walk past and a slapping sound from the next one. The one at the end of the room is empty and as we get to it Olga’s escort slips off his dressing gown and dives onto the bed. Just as I’m about to make my excuses Olga closes the curtains on him and turns to me.

  ‘Take file from drawers!’ she hisses.

  She turns her back to me, bends over, lifts her dress over her head and I see the file sticking out of the top of her knickers. I reach across her massive arse, pull the file out, slide it up under my blouse and into the waistband of my skirt. She sees me do it, puts her arm round me and whispers in my ear, ‘You make good spy.’

  She points at the tent and says, ‘You want?’

  ‘I’ll see you back at the table,’ I say as slip out of her grasp and walk away. I only hope the bed’s strong.

  I go past the other beds, keeping my eyes front and go back into the club. On the stage, the Queen’s lying on the floor with the crinoline over her head. Her knickers are off and the page is doing her duty between her legs.

  I’m tempted to sit down and watch the show but I think better of it and look round for the ladies’ room. I see a couple of likely looking doors in the far corner and make for them. As I’m weaving through the tables I feel someone walking behind me. When I get into the corner of the room I turn and it’s the girl in the body stocking. She looks no more than seventeen and she’s slim and elfin but she looks strong, like a ballet dancer. I stand back to let her go past me. As she does so one of the doors opens and and two very drunk men lurch out and push her against me. She puts her hands on my hips to steady herself and stares into me with eyes that are such a deep crystal blue that for a moment I feel myself letting go and wanting her, but I come to my senses just in time and gently push her away. She seems about to speak, but then she lowers her head, turns back into the club and she’s gone.

  I go into a cubicle, lock the door and lean my back against it. When my head clears I take the piece of paper out of my pants to remind myself what I’m after and I remember that I have to look at the bottom line on the last page of the file and see which letters are in brackets after it says FM sonar. If it’s JK/QC in the brackets, then Olga thinks it’s the file with the false information about the submarine that she’s passing to the Russians and she’s ok. If it says QLA in the brackets, then it’s the genuine stuff and I’ve got to kill her. I open the file, turn to the last page, look at the bottom line and see QLA.

  I rip the file up as small as I can and try to flush it, but it won’t go down. I take the pieces out, open a bin that’s next to the toilet and shove them in among a bunch of old sanitary towels. I come out of the cubicle, wash my hands and feel for the blade in my suspenders. I take it out and put it in the back of my waistband. I’m thinking that it’s best if I do Olga in the street and leave her there, which is a risk but I don’t have much choice. I don’t want to kill her because I’ve come to quite like her, but she’s a traitor after all and she did kill Lordy, who was a nice old boy even if he was an old pervert, and he got Georgie into Leavendon which was good of him.

  I go back into the club and see her coming out of the room with the beds. She’s alone and she’s been quick and I wonder if she’s suffocated the man in the mask. She sees me and points to the exit door. As she walks past me she says, ‘We go to drop. You have the file?’

  I nod and follow her. The club’s filling up now and people are crowded round the bar at the back. There’s a fast-talking comic on the stage who’s getting some laughs and being heckled. As we’re going through the crowd round the exit door I feel a hand on my arse and another going between my legs. I turn and see a grinning red-faced man. There’s a big laugh from the audience so I catch him a sharp one below his ribcage with my elbow. He groans and doubles over while I nip up the stairs behind Olga and out into the alleyway.

  It’s dark and quiet and that little bit of action has got me going. I take out the blade and drop back a pace or two behind Olga. I look round and see there’s nobody in sight. As I’m about to trip her up to get her on the deck where I can do the business, there’s the blast of a siren and a police car skids to a stop at the end of the alley. Another car pulls up behind it and Olga grabs me and pushes me into a doorway. Four German police get out of each car, take their guns out and hurry past us to
the club. One of them bangs hard on the door. The man in the blond wig opens it and they push him aside and file in. I can hear screams and shouts as we hurry to the end of the alley and into the street.

  We get to the main road and stop a passing cab. Olga gives the driver the name of the Spider’s Web and says something else to him. He takes off fast, weaves around the cars in front and then turns off into a quiet street. Olga puts her hand on mine.

  ‘Thank you for waiting.’

  ‘That’s ok,’ I say.

  ‘When you look like me you take every chance you get.’

  I laugh and for a moment I feel sorry for what I’ve got to do. Then I remember what she did to Lordy and remind myself that she’s well in the game.

  The traffic’s thicker now and there are more people on the street. We go on down the Ku’damm and then the taxi does a left turn and then a right into a street with a concrete wall on each side. I hear the roar of an engine and then a pair of blinding lights are coming fast towards us. The car’s filled with light. The driver shouts and wrenches the wheel over. There’s a loud bang and the car smashes against the wall. I’m thrown against Olga, our heads crunch together and I pass out.

  • • •

  I feel a thump in the back, then another. I’m being pulled about and pressed against hard edges and I can’t move my arms. My eyelids are rubbing against something. I hear the noise of an engine and I know that I’m sliding about in the boot of a car that’s stopping and starting. I’m blindfolded, my hands and feet are tied and my head hurts. The sound of engines tells me we’re in the city and then the car speeds up and the bumps get smoother and we’re on a fast road. I feel around with my feet, find that I’m alone and wonder what happened to Olga. I squirm around and try to feel a sharp edge or a tool I can use to get free but there’s nothing. I twist my wrists back and forth against the ropes but they won’t give.