by Mark Mills
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And some things that needed to be said.” She took a sip of wine. “You’re right. I have to learn to let go of it, let go of Johan, live again. I don’t want to die. I want to have children, and I want to lie in a bath with them and read them fairy tales.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Pippi took the knife to her steak. “When you were being so horrid to me, you said you’d had a lot of practice. What did you mean?”
There was no way of saying it without sounding self-pitying.
“Being an orphan, a foundling, and with my coloring, at a private school for boys …” He paused briefly. “You learn to fight back with your tongue, and your fists if you have to.”
The prejudice he had endured at St. Theresa’s was tame compared to the abuse inflicted on him by a small but vicious minority of his peers at the King’s School, Ely. He had managed to deflect most of it by working hard in the classroom and shining on the sports field, but the chauvinism and racism would always be there in some form or other. At university, he had come within a hairsbreadth of being sent down from Trinity for breaking the nose of another student, a boy with a double-barreled name who had called him “Heathcliff” in the college bar.
“Heathcliff?” asked Pippi.
“From the novel by Emily Brontë—Wuthering Heights.”
Pippi shook her head: it didn’t mean anything to her.
“He’s a boy with gypsy blood and ideas above his station.”
“You’re not so dark,” said Pippi.
“Dark enough not to be a true Englishman.”
No, he had learned to accept a simple fact: the privileged establishment world made available to him by his parents was not one that would ever fully accept him. He had no history, no family tales stretching back generations. He was there only by the grace and favor of the couple who had adopted him.
He no longer sought or fought for acceptance in the way that he once had. He kept his head down, his mind on the job. And he had taught himself not to rise to the gibes and the petty public humiliations.
“What sort of things?” Pippi asked.
“Oh, you know, nonsense …”
Like the time in the officers’ mess at Risalpur when Captain Trevelyan, seated with his friends, had clicked his fingers at Luke, calling for service, before “realizing his mistake” and apologizing.
“Very funny.”
“Yes, lots of snorts and snickers,” said Luke. “It was Trevelyan’s wife I had the affair with.”
Pippi’s face brightened with delight. “Oh, that’s good. I like that. Tell me.”
“Really? It’s a pretty sordid story.”
“Even better,” she said, reaching for her wineglass.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Erwin kept the revs low, even when the patrol boat was long gone and all he could make out of it was the lazy sweep of its searchlight far to the south.
The moon overhead was a slender sickle, and he was happy to cruise gently along through the deep darkness, guided by the spangle of lights that was Meersburg on the far side of the lake. When he was within a few hundred meters of shore, he flicked on the launch’s running lights, opened the throttle, and altered his course toward the north.
Unsurprisingly, the small harbor at Dingelsdorf was deserted. He tied up at the jetty and dropped the key in the letter box at the harbor master’s hut. He would telephone tomorrow to explain, to make his peace with Herr Salzmann. Where he would be when he made that call, he still didn’t know. Maybe on the road to Metz, where his sister worked as a nurse. Or maybe he should head for Munich and lose himself there for a bit before contacting Kapitän Wilke. He had the night to decide.
The car was parked in front of the hotel where they all had eaten lunch only yesterday. Without the key, he had to use the hand crank, and his shirt was stuck to his torso by the time the engine finally fired. Most of his clothes were at the apartment in Konstanz, along with a spare revolver, but it would be too risky to spend the night there: the place was probably under surveillance. Kapitän Wilke didn’t know about his uncle’s sawmill in the woods, so that was where he headed, winding his way up into the hills west of Dingelsdorf, the headlights knifing the darkness.
Leaving nothing to chance, he parked the car in the woods and walked the last bit of track leading to the pasture. What little there was of the moon had sunk out of sight, and with only the dim glimmer of the stars to guide him, he made a slow, silent tour of both the barn and the farmhouse, satisfying himself that he wouldn’t be surprised by any unexpected guests.
The key was where it always lived, where Otto had placed it yesterday as they were leaving: in a hole in the masonry above the wooden lintel of the kitchen window. He unlocked the door and entered.
He had just time enough to register the unexpected smell of cigarette smoke before the beam of a flashlight hit him hard in the eyes, blinding him.
“I have a gun pointed at your head.”
He froze, coiled for action.
“Don’t do it, Erwin.”
Definitely Kapitän Wilke’s voice. He saw himself running blindly through the darkness of the pasture, the flashlight picking him out and a bullet slapping into his back, pitching him forward on his face.
“Kapitän Wilke?”
“Shut the door and bolt it.”
He did as instructed. The flashlight flicked to a chair at the kitchen table.
“Sit.”
A match flared and an oil lamp flooded the kitchen with warm light. Kapitän Wilke was dressed casually in flannel trousers and short-sleeved shirt. He replaced the lamp’s glass chimney, adjusted the wick, then switched off the flashlight.
“Schnapps?”
Erwin nodded warily. Wilke filled two small glasses and slid one across the table. “Surprised to see me?” he asked. “There’s not much I don’t know about you, Erwin. I’m very thorough when it comes to the people I work with.” He nodded at the glass. “Drink. You look like you could do with it. You look like you’ve been in a fight.”
“I have.”
“That’s good. It suggests you tried your best.”
“I did,” said Erwin. “I really did, but I was outnumbered.”
“They guessed it was you?”
“Pippi wasn’t sure if it was Otto or me. It’s why she lied to us about Friedrichshafen. I called you from Meersburg as soon as I knew, as soon as I could.”
“And when were you going to call me this time? Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no telephone line here.”
“I was just stopping to get some things before going to the apartment.”
“If you say so,” came the sardonic reply.
“I’ve only been back in the country half an hour.”
Wilke waved aside his words. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“And it wasn’t easy, I can tell you.”
“I really don’t care. Tell me instead about the Englishman, the one you mentioned when you called from Meersburg.”
“Hamilton? He knew what Pippi was up to. He was helping her. She must have taken him into her confidence.”
“What is he like?”
“Like?”
“I want to picture him. I want a sense of who he is.”
“Why?”
Wilke took a slow sip of schnapps before replying. “Because I had to call my brother last night and tell him that his son was dead, shot in the chest during an operation in Meersburg.”
Erwin felt a prickle of fear fan out across his shoulders. “That was your nephew? I’m sorry.”
Wilke’s laugh was more of a derisory snort. “Sorry? Yes, you will be if I find out there was anything you could have done to prevent it.”
“There wasn
’t, I swear. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to believe a word of what you tell me, Erwin, but I am going to hear you out.”
Wilke produced a bone-handled hunting knife and a coil of rope from a bag at his feet. He cut off two short lengths of rope and tossed them onto the table in front of Erwin. “Tie your ankles to the chair legs. Nice and tight. Don’t try to be clever.”
When it was done, he cut off another length of rope. “Put your hands behind the chair.” Erwin hesitated. “You have nothing to fear as long as you are entirely honest with me.”
He lashed Erwin’s wrists together tightly and wound the rest of the rope around his chest, binding him fast to the chair back.
“A word of warning: I may know more than you imagine, so think very carefully before replying.” Wilke perched on the table and topped up his glass with schnapps. “When did Hamilton first appear? And where did he come from?”
It was a methodical interrogation conducted by a man clearly experienced in such matters, a man who’d had time to order his thoughts and marshal his questions. Erwin played it straight. He had nothing to hide, even though he didn’t have all the answers. Who could say why Borodin had spared Hamilton’s life before dispatching him to Konstanz from Paris? And why had Hamilton agreed to help Pippi, despite the grave personal danger of doing so?
Wilke seemed happy enough to accept these unknowns for what they were and move on. He listened carefully to Erwin’s account of events as they had unfolded in Meersburg. “Clever girl,” he said eventually. “I’m a lucky man.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see? She suspected you, but it was me she was after. You were meant to make the telephone call to Friedrichshafen. She wanted me to show up. But the car with the children was late and everything changed. Her plan fell apart.”
It seemed a little far-fetched to Erwin, although he kept the thought to himself. He wasn’t going to say anything that might rile Wilke just as he was getting to the bit of the story that cast him in a better light. He described how, sensing that something was wrong, he had drawn a gun in the car, only to be overpowered and beaten all but unconscious by Otto. He lied about his time on the boat, crammed into that stinking compartment, terrified, certain that he was about to die, portraying it instead as an opportunity to collect his thoughts and work out his next move. On arriving in Switzerland, he had picked his moment before dropping the bombshell about Hamilton to the British major.
“Interesting,” said Wilke.
“It worked. He was taken straight into custody.”
“Interesting that they made such a mistake. They should have got rid of you before landing in Switzerland.” Wilke’s tone left Erwin in no doubt that in their position he would have done just that. “Go on.”
He explained that he had been treated well at the British Embassy in Bern, and the talk had been of Hamilton being sent back to Paris to face the music.
“What did you tell them about me?”
“You?”
“I haven’t figured in your story yet,” said Wilke. “I’m almost insulted. They must have asked you about me. Did you tell them I am with the Abwehr?” Erwin was about to reply when Wilke suddenly raised his hand. “I have a feeling you’re going to lie to me. Take a moment before you speak.”
Erwin took that moment and changed his mind. “Yes, I told them.”
“And what else did you say?”
“The truth: that you had approached me, threatened me.”
“Not that you took almost no persuading, and that you were well paid for your services?” Wilke didn’t wait for a response. “No, of course not; you were playing the victim. And it worked. That’s why you’re here now.”
“I suppose so.”
“And where is Hamilton?”
“As I said, in custody. Already on his way back to Paris, probably.”
Wilke laid his glass of schnapps aside and stepped closer. “I’m curious. I’ve warned you twice; I’ve given you every opportunity to be straight with me. So why would you want to lie?”
“I’m not lying to you,” Erwin blurted indignantly.
Wilke drew on the last of his cigarette, then stamped it out. “Hamilton was released by the British. So was Miss Keller. Does that sound like custody to you?”
Fear and confusion scrambled Erwin’s thoughts. “How? I mean … that’s not possible.”
“They left the embassy together in a taxi.”
How could Wilke possibly know? There was only one explanation. “You have someone in their embassy?”
Wilke shrugged. “I’d be surprised if they don’t have someone in ours, too.”
“I swear to you I didn’t know.”
“Relax, Erwin. I’m inclined to believe you. It happened after you’d left for the station.” Wilke loomed over him. “Do you have any idea where Hamilton might be?”
“Maybe. Yes. I might.”
“That’s not very convincing.”
“You have to promise to let me go.” He knew how foolish it sounded, even as the words spilled from his mouth.
“Look at you, Erwin. Do you seriously think you’re in any position to negotiate?” Wilke took up the revolver from the table and pointed it at Erwin’s left knee.
“No, don’t!”
“Then be quick.”
Erwin was. He explained how they had kept Hamilton tied up in the barn, and how he had followed Pippi out there and eavesdropped on a conversation between her and the Englishman. He hadn’t caught all of it, but he’d clearly heard Hamilton say that he was supposed to meet Borodin in Zurich on Tuesday afternoon.
“Tomorrow?” said Wilke.
“Yes.”
“Please tell me there’s more.”
Erwin knew he had no choice but to hand over the rest and hope for the best. “Café Glück. It’s in the old town. They’re meeting there at four o’clock.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this before?”
“It wasn’t relevant. I thought he’d been arrested by his own people.”
Wilke’s eyes bored into him. “If you’re making this up …”
“It’s what he said to Pippi. He could have been lying to her.”
“Let’s hope for your sake he wasn’t. We’ll know soon enough.”
Wilke lifted his bag onto the table and packed away the knife and what remained of the rope.
“You’re not going to leave me here like this, are you?”
“No, I’m going to gag you first,” said Wilke, pulling a strip of cloth from the bag.
“No one comes here,” said Erwin, a note of rising panic in his voice. “And my uncle’s away for another month.”
“I’ll be back before then.”
“But what if …” Erwin’s voice petered out.
“What if I don’t make it?” said Wilke.
“I’m just saying …”
“I know what you’re saying, and that’s enough talk for now.”
Wilke moved behind him and fitted the gag, fastening it with a double knot. Then he pocketed his cigarettes and examined the bottle of schnapps. “You know, this isn’t half bad.” He switched on the flashlight and twisted the knob on the lamp until the flame dimmed and died. Turning, he said, “It’s a good point, Erwin. Dehydration is a terrible way to die—slow and agonizing. Of course, maybe the rats will get you first.” He pressed the muzzle of the revolver between Erwin’s eyes. “I can spare you both possibilities right now, if you want me to.”
Wide-eyed with fright, Erwin shook his head vigorously.
Wilke smiled. “I didn’t think so.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Andrej had been warned, but he still wasn’t happy about being roused from his bed so early.
“Another hour,” he pleaded when the bedroom door swung open. Borodin handed
him a cup of tea. Andrej peered at it. “I don’t drink tea.”
“It’s for Frieda.”
“Oh.”
“Ten minutes?”
Andrej grunted and closed the door.
They had worked on the plan for most of the afternoon, and then again after dinner, after Frieda had gone to bed. But it remained in the abstract, lines and scribbles on a street map. Borodin was eager to actually walk the route, to see it for himself. It had always been a habit of his, a test of sorts: if he couldn’t picture the events unfolding in their proper order, then something was wrong and the whole strategy needed to be picked apart and reexamined.
They had many other preparations to make over the next few hours, but the first priority was scouting the terrain, before the city came properly to life. Unlikely though it was, there remained a slender possibility that Petrovic was already in Zurich. Bumping into him in the street before their two p.m. meeting at the restaurant would be unfortunate in the extreme.
Andrej’s mood had improved a little by the time they boarded the tram, though not by much.
“I’ve been thinking,” he growled, lighting a cigarette. “And I’ve concluded that it’s a terrible plan.”
“Do you have a better one?”
“Yes. Tell the Englishman that Petrovic is a friend of yours, a man who can be trusted; then take the money and leave.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“So why bother to meet up with Petrovic at the restaurant beforehand?”
“Curiosity,” Borodin replied. “And there are some things I need to hear from him first … assurances.”
“Assurances?”
“Promises.”
“He could have them typed up and notarized and they wouldn’t mean a damn thing.”
“We’ll see.”
Andrej sucked on the cigarette with distaste. “You forget, my friend, I know you far too well. There’s something else going on here. What is it?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
Borodin smiled benignly.
“It’s true you know me well, Andrej—maybe better than anybody. So tell me this: When have you ever known me to have second thoughts?”