Angel in Red_The thrilling sequel to Angel From Hell

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Yes, comrade.’

  ‘That makes me so happy. Well, Olga, as the Countess understands the situation, I think you can take off the handcuffs.’

  The key clicked, and the handcuffs were removed. Anna rubbed her hands together; the returning circulation was painful.

  ‘Now,’ Ludmilla said. ‘I would like you to take off your clothes.’ Anna’s head jerked, and Ludmilla smiled at her. ‘I want to look at you. I do like looking at pretty things, and you are exceptional.’

  Anna could not stop herself looking up at the cameras.

  ‘Oh, they like looking at pretty things too,’ Ludmilla agreed. ‘Poor dears, they get such few pleasures.’

  Anna sighed, stood up, and removed her dress, then hesitated.

  ‘Oh, everything,’ Ludmilla said.

  She could have been Dr Cleiner’s sister. Anna removed her cami-knickers and then her stockings; she had already kicked off her remaining shoe.

  ‘Exquisite,’ Ludmilla agreed. ‘Now, I wish you to go to that table over there, get on to it, and lie down. On your back to begin with, with your legs pulled up. I am going to search you,’ she explained, pulling on a pair of thin rubber gloves.

  Oh, my God, Anna thought. Not even Cleiner had wanted to do that. ‘What am I supposed to be concealing?’

  ‘I very much doubt that you are concealing anything. But it is part of the procedure, you see. And I do so enjoy putting my fingers into pretty little girls. They squeal so. But you,’ she added regretfully, ‘are not going to squeal, are you?’

  Anna looked up at the camera, which was moving to follow her as she went to the table. ‘No, comrade. I am not going to squeal.’

  *

  ‘There,’ Ludmilla said, stripping off the gloves and throwing them into the waste basket. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

  Anna had to concede that she was right, apart from the humiliation. ‘No, comrade. May I get up?’

  ‘Of course you must get up. We must move on.’

  Anna had been lying on her stomach. Now she brought her legs together and rose to her knees. Olga, standing beside her, held her breasts as if she wanted to fluff them out; Anna stared at her and she stepped away. The wand hanging from her wrist swung to and fro as if anxious to be used again, but Ludmilla had apparently forbidden this for the time being.

  ‘You will find,’ Ludmilla said chattily, ‘that the procedure we follow is not on the whole very painful, although it can be, if you prove unnecessarily recalcitrant. It is far better than in the old days.’

  Anna swung her legs to the floor and stood up.

  ‘In the old days,’ Ludmilla continued, ‘the way to make an inmate suffer without it showing in court – apart from beating, of course – was to stuff finely broken glass up his or her ass. This was usually very effective, of course. But it was extremely painful, so much so that in some cases the victim went out of his or her mind. This was counter-productive, as you are required to be lucid when you appear before the judges. And, naturally, it did permanent damage.’

  Anna felt like lying down again. ‘But this method is no longer used?’ she suggested optimistically.

  ‘No, no. We are far less primitive nowadays. Come along.’

  She opened a door at the rear of the room, and stepped into a corridor. Anna glanced at Olga, received a quick nod, and followed. A short walk brought them to another door, which Ludmilla opened, to enter a large, square room, entirely devoid of furniture. There was, however, a coiled hose in one corner, beneath a tap protruding from the wall, and a wooden beam extending across the ceiling, from which was suspended a thick leather strap. And in another corner the ubiquitous camera hung from the ceiling, moving slowly to and fro while it focused on Anna. Beneath the camera, set in the wall, there was an electric control box, in which there were several buttons and levers.

  ‘This is the bathroom,’ Ludmilla explained. ‘You will be spending a lot of time here. Olga.’

  Olga pointed to where she wanted Anna to stand, which was exactly beneath the strap, from which she now saw there was suspended a steel hook. Anna assumed the required position, and Olga took the handcuffs from her belt, brought Anna’s arms in front of her, and cuffed the wrists together. Then she raised the arms and fitted the links of the cuffs over the hook to hold them there, before going to the wall and pressing a button on the box. Instantly a motor hummed, and the strap receded into the ceiling, just far enough to raise Anna on to her tiptoes.

  ‘There,’ Ludmilla said. ‘That is not too uncomfortable, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Anna muttered. It was actually by no means uncomfortable at the moment, although she knew it would become so if she was forced to endure it for any length of time. She was more concerned by the fact that she was now totally exposed to whatever these two harpies wished to inflict upon her.

  She watched Olga cross the room, open a door, and step through. ‘It gets very wet in here,’ Ludmilla explained. She now picked up the hose by the nozzle. ‘The water will be somewhat cold, although not as cold as if it were midwinter, eh? Ha ha.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Anna agreed faintly.

  The door opened again and Olga returned, now as naked as Anna herself. She stood against the far wall, next to the control box. ‘Now,’ Ludmilla said. She still held the nozzle of the hose, and this she directed at Anna. Olga pulled one of the levers halfway down, and the hose began to swell.

  Anna took a deep breath, and was then enveloped in a stream of water, playing on her legs, splattering up over her stomach. As the water was in fact not very cold, it was by no means unpleasant. Slowly she allowed her breath out of her lungs.

  ‘Full,’ Ludmilla said.

  Involuntarily Anna half turned her head, and was struck a tremendous blow between her shoulder blades. The force spun her round and she glimpsed Ludmilla fighting to keep hold of the nozzle. Then water was cascading over her face and hair, and as she was turned again it struck her between her breasts, driving the breath from her lungs. Before she could react the jet was on her face itself, slamming into her mouth and nose and eyes.

  I am about to die, she thought. I am being drowned while standing on my feet. Then the pressure died, and she was left gasping and spitting; a good deal of the water had got down her throat and she still felt as if she were choking; it was several seconds before she could take even the shallowest of breaths.

  She opened her eyes and gazed at Olga, who had come forward and now slapped her on the back, so that she gasped and choked again and vomited.

  ‘That was such fun,’ Ludmilla said. ‘Wasn’t that fun, Anna?’

  Anna was still gasping too much to speak. In any event, all she wanted to do was curse at her.

  ‘But we cannot just have fun,’ Ludmilla said, without regret. ‘The hose can be used for a more serious purpose. It can inflict exquisite pain. It can cause damage. It can even kill. We will show you.’

  Anna opened her mouth to scream, and then changed her mind. She would not give them that much pleasure. Besides, perversely, she was curious. Olga had switched off the water before coming forward. Now she returned to the panel and lowered the lever again, but only a third of the way. Water flowed, but with none of the earlier power. Ludmilla played the flow over Anna’s groin. ‘That is very nice, eh? But you see, if I twist the nozzle, so . . .’ She did so, and the jet narrowed. Ludmilla twisted some more, and it became as thin as a pencil, and then as a pencil lead. Now it was quite painful, feeling like a needle jab. ‘Try to imagine,’ Ludmilla suggested, ‘what it would feel like if we were to give it full volume. Do you know, I have cut off a woman’s nipple with this jet? And if I were to put it inside you . . . an instant hysterectomy.’

  Anna had got her breathing back under control, and kept her voice even. ‘What happens if I write you out a full confession now, and do not attempt to defend myself?’

  ‘Why, you will be convicted.’

  ‘And sent to prison?’

  ‘For planning to kill Marshal Stalin?’ Ludmil
la gave a shout of laughter, and even Olga smiled. ‘Good heavens, no. You will be shot, Countess.’

  *

  ‘Tell me,’ Clive said.

  The two men sat at a corner table of a small café just around the corner from the American Embassy. It was Saturday afternoon and he had only just reached Moscow. He had telephoned immediately on landing, before even calling at his own Embassy, where he would be staying.

  Now Andrews poured them each a glass of vodka. ‘I think you need to tell me.’

  Clive drank. ‘I need to know how you became involved. And how involved.’

  Andrews considered briefly, then nodded. ‘That’s reasonable. I met her in the Berlin on Tuesday night, entirely by chance. She told me she was looking for someone. She didn’t say who, but I have an idea it was your man Sprague, only he hadn’t shown. But she had this large envelope with her, addressed to you, so I’m pretty sure that she wasn’t there just for a drink. However, she accepted a drink from me. I could see she was upset about something, so I asked if I could help. She thought about it for a while, then asked if I could send the envelope in our Diplomatic Pouch, and see that it got to you.’ He paused to sip his drink.

  ‘And that’s all? Doesn’t tie in with your telegram, old man.’

  Andrews put down his glass. ‘I guess not. I’m afraid old habits die hard. I could tell she was on to something big, and frankly I was intrigued. She’s a German spy, and you’re a British spy-catcher, and here she is sending you a personal letter. So . . .’ He flushed. ‘I opened the envelope.’

  ‘I see. And what was in it?’

  ‘I guess some would call it a suicide note. Others might go for a love letter. Either way, it sure was a farewell, from her to you. She had even enclosed some very valuable pieces of jewellery. You didn’t give them to her, by any chance?’

  ‘That poor kid! No, I did not give her any jewellery. And on the strength of that letter you made certain deductions. One being that she is actually one of ours.’

  ‘That seemed pretty obvious. I have to congratulate you on that. I wish she were one of ours, just for the chance to get close to her.’ He sighed. ‘I guess you’ve done that.’

  Clive preferred not to answer. ‘What about this Friday deadline. Yesterday.’

  ‘The letter was very discreet as to events, but she did say that her orders had to be carried out on Friday. Would those have been your orders?’

  ‘No. She gets her German orders direct from Heydrich.’

  ‘And he had given her orders which could involve her death? Why didn’t she just go to your Embassy and get out?’

  ‘Because she can’t do that.’

  ‘Would you like to explain that?’

  Clive told him the story of Anna’s life.

  ‘Holy shit! That poor kid.’

  ‘So what has happened?’

  ‘As far as I know, nothing. There’s been no big noise about anything.’

  ‘Nothing from the Kremlin?’

  ‘No. Not that there ever is anything from the Kremlin,’ Andrews pointed out. ‘You know what the orders were?’

  ‘I have a pretty good idea. She was ordered to enter the Kremlin and assassinate Stalin.’

  Andrews stared at him for several seconds. ‘If you are as fond of that girl as she seems to think you are, I think it is God dammed bad taste to joke about it.’

  ‘One doesn’t joke about Anna. You aren’t aware of it, but, again on orders from Heydrich, she has wormed her way into a position of being old Joe’s favourite woman. They take tea together, in private, every Friday afternoon.’

  ‘Holy shitting cows. And you reckon . . . You mean you knew this was going to happen, and you just sat back and did nothing? You actually sacrificed the girl just to cause trouble between Germany and Russia?’

  ‘If we had been prepared to do that, would I be here now? We knew this was on the cards, but didn’t know how soon. We’ve been working on a plan to get her recalled to Germany, but it hasn’t worked yet. Now it’s too late.’

  ‘Oh, come now. You have to be putting me on. You reckon Heydrich would employ a twenty-one-year-old girl to carry out a high-powered political assassination? And even if he was that crazy, how was it to be done? Not even Stalin’s favourite woman gets to see him without being frisked by his bodyguards. So where is she supposed to conceal her tommy-gun, or grenade, or even a small pistol. It’s just not practical.’

  ‘Joseph.’ Clive spoke earnestly. ‘I know you think Anna is the sweetest chick currently walking the face of this earth. And she can be that. But she is also the most deadly woman walking the face of this earth. She was trained, programmed if you like, by the SD. With a gun, she could shoot your eye out at fifty yards. I have seen her at work. But she is even more deadly with her bare hands. I have seen her at work there too.’

  Andrews produced a handkerchief and wiped his brow; he could have no doubt that Clive was speaking the truth. ‘Her letter gave the impression that you and she were . . . had been . . . well . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ Clive said. ‘We have been lovers, and I sincerely hope we will be lovers again.’

  ‘You mean, knowing what you do about her, you can . . .?’

  ‘You are starting to sound like my boss. Anna does everything supremely well.’

  Andrews digested this while he finished his drink. ‘So you reckon Stalin is dead.’

  ‘We have to find that out. And what Anna’s present status is. If she wasn’t killed outright, she’ll be under arrest somewhere. We have to get her out.’

  ‘If she wasn’t killed outright, after doing Stalin, she’ll be in the Lubianka. Nobody gets out of the Lubianka except to go on trial and then be shot. And by the time that happens, he or she has generally been tortured into a mental state where they cannot tell white from black, and will agree to whatever the prosecutor wants.’

  There was a crack, and Clive’s glass broke under the pressure of his fingers. But he spoke quietly. ‘Then we’ll just have to break the mould. I’m asking for your help, Joe.’

  ‘For Anna,’ Andrews said thoughtfully. ‘Jesus!’ He looked up. ‘You shall have it, and I hope we both don’t live to regret it. I have an acquaintance with Lavrenty Beria. You know him?’

  ‘I know of him. Isn’t he the boss of the NKVD?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s as cold-blooded as they come, but he spends a lot of time brooding on the future, and his part in it. I’m talking about when old Joe dies, even of natural causes. That makes him amenable to suggestion. In any event, he’ll know if anything happened in the Kremlin yesterday – and, if anything did, where Anna is now.’

  ‘Then he’s our best hope. When can you see him?’

  ‘It’ll have to be by appointment. And that can’t happen before tomorrow. Good thing the Soviets regard Sunday as a working day.’

  ‘By tomorrow, Anna could have spent two days in the Lubianka.’

  ‘So she could be having a tough time. But if everything you have told me about her is true, don’t you think she’ll be able to take it? Just remember that the Soviets require their accused to appear in court in apparently perfect health and unmarked.’

  ‘Cheer me up. You do understand that no one can know that Anna is a British operative. What are you going to tell Beria?’

  ‘If life were easy, wouldn’t it be a damned bore? But I have some ideas.’ He got up. ‘I’ll be in touch, just as soon as possible.’

  *

  ‘Shit!’ Sprague remarked, having listened to what Clive had to say. ‘What a fuck-up.’

  ‘The fuck-up is your not being at the Berlin on Tuesday night.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Clive, she hadn’t shown for three months. We had to determine that she wasn’t going to play ball any more. Anyway, it was the Ambassador’s decision. You know he never was happy about the Berlin set up. It was his decision that it should be terminated.’

  ‘So now we may have lost her. In every way.’

  ‘Well, old man, there does happen t
o be a war on. People are being done every day. Even beautiful people like your Anna.’

  ‘Listen,’ Clive said, ‘shut up.’

  *

  He had been given a room at the Embassy, and to his surprise slept heavily. But then, he was exhausted, physically from the three days of endless travel, and emotionally by the thought of what might have happened to Anna, or still be happening to her.

  When he awoke it was to a familiar sound, but one which belonged to London, not Moscow. He sat up, and his door opened. ‘What the hell is an air-raid siren for?’

  Sprague was fully dressed. ‘The balloon has gone up.’

  ‘Oh, my God! Anna?’ Although what she could have to do with an air-raid siren he couldn’t imagine.

  ‘She may well have had something to do with it. The Germans have invaded. Planes are supposed to be heading this way now. You reckon they were just waiting for Stalin’s death?’

  Clive got out of bed and began to dress.

  ‘You realize,’ Sprague went on, ‘that this puts the kybosh on any hope she may have had of claiming diplomatic immunity.’

  Clive was getting his thoughts under control. ‘Where is this invasion taking place?’

  ‘Everywhere. Right along every border Russia has with Europe, the whole two thousand miles. Can you imagine the forces that must be involved?’

  ‘But the Soviets have at least as many, haven’t they?’

  ‘Maybe. But they seem to have been taken completely by surprise. There appears to be absolute chaos out there. And there is total panic here.’

  ‘What is London doing about it?’

  ‘I imagine London is just waking up to it.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll chip in?’

  ‘I doubt it. Winston regards the Soviets as thieves and murderers. He’s said so, publicly. Anyway, it makes sense to let them and the Nazis slug it out. Whoever wins, if anyone actually does, will be too exhausted to come back at us for a while.’

  ‘I have to make a phone call,’ Clive said. But Andrews was unavailable.

  *

  ‘Mr Andrews,’ Lavrenty Beria said. ‘I’m afraid I can only spare you five minutes. I am sure you understand the situation.’ He was a very tall man, who wore a pince-nez on the bridge of his big nose. The nose and the glasses were the only notable features in the large, bland face and the entirely bald head. But unlike all the members of staff Andrews had encountered on his way up to this office, he seemed to be entirely calm.