City of Spies

by Mara Timon

  ‘A friend of yours?’ I asked Graf.

  Eduard’s face settled into a polite-but-neutral expression.

  ‘Not quite.’

  The introductions were brief; just shy of curt.

  ‘Frau Verin, may I introduce you to Herr Köhler?’

  I extended a cool hand to the man who had shot dead Alex Sinclair, allowing only a faint irritation that this man would interrupt our dinner to show on my face. People saw what they wanted to see, maybe even this man.

  ‘Good evening, Herr Köhler,’ I murmured, keeping my breathing deep and even. Extracting my hand from his, I noticed a red smudge, barely perceptible, across his right cuff.

  Pale eyes clawed over me, but Köhler’s expression remained unchanged.

  Eduard’s voice held a faint irritation. ‘Is there something I can do for you at this hour, Herr Köhler?’

  ‘My apologies, however, I need a word with the Herr Major.’ The faint mocking smile as he spoke to me.

  ‘Can’t it wait?’

  A languid gesture took in the dinner table and restaurant.

  ‘I am afraid not.’

  Eduard exhaled. Folded the linen napkin and placed it on the table.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, gesturing for Köhler to lead the way.

  The two henchmen followed them up the steps as the singers’ voices swirled around each other in a crescendo.

  Would both henchmen leave if they thought I was a risk? If Köhler was telling Graf who I really was? I didn’t think so, although they could be waiting outside.

  What information would pass hands? Did it involve me or some other unfortunate soul?

  I raised the glass only to put it down. The sgian dubh was strapped to my thigh, but how far would it get me against three armed Gestapo bastards and an Abwehr agent who, despite his loyalties, I rather liked?

  At the table near the singers, the Portuguese men had stiffened, their attention on the dark velvet curtain at the top of the steps, separating the restaurant from the outside.

  Why? Why be concerned when one German came to speak with another? Why were they here?

  Under the tablecloth, I eased my skirt high enough to grip the hilt of the dagger. Who was Köhler and what was his agenda? The Gestapo’s reach didn’t usually extend this far, certainly not into a neutral country. Even if the Abwehr didn’t have the best reputation here, they reported to Admiral Canaris; they weren’t part of Himmler’s SS.

  My left forefinger tapped out the time on the base of my wineglass as five minutes extended into ten, into twenty, my attention ping-ponging between the stairwell and Rios Vilar.

  Finally, Eduard’s tall frame re-emerged. While he looked, if possible, even more exhausted, he moved with his usual grace through the small room, stopping briefly to speak with a waiter, but ignoring the Portuguese men at the other table.

  ‘Apologies, Angel. Unfortunately, that was unavoidable.’

  He squeezed my shoulder as he slid past me, and then paused.

  ‘Problem?’ I couldn’t stop myself from asking, fingers tightening around the sgian dubh.

  He hummed a non-response, his eyes still at my shoulder. The scar, as usual, was covered, but had Köhler asked him about it? Well, if so let him. Even if Graf ever saw it, the timeline was off; this scar couldn’t be confused with a wound taken in June.

  ‘Eduard? Is everything OK?’

  He met my eyes and offered an apologetic smile.

  ‘Certainly.’

  Despite sensing Rios Vilar’s attention, I took a small sip of wine and raised an eyebrow, willing him to fill the silence with an explanation.

  His half-smile acknowledged my tactics and allowed me a small victory.

  ‘There was a risk that Herr Köhler wished to discuss with me.’

  Another sip, this one larger. ‘And?’

  A small shrug. ‘I do not think it is important – he did.’ He held up a hand to stop further questioning. ‘That is all I can tell you.’

  All he could tell me, or all that he was willing to tell me with Rios Vilar and his men sitting a few feet away? He smiled, but the tension didn’t abate.

  My hand brushed the hilt of the sgian dubh as glanced across the room, meeting the Portuguese man’s eyes. Between him, the grey-haired man, and the blasted soirée at Bendixen’s villa, it wasn’t likely to abate any time soon.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  T

  hree risks that I knew of, and that didn’t include the attempt on my life at the monastery; of the three, Köhler was the easiest one to mitigate. I could eliminate him. I could find out where he lived and make him disappear. However, while that would get rid of the man, it would shine a light on the problem. I had no choice but to watch the situation, and take action only when I was in direct danger.

  My reflection didn’t reveal any hints of anxiety. The Balenciaga dress brought out the green of my eyes and was complimented by an emerald and diamond necklace won from Laura’s husband in a game of baccarat. I looked calm and confident. Ready.

  I breathed in the night air. Roses and jasmine, undercut by the ozone that preceded a good storm. I closed the balcony’s French door and turned on the wireless in time to hear the BBC newsreader commenting on the combined initiative between the RAF and the USAF in bombing Hamburg.

  It was a storm of a different sort, and while I couldn’t help but pity the people of Hamburg, I hoped that this show of force, this co-ordination with our allies, might bring about a quick end to this blasted war.

  Maintaining a polite chatter on the drive to Bendixen’s villa, I kept my opinions to myself. Eduard downshifted the BMW and passed through a high wooden gate, nodding to the sentry who waved us through. There were two villas ensconced behind the barricade. The lights blazed in the first, but her twin shimmered from behind closed shutters.

  ‘Welcome to Villa Girasol,’ Eduard murmured.

  ‘Who lives in the other villa? I can’t imagine your safety-conscious friend happily living so close to someone else.’

  ‘Certainly not. He has tenancy over Villa Bem-me-Quer as well.’

  One man, with two large villas. I’d bet the second villa was where he based his operations. He wouldn’t trust the leaks in an office any more than Matthew did. I would have to find an opportunity to investigate.

  ‘Stop looking so grim, Angel. It’s a party,’ he said, helping me from the car as the valet looked on. ‘At least try to pretend you don’t dislike our host.’

  ‘I don’t dislike Herr Bendixen. I’ve only met him once.’

  He hummed a non-reply and led me through the grand foyer, past heavy chandeliers and oil paintings, into a ballroom lit by countless candles. Familiar and unfamiliar faces, flushed with too much drink, nodded to us. With the exception of the Spanish countess, who glared at me.

  Standing beside Schüller, she was splendidly dressed. Her gown, the colour of a good burgundy, brought out faint red highlights in her dark hair. A filigreed torque encrusted with rubies, pearls and garnets clung to her slender throat, reminding me of a cuirass I’d seen in a museum.

  ‘Good evening, Countess. Herr Major,’ Eduard said, polite as ever.

  ‘Frau Verin, how lovely you look.’ Schüller bowed to kiss my hand.

  Laura’s smile reminded me of a shark’s. ‘I was sorry to hear about Hamburg being bombed, Eduard. I do hope your wife’s family is safe.’

  Wife? I’d never seen a ring on his finger; the only jewellery he wore was a Cartier wristwatch. Married. Christ almighty, did he have children as well? Clearly they were the they he’d asked Neumann about.

  Why should I be upset? He wasn’t my lover, just a man that, as Solange Verin, I stepped out with. A convenience. A useful addition to my cover story, and someone to escort me into the right circles to perform my mission for Matthew. I shouldn’t be jealous. Wasn’t jealous. Was only curious. That was natural, wasn’t it?

  His wife. What was she was like? Tall and blonde? Elegantly heartbroken that he was here? Did she k
now that he stepped out with other women? Maintained a dalliance while he was stationed abroad? Not only with me; that dalliance had gone a damn sight further with Laura.

  What did it matter? I knew what the Abwehr’s reputation was. Shouldn’t have – no, didn’t – expect anything else. And to be fair, he had never acted inappropriately with me, had never promised anything.

  Who was I kidding? I’d been attracted to him from the first moment I saw him, and despite myself, that attraction had only grown as I’d begun to know the man. How had that happened? When had he changed from being something convenient to being something . . . more?

  And how had I got it so wrong? Not only to fall for a German officer, but also a philanderer. I didn’t know whether to kick myself or scream, and in this company I could do neither.

  Eduard’s face was impassive. ‘Thank you, Laura, for your concern.’

  It wasn’t concern, it was bloody malice. I raised my head a little higher so that I towered over Laura and murmured, ‘And my thanks, Countess, for the necklace. I trust you’ll excuse us.’

  *

  Under the false gaiety lay something even darker and more desperate than my mood. Even the more moderate drank heavily, trying to convince each other, and maybe themselves, that the events in Italy, in Russia, were temporary setbacks. That Mr Hitler would find a way to lead them to victory.

  Fools. If they thought the surrender of ’18 was bad, this would be far worse.

  A woman teetered past on high heels, while on the far side of the dance floor a young adjutant craned his neck. With a sinking feeling, I knew who he searched for. It seemed that Bendixen believed in social graces, but only when they were useful. This soirée was an elaborate ruse to ensure his men were in one place without attracting undue Allied interest. I anticipated the words before they were spoken:

  ‘Herr Major?’ The adjutant was young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, and fresh-faced. That didn’t make me detest him, or his message, any less. ‘The Herr Kapitän has requested your presence. Immediately, sir.’

  Eduard glanced at me. ‘Has he?’

  ‘He’s waiting for you in the library. My apologies, Fräulein.’

  I sighed. ‘Go ahead, Eduard. I’m certain Haydn wouldn’t mind keeping me company.’

  The young adjutant’s face brightened. ‘Have you seen Major Schüller, ma’am? The Herr Kapitän requests his presence as well.’

  Yes, of course he did.

  I tapped one fingernail on the crystal champagne flute as Eduard pointed the lieutenant in the direction we’d last seen Schüller and took his leave. Over the next few minutes, one by one, senior officials exited, leaving their women milling around in pairs and trios. And despite stepping out with an officer, I was still an outsider; each time I neared a group of women, they changed the subject.

  Bored, I sipped another glass of champagne and watched the only other outsider edge towards a door. I had no intention of confronting her, but my legs thought otherwise and I found myself following the countess. Laura kept to the shadows, pausing and looking over her shoulder, one hand on a door knob. She slipped through and allowed the door to softly close behind her.

  I covered the distance in a handful of steps, paused outside with my back to the door. Smiled and fanned myself as a couple sauntered by. I heard Laura unlock and open another door.

  Then silence.

  Grateful for any distraction, I followed. It could be a trap, and save for the knife on my thigh, I was unarmed. I placed my hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. Felt it turn and the door ease open. The room was dark, the pale moonlight revealing a desk with two visitors’ chairs. Framed watercolours of the monastery and the ruined castle hung on the walls, flanking a pair of French doors.

  Laura was outside, sliding along the shadows between the villas, pausing under a magnolia tree. She turned around and I froze, hoping the night and my dark gown hid me. Her gaze passed over me, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction as she leant against the tree, intent on the second villa. I took advantage of her distraction to slip outside.

  Just in time to see a man step through the door. He was almost upon her when she called out.

  I edged closer, intrigued, hiding behind a low hedge.

  The man turned, one hand reaching for his service pistol, his posture aggressive. A slow smirk spread as he recognised her, and Schüller swaggered towards the countess. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Eduard? Had the meeting already finished? I turned to go, but my gown caught on a bramble. I tried to free it as Laura’s slim arms wound around Schüller’s neck. His hands bunched the burgundy silk of her dress, drawing it to her waist as he pushed her against the tree.

  Oh hell. At least I now knew who his lover was, should I need to find him. Not voyeuristically inclined, I looked away towards the blazing villa, to the one from whence Schüller emerged and up at the ivy wall above them, cursing my bad luck.

  A dark shape caught my eye. Actually, there were three. Three black objects, carefully hidden in the leaves.

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. My skirt freed from the shrubbery, I retreated to the ballroom and was standing by a modern representation of an old master’s oil painting when Laura strode past, face taut and angry as she called for her cloak.

  I acquired a fresh glass of champagne, silently congratulating whoever had irritated her, until my mind wandered back to the three baubles. Harmless, if you didn’t know what they were. I sipped the champagne and sat in a corner, considering how to get word of this new twist to Matthew.

  Eduard found me there, two glasses and perhaps forty minutes later. He looked as grim as I felt.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, forcing myself not to shake off his hand.

  It was now clear that his attention to me was as contrived as mine had once been for him. More than my ego hurt.

  Normally astute, his attention was focused on the news. He took a deep breath and shared it with me.

  ‘Nothing that will not be common knowledge tomorrow. The Italian Grand Council has been convened.’

  Suddenly my bruised ego seemed a small thing.

  ‘Convened? Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ That he was snapping indicated his level of irritation. His response was immediate. ‘I apologise, Angel. There is no excuse for being short with you.’

  The Italian Grand Council? That could only mean . . .

  ‘They’re deposing Mussolini?’ I whispered, a maelstrom whirling in my mind.

  How had Bendixen heard the news so soon, and what did it mean for the war?

  *

  We drove in silence, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. Three baubles hidden outside a window, a deposed dictator, and a wife I knew nothing about. Matthew would hear the news of Mussolini before I could get word to him, but the baubles? I’d draped one just like it out of the window whenever I transmitted on my wireless, holding my breath in case someone would see it, or the radio detection vans would find me.

  Three baubles meant at least three wireless operators operated out of the Villa Bem-me-Quer. This was where Bendixen and Schüller transmitted fleet locations to whichever Luftwaffe base was close enough to attack convoys heading around the Cabo de São Vicente.

  They had to be stopped. Permanently.

  ‘You’re quiet this evening.’

  I opened my mouth to claim exhaustion, and was horrified when a different set of words spilled out:

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were married.’

  ‘Angel.’ His shoulders dropped; he didn’t want to have this conversation any more than I did. ‘You had a husband before. I do not like the idea, but I accept it.’

  ‘Good. That’s good of you,’ I muttered. ‘To accept the existence of my dead husband.’

  I braced myself for some story of a man far away from home. Graf ran his hand through his hair. Instead of abating, my words stoked his anger.

  ‘Angel, do you truly think I would be here with you if I were still
married? What kind of man do you think I am?’

  An Abwehr officer. Who’s possibly hunting me.

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘Franziska died five years ago. Her car skidded on black ice and went into the River Elbe.’

  ‘Oh, Eduard, I am sorry!’

  For her death and for his bereavement. For my appalling behaviour, and the tears I didn’t know I was holding back.

  ‘Thank you.’

  We were at an impasse. Eduard drove on in silence, maybe expecting a different reaction.

  Until a loud crack split the night.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  T

  he car swerved, and I screamed. Eduard thrust me forward, banging my head against my knees. I stayed hunched over, groping for the dashboard as he accelerated.

  ‘Stay down.’

  Pulling his pistol from its holster, fury turned his pleasant features into something unfamiliar and frightening. The hand gripping his pistol held me in place. The car screamed to a halt outside my gate and, in a tone I’d never heard from him, Eduard ordered me to remain in the car.

  He disappeared down the hill, Luger in hand, while I lay curled on the floor of the car aware of the possibility that he wasn’t the target. A clever assassin would approach the car now, with Eduard out of sight. I was hampered, although not harmless. Did he know that? Did the assassin know what I was capable of?

  If he didn’t yet, he soon would.

  Who was he? And, for all that Rios Vilar and his men watched me, were they a part of this or just observing to ensure I wasn’t disrupting the balance? If they weren’t trying to kill me, would they prevent someone else’s attempt?

  Apparently not.

  Eduard tapped on my window, shielded me with his body as he helped me from the car and ushered me through the gate. I went straight to the sideboard in the parlour and poured two large brandies. Handed Eduard one and slumped into a chair.

  ‘Someone shot at us. Someone had the unmitigated affront to shoot at us!’

  Eduard knelt in front of me, holding my hand in his.

  ‘I can only apologise, Angel. I would never willingly endanger you.’

  He thought they were shooting at him. Maybe he was right; just because I had been shot at twice now, that didn’t mean he wasn’t the real target. I hadn’t considered that, but even if it weren’t true, I wasn’t about to correct him.