by Anne Perry
He saw Cordell arriving, just after eight, and went in after him, catching him at the side door entrance. He would prefer not to identify himself to the guard at the front.
Cordell was surprised. “Howard?” he asked uncertainly, peering at him. “It is you…isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Howard replied with a faint flicker of humor. He was good at blending well into the background, looking anonymous, instantly forgettable.
“What are you doing here?” Cordell asked, leading the way in, up the stairs, and along the corridor to his office.
Howard did not reply until they were inside and the door closed.
“Tea?” Cordell asked.
“Yes, please.” His mouth tasted like paper.
“Well? What is it? I assume it’s this bloody Scharnhorst business?”
“Did you know about it beforehand?”
Cordell’s eyes widened. He barely moved, and yet his body stiffened. “Yes. Elena Standish told me she had been traveling with Ian Newton, and when he was murdered, before he died, he told her to come here, to tell me. Which she did.”
“And you warned the Germans?” Howard made it a question.
“Of course I bloody did!” Cordell snapped. “Either they didn’t believe me, or they took the opportunity to get rid of Scharnhorst. He was becoming a liability, but one they couldn’t get rid of themselves.”
“Is that your opinion?”
“Yes…”
Howard wondered if he was making that up, taking shelter in a very believable lie.
“And Elena Standish?” Howard asked as unemotionally as he could.
“I don’t know!” Cordell snapped. “I’ve done all I can think of to find her, without getting the Gestapo on my tail. Which wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Elena!” There was anger and fear in his voice.
“Done what, exactly?”
“Is she working for you?” Cordell demanded.
“No! I’ve never even met her. But I’d like to get her out of here alive. I think we owe her father that.”
Cordell relaxed a bit. “Yes. Charles Standish is a good man. Margot, the elder daughter, was here just after the assassination.” He cleared his throat. “A day or so ago. I got a list from her of all Elena’s friends still in Berlin. With last known addresses, of course. I’ve made discreet inquiries, but no one admits to having seen her.”
“Do you believe them?” Howard asked quickly.
“Yes. On the whole I do.”
Howard looked at Cordell intently for several moments, then decided he was telling the truth, or at least thought he was. It was easy enough to believe. If she had anything of Lucas’s intelligence, she would not have gone to any friend that Cordell could know of. She had warned Cordell about the assassination, and he had not prevented it. She would not know whether or not he had tried.
So, would she come anywhere near the embassy at all? That was the last visible door closing in his face.
“What are you going to do?” Cordell asked. Then he looked more closely at Howard. “You’re not going to tell me. I suppose I wouldn’t, in your place.” His voice sounded close to cracking.
Howard’s instinct was to deny it, but he knew that would sound like a lie. “First of all I’ve got to find her.”
“I’ve no idea where she is,” Cordell replied. “But…I doubt she’ll go to any of her friends. I destroyed the list that Margot gave me…” He stopped.
Howard did not press him. He was not ready yet to push Cordell into a lie. There were far better ways to play this. “And if she comes here?” he asked.
“They’ll be watching. But if she can get this far, I’ll have a shot at getting her out of the country.”
“How?”
“Disguise her as much as possible. Get her a new passport. Different name, different age, profession. She used to work at the Foreign Office. She could pass for one of our minor officials easily enough. Even a translator. They’re hardly likely to test her. Ticket as far as Paris, at least. Perhaps all the way to London might be suspicious.” A flicker of hope shone in Cordell’s eyes for a moment.
“Make it,” Howard decided. “The passport.” It was the best idea he could think of. To refuse Cordell would betray that he suspected him. Would he tell the Germans her new identity? That would be to betray himself, and destroy his usefulness to either side. Never mind jeopardize his own life. In fact, it would, in a way, bind him to helping her.
“I’ll get the photograph,” Howard continued. “We’ll need a new one, preferably one that looks as unlike her own passport as possible. She may still have hers. She’ll have to destroy it. One search would find it, and that would be fatal.” He smiled bitterly. “They’ll have every Brownshirt in Berlin looking for her. How the hell am I going to find her?” He did not expect Cordell to offer him an answer. He had racked his own brain, and not come up with one.
“Where do we go when we’re frightened and alone?” Cordell replied quietly. “Familiar places. Ones that remind us of happier times, safer. I go to the water’s edge. The river, not the sea. I like moving water. It’s universal, and it plays no favorites.” He stopped himself, as if he had said too much.
“I eat things that I really like.” Howard smiled at memories of painful moments, long-ago loneliness and anxieties. Sometimes he was so tightly knotted inside that he could barely eat at all. At others, he craved a crisp bacon sandwich, whatever time of day or night. “What does she like? Do you know?”
“Reibekuchen,” Cordell said with a wry smile. “With applesauce. At least she used to. There’s a fellow sells them from a stand not far from here. You actually see it from the side door. I stop there rather too often myself.” Then he was very serious. “She might wait there, if she’s trying to make up her mind to come in. She has nowhere else to go…to get papers to leave Germany. She can’t use her own name. And she has to be British, or she can’t make it into England.”
“I’ll try,” Howard answered. “Give me a passport. I’ll put the picture in after I see her. She’ll have to change her appearance or they’ll spot her in a moment. What a bloody mess!”
“You try not to get caught as well,” Cordell said casually. For a moment Howard wavered. Was he walking straight into a trap of his own making? Was Cordell the perfect actor? Or was that trace of bravado an echo of the old Cordell he used to know, a few years after the war, when everyone was sure whose side they were on? All the wounds were raw then, and nobody was used to the idea of peace yet. Nobody really thought of accommodating a different kind of world.
“You too,” Howard said, perfectly serious for a moment. “Now get me that passport. I may need it in a hurry.”
CHAPTER
22
After the book-burning, Jacob took Elena to a cheap rooming house run by an American couple. No explanations were asked for. He had paid for one night and advised her not to stay there longer than that.
“I won’t,” she promised. “I’ll try to get into the embassy again. If I can’t, I’ll…find somewhere else for another night and go back the next day. That’s the only place I can get papers. And…” She clenched her teeth, forcing her emotions down. She pictured the books again, the insane faces laughing. Anger overcame fear. “I don’t know why Roger Cordell didn’t prevent the assassination after I gave him the message—but if he’s a traitor, he still has to help me. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll give himself away. I’ll make sure other people at the embassy see me this time. Some will know me, even like this!” She shook her loose, shining blond hair, still in its waves. “If he gets me caught, he’ll betray himself to the other diplomats, and then he’ll be no use to anybody. I don’t know if we Brits kill traitors, but I imagine so. Not in public though. Probably don’t admit we have them.”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Elena…”
“Please don’t make an
issue of this. Isn’t it hard enough already?”
He smiled. “Yes. Very hard, but worth it. I’ll remember.”
She wanted to kiss him, just once, for all the risks that he’d taken, for being her friend in this crisis and asking nothing in return. Even if it was just a kiss goodbye, though, it was a bad idea.
Jacob may have thought that, too, because he looked at her for a long moment, then smiled, turned, and walked out of the door.
With his departure Elena felt as if he had switched off all the lights, but she could still see the whole shabby room very clearly. It was tired, and everything in it was old. Still, it was perfectly clean, it had its own toilet and wash basin, and there was a lock on the door. That was all she needed.
She must sleep. Tomorrow she had to go back to the embassy. Without papers, she could not leave Germany, no matter how different she looked.
* * *
—
In the morning, it took a moment for memory to clear. Then she remembered where she was and, far more urgently, that she must have papers, very soon. It would only take being stopped once and asked for them, and she would be caught.
At the book-burning, she had seen the face of madness. If she had caught the image in any of the photographs, it would show the world in a way no words could.
Elena ate a breakfast of black bread with a little jam, and a hot cup of coffee, then took her bag and left.
She was not far from the embassy, but it was still a good half-hour’s walk. There were no cheap lodgings, the kind that asked no questions, in an area like this. She was hungry. The black bread had not answered her need at all. Was the man who sold the Reibekuchen still somewhere around here? Surely she could smell it? The little grated potato and onion cakes, with applesauce beside them. She could all but taste it now. It couldn’t be far away!
She didn’t want to ask anybody. Not that there were many people around. It was too early for much business. But not knowing such a thing would mark her as a stranger.
It took her another five minutes, but she had managed to buy herself two potato cakes on a cardboard plate, with a good dollop of applesauce, when she became aware of a man watching her. He was taller than she, but not by much. He was fair-skinned, blue-eyed, but his hair seemed of no particular color. The only thing noticeable about him was a certain grace in the way he stood. It seemed so natural, he was probably unaware of it himself. He did not fidget at all, as many people do. And he was certainly watching her.
She felt self-conscious, and suddenly afraid again. Why was he watching her? Did he think he recognized her, even though she had changed her appearance?
She should avoid him. Well-brought-up young women did not speak to strangers in the street.
“Are they any good?” he asked, gesturing toward the Reibekuchen stand.
“Excellent,” she replied in German, of course. “And the apple is nicely tart.”
He was still looking at her. “Did you see the fire last night?” he asked conversationally.
“Yes, for a while. I think it went on almost till morning.” She took another mouthful of crisp hot potato and a little applesauce, trying to be casual, but eating it now almost without tasting.
“Who were they?” he asked, taking a step a little closer to her. “Who set fire to the books,” he added.
Should she answer? She might draw attention to herself if she was needlessly rude. She would look afraid, and that was dangerous. The innocent don’t run away. “A lot of them seemed to be students,” she replied, watching as he bought himself two Reibekuchen and a good portion of the applesauce. “At least, they were that age, early twenties, and dressed as students do,” she went on.
“Students of what, I wonder.” He allowed his feelings of disgust to show through for a moment, then hid them again. “Philosophy, perhaps?” His eyes were bleak.
“Hardly!” she said too quickly. She saw the humor in his face and knew she had let slip her opinion of the book-burners.
“Perhaps you’re a student of philosophy? You watch them and deduce their beliefs,” he suggested.
She wanted to tell him that what she deduced was fear, and a sense of unbelonging. They lashed out at what they did not understand, in the same spirit people will smash what they cannot have. “Was I wrong?” she said instead.
He put his hands in his pockets. It was a casual gesture, but it made him seem at ease, as if they were friends. Did he do it on purpose? “I doubt it,” he replied. “A philosophy spoken of, no matter how elegant and articulate the words, is seldom as powerful as one acted on.”
She was startled. He had spoken in English as naturally as if it was his native tongue. Had she given herself away? Developed an English accent in German since she had left Berlin? That was a mistake! Why had Jacob not told her? Warned her, at least?
As if he had understood, the man spoke again. “We can continue in German, if you prefer. It would be less conspicuous, and perhaps we should not stand here too long or we will be noticed. I can see the anger and grief in your face, and maybe you can see it in mine.”
She looked at him steadily. He had said it as an invitation, and to ignore it would have been a rebuff. But why on earth would she not rebuff him? He was a complete stranger. She did not want to discuss any subject of depth with him. It would be so easy to say something negative, and any criticism of Hitler at all was dangerous. And yet the intelligence in his eyes, the humor, pleased her. In some way it reminded her of good memories, long discussions with Lucas, and with Mike. Laughter that was always comfortable. But now that was dangerous, too. “Yes, I can, German is fine,” she admitted reluctantly, because she must have raised suspicion in waiting so long to answer. Or was everybody suspicious these days?
A group of young men sauntered past them, arm in arm, laughing. One of them turned back and called something at her over his shoulder. It was in German, naturally, but she did not understand.
She saw the anger in the face of the man beside her. She had not yet learned his name, but she was certain he was English.
“You don’t need to know what he called us,” he said bleakly. “I dare say your German didn’t extend to the gutter…or the brothels. We should leave. Which way are you going?”
She dared not tell him she was going into the embassy. The police would have guessed that was where she would go, in order to get new papers to leave. Unless she intended to remain in Germany? Disappear into the countryside? But now she must answer this man. She started to name the street where the Hubermanns lived, then stopped. How easily she had let her guard down. She should not even go in the opposite direction, but neither could she afford to get lost.
“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed it easily. “We can go down that way.” He gestured in the direction she had come, and then before she could complain, he took her arm and began to walk at a gentle pace along the footpath.
She was angry. He had no right to do this, but she couldn’t afford to draw police attention to herself by resisting him.
“Stop looking like that,” he warned with a rueful smile. “People will think I’m abducting you. Do you want to be rescued by them?” It was as if he had read her thoughts, or perhaps anticipated them. He looked at another group of young men sauntering toward them.
Elena forced herself to smile and held on to his arm a little more tightly.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “We should look natural.”
“What about? I don’t know you,” she said angrily.
“You’re perfectly capable of talking easily to strangers,” he said. “ ‘Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—’ ” he quoted. “ ‘Of cabbages—and kings.’ Whatever you like.”
She had loved Alice, both Through the Looking-Glass and Adventures in Wonderland. “ ‘And why the sea is boiling hot—And whether pigs have wings,’ ” she said tartly. “I know mos
t of it. Do you know it all? Perhaps you had better not discuss kings or Führers.”
He was smiling. It softened his face.
Elena regarded him without emotion. He seemed to be in his early forties, his hair a little gray at his temples, not so noticeable because it was not dark. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. Then she noticed shadows in his face. The war had cost him, too.
“What sort of opinions do you want?” He was suddenly completely serious.
“What do you have?” She kept her voice light. “Comfortable ones? No, of course not. We learned the cost of that with the Great War. We won’t make all those mistakes again.”
“That’s naïve,” he retorted. “We make the same mistakes all the time. All right, yes, there probably will be another war. Or more accurately, a continuation of the same one, after a decent interval when there’s a new generation to sacrifice, and new people in government who think that somehow they will do it differently this time.”
“Isn’t that awfully cynical?” she asked. “Or is that only you saying it? You think that world-weariness and wisdom are the same thing?”
“That’s harsh,” he observed. They were still walking away from the embassy, and he was still holding her arm too tightly for her to break away.
“Don’t pretend you’re hurt,” she replied. “Did you expect me to swallow that whole?” She was very aware of being younger than he was, and comparatively naïve. Margot thought Elena was waiting for tomorrow to have fun, to do all the dancing and wild things young people should do, except that there was not going to be a tomorrow. The difference between them was that Elena was not interested in pretending.
“I expected you to argue,” the man said quite genuinely. “If I agreed with you, it would put you in an untenable position of having to contradict yourself. No gentleman should do that to a lady.”