The Unlikely Spy (36 page)
Authors: Daniel Silva
"Bad enough to cut short my fighting days and give me a one-way ticket home."
"Where were you wounded?"
"In the head. Someday, when I know you better, I'll lift up my hair and show the scars."
She looked at him and smiled. "Your head looks fine to me."
"And what do you mean by that, Jenny Colville?"
"It means you're a handsome man. And you're smart too. I can tell."
The wind blew a strand of hair across Jenny's face. She tucked it back under her woolen cap with a brush of her hand.
"I just don't understand what you're doing in a place like Hampton Sands."
So his cover story had aroused suspicion in the village!
"I needed a place to rest and get well. The Doghertys offered to let me come here and stay with them, and I took them up on it."
"Why don't I believe that story?"
"You should, Jenny. It's the truth."
"My father thinks you're a criminal or a terrorist. He says Sean used to be a member of the IRA."
"Jenny, can you really picture Sean Dogherty as a member of the Irish Republican Army? Besides, your father has serious problems of his own."
Jenny's face darkened. She stopped walking and turned to face him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Neumann feared he had taken it too far. Perhaps it was better to disengage, make an excuse, and change the subject. But something made him want to finish what he started. He thought, Why can't I keep my mouth shut and walk away from this? He knew the answer, of course. His own stepfather had been a vicious bastard, quick with a backhand across the face or a cruel remark that brought tears to his eyes. He felt certain Jenny Colville had endured worse physical abuse than he ever had. He wanted to say something to her that would let her know that things did not always have to be this way. He wanted to tell her she was not alone. He wanted to
help
her.
help
her.
"It means he drinks far too much." Neumann reached out and touched her face gently. "And it means he mistreats a beautiful, intelligent young girl who's done absolutely nothing in the world to deserve it."
"Do you mean that?" she asked.
"Mean what?"
"That I'm beautiful and intelligent. No one's ever said that to me before."
"Of course I mean it."
She took his hand and they walked some more.
"Do you have a girl?" she asked him.
"No."
"Why not?"
Why not indeed? The war. It was the easy answer. He had never had time for a girl really. His life had been one long series of obsessions: an obsession to lose his Englishness and become a good German, an obsession to become an Olympic champion, an obsession to become the most decorated member of the
Fallschirmjager.
His last lover had been a French farm girl from the village near his listening post. She had been tender when Neumann was in desperate need of tenderness, and each night for a month she let him in the back door of her cottage and took him secretly to her bed. When he closed his eyes Neumann could still see her body, rising to his in the flickering candlelight of her bedroom. She had taken a vow to kiss his head every night until it healed. In the end, Neumann was overcome with the guilt of an occupier and broke it off. He feared now what would happen to her when the war was over.
Fallschirmjager.
His last lover had been a French farm girl from the village near his listening post. She had been tender when Neumann was in desperate need of tenderness, and each night for a month she let him in the back door of her cottage and took him secretly to her bed. When he closed his eyes Neumann could still see her body, rising to his in the flickering candlelight of her bedroom. She had taken a vow to kiss his head every night until it healed. In the end, Neumann was overcome with the guilt of an occupier and broke it off. He feared now what would happen to her when the war was over.
"Your face became sad for a moment," Jenny said.
"I was thinking about something."
"I'd say you were thinking about
someone.
And by the look on your face that someone was a woman."
someone.
And by the look on your face that someone was a woman."
"You're a very perceptive girl."
"Was she pretty?"
"She was French and she was very beautiful."
"Did she break your heart?"
"You might say that."
"But you left
her.
"
her.
"
"Yes, I suppose I did."
"Why?"
"Because I loved her too much."
"I don't understand."
"You will someday."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"It means you're far too young to be hanging around with the likes of me. I'm going to finish my run. I suggest you go home and change into some clean clothes. You look like you've been sleeping on the beach all night."
They looked at each other in a way that said they both knew it was the truth. She turned to leave, then stopped.
"You'd never do anything to hurt me, would you, James?"
"Of course not."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She stepped forward and kissed him on the mouth very briefly before turning and running across the sand. Neumann shook his head; then he turned in the opposite direction and ran back down the beach.
29
LONDON
Alfred Vicary felt he was sinking in quicksand. The more he struggled, the deeper he descended. Each time he unearthed a new clue or lead he seemed to fall further behind. He was beginning to doubt his chances of ever catching the spies.
The source of his despair was a pair of decoded German messages that had arrived from Bletchley Park that morning. The first message was from a German agent in Britain asking Berlin to begin making regular pickups. The second was from Hamburg to a German agent in Britain asking the agent to do just that. It was a disaster. The German operation--whatever it might be--appeared to be succeeding. If the agent had requested a courier, it was logical the agent had stolen something. Vicary was struck by the fear that if he ever
did
catch up with the spies he might be too late.
did
catch up with the spies he might be too late.
The red light shone over Boothby's door. Vicary pressed the buzzer and waited. A minute passed and the light still was red. So like Boothby to demand an urgent meeting, then keep his victim waiting.
Why haven't you told us this before?
But I have, Alfred, old man. . . . I told Boothby.
Vicary pressed the buzzer again. Was it really possible Boothby had known of the existence of the Vogel network and kept it from him? It made absolutely no sense. Vicary could think of only one possible explanation. Boothby had vehemently opposed Vicary's being assigned to the case and had made that clear from the outset. But would Boothby's opposition include actively trying to sabotage Vicary's efforts? Quite possible. If Vicary could display no momentum in solving the case, Boothby might have grounds to sack him and give the case to someone else, someone he trusted--a career officer, perhaps, not one of the new recruits that Boothby so detested.
The light finally shone green. Vicary, slipping through the grand double doors, vowed not to leave again without first clearing the air.
Boothby was seated behind his desk. "Let's have it, Alfred."
Vicary briefed Boothby on the content of the two messages and his theory about what they meant. Boothby listened, fidgeting and squirming in his chair.
"For God's sake!" he snapped. "The news gets worse every day with this case."
Vicary thought, Another sparkling contribution, Sir Basil.
"We've made some progress on piecing together background on the female agent. Karl Becker identified her as Anna von Steiner. She was born in Guy's Hospital in London on Christmas Day 1910. Her father was Peter von Steiner, a diplomat and a wealthy West Prussian aristocrat. Her mother was an Englishwoman named Daphne Harrison. The family remained in London until war broke out, then moved to Germany. Because of Steiner's position, Daphne Harrison was not interned during the war, as many British citizens were. She died of tuberculosis in 1918 at the Steiner estate in West Prussia. After the war Steiner and his daughter drifted from posting to posting, including another brief stint in London in the early twenties. Steiner also worked in Rome and in Washington."
"Sounds like he was a spy to me," Boothby said. "But go on, Alfred."
"In 1937, Anna Steiner vanished. We can only speculate after that. She undergoes Abwehr training, is sent to the Netherlands to establish a false identity as Christa Kunst, then enters England. By the way, Anna Steiner was allegedly killed in an auto accident outside Berlin in March 1938. Obviously, Vogel fabricated that."
Boothby rose and paced his office. "It's all very interesting, Alfred, but there's one fatal flaw. It's based on information given to you by Karl Becker. Becker would say anything to ingratiate himself."
"Becker has no reason to lie to us about this, Sir Basil. And his story is perfectly consistent with the few things we know for certain."
"All I'm saying, Alfred, is that I very much doubt the veracity of anything the man says."
"So why did you spend so much time with him last October?" Vicary said.
Sir Basil was standing in the window, looking down at the last light slipping out of the square. His head snapped around before he regained his composure and turned slowly to face Vicary.
"The reason I spoke to Becker is none of your affair."
"Becker is my agent," Vicary said, anger creeping into his voice. "I arrested him, I turned him, I run him. He gave you information that might have proved useful to this case, yet you kept that information from me. I'd like to know why."
Boothby was very calm now. "Becker told me the same story he told you: special agents, a secret camp in Bavaria, special codes and rendezvous procedures. And to be honest with you, Alfred, I didn't believe him at the time. We had no other evidence to support his story. Now we do."
It was a perfectly logical explanation--on the surface, at least.
"Why didn't you tell me about it?"
"It was a long time ago."
"Who's Broome?"
"Sorry, Alfred."
"I want to know who Broome is."
"And I'm trying to tell you as politely as I can that you're not entitled to know who Broome is." Boothby shook his head. "My God! This isn't some college club where we sit around and swap insights. This department is in the business of counterintelligence. And it operates on a very simple concept: need to know. You have no need to know who Broome is because it does not affect any case to which you have been assigned. Therefore it is none of your business."
"Is the concept of
need to know
a license to deceive other officers?"
need to know
a license to deceive other officers?"
"I wouldn't use the word
deceive,
" Boothby said, as though it were an obscenity. "It simply means that, for reasons of security, an officer is entitled to know only what is necessary for him to carry out his assignment."
deceive,
" Boothby said, as though it were an obscenity. "It simply means that, for reasons of security, an officer is entitled to know only what is necessary for him to carry out his assignment."
"How about the word
lie?
Would you use that word?"
lie?
Would you use that word?"
The discussion seemed to be causing Boothby physical pain.
"I suppose at times it might be necessary to be less than truthful with one officer to safeguard an operation being carried out by another. Surely this doesn't come as a surprise to you."
"Of course not, Sir Basil." Vicary hesitated, deciding whether to continue with his line of questioning or disengage. "I was just wondering why you lied to me about reading Kurt Vogel's file."
The blood seemed to drain from Boothby's face, and Vicary could see him bunching and unbunching his big fist inside his trouser pocket. It was a risky strategy, and Grace Clarendon's neck was on the block. When Vicary was gone, Boothby would call Nicholas Jago in Registry and demand answers. Jago would surely realize Grace Clarendon was the source of the leak. It was no small matter; she could be sacked immediately. But Vicary was betting they wouldn't touch Grace because it would only prove her information had been correct. He hoped to God he was right.
"Looking for a scapegoat, Alfred? Someone or something to blame for your inability to solve this case? You should know the danger in that more than any of us. History is replete with examples of weak men who have found it expedient to acquire a convenient scapegoat."
Vicary thought, And you're not answering my question.
He rose to his feet. "Good night, Sir Basil."
Boothby remained silent as Vicary walked toward the door.
"There's one more thing," Boothby finally said. "I shouldn't think I need to tell you this, but I shall in any case. We don't have an unlimited amount of time. If there isn't progress soon we may have to make--well, changes. You understand, don't you, Alfred?"
30
LONDON
As they walked into the Savoy Grill, the band began playing "And a Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square." It was a rather poor rendition--choppy and a bit rushed--but it was pretty, regardless. Jordan took her hand without speaking and they walked onto the dance floor. He was an excellent dancer, smooth and confident, and he held her very closely. He had come directly from his office and was wearing his uniform. He had brought his briefcase with him. Obviously it contained nothing important because he had left it behind at the table. Still, he never seemed to take his eyes off it for very long.
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