Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

Jenny heard the door open, heard the police officer yelling at them to get out. She knew what was about to happen. Instead of getting out they would start shooting. Then the policemen would all be dead and Jenny would be alone with them again.

She had to warn them.

But how?

She couldn't speak because Neumann had gagged her mouth so tightly.

She could do only one thing.

She raised her legs and kicked the side of the van as hard as she could.

If Jenny Colville's action did not have its intended effect, it did grant at least one of the officers-the one standing nearest Catherine Blake's door-a more benevolent death. When he turned his head toward the sound, Catherine raised her Mauser and shot him. The Mauser's superb silencer damped the explosion of the round so that the gun emitted only a tense burst. The bullet smashed through the window, struck the constable at the hinge of his jaw, then ricocheted into the base of his brain. He collapsed onto the muddy apron of the road, dead.

The second to die was the constable at Neumann's door, though Neumann did not fire the shot that killed him. Neumann knocked the shotgun away with a sweep of his right hand; Catherine turned and fired through the open door. The bullet struck the constable in the center of the forehead and exited at the back of his skull. He fell back onto the roadway.

Neumann tumbled from the door and landed in the road. One of the officers at the rear of the van fired over his head, shattering the half-open window. Neumann quickly squeezed the trigger twice. The first shot struck the constable in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second pierced his heart.

Catherine stepped from the van, the gun in her outstretched hands aimed into the darkness. On the other side of the van, Neumann was doing the same thing, only he was still lying flat on his stomach. Both waited, making no sound, listening.

The fourth constable thought it best to flee for help. He turned and started running into the darkness. After a few steps he came into Neumann's range. Neumann took careful aim and fired twice. The running stopped, the shotgun clattered on the tarmac, and the last of the four men fell to the rainy roadway, dead.

Neumann collected the bodies and stacked them at the back of the van. Catherine opened the rear doors. Jenny, eyes wide with terror, raised her hands to cover her head. Catherine lifted the gun into the air and struck Jenny's face. A deep gash opened over her eye. Catherine said, "Unless you want to end up like them, don't ever try anything like that again."

Neumann lifted Jenny and laid her on the apron of the road. Then, together with Catherine, he placed the bodies of the dead constables in the back of the van. The idea had come to him immediately. The police officers had traveled to this spot in their own van; it was parked a few yards away on the side of the road. Neumann would hide the bodies and the stolen van out of sight in the trees and use the police van to drive to the coast. It might be hours before any other policeman came here and discovered the constables were missing. By then he and Catherine would be heading back to Germany aboard the U-boat.

Neumann carried Jenny and placed her in the back of the police van. Catherine climbed into the driver's seat and started the motor. Neumann walked back to the other van and got inside. The engine was running. He reversed and turned around, then sped down the road, Catherine following. He tried not to think about the four dead bodies lying just inches from him.

Two minutes later Neumann turned onto a small track leading off the road. He drove about two hundred yards, stopped, and shut down the motor. Then he climbed out and ran back to the road. Catherine had turned the van around and was sitting in the passenger seat when Neumann returned. He climbed in, slammed the door, and sped away.

They passed the spot where the roadblock had been and turned onto the smaller B-road. According to the map it was about ten miles to the coast road, then another twenty miles to Cleethorpes. Neumann opened the throttle and pushed the van hard. For the first time since spotting the MI5 men in London, he allowed himself to imagine they just might make it after all.

Alfred Vicary paced in his room at the RAF base outside Grimsby. Harry Dalton and Peter Jordan sat at the desk, smoking. Superintendent Lockwood sat next to them, arranging matches into geometric shapes.

Vicary said, "I don't like it. Someone should have spotted them by now."

Harry said, "All the major roads are sealed. They have to hit one of the roadblocks at some point."

"Maybe they're not coming this way after all. Maybe I've made a dreadful miscalculation. Maybe they went south from Hampton Sands. Maybe the signal to the U-boat was a ploy and they're heading to Ireland on a ferry."

"They're coming this way."

"Maybe they've gone to ground, called it off. Maybe they're holed up in another remote village, waiting for it all to blow over before they make their move."

"They've signaled the submarine. They have to go."

"They don't have to do anything. It's possible they've spotted the roadblocks and the extra police about and decided to wait. They can signal the submarine at the next opportunity and try again when things have quieted down."

"You're forgetting one thing. They don't have a radio."

"We think they don't have a radio. You took one from them, and Thomasson found a destroyed radio in Hampton Sands. But we don't know for certain they don't have a third."

"We don't know anything for certain, Alfred. We make educated guesses."

Vicary paced, looking at the telephone, thinking, Ring, dammit, ring!

Desperate to do something, he picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him to the Submarine Tracking Room in London. Arthur Braithwaite, when he finally came on the line, sounded like he was inside a torpedo tube.

Vicary asked, "Anything, Commander?"

"I've spoken with the Royal Navy and the local coastguard. The Royal Navy is moving a pair of corvettes into the area as we speak-numbers 745 and 128. They'll be off Spurn Head within the hour and will commence search operations immediately. The coastguard is handling things closer to shore. The RAF is putting up planes at first light."

"When is that?"

"Around seven a.m. Maybe a little later because of the dense cloud cover."

"That may be too late."

"It won't do them any good to go up before then. They need light to see. They'd be as good as blind if they went up now. There is some good news. We expect a break in the weather shortly before dawn. The cloud cover will remain, but the rain is expected to ease and the winds diminish. That will make it easier to conduct search operations."

"I'm not sure that's such good news after all. We were counting on the storm to bottle up the coast. And better weather will make it easier for the agents and the U-boat to operate as well."

"Point well taken."

"Instruct the Royal Navy and the RAF to conduct the search as discreetly as possible. I know it sounds far-fetched, but try to make it all look routine. And tell everyone to mind what they say on their radios. The Germans listen to us too. I'm sorry I can't be more forthcoming, Commander Braithwaite."

"I understand. I'll pass it up the line."

"Thank you."

"And try to relax, Major Vicary. If your spies try to reach that submarine tonight, we'll stop them."

Police constables Gardner and Sullivan pedaled side by side through the dark streets of Louth, Gardner big, buff, and middle-aged, Sullivan thin and fit and barely twenty years old. Chief Superintendent Lockwood had ordered them to ride to a roadblock just south of the village and relieve two of the constables there. Gardner complained as he cycled. "Why do London's criminals always manage to end up here in the middle of a rainstorm, would you tell me that?" Sullivan was thoroughly excited. This was his first big manhunt. It was also the first time he had carried a weapon while on duty-a thirty-year-old bolt-action rifle from the weapons room at the station was slung over his shoulder.