Daniel Silva - The Unlikely Spy

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, but there is no conviction to her words.

"Of course you do. It's what made you what you are, a heartless fucking bitch."

She reacts instinctively. She takes a step forward and kicks him viciously beneath his chin. His head snaps back and crashes violently against the floor. He is very still, perhaps unconscious. Her stiletto is on the floor next to the fire; they have trained her to keep it near at all times. She picks it up and presses the release, and the shiny blade snaps into place. In the firelight it is bloodred. She takes a step toward Vogel. She wants to kill him, to plunge the stiletto into one of the kill zones they have taught her: the heart, the kidneys, through the ear or the eye. But Vogel is leaning on one elbow now, and there is a gun in his hand aimed at her head.

"Very good," he says. Blood is pouring from his mouth. "I think you're ready now. Put away the knife and sit down. We need to talk. And please, put on some clothes. You look ridiculous standing there like that."

She puts on a robe and stirs the embers while he dresses and tends to his mouth.

"You're a complete bastard. I'd be a fool to work for you, Vogel."

"Don't even think of trying to back out now. I'd provide the Gestapo very convincing evidence of your father's treachery against the Fuhrer. You wouldn't want to see the things they do to people like that. And if you ever cross me once you're in England. I'll deliver you to the British on a silver platter. If you think that fellow hurt you when you were a little girl, just think about being raped repeatedly by a bunch of stinking British guards. You'll be their favorite prisoner, believe me. I doubt they would ever bother to hang you."

She has gone very still in the dark. She thinks how she can smash his skull with the cast-iron poker but Vogel is still holding his gun. She realizes she has been manipulated by him. She thought she was deceiving him-she thought she was in control-but all the while it was Vogel. He was trying to instill in her the ability to kill. She realizes he has done a very good job indeed.

Vogel is talking again. "By the way, I killed you tonight while you were letting me fuck you. Anna Katerina von Steiner, age twenty-seven, died in an unfortunate road accident outside Berlin about an hour ago. A terrible pity. Such a waste of talent."

Vogel is dressed now, holding a wet cloth against his mouth. It is stained with his blood.

"You're going to Holland in the morning, just as we planned. You stay there for six months, firmly establish your identity; then you go to England. Here are your papers for Holland, your money, and your train ticket. I have people in Amsterdam who will contact you and guide you from there."

He comes forward and stands very close to her.

"Anna wasted her life. But Catherine Blake can do great things."

She hears the door close behind him, hears the sound of his boots crunching through the snow outside her cottage. It is very quiet now, only the popping of the fire and the hiss of the bitter wind stirring the fir trees outside her window. She is still for a moment; then she feels her body begin to convulse. Standing is no longer possible. She falls to her knees in front of the fire and begins to weep uncontrollably.

Kurt Vogel was sleeping on the camp bed in his office when he heard a dull scraping sound that made him sit up with a start. "Who's there?"

"It's only me, sir."

"Werner, for God's sake! You scared me to death, dragging your damned wooden leg like that. I thought it was Frankenstein coming to murder me."

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought you would want to see this right away." Ulbricht handed him a signal flimsy. "It just came in from Hamburg-a message from Catherine Blake in London."

Vogel read it quickly, heart pounding.

"She's made contact with Jordan. She wants Neumann to begin making regular pickups as soon as possible. My God, Werner, she's actually done it!"

"Obviously, a remarkable agent. And a remarkable woman."

"Yes," Vogel said distantly. "Signal Neumann at Hampton Sands at the first opportunity. Tell him to begin pickups on the prearranged schedule."

"Yes, sir."

"And leave word with Admiral Canaris's office. I want to brief him on the developments first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

Ulbricht went out, leaving Vogel alone in the dark. He wondered how she had done it. He hoped one day she would come out so he could debrief her. Stop fooling yourself, old man. He wanted her to come out so he could see her just one more time, explain why he had treated her so horribly on the last night. It was for her own good. She couldn't see it then but maybe, with the passing of time, she could see it now. He imagined her now. Is she frightened? Is she in danger? Of course she was in danger. She was trying to steal Allied secrets in the heart of London. One false move and she would end up in the arms of MI5. But if there was one woman who could pull it off, it was she. Vogel had the broken heart and the broken jaw to prove it.

Heinrich Himmler was working his way through a stack of paperwork at his office on Prinz Albrechtstrasse when the call from Brigadefuhrer Walter Schellenberg was routed through to his desk. "Good evening, Herr Brigadefuhrer. Or should I say good morning."

"It's two A.M. I didn't think you would still be at the office."

"No rest for the weary. What can I do for you?"

"It's about the Vogel affair. I was able to convince an officer in the Abwehr communication room that it was in his interest to cooperate with us."

"Very good."

Schellenberg told Himmler about the message from Vogel's agent in London.

Himmler said, "So, your friend Horst Neumann is about to be brought into the game."

"It appears that way, Herr Reichsfuhrer."

"I'll brief the Fuhrer on the developments in the morning. I'm sure he'll be very pleased. This man Vogel seems to be a very capable officer. If he steals the most important secret of the war I wouldn't be surprised if the Fuhrer were to name him Canaris's successor."

"I can think of more worthy candidates for the job, Herr Reichsfuhrer," Schellenberg said.

"You'd better find some way of getting control of the situation. Otherwise you might find yourself out of contention."

"Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer."

"You're riding with Admiral Canaris in the Tiergarten in the morning?"

"As usual."

"Perhaps you can find out something useful for a change. And do give the Old Fox my warmest regards. Good night, Herr Brigadefuhrer."

Himmler gently replaced the receiver in the cradle and returned to his eternal paperwork.

A gray dawn was leaking through thick clouds as Horst Neumann crossed the pine grove and climbed to the top of the dunes. The sea opened before him, gray and still in the windless morning, small breakers collapsing onto the seemingly endless expanse of beach. Neumann wore a gray tracksuit, a rollneck sweater beneath for warmth, and a pair of soft black leather running shoes. He breathed deeply of the cold crisp air and then scrambled down the dunes and walked across the soft sand. The tide was going out and there was a wide swath of hard flat sand, perfect for running. He stretched his legs, blew on his hands, and set out at an easy pace. Terns and gulls squawked in protest and moved away.

He had received a message from Hamburg earlier that morning instructing him to begin regular pickups of material from Catherine Blake in London. It was to be done on the schedule Kurt Vogel had given him at the farm outside Berlin. The material was to be placed through a doorway in Cavendish Square, where it would be collected by a man from the Portuguese embassy and sent to Lisbon inside the diplomatic pouch. It sounded simple. But Neumann understood that courier work on the streets of London would take him straight into the teeth of the British security forces. He would be carrying information that would guarantee him a trip to the gallows if he was arrested. In combat he always knew where the enemy was. In espionage work the enemy could be anywhere. He could be in the next seat in a cafe or on a bus, and Neumann might never know.