The Unlikely Spy(127)

Colville's face tightened. He said, "Who the f*ck are you? I don't believe your story."

He crossed the pub in a few quick steps, took hold of the table, and threw it out of the way.

"You're mine--and I'm going to enjoy this."

Neumann got to his feet. "Lucky me."





A small knot of villagers, sensing trouble, gathered outside the pub around the two men. Colville threw a wild right hook that Neumann avoided easily. Colville threw two more punches. Neumann avoided them by moving his head just a few inches, keeping his hands protectively around his face and his eyes locked on Colville's, staying back on the defensive. If he tried to move close enough to land a punch, Colville might be able to grab him with his powerful arms and he might never get away again. He had to wait for Colville to make a mistake. Then he would go on the offensive and end this thing as quickly as possible.

Colville threw several more wild punches. He was already out of breath and laboring. Neumann could see frustration building in his face. Colville reached out his arms and charged like a bull. Neumann stepped quickly to the side and tripped Colville as he stormed past. He landed facedown with a heavy thud. Neumann moved in quickly, as Colville was rising to his hands and knees, and kicked him twice rapidly in the face. Colville raised a heavy forearm, absorbing a third blow, and scrambled back onto his feet.

Neumann had managed to break his nose. Blood streamed from both nostrils into his mouth.

Neumann said, "You've had enough, Martin. Let's stop this and go back inside."

Colville said nothing. He stepped forward, jabbed with his left hand, and unleashed a powerful roundhouse right. The blow landed high on Neumann's cheekbone, splitting the flesh. Neumann felt as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer. His head rang, tears flowed into his eyes, his vision blurred. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and thought of Paris--lying in the filthy alley behind the cafe, his own blood running into the puddles of rainwater, the SS men above him, kicking him with their jackboots, beating him with their fists, their pistol butts, wine bottles, anything.

Colville unleashed another reckless punch. Neumann crouched, then pivoted and kicked sideways, landing a savage blow on Colville's right kneecap. The bigger man screamed in agony. Neumann rapidly kicked him three more times. Colville was crippled; Neumann wondered if he had dislodged the kneecap. Colville was also terrified. He had obviously never encountered anyone who fought like Neumann.

Neumann kept moving to his right, forcing Colville to put weight on his damaged leg. Colville could barely remain standing. Neumann thought his opponent was finished.

When Neumann's back was toward the pub, Colville shifted all his weight to his good leg and lunged. Neumann, surprised, couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Colville smashed into him and drove him back against the wall. It was like being hit by a speeding lorry. Neumann struggled to regain his breath. Colville raised his head viciously, catching Neumann beneath his chin. Neumann bit his own tongue and blood poured into his mouth.

Before Colville could strike again, Neumann raised a knee into his groin. Colville doubled over, groaning deep in his throat. Neumann raised his knee again, this time into Colville's face, shattering bone. Neumann stepped forward, raised his arm, and drove his elbow downward into the side of Colville's head.

Colville's knees buckled and he collapsed, barely conscious.

Neumann said, "Don't get up, Martin. If you know what's good for you, stay right where you are."

Then Neumann heard screaming. He looked up and saw Jenny running toward him.





That night Neumann lay awake in his bed. He had slept for a while but the pain had awakened him. Now he lay very still, listening to the wind beating against the side of the cottage. In the distance he could hear the rush of the waves against the shoreline. He did not know the time. His wristwatch was lying on the little table next to the bed. He rose onto one elbow, reached out for it, groaning with pain, and looked at the luminous face. Nearly midnight.

He fell back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Fighting with Martin Colville was a foolish mistake. He had endangered his cover and the security of the operation. And he had hurt Jenny. Outside the pub, she had screamed at him and beat her fists against his chest. She was furious with him for hurting her father. He had just wanted to teach the bastard a lesson, but it had all back-fired. Now, lying in bed, listening to the confused rhythm of the ceaseless wind, he wondered whether the entire operation was doomed. He thought of Catherine's warning on Hampstead Heath: Some things have gone wrong. I don't think my cover is going to hold up much longer. He thought of Vogel's order to conduct countersurveillance. He wondered whether all of them--Vogel, Catherine, himself--had already made fatal mistakes.

Neumann took stock of his injuries. He seemed to hurt everywhere. His ribs were bruised and tender--every breath hurt--but it appeared he had suffered no broken bones. His tongue was swollen, and when he rubbed it along the roof of his mouth he felt the cut on the surface. He raised his hand and touched his cheek. Mary had done her best to close the wound without stitches--going to a doctor was out of the question. He checked to make certain the dressing was securely in place. Even the lightest touch made his face pound with pain.

Neumann closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He was beginning to drift off when he heard a footfall on the landing outside his door. Instinctively, he reached for his Mauser. He heard another footfall, then the floor creaking beneath the weight of a body. He raised the Mauser and leveled it at the door. He heard the rattle of someone turning the latch. He thought, If MI5 was coming for me, they certainly wouldn't be trying to sneak into my bedroom at night. But if it wasn't MI5 or the police, who the hell was it? The door pushed back and a small figure stood in the open space. Neumann, in the dim light of his open shade, could see it was Jenny Colville. He quietly laid the Mauser on the floor next to the bed and whispered, "What do you think you're doing?"