The Unlikely Spy(140)
The warehouse was dark and appeared deserted. Neumann rang the bell and waited. There was no response. He rang the bell again and this time could hear the sound of footsteps on the other side. The door was opened a moment later by a black-haired giant in a leather coat.
"What do you want?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Pope, please," Neumann said politely. "I need a few items, and I was told this was very definitely the place to come."
"Mr. Pope is gone and we're out of business, so piss off."
The giant started to close the door. Neumann put his foot in the way.
"I'm sorry. It's really rather urgent. Perhaps you could help."
The giant looked at Neumann, a puzzled look on his face. He seemed to be trying to reconcile the public school accent with the reefer coat and bandaged face. "I suppose you didn't hear me the first time," he said. "We're out of business. Shut down." He grabbed Neumann's shoulder. "Now, f*ck off."
Neumann punched the giant in the Adam's apple, then pulled out his Mauser and shot him in the foot. The man collapsed on the floor, alternately howling in pain and gasping for breath. Neumann stepped inside and closed the gate. The warehouse was just the way Catherine described it: vans, cars, motorbikes, stacks of black-market food, and several jerry cans of petrol.
Neumann leaned down and said, "If you make a move, I'll shoot you again and it won't be in the foot. Do you understand?"
The giant grunted.
Neumann selected a black van, opened the door, and started the motor. He grabbed two jerry cans of petrol and put them in the back of the van. On second thought, it was a very long drive. He took two more and put them in the back too. He climbed inside the van, drove it to the front of the warehouse, then got out and hauled open the main door.
Before leaving, he knelt beside the wounded man and said, "If I were you, I'd get straight to a hospital."
The man looked at Neumann, more confused than ever. "Who the hell are you, mate?"
Neumann smiled, knowing the truth would sound so absurd the man would never believe it.
"I'm a German spy on the run from MI-Five."
"Yeah--and I'm Adolf bloody Hitler."
Neumann climbed in the van and sped away.
Harry Dalton tore the blackout shades from the headlamps and drove dangerously fast westward across London. Transport section had offered a skilled high-speed driver, but Harry wanted to do the driving himself. He weaved in and out of traffic, one hand constantly pressing the horn. Vicary sat next to him on the front seat, nervously clutching the dash. The wipers struggled in vain to beat away the rain. Turning into the Cromwell Road, Harry accelerated so hard the rear end of the car slid on the slick tarmac. He sliced and snaked his way through the traffic, then turned south into Earl's Court Road. He entered a small side street, then raced down a narrow alley, swerving once to avoid a rubbish bin, then again to miss a cat. He slammed on the brakes behind a block of flats and brought them to a skidding halt.
Harry and Vicary got out of the car, entered the building through the rear service door, and pounded up the stairs toward the fifth floor to the surveillance flat. Vicary, ignoring the pain shooting through his knee like a knife, kept pace with Harry.
He thought, If only Boothby had let me arrest them hours ago, we wouldn't be in this mess!
It was nothing short of a disaster.
The agent code-named Rudolf had just jumped from a train at Euston Station and melted into the city. Vicary had to assume he was now attempting to flee the country. He had no choice but to arrest Catherine Blake; he needed her in custody and scared out of her wits. Then she might tell them where Rudolf was headed and how he planned to escape, whether other agents were involved, and where he kept his radio.
Vicary was not optimistic. Everything he felt about this woman told him she would not cooperate, even when faced with execution. All she had to do was hold out long enough for Rudolf to escape. If she did that, the Abwehr would possess evidence suggesting British Intelligence was engaged in a massive deception. The consequences were too awful to contemplate. All the work that had gone into Fortitude would be wasted. The Germans could deduce that the Allies were coming at Normandy. The invasion would have to be postponed and replanned; otherwise it would end in a blood-soaked catastrophe. Hitler's iron-handed occupation of western Europe would go on. Countless more would die. And all because Vicary's operation had fallen to pieces. They had one chance now: arrest her, make her talk, and stop Rudolf before he could flee the country or use his radio.
Harry pushed open the door to the surveillance flat and led them inside. The curtains were open to the street, the room in darkness. Vicary struggled to make out the figures standing in various poses all around the room like statuary in a darkened garden: a pair of bleary-eyed watchers, frozen in the window; a half dozen tense Special Branch men leaning against one wall. The senior Special Branch officer was called Carter. He was big and buff with a thick throat and pockmarked skin. A cigarette, extinguished for security, jutted from the corner of his generous mouth. When Harry introduced Vicary, he pumped Vicary's hand ferociously once, then led him to the window to explain the disposition of his forces. The dead cigarette flaked ash as he spoke.
"We'll go in through the front door," Carter said, a trace of North Country in his accent. "When we do, we'll seal the street at both ends and a pair of men will cover the back of the house. Once we're in the house she'll have nowhere to go."