The Unlikely Spy(62)

21


EAST LONDON





Catherine Blake had a stiletto hidden in her handbag the following evening as she hurried along the pavement toward the Popes' warehouse. She had demanded a meeting alone with Vernon Pope, and, as she approached the warehouse, she saw no sign of Pope's men. She stopped at the gate and turned the latch. It was unlocked, just as Pope said it would be. She pulled it open and stepped inside.

The warehouse was a place of shadows, the only illumination from a light hanging at one end of the room. Catherine walked toward the light and found the freight lift. She stepped inside, pulled the gate closed, and pressed the button. The lift groaned and shuddered upward toward Pope's office.

The lift emptied onto a small landing with a set of black double doors. Catherine knocked and heard Pope's voice on the other side tell her to enter. He was standing at a drinks trolley, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a pair of glasses in the other. He held one out toward Catherine as she walked across the floor.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm just staying for a minute."

"I insist," he said. "Things got a little tense the last time we were together. I want to make it up to you."

"Is that why you had me followed?" she said, accepting the wine.

"I have everyone followed, darling. That's how I stay in business. My boys are good at it, as you'll see when you read this." He held out an envelope toward Catherine, then pulled it away as her hand reached for it. "That's why I was so surprised when you managed to give Dicky the slip. That was smooth--ducking into the underground and then jumping on a bus."

"I changed my mind." She drank some of the champagne. It was ice cold and excellent. Pope held out the envelope again and this time allowed Catherine to take it. She set down her glass and opened it.

It was exactly what she needed, a minute-by-minute account of Peter Jordan's movements around London: where he worked, the hours he kept, the places he did his eating and drinking, even the name of a friend.

While she finished reading, Pope took the champagne from the ice bucket and poured another glass for himself. Catherine reached inside her handbag, took out the money, and dropped it on the table. "Here's the rest," she said. "I think that concludes our business. Thank you very much."

She was slipping the report on Peter Jordan into her purse when Pope stepped forward and loosened her grip on the bag. "Actually, Catherine darling, our business together has just begun."

"If it's more money you want--"

"Oh, I want more money. And if you don't want me to make a call to the police, you're going to give it to me." He took another step closer to her, pressed his body against hers, and ran his hand over her breasts. "But there's something else I want from you."

The bedroom doors opened and Vivie stood there, wearing nothing but one of Vernon's shirts unbuttoned to her waist. "Vivie, meet Catherine," Pope said. "Lovely Catherine has agreed to stay for the evening."





They didn't prepare her for situations like this at the Abwehr spy school in Berlin. They taught her how to count troops, how to assess an army, how to use her radio, how to recognize the insignia of units and the faces of senior officers. But they never taught her how to deal with a London gangster and his kinky girlfriend who planned to spend the evening taking turns with her body. She had the sensation of being trapped in some silly pubescent fantasy. She thought, This can't really be happening. But it was happening, and Catherine could think of nothing from her training to get her through it.

Vernon Pope led her through the doors into the bedroom. He pushed her down at the end of the bed, then sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. Vivie stood in front of her and undid the last two buttons of the shirt. She had small upturned breasts and pale skin that shone in the dim light of the room. She took hold of Catherine's head and pulled it to her breasts. Catherine played along with the depraved game, taking Vivie's nipple into her mouth, while she thought about how best to kill them both.

Catherine knew once she submitted to blackmail it would never end. Her financial resources were not unlimited. Vernon Pope could bleed her dry very quickly. With no money, she would be rendered useless. She decided there was little risk involved; she had covered her tracks carefully. The Popes and their men did not know where to find her. They only knew she worked as a volunteer nurse at St. Thomas Hospital, and Catherine had given the hospital a false address. They would also be reluctant to go to the police. The police would ask questions--answering them truthfully would mean admitting to following an American naval officer for money.

All of it hinged on killing Vernon Pope as quickly and quietly as possible.

Catherine took Vivie's other breast into her mouth and sucked the nipple until it became firm. Vivie's head rolled back and she moaned. She took Catherine's hand and guided it between her legs. Already she was warm and wet. Catherine had turned off all her emotions. She was just mechanically going through the movements of giving physical pleasure to this woman. She felt neither fear nor revulsion; she simply tried to remain calm and to think clearly. Vivie's pelvis began to work against Catherine's fingers, and a moment later her body trembled with an orgasm.

Vivie pushed Catherine down onto the bed, sat astride her hips, and began undoing the buttons of her sweater. She unhooked Catherine's brassiere and massaged her breasts. Catherine saw Vernon rise from his seat and begin to undress. For the first time she became nervous. She didn't want him on top of her or inside her. He might be a cruel and sadistic lover. He might hurt her. On her back, with her legs spread, she would be vulnerable. She would also be subject to his superior weight and strength. All the fighting techniques she had learned hinged on speed and maneuverability. If she were pinned beneath Vernon Pope's heavy body she would be defenseless.