The Unlikely Spy(79)

She gets to her feet. "Get out of here, now! I'm leaving in the morning. I've had enough of this hellhole!"

"Oh, yes, you're leaving in the morning. But it's not where you think. There's just one problem. Your trainers tell me that you are still reluctant to kill with your knife. They say you shoot very well, better than the boys, even. But they say you are slow with your stiletto."

She says nothing, just glares at him, lying on the rug in the firelight.

"I have a suggestion for you. Whenever you must use your stiletto, think of the man who hurt you when you were a little girl."

Her mouth drops open in horror. She has told only one person about it in her entire life: Maria. But Maria must have told Emilio--and Emilio, the bastard, told Vogel.

"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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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.





BERLIN: JANUARY 1944





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.