Eye of the Needle(107)

Four sailors came up the hill toward the house at a jog trot, one of them shouting, “Left-right-left-right-left-right.”

Another plane landed on the sea, a dinghy emerged from inside it and a man in a life jacket began to row toward the cliff.

A small ship came around the headland and steamed toward the U-boat.

The U-boat submerged.

The dinghy bumped into the rocks at the foot of the cliff, and the man got out and examined Faber’s body.

A boat she recognized as the Coastguard cutter appeared.

One of the sailors came up to her. “Are you all right, love? There’s a little girl in the cottage crying for her mummy—”

“It’s a boy,” Lucy said, “I must cut his hair.”





BLOGGS STEERED the dinghy toward the body at the foot of the cliff. The boat bumped against the rock and he scrambled out and onto the flat surface.

Die Nadel’s skull had smashed like a glass goblet when he hit the rock. Looking more closely, Bloggs could see that the man had been somewhat battered even before the fall: his right hand was mutilated and there was something wrong with his ankle.

Bloggs searched the body. The stiletto was where he had guessed it might be: in a sheath strapped to the left forearm. In the inside pocket of the expensive-looking bloodstained jacket, Bloggs found a wallet, papers, money, and a small film can containing twenty-four 35mm photographic negatives. He held them up to the strengthening light: they were the negatives of the prints found in the envelopes Faber had sent to the Portuguese Embassy.

The sailors on the cliff top threw down a rope. Bloggs put Faber’s possessions into his own pocket, then tied the rope around the body. They hauled it up, then sent the rope down for Bloggs.

When he got to the top, the sub-lieutenant introduced himself and they walked across to the cottage on top of the hill.

“We haven’t touched anything, didn’t want to destroy evidence,” the senior sailor said.

“Don’t worry too much,” Bloggs told him. “There won’t be a prosecution.”

They had to enter the house through the broken kitchen window. The woman was sitting at a table with the child on her lap. Bloggs smiled at her. He could not think of anything to say.

He looked quickly around the cottage. It was a battlefield. He saw the nailed-up windows, the barred doors, the remains of the fire, and the dog with its throat cut, the shotguns, the broken banister, and the axe embedded in the windowsill beside two severed fingers.

He thought, What kind of woman is she?

He set the sailors to work—one to tidy the house and unbar the doors and windows, another to replace the blown fuse, a third to make tea.

He sat down in front of the woman and looked at her. She was dressed in ill-fitting, mannish clothes; her hair was wet; her face was dirty. Despite all that, she was remarkably beautiful, with lovely amber eyes in an oval face.

Bloggs smiled at the child and spoke quietly to the woman. “What you’ve done is tremendously important,” he said. “One of these days we’ll explain, but for now I have to ask you two questions. Is that okay?”

Her eyes focused on him and after a moment she nodded.

“Did Faber succeed in contacting the U-boat by radio?”

The woman just looked blank.

Bloggs found a toffee in his trousers pocket. “Can I give the boy a sweet? He looks hungry.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Now, did Faber contact the U-boat?”

“His name was Henry Baker,” she said.

“Oh. Well, did he?”

“No. I short-circuited the electricity.”

“That was very smart,” Bloggs said. “How did you do it?”

She pointed at the empty light socket above them.

“Screwdriver, eh?”

“No. I wasn’t that smart. Fingers.”

He gave her a look of horror, disbelief. The thought of deliberately…he shook himself, trying to put it out of his mind. And thought again, What kind of woman is she?…“Right, well, do you think anyone on the U-boat could have seen him coming down the cliff?”

The effort of concentration showed on her face. “Nobody came out of the hatch, I’m quite sure,” she said. “Could they have seen him through their periscope?”

“No,” he said. “This is good news, very good news. It means they don’t know he’s been…neutralized. Anyway…” He changed the subject hastily. “You’ve been through as much as any man on the front line. More. We’re going to get you and the boy to a hospital on the mainland.”

“Yes,” she said.

Bloggs turned to the senior sailor. “Is there any form of transport around?”

“Yes—a jeep down in that little stand of trees.”

“Good. Will you drive these two over to the jetty and get them onto your boat?”

“Surely.”

Bloggs turned to the woman again. He felt a tremendous surge of affection mixed with admiration for her. She looked frail and helpless now, but he knew she was as brave and strong as she was beautiful. Surprising her—and himself—he took hold of her hand. “When you’ve been in hospital a day or two you’ll begin to feel depressed. But that’s a sign you’re getting better. I won’t be far away and the doctors will tell me. I’ll want to talk to you some more, but not before you feel like it. Okay?”