It was more than a week before she veered away from Lisbon’s shopping district up a short passageway and into a building, not far from the one Bertie had stayed in while he convalesced. It wasn’t the elegant town house I would have expected. On the lower side of bourgeois, it was clean enough and nondescript. Exactly the sort of safe house I had in a different part of the city. Intrigued, I slipped through the door behind her, taking note of the flat she entered and continuing up the stairs to the next landing.
Five minutes. Then ten, and still no sound from the flat below. I couldn’t wait her out much longer, but in truth there was no need. I knew where her safe house was, and would be better served returning when there was no risk of getting caught – either by her, or by a curious neighbour. I eased myself from my perch and made my way outside into the sunshine.
With plans to return later in the evening, I made my way to the embassy’s annexe, with the hope of encountering my godfather.
I bought a fresh pack of cigarettes and waited for him to leave.
From the way he was dressed, I guessed he was heading to the port, in search of whatever intelligence the dock dollies, as Bertie called them, could offer up. Within two blocks, he turned and closed the gap between us.
‘You’re losing your touch, old girl.’
Digging my good hand into my pocket, I shrugged.
‘If I didn’t want you to see me, you wouldn’t have.’
‘You’re looking better than you were the last time I saw you. Nice outfit,’ he commented, avian gaze raking me up and down. ‘Although I preferred the blonde wig. And the female couture.’
Another shrug. ‘This is better for shadowing. Walk with me.’
He fell into step. ‘Who might you be shadowing, or should I refrain from asking?’
‘I’m trying to figure out why someone is trying to kill me. Someone with links to your friend Allen-Smythe. What do you know of his activities?’
He tilted his head to the side. ‘Still frightfully little, although that’s changing by the day. We’re still trying to find the man who passed him the briefcase, as well as the contact he passed information on to. Doubt we’ll ever find out why. I don’t suppose you’ve figured that one out too, my girl?’
‘For money?’
‘What a bloody stupid question,’ he admonished. ‘I really do expect better of you. Of course for money. Although it would seem admiration also factored in. Sad, really. His father –’
‘I’m not concerned about his lineage. What sort of intelligence was he passing on?’
‘As far as I know, your name never came up, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re not listed in any of our files.’
‘And yet, he saw us together. Could have easily found out there’s no Veronica Sinclair at Marconi. Could have seen me in the casino or anywhere else in Estoril. Heaven knows, I saw him about.’
He inclined his head, acknowledging the point.
‘So, his area of focus?’
Matthew sighed. ‘He was one of my men working to foil the wolfram smuggling. It would seem he passed on any updates as to how we were dealing with the situation. Any new complaints, anything. To be fair, what he passed on was relatively low-level.’
‘And my work with Bertie?’
‘He knew nothing about that.’
‘Can you be certain of that?’
Matthew pursed his lips and drew me into an empty bar, ordering two beers.
‘In our line of work, my dear, there is rarely certainty. We have to make do with probability. With calculated risks. So, while I don’t think he knew who you are, I cannot guarantee that. What do you want? I’d rather not extricate you with everything else going on, but I’d also rather not have you dead. Become rather fond of you in the past few decades, I’m afraid.’
‘Jolly good.’ He ignored my sarcasm and I continued. ‘And I’d rather not leave yet either. As far as I know, she is acting on her own.’
‘She?’
‘She. Sometimes women make good spies.’ I stated the obvious. ‘And assassins. Who would have thought it?’
A ghost of a smile passed over his face.
‘Who indeed. You know who this woman is?’
‘I do.’
‘And you won’t tell me?’
‘With the leaks in your organisation? No chance.’ I pushed the beer around in a small circle, relenting. ‘But if I can’t handle her, you’ll be the first to know. And I’ll need to get out fast.’
‘And your Abwehr friend?’
‘Knows I am more than I admit. And that someone wants me dead. Ironically, the latter bothers him more than the former.’
‘Does he know who it is?’
Interesting that he was less curious about my would-be assassin than he was about Eduard Graf.
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why? Because I haven’t told him. The damned woman is working for the Germans. She’s on his side. And while he might suspect I’m more than I seem, I’d rather not confess to being a British operative. He’s bloody Abwehr, Matthew. Part of their job – his job – is to root out people like me.’
‘Would it make any difference if I asked you – again – to be careful?’
I nodded and made to move away when he grabbed my arm.
‘I will do.’
He released me and stood back. ‘If there’s a risk—’
‘I know.’
‘I know you know.’ He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he studied me. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling me.’
‘There’s always something I’m not telling you. It’s rather a quid pro quo.’
Matthew was already shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that, old girl. Not when your
