‘That’s not what I said, princess. Tell him about the toff.’
How the hell had Bertie found out about that?
Both men watched me expectantly, the silence as palpable as it was uncomfortable.
‘Do you really want to know, Eduard, why Matthew screamed “Lisbet” when I fell?’ The anger dissipated; I was tired, although strangely not frightened. If Eduard was going to move against me, he already had enough ammunition. And secrets of his own.
‘Your code name?’
‘No.’ I stood in front of Eduard, my eyes locked on his. ‘Because Matthew Harrington remembers a child too young to pronounce her own name. Matthew Harrington isn’t just my handler – he’s my damn godfather.’
The words hung in the air like a heavy smog. Eduard fought to hide his shock well while Bertie grinned.
‘S’ppose that gives you the right to be angry, princess,’ he said.
Eduard lit a cigarette, flinching when I snatched it out of his mouth.
‘You don’t smoke.’
I took a deep drag, smashed it on the windowsill and threw the butt into the garden.
Bertie sniggered. Eduard glared. I finished my brandy.
Seconds ticked on the grandfather clock in the hallway. I refilled my glass. Neither man commented.
‘So, Fritz, you have a plan?’ Bertie asked.
Eduard relented. ‘Show me that map.’
Bertie waved his hand, inviting Eduard to look.
‘Let’s see how clever you are, then.’
Eduard traced one long finger down the coastline from Estoril to Sintra. Stopped and tapped against a small inlet.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s not the biggest quay, but it is remote enough to hide someone.’
It was the same quay Bertie had found, but he gave nothing away.
‘How do you propose to get him out? Boat?’
‘No. One man on the jetty with a machine gun would cut us down in a heartbeat.’
‘Even disguised as joyriders?’
‘It could work for Solange, perhaps, but not for you, mate.’ Eduard drawled the last word, echoing Bertie’s accent.
‘An’ what would you suggest, yer lordship? Waltzing in an’ asking for his nibs and a by your leave?’
Eduard studied the map in silence while Bertie rolled his eyes. Finally Eduard straightened and turned to Bertie.
‘You come in by speedboat, that part will work, but not into the inlet. You land here, and move across by foot.’ His fingers traced the map – long, elegant pointers.
‘And me?’
Eduard glared. ‘You stay safe.’
‘Like hell I will. Either I go with you or I go by myself.’ I folded my arms across my chest. ‘Your choice.’
Bertie shrugged, barely able to hide his mirth. Eduard was rather less amused.
‘Just what are you proposing, Angel?’
‘I can shoot better than most. But you knew that. A lot of others don’t. What if I become your camouflage?’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘How?’
‘Most men, military men, don’t see women as a threat. Get me a uniform, the sort your people wear. I’ll drive your staff car. We gain access from the coast road, pass the checkpoint Ulysse marked here, and regroup at this point here.’
‘And, lovely as you are, you think you can sail through unmolested?’
‘Yes, Eduard. I do.’ My smile was humourless. ‘Because I’ll be driving a German officer.’
*
A dark silence slithered into the room and wound itself around my throat as we worked out the details of the operation. If we went in as he’d suggested, shots would be fired. Would Eduard – a good German, loyal to his country – willingly shoot his countrymen to save a man who was going to simply facilitate a meeting for him? What sort of meeting was worth this?
‘You can’t get him out by diplomatic means?’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Not without the trail leading back to me.’
He didn’t need to say aloud what would happen to him if that occurred. The Germans weren’t squeamish when it came to executing traitors. Which meant that if the kidnapping wasn’t sanctioned, neither was the rescue.
‘You don’t need to do this, Eduard.’
‘Actually, Angel, I do.’
‘Not for me, you don’t.’
‘That’s my cue to take me leave.’ Bertie paused at the door, yanking his non-existent forelock. ‘Princess, Fritz. Try not to kill each other before we rescue the toff, will you?’
Eduard waited until he heard the outside gate open and close.
‘I told you, I need your diplomat alive. If not, everything I’ve worked for dies with him.’
He was working with Matthew? Why on earth would he be doing that?
‘I cannot let that happen,’ Eduard continued. ‘I would prefer you to stay here.’ He held up one hand, stilling my protests. ‘But I know that would be useless. Unless I tie you to the bed, you’ll find a way to be there anyway.’
‘What choice do I have? How long will he be questioned before he gives away my name? My real name.’
‘Which is?’
‘I rather like the way you call me “Angel”,’ I admitted. ‘But my parents named me Elisabeth. Why didn’t you tell me you spoke English?’
‘You never asked.’
‘I’m asking now. You can’t speak French. Your Portuguese is abysmal. But you’re fluent in English?’
‘My father liked the English. He thought it was a useful language.’ His laughter was mirthless. ‘I don’t think he understood just how useful.’ He stood up, signalling the end to the conversation. ‘I have things I need to arrange. I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock tomorrow.’
I watched him leave – this Abwehr officer who was willing to liberate a captured enemy diplomat. An English-speaking Abwehr officer, who shunned the other members of his organisation, instead socialising with the key players in Naval Intelligence. Who represented people requiring ties that Matthew Harrington could provide.
Who really was Eduard Graf?
And did Köhler know?
Chapter Forty-one
A crisp breeze blew through the French doors, an innocent promise of autumn that belied the day’s agenda. The blonde wig was perched atop the bedpost, having refused to be coaxed into a military style; I would have to rely on pads and cosmetics, to transform my face into a stranger’s.
A motor rumbled outside, and I hid the wig inside the closet, slipped the Luger and two spare clips into my handbag and locked
