There was a wide grin on his handsome face as he greeted them in a deep rich southern drawl. “And what can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Kelly returned his smile, but what he said turned the Texan’s smile to a look of blank astonishment. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel Kelly, and this is Horst Manteufel, a German national. We both work for the British Secret Service, and we need to speak to your commanding officer urgently on a matter of the utmost importance!”
Part IV
South American Adventures
Into Mexico
The border guard on the Mexican side of the bridge spanning the Rio Grande between McAllen in Texas and Reynosa in Mexico barely glanced at Sybilla’s documents as he waved her through. She had memorised the directions given by her CIA contact: Locate the main road south to San Fernando, look for Hotel Los Almendros on your right just as you reach the suburbs.
The highway was easy to follow. It was well signposted, and after following the Rio Grande for a short distance, it turned south. There was a tricky section through a busy interchange, but once through that, it was straight as a die.
She located the Hotel Los Almendros set slightly off the road in a small orchard of almond trees. On entering, she found the hotel small, but clean and tidy. The proprietor was only too willing to accept US currency, although her insistence on a ground floor room cost her an extra five dollars. She needed to be easily accessible.
As she settled into her room, she took a moment to rest and reflect. Everyone concerned had gone to a great deal of trouble to get her to this point, but she was very conscious that the whole plan could come crashing down around her feet. The CIA double agent would certainly make Stefan Huber aware of her presence here, but would Huber consider a teacher to be worth bothering about? It was a long shot.
Immediately after McFarlane’s briefing, Sybilla had moved to Beaconsfield in England where a small flat was provided for her. The following day she was visited by her teacher, assigned to her for one month from the Army Education HQ based at Wilton Park, Beaconsfield.
The woman, Maria Camila Martinez, a petite and attractive thirty-something, had studied languages in England before returning to her native Gibraltar as an English teacher. After the onset of hostilities, she was used by the British as an interpreter, returning to teaching after the war. During this time, she was recruited to provide basic Spanish lessons and orientation training for military personnel recently posted to the Rock. The courses were a huge success. Looking at Maria, it was not difficult to see why.
Then, about two years ago, she was headhunted by the Army Education Corps to train selected officers in high-level Spanish to interpreter standard. It was too good an opportunity to miss, and she moved to England with her husband Rafael and their two young children, Maya and Vincente. Rafael—a radar technician in the dockyard in Gibraltar—had no difficulty in finding a job as a radio repair technician with a far-sighted company already gearing up for the introduction of television.
After two days of formal lessons in a classroom at Wilton Park, Maria had shaken her head. “Sybilla, this is no good, we’ll never have you ready in a month. To understand and speak Spanish to a good level, you have to live it. You will have to move in with Raffa and me. You must live, eat and sleep Spanish for the next month. Speak no English, no English radio, no newspapers—nothing but Spanish, Spanish and Spanish.”
And so Sybilla did. She moved into their three-bedroomed house, sharing a room with the eldest child Maya, fortunately a wonderfully polite young lady of about eight years, who loved talking to Sybilla. Perfect!
After that, it was complete immersion, which Sybilla entered into with her usual total commitment. At the end of the month, she had been ready.
On her arrival in the US, she was given a final briefing in Washington before being inserted into McAllen on the Mexican border with a suitcase of clothes, two hundred US dollars and a 1939 Oldsmobile 60. Now it was the waiting game.
She didn’t have long to wait. On the third day after her arrival in Reynosa, the receptionist knocked on her door and informed her that a Señor Huber was in reception asking for her. Sybilla’s heart beat a little faster but she remained outwardly calm. Wearing her most worried look, she walked the short distance to reception where Huber waited.
“Yes?” she asked peremptorily, working her hands as she did so.
Huber was a short man, fairly rotund, balding and with thick glasses. Despite that, there was an air of authority about him. He answered in German.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Frau Thorstaadt. I am nothing to do with the American authorities. I am here to help you.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” responded Sybilla, still speaking in English and allowing fear to creep into her voice.
“Why don’t we go to the corner coffee house? We will have more privacy there.”
They walked to the café—Sybilla clearly agitated and furtively glancing up at him from time to time—and took a seat outside, distancing themselves from the only other customer.
“Speak German,” Huber commanded. “It’s more secure.”
He paused while a waiter took their order then continued, “You have escaped from the USA to avoid extradition, is this not so?”
Sybilla looked as though she was about to deny it then hung her head. After a pause she confirmed, very softly in German, that his suspicions were correct.
“What did you intend to do after crossing the border?” he asked.
“I didn’t think it through very clearly, I was panicking. I had the crazy idea that I could drive to Brazil. They have German settlements there, you see.
