“Drive to Brazil?” he asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.
“I told you it was done in a moment of panic. I hadn’t realised the distances, and even if my car could make it, which I doubt, I wouldn’t have enough money to cover the fuel.”
“So, what will you do now?”
“I’ll go back and give myself up. It’s all I can do. It’s hopeless!” This latter in a fit of sobbing.
Huber placed his hand on hers. “Don’t despair, I may be able to help. You lost your husband whilst on a mission in France, I believe?”
“Jürgen wasn’t my husband. We weren’t married, but we were lovers and lived together. Our mission was to obtain information about the underground. My job was to try to infiltrate then report back to Jürgen, and he in turn would report back to Gestapo HQ in Dunkirk.”
“What happened then?” Huber prompted.
“I reported what had happened to the Gestapo, but they were already aware and decided to move me as I had become known and therefore a liability. I was transferred to Dunkirk. This was 1944, and the Gestapo knew that the Allied invasion was imminent but had assumed—wrongly—that it would be in the Dunkirk area. I was to lay low and report troop numbers, armour types and if possible, direction of travel, via radio. In the event, the invasion came through Normandy, so I was moved again, this time as close to the enemy as I could get, then waited for them to pass through and again transmitted the information. I did this until the signal from the receiving station went dead. I assumed they had been overrun or moved further back out of range.”
“You’re a brave woman. How did you get out?”
“I destroyed the radio and buried the bits, then claimed to the British that I was a displaced person, a Norwegian worker, stranded in France. They transferred me to England, where I was interrogated. In the end I think they believed me, although I had to stay in an internment camp until the war ended. I was then repatriated to Oslo.”
The truth was somewhat different. After being inserted into the Normandy region, Sybilla had made contact with the advancing Allied troops and in particular with an intelligence unit. Once they had established that she really was undercover OES, they were delighted and asked her to remain in position and report precisely what they gave her. Sybilla did exactly that, feeding the Germans misleading information: placing massive armoured units where there were none, giving them the incorrect direction of travel, exaggerated troop numbers and so on.
Once she had lost contact, British Intelligence had extracted her and she had returned to London.
“Do you have any money?” Huber asked.
“About a hundred and fifty dollars, it’s all I have in the world.”
“It’s enough to keep you for a while. Now I must return to my office in Monterrey where I will set some wheels in motion, but in the meantime promise me two things: you will not return to the USA, and you will remain at your current hotel until I return. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” said Sybilla, trying to smile through the tears.
Whilst waiting for Huber’s return, Sybilla acquainted herself with the town. Being a main crossing point between the USA and Mexico, it was clearly geared to import and export. A number of American companies had based themselves in and around the town and the population, though predominantly Mexican, had a significant number of US nationals mingled among them. Sybilla assiduously avoided contact with the Americans; she didn’t want to answer any difficult questions.
There were several insalubrious areas in the city, but in the main it was relatively calm and decent. She managed to find a better-quality hotel with a restaurant and bar, which she occasionally frequented. She also found a newsagent who sold American newspapers. They were a day old and quite expensive, but it was something to read. She would, at the same time, buy a Mexican newspaper to practise her reading skills, which had improved tremendously under Maria Camila. In this way she passed the eight days until Huber returned.
Once again, he escorted her to the coffee house and waited until they had been served before he spoke, as he had done previously, in German.
“All is arranged. You will follow me to Monterrey and park your car outside my house. There is a hotel nearby where you can spend the night, but you must be up early as your bus leaves Monterrey at six forty-five. I will pick you up at six fifteen. Please be ready. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes, Herr Huber, but what will happen to my car?”
“I know a dealer. I will get the best price I can for it and forward the money to your contact in Buenos Aires. It won’t be much, I’m afraid.”
Sybilla shrugged.
Huber continued, “The bus is direct to Tampico, on the Atlantic coast, but stops at the dock gate in Altamira. You need to get off there. You can’t miss it; you’ll see the massive cranes from the bus. The street where you get off the bus is lined with the offices of importers, exporters and freight companies. The company you want is Sigma, but it will be too late to do anything by the time you get there. There’s a hotel across the road about a hundred metres up on the left. Stay there overnight.
“The following morning go to the Sigma company offices. Your ticket will be waiting for you there and someone will escort you to the ship. I’m afraid it’s just a cargo vessel, not a luxury liner, but they keep half a dozen cabins available for paying passengers.
“So, Liebling, all that remains is to wish you a safe journey and a pleasant new life. Viel Glück!”
On impulse, Sybilla embraced him. “Thank you, Herr Huber, you’ve probably saved my life!”
Huber beamed. “That is precisely
