She was dumbfounded; she couldn’t believe it. That was the sign she and Hewitt Purnsley had gone over and over again. It was Starlight’s identifying sign. Now here he was, this Hauptsturmführer of the SS, waiting for the countersign.
He gritted his teeth and repeated it. Her brain scrambled for the reply. She gave it.
“I prefer the red poppies of Flanders.”
He came back quickly with the third countersign. “The lilies of Poland can be delightful too.”
And she gave him the fourth: “Nothing compares to the forget-me-nots of Germany.” She stared at him. “You? You’re the person Hewitt—”
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “I followed you up here.”
“You have something for me?”
“What were you doing here?”
“Just like I said, looking for a phone book. I have a friend from school who has relatives in Wannsee. She asked me to check on them.”
“You’re lucky I was the only one who caught you snooping in the count’s personal rooms.”
“It’s all true—you can come with me if you want. I have the address.” She was babbling now, she realized, and she willed herself to calm down.
There was the slam of car doors outside on the driveway. The SS captain went to the window. “The Reichsmarschall is leaving. I should be downstairs.” He turned his attention back to Aubrey. “You are under surveillance all the time. This little escapade could have gotten you caught, and that would have exposed me.”
“How? I didn’t know you were Starlight until you identified yourself. And speaking of that, I thought you were going to give me something.”
He rifled through his pants pocket. “How will you get it out of Germany?”
“The SIS took care of that.”
“Very well. Here.” He went to hand her a slip of white paper. There was a noise outside the office, and he quickly pulled his hand back and stuffed the note back in his pocket just as the count entered the office.
“There you are, Aubrey. Captain Schmidt, I didn’t know you were up here.”
“Sorry, I got lost, Helmut. I found the ladies’ and then I needed a phone book.” Again, she patted the leather-bound book.
“You are welcome in my home, Aubrey, but this office is private.”
“Herr Count von Villiez, it would be remiss of me not to point out that you have seemingly classified material strewn about your desk,” Schmidt said.
“What are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing, Count. Just a friendly bit of advice.”
The count moved behind his desk, scooped the papers into the drawer and locked it. Aubrey handed over the phone book.
Helmut said, “Why didn’t you just ask?”
“I forgot. Spur-of-the-moment thing. The young officer here checked up on me.”
Schmidt cut her off. “We should rejoin the Reichsmarschall. He is preparing to leave.”
“Agreed.” The trio left the office and the count locked the door. He let the SS man get ahead of him and pulled Aubrey back.
“Are you all right?”
“He just scared me is all. He thought I was spying.”
“You weren’t, were you?”
“Of course not. Like I said, I was just looking for a phone book. I apologize for going into your office, but I’m no spy.”
“Good, because in Germany spies are dealt with harshly.”
“I’ll bet.”
12
The count escorted Aubrey back into the party. There were women there now, a half dozen mingling among the forty men. Goering kissed the hand of one of them and then was escorted out of the house.
The rest of the women were scattered throughout the soiree, drinking and laughing. Aubrey didn’t need to be hit over the head to realize they had all been purchased and provided by the count.
“It is how business is done, my dear. I would not have been able to sell a thing to this lot without first greasing the wheels.”
“I don’t mind. As long as they don’t think I’m for sale.”
“Never. Everyone knows who you are. Still, I understand how it might make you uncomfortable. It is disrespectful to you. I apologize.” He looked genuinely abashed.
“It has been a long day; would you have your car take me back to my hotel?”
“But of course.”
The count escorted her out to the Mercedes and apologized profusely for not seeing her home personally.
“Nonsense. You have a party to attend to, and a load of important people in there. I’ll see you tomorrow at the exhibition?” she asked, throwing the count a bone.
“I do not know yet. I have important work to do. Perhaps we could dine tomorrow night?”
“Sounds fine.”
“I’ll leave a message at your hotel with the details.”
13
Aubrey opened the door to her room and stood for a moment, looking around. The quilt was still hastily thrown over the bed the way she’d left it; the maid had definitely not been in to tidy up. Aubrey stood there, breathing in through her nose, trying to detect if someone had been in the room. Body odour, perhaps aftershave or cologne if a spy or security agent had been careless.
She was in full spy mode now, which, as Hewitt Purnsley had stressed, she should be. Switched on. That introduction to the agent in the count’s manor house was still fresh in her mind. It had rocked her to the core, largely because of who Purnsley’s agent had turned out to be. That young Nazi officer with the eyes of a killer was betraying his country? Or was he? He had never actually handed her anything. It could all be a trap, with the real spy rotting away in the basement of Gestapo headquarters.
No, she told herself, don’t overthink it. The man has his reasons for doing what he’s doing. Hewitt had only touched on the methods used to make a man betray his country. The leverage, the manipulation. They did it for money or a feeling of power or to get back at their higher-ups for not recognizing their value.
Sometimes a person betrayed his country purely for the sake of ideology. But the man was a uniform-wearing, card-carrying, Heil Hitler–saluting Nazi. One of the SS, an organization totally committed to Hitler’s world vision. Could a
