Page 24 of Echoes of Betrayal

Lizzie pretended to be absorbed in drinking her coffee, and only when Brunner had left the café did she casually reach for the newspaper he had discarded on his chair. She checked no one was watching and deftly pulled it towards her and turned the pages until she saw the crossword. Neat letters filled some of the clues, which she skimmed. She was searching for a pattern or something that didn’t fit, and after her intensive cipher training and experience in the field, it wasn’t long until she noticed it.

PLÄFE had the correct number of letters but was the wrong answer. It made no sense, and she knew it was his message to her. Pläfe was a public park which she knew of because she’d walked there with Tom when they had wanted to talk without being overheard. He told her it was the Bernese nickname for the Münsterplattform, the terrace behind the cathedral.

Her eyes scanned the clues again, and she reached for her cooling coffee. She noticed a man studying her from across the café and committed his face to memory in case she wasn’t just being overcautious, which was a hazard of the job.

MAUER. There it was … Another incorrect answer Brunner had left her as a clue. The man wasn’t looking at her any longer, but she wouldn’t take any chances, and she was due back at the Legation in five minutes, anyway. She rested the newspaper on the table and made a show of organising her handbag. As she reached for her hat, she knocked the dregs of the grainy coffee over, and it spilt onto the crossword. Then she grabbed the paper napkin and dabbed it over the area where the coffee had spilt as if she were trying to clean up the mess.

The crossword was now smeared with coffee dregs, and the answers were illegible. Ursula approached her, and when Lizzie apologised, she smiled and assured her it was no problem. ‘Accidents can’t be helped. Here, give it to me and I’ll dispose of the wet pages, so they don’t stain anyone’s clothing.’

Lizzie thanked the waitress profusely and paid her bill before pulling on her coat and leaving the café without looking back. She couldn’t risk the crossword falling into the wrong hands. Any trained agent would notice the wrong answers and quickly conclude the same.

As the door closed behind Lizzie, Voss watched the waitress dispose of the sodden newspaper pages behind the counter.

CHAPTER 22

Lizzie was impatient to visit the Münsterplattform, or the Pläfe as the locals referred to the terrace. As a civilian, Brunner wouldn’t call it a dead drop, but she hoped he intended to pass information to her, or why would he have gone to the trouble of planting incongruous words in the crossword? It was obvious he hadn’t just got the answers wrong.

There was, however, little point rushing to examine the wall on the terrace before Brunner could leave something for her, so she held herself back from tearing over there after work. The following day, Pemberton and Tom had so much for her to do that she had to eat at the Legation and work late again. She had no time to leave the office, and it would be too suspicious if she went alone at night. Lizzie thought of asking Tom to accompany her, but quickly rejected the idea. This was something she must keep to herself, at least for now, until she knew more.

Jack’s voice echoed in her mind, as it so often did. ‘Go nowhere Elizabeth Gale wouldn’t go alone, and presume someone is always watching you, because they may well be.’

The thought took her back to the mysterious man who seemed to watch her in the café. He wasn’t the same one from the Rosengarten when she met Hildegard, but she resolved to be even more careful. There was something about working at the Legation in such a lovely city in a neutral country that made her lower her guard, even though she had been warned it was a centre for intrigue and espionage. Tom told her that the café was one of many that were popular with diplomats and spies, and to be on her guard. After operating in occupied France and Berlin, Bern felt almost like being on holiday, but she mustn’t underestimate the dangers of what lurked beneath the surface.

That afternoon, the opportunity finally arrived for her to check whether Brunner had followed through on his unorthodox statements at the ball and his odd actions in the café. Lizzie left work on the dot of five, saying to the receptionist that she had an errand to run and wanted to do it in daylight. The receptionist nodded and continued typing. If Pemberton looked for her, the woman would mention she had gone on an errand, and there would be nothing unusual about it.

Crossing the bridge, she heard the familiar gurgle of the fast-flowing river current, but instead of lingering to admire the scene, she walked briskly until the cathedral’s spire dominated the sky, guiding her to her destination like a compass. As she neared the terrace, Lizzie sat down on a bench and pretended to remove a stone from her shoe. As she did, she scanned the area discreetly until she was confident no one had followed her. Then she stood and walked behind the cathedral and onto the terrace that overlooked the Aare. It was difficult to escape the view of the river because it encircled the Old Town like a medieval moat, and it seemed to accompany Lizzie wherever she went.

A couple holding hands stood admiring the view of the white-peaked Alps, the pretty red rooftops, and the water glimmering in the late afternoon sun. A man crossed onto the pathway and disappeared from sight, and a small group of students leaned against the chestnut trees, smoking and chatting. An elderly couple sat on one bench sharing a sandwich as Lizzie passed by.

She was in the right location: Pläfe was the terrace, and her other clue was mauer, which was German for wall. Lizzie walked around slowly, enjoying the faint rays of sun on her face despite the chilled air, assessing where the dead drop could be. It was perfectly normal for a woman to take a turn after work, and lighting up a cigarette would be excellent cover, but Elizabeth Gale didn’t smoke. Her eyes lingered on the sandstone balustrade that was like a parapet wall, with ornamental pavilions at each corner.

This was the only wall Brunner could be referring to, so by a process of elimination, a suitable spot for a dead drop could be a gap in the balustrade near where the couple stood in a passionate embrace, or in one of the pavilions. The challenge was checking without attracting attention to her actions from the people nearby. The young lovers were besotted with each other and too distracted to notice much happening around them. The students milled about in the distance, and a few of them kicked a football back and forth near the trees. And the elderly couple rose from the bench and walked along the path, the woman holding onto the man’s arm for support.

If she delayed further, new arrivals who were more aware of their surroundings might appear. The couple were laughing and kissing again and had moved to one side of a corner pavilion, but were still nearby. Lizzie ambled towards the balustrade and pretended to admire the view of the sinking amber sun in the blue-gold sky as daylight prepared to take its last breaths. A chill wind whipped in her face, and she shivered and pulled her coat collar closer. It wouldn’t be long before the soft light faded into dusk, and she wanted to get home before darkness fell, especially if she had a secret intelligence package to smuggle into the safety of her apartment.

The young woman giggled and broke into a run, and the man chased her. This was her moment, so she dropped a coin on the ground and fumbled about as if trying to find it. She scanned the gaps between the stones, and the giggles of the woman grew louder again.

Something out of place in the sandstone caught her eye, and she reached across and pretended to examine the ground for what she had dropped. As she did so, she moved next to the wall and raised her head to the gap in the stones. Pulling herself up with the support of the wall, she lowered one hand to the gap, and her fingers poked inside until they touched something soft. Glancing around, she checked that the various groups were still absorbed in their pursuits. In one swift movement, she extracted the small package that was tucked cleverly into the stonework and popped it into her coat pocket. Standing still for a few minutes, gazing at the setting sun, she then turned and left the terrace. Her icy fingers closed over the package wrapped in waxed paper, and a thrill rocketed through her, but she schooled herself to walk at a steady pace even though she felt the urge to race. She couldn’t wait to open the package and see what the banker deemed so dangerous he must drop clues for her in a crossword and hide it in a wall.

CHAPTER 23

The rain lashed down hard that morning on the windowpane as Jack gazed out over the shadowy fields as dawn broke, and he pulled himself out of bed. The sky was pewter grey with heavy dark clouds threatening more rain on the horizon.

If the landlady hadn’t taken pity on him after breakfast, he would have been drenched on the walk to work. The stout, good-natured woman bustled about clearing the breakfast dishes away when Jack finished his cup of tea and stood to leave.

‘You’re not going out in that downpour?’ she said, narrowing her eyes, her hands on her hips, reminding Jack very much of his mother.

Jack crossed to the window and saw that the rain was pounding the road and rivulets of water streamed across the surface as a few unfortunate souls rushed past, their heads bowed, and their necks huddled into their coat collars against the downpour.

When Jack turned from the window, the landlady had disappeared, but she soon returned, waving a tall, black umbrella in one hand. ‘Here, borrow this. Now, it’s my husband’s, mind, so make sure to bring it back. I daresay he won’t be going out in this, so it won’t be missed, but you’ll catch your death of cold without it.’

Jack smiled and accepted the umbrella. ‘That’s very kind of you. Thank you so much.’

When Jack reached Bletchley Park, the guard nodded to him from where he was sheltering, and the absence of staff weaving along the gravel paths was immediately noticeable. All Jack could hear was the rain beating down on the ground with a relentless rhythm.

The gabled frontage and the gilded masonry of the mansion had turned darker beneath the rain cascading down the gutters and pipes. The chimneys chugged out smoke, and Jack guessed the fires would work overtime today in the wet, gloomy weather.

Jack glanced towards the lake, which was usually a delight to behold. This torrential morning, the ducks were nowhere to be seen, but he heard their cries and wings flapping in the foliage. He hurried towards the wooden makeshift huts and saw the rain pounding on the rooftops, water pooling on the rough gravel around them and forming deep puddles. Drenched bicycles were propped against the walls and Jack quickened his pace and entered the corridor as the rain fell even harder. Lowering the umbrella, he shook it out and rested it against the wall. In his hut, only two other staff members had made it in so far, and he guessed the rest were waiting somewhere for the rain to subside.