AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Words came back to Cordell now, phrases. “It is a fight for survival,” he said aloud, conviction not yet in his voice. He must do better. He began more firmly. “We cannot afford indecision. We have enemies, whether they know it or not. Like…like a disease.” He heard his own voice like that of a stranger. “Strength begets fear in others,” he continued. “And, of course, envy.” He was drenched in sweat. His clothes were sticking to his body.
Hitler and Goebbels glanced at each other, then back again at Cordell.
“You have an excellent grasp of the situation,” Goebbels said smoothly. “In fact, perhaps we should be grateful to this young woman from England, whom we don’t seem to be able to catch. We do not wish anyone to think we did it ourselves, even if we are relieved that it has happened.” A half smile flickered on his face, like moonlight on a grave. “So you know her, this Elena Standish, and your daughter—Cecily, is it?—does she know her as well?”
Cordell drew in his breath sharply. He must answer. They were both staring at him. “She used to. I don’t know if she still does. She hasn’t mentioned her.”
Hitler was looking at him. Outwardly he was a very ordinary man. Only his luminous eyes were unusual, and his pale, sensitive hands. Had they belonged to anyone else, they might have been beautiful.
Then Cordell looked at Goebbels, clever like a serpent, testing the air, smelling fear in others. A mistake could be exactly what they were waiting for. He inclined his head politely and made some innocuous, respectful remark. His mind was racing. One thought crowded out everything else. He must protect Cecily.
What was he going to do about Elena Standish? And what was the price going to be?
He answered automatically, politely, careful not to be sycophantic. Goebbels at least was sensitive to ridicule.
The meal seemed to drag out endlessly. It all tasted like sawdust, and he drank too much water to try to swallow it. Finally, it was over and he thanked them and excused himself.
As he was walking out of the magnificent hotel into the street, he wondered what they had invited him for. Was it to set him on course to find Elena? It seemed likely.
What for? To get her out of the country for them, so they could avoid killing her, which might not be believed in other countries whose good opinion they still needed? That is, specifically, England? Or to avoid the embarrassment of a trial, which might make much of Scharnhorst’s appalling ideas? Did they want him to get her out of Germany to avoid an ugly break with Britain?
It was making him feel as if he were walking into a polar night with no dawn on the horizon. Scharnhorst may be gone but it was Goebbels’s vision of a final solution, the extinction of all who did not fit into the mold of Aryan supremacy, that was so terrifying now.
Accommodation, reason, these were impossible. If Goebbels gained more power and influence in Germany, there was no alternative but war, somewhere ahead, not very far.
CHAPTER
21
Peter Howard had gone to Cambridgeshire and told Ian Newton’s family of his death. It had been even worse than he had anticipated. They had no idea what Ian was doing for MI6. Like the rest of Britain, they did not even know MI6 existed. Howard could not remember doing anything that had hurt him more deeply.
He got back to London at four in the morning, slept a few hours, then got up again, washed, shaved, and dressed. He took only a small case with him.
He did not have to explain his going to Pamela. She stared for a long moment at his face, and understood enough.
He would do it for Lucas. There was no hesitation or question in his mind. Actually, he would have considered anything, for Lucas. But he must do this well.
If he asked questions in Berlin, even if he knew whom he could trust, and who not, he could set the Gestapo on Elena’s trail. And not only hers, but a population of citizens who could be arrested if they refused to cooperate. He had seen it all before. Occupied France had been like that during the war. Fear was as thick in the air as a winter fog, choking the breath, distorting sight and sound.
* * *
—
He went out to the airport and caught a plane to Berlin, landing in the early afternoon. He had contemplated checking in with Cordell at the embassy, or at his home, but decided against either. Cordell was a clever man, long trained to be observant. The assassination of Scharnhorst was too recent. Cordell would know for certain that Howard’s visit had something to do with that. Anyone would.
He went instead to an anonymous-looking hotel and had a meal in a café he knew well…and listened.
He heard about the assassination. There was outrage on the surface, but beneath it he also heard a considerable note of relief.
“Took a bloody Brit to get rid of him,” a man in gray said with feeling.
“Have they got her yet?” his friend asked with a lift in his voice. But no one asked whether he hoped they had.
Someone mentioned the attack on the young Jew two nights before.
“Be quiet!” his neighbor hissed.
“Why?” the speaker demanded. “Do you want me to approve, or disapprove?” It was a challenge, said with bitterness.
