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The speaker lifted his head from his mug of beer and glared at him. “I know nothing about it, and I don’t want to hear your opinion.”
“Not until it’s you, heh?” someone else sneered. “Bit late then.”
“It’s not going to be me! I’m not a Jew!”
“You
’re something! It’ll be your turn one day!”
That killed the conversation. Howard remained silent, trying to think of where to begin looking for Elena. Who did she know in Berlin that would help her? Who could she trust? Why had she not gone back to Cordell? Or anyone else in the embassy? Perhaps she had tried and realized that this was the first place they would look for her.
Would she try the American Embassy? While her mother was American, Elena herself was not a citizen, and they would not have any obligation to protect her. They were neutral. They wanted no part of a quarrel with Germany.
Maybe he had no choice but to go and ask Cordell what he knew, if he was doing anything at all to help.
He had one more glass of beer, but he heard little else of use, except that the assassin had not been captured yet, and the hunt was getting tighter. Would they even try to take her alive? Or kill her, and claim that she had resisted? Obviously not, as they needed to blame her openly, prove she was English. There was still time.
He spent the afternoon and early evening contacting all the agents he knew working in Berlin, but none of them was able to offer any real leads. Wherever Elena was, she must be getting help from someone, because the Gestapo didn’t have her. She must have other contacts. Who could be hiding her? Dare he ask Cordell, who possibly could be working for the Nazis himself? Not until he had exhausted every other reasonable avenue. Where would she go? What would she need? She was a photographer. Film! New film to shoot, and probably used film developed. He asked a few people, but they knew nothing. No one had seen a woman answering her description, or anything like it.
He went back to his lodgings at two in the morning, slept badly. All the years of doing this, and he still could not relax. Some men could. Did they care less or were they just more emotionally disciplined?
He got up early, had a cup of coffee and a pastry, and went out. There was nothing else left to do now but speak to Cordell. He went to the British Embassy and loitered across the road, aware that the embassy would offer Elena her best chance of escape if she was trying to get out of Berlin, which she must be doing.
He saw Cordell arriving, just after eight, and went in after him, catching him at the side door entrance. He would prefer not to identify himself to the guard at the front.
Cordell was surprised. “Howard?” he asked uncertainly, peering at him. “It is you…isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Howard replied with a faint flicker of humor. He was good at blending well into the background, looking anonymous, instantly forgettable.
“What are you doing here?” Cordell asked, leading the way in, up the stairs, and along the corridor to his office.
Howard did not reply until they were inside and the door closed.
“Tea?” Cordell asked.
“Yes, please.” His mouth tasted like paper.
“Well? What is it? I assume it’s this bloody Scharnhorst business?”
“Did you know about it beforehand?”
Cordell’s eyes widened. He barely moved, and yet his body stiffened. “Yes. Elena Standish told me she had been traveling with Ian Newton, and when he was murdered, before he died, he told her to come here, to tell me. Which she did.”
“And you warned the Germans?” Howard made it a question.
“Of course I bloody did!” Cordell snapped. “Either they didn’t believe me, or they took the opportunity to get rid of Scharnhorst. He was becoming a liability, but one they couldn’t get rid of themselves.”
“Is that your opinion?”
“Yes…”
Howard wondered if he was making that up, taking shelter in a very believable lie.
“And Elena Standish?” Howard asked as unemotionally as he could.
“I don’t know!” Cordell snapped. “I’ve done all I can think of to find her, without getting the Gestapo on my tail. Which wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Elena!” There was anger and fear in his voice.
“Done what, exactly?”
