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“Is she working for you?” Cordell demanded.
“No! I’ve never even met her. But I’d like to get her out of here alive. I think we owe her father that.”
Cordell relaxed a bit. “Yes. Charles Standish is a good man. Margot, the elder daughter, was here just after the assassination.” He cleared his throat. “A day or so ago. I got a list from her of all Elena’s friends still in Berlin. With last known addresses, of course. I’ve made discreet inquiries, but no one admits to having seen her.”
“Do you believe them?” Howard asked quickly.
“Yes. On the whole I do.”
Howard looked at Cordell intently for several moments, then decided he was telling the truth, or at least thought he was. It was easy enough to believe. If she had anything of Lucas’s intelligence, she would not have gone to any friend that Cordell could know of. She had warned Cordell about the assassination, and he had not prevented it. She would not know whether or not he had tried.
So, would she come anywhere near the embassy at all? That was the last visible door closing in his face.
“What are you going to do?” Cordell asked. Then he looked more closely at Howard. “You’re not going to tell me. I suppose I wouldn’t, in your place.” His voice sounded close to cracking.
Howard’s instinct was to deny it, but he knew that would sound like a lie. “First of all I’ve got to find her.”
“I’ve no idea where she is,” Cordell replied. “But…I doubt she’ll go to any of her friends. I destroyed the list that Margot gave me…” He stopped.
Howard did not press him. He was not ready yet to push Cordell into a lie. There were far better ways to play this. “And if she comes here?” he asked.
“They’ll be watching. But if she can get this far, I’ll have a shot at getting her out of the country.”
“How?”
“Disguise her as much as possible. Get her a new passport. Different name, different age, profession. She used to work at the Foreign Office. She could pass for one of our minor officials easily enough. Even a translator. They’re hardly likely to test her. Ticket as far as Paris, at least. Perhaps all the way to London might be suspicious.” A flicker of hope shone in Cordell’s eyes for a moment.
“Make it,” Howard decided. “The passport.” It was the best idea he could think of. To refuse Cordell would betray that he suspected him. Would he tell the Germans her new identity? That would be to betray himself, and destroy his usefulness to either side. Never mind jeopardize his own life. In fact, it would, in a way, bind him to helping her.
“I’ll get the photograph,” Howard continued. “We’ll need a new one, preferably one that looks as unlike her own passport as possible. She may still have hers. She’ll have to destroy it. One search would find it, and that would be fatal.” He smiled bitterly. “They’ll have every Brownshirt in Berlin looking for her. How the hell am I going to find her?” He did not expect Cordell to offer him an answer. He had racked his own brain, and not come up with one.
“Where do we go when we’re frightened and alone?” Cordell replied quietly. “Familiar places. Ones that remind us of happier times, safer. I go to the water’s edge. The river, not the sea. I like moving water. It’s universal, and it plays no favorites.” He stopped himself, as if he had said too much.
“I eat things that I really like.” Howard smiled at memories of painful moments, long-ago loneliness and anxieties. Sometimes he was so tightly knotted inside that he could barely eat at all. At others, he craved a crisp bacon sandwich, whatever time of day or night. “What does she like? Do you know?”
“Reibekuchen,” Cordell said with a wry smile. “With applesauce. At least she used to. There’s a fellow sells them from a stand not far from here. You actually see it from the side door. I stop there rather too often myself.” Then he was very serious. “She might wait there, if she’s trying to make up her mind to come in. She has nowhere else to go…to get papers to leave Germany. She can’t use her own name. And she has to be British, or she can’t make it into England.”
“I’ll try,” Howard answered. “Give me a passport. I’ll put the picture in after I see her. She’ll have to change her appearance or they’ll spot her in a moment. What a bloody mess!”
“You try not to get caught as well,” Cordell said casually. For a moment Howard wavered. Was he walking straight into a trap of his own making? Was Cordell the perfect actor? Or was that trace of bravado an echo of the old Cordell he used to know, a few years after the war, when everyone was sure whose side they were on? All the wounds were raw then, and nobody was used to the idea of peace yet. Nobody really thought of accommodating a different kind of world.
“You too,” Howard said, perfectly serious for a moment. “Now get me that passport. I may need it in a hurry.”
CHAPTER
22
After the book-burning, Jacob took Elena to a cheap rooming house run by an American couple. No explanations were asked for. He had paid for one night and advised her not to stay there longer than that.
“I won’t,” she promised. “I’ll try to get into the embassy again. If I can’t, I’ll…find somewhere else for another night and go back the next day. That’s the only place I can get papers. And…” She clenched her teeth, forcing her emotions down. She pictured the books again, the insane faces laughing. Anger overcame fear. “I don’t know why Roger Cordell didn’t prevent the assassination after I gave him the message—but if he’s a traitor, he still has to help me. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll give himself away. I’ll make sure other people at the embassy see me this time. Some will know me, even like this!” She shook her loose, shining blond hair, still in its waves. “If he gets me caught, he’ll betray himself to the other diplomats, and then he’ll be no use to anybody. I don’t know if we Brits kill traitors, but I imagine so. Not in public though. Probably don’t admit we have them.”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Elena…”
“Please don’t make an
issue of this. Isn’t it hard enough already?”
He smiled. “Yes. Very hard, but worth it. I’ll remember.”
