AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They pulled away from the curb into the traffic. Were the doors locked? She looked. Yes. Of course they were.
It was a clear day, sun shining, and to judge from the movement of people along the pavement, the flutter of summer skirts, the occasional hand to steady a hat, there was quite a breeze.
She saw groups of Brownshirts. You could tell them by the way they stood, not just their uniforms. There was a confidence in them. A sense of power. They could do whatever they wished, and everybody knew it. The only thing worse was the Gestapo, the secret police. Everybody knew that, too.
The questioning at the police station had been no more than a few hard slaps. The Gestapo interrogation would be much worse.
Suddenly, she was drenched in a cold sweat. What if they believed that Ian had intended to warn of the assassination, and she had killed him so that she could go ahead and do it? It fit perfectly with the facts they would know.
And Cordell? What would he say, if they had even questioned him at all? That she had said nothing to him about Scharnhorst? There was no proof that she had. She could have gone to the embassy for any reason.
She was trapped. Anything she said, true or not, could be twisted to condemn her. And there was no escape from the physical captivity. Both of her guards were armed, and she was manacled and could not run, even if she had anywhere to run to.
They turned a corner into a smaller street.
It was another few minutes at least before they pulled up outside a very ordinary building, just like thousands of others. The man in the front passenger seat got out and opened the door for her.
“Out,” he said, jerking his hand very slightly to make his meaning clearer.
Awkwardly, Elena climbed out, having to balance with difficulty. He took her arm when he thought she might fall. Or did he imagine she would use it as some kind of chance to run? And be shot in the back, of course, guilty of attempting to escape.
Reluctantly, trying to walk upright and stumbling on the step, she went inside. The room was small, anonymous-seeming. A narrow-shouldered man with a round belly was waiting for her. He looked ridiculous in his uniform. His rimless glasses were sliding down his nose.
Her manacles were undone, and then relocked with her hands in front of her.
She was forced to sit down in a chair opposite him, and the questioning began. He established her name, her nationality, then the facts of her trip to Berlin from Italy. It was all the details that she had already admitted. His voice was higher than one might have expected, and nasal. She could feel the hatred emanating from him the way heat does from a fire.
Neither of the other men had left; they were standing to attention, one at the door, the other at the window.
The questions went on. The man with the gla
sses lit a cigarette and blew smoke out with an expression of distaste, as if he did not like the flavor of it. She looked at him very steadily. His eyes were neither green nor brown behind the magnification of his lenses.
“You do not agree with Herr Scharnhorst’s plans for the destiny of the German people…” He made it more of a statement than a question.
How much should she lie? If she said she agreed with Scharnhorst, would that save her life? Or at least, end it without too much pain?
Probably not. And if there was a hereafter, how would she face Mike, and all the others who had died, especially those who had never denied who they were, or what they believed? And if there was nothing? Oblivion? It would hardly matter anyway. Please God, she could do this with some dignity.
“No, I don’t. But it’s none of my business,” she replied.
He took a deep draw on his cigarette, took it out of his mouth, then stubbed it out, hard, on the back of her hand. The pain made her gag. The room swam around her and she thought she was going to vomit.
“So, you shot him,” he said.
“No…” She knew immediately that it was a mistake. Carefully, as if he were preparing for something he was going to enjoy, he took another cigarette out of his case and lit it, pulling the smoke into his lungs, then after barely a moment, letting it out again.
Could she bear it? The pain was appalling. It shot up her arm as if the red-hot ash were still there on her skin.
The telephone rang, sharp and shrill, like a scream.
Reluctantly, he picked it up. He listened for a moment, and agreed with whomever was on the line, apparently with reluctance.
“Orders,” he said to the man near the door, who was the senior of the two. “They want her right now. You’re to take her to headquarters.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t stand there, you fool! Get her into the car and take her!”
