The Lisbon Crossing (15 page)

“I know that you want to help, and I appreciate it, really, I do, but I won’t be going with you. I can’t…”

“Of course you can.” Lili flicked an ash onto her plate. “You can if you want to.”

“There are things I have to do here.”

“Eva…darling…” Lili tried a lighthearted laugh, but it fell flat. “Be sensible. There’s no reason for you to stay here. It’s—”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Eva said flatly. “I don’t know why you did.” I could see that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. Lili leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, the way a mother would speak to a child.

“I want to help you, darling. I want to help you get away from all this…this insanity.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“For God’s sake, Eva! Who does?!”

“I do.”

Lili hesitated, frustrated with Eva’s obstinance, unsure what to say next, but unwilling to give up. “You need time. Time to think it over. It’s all very sudden, I know, but—”

“Stop it!”

Eva exploded onto to her feet, causing Lili to recoil. She was frozen, unable to so much as blink. Eva stood her ground for a moment, then exhaled, her anger dissipating.

“Go back to Hollywood, Lili. Please. You can indulge your fantasies there. There’s no place for it here.”

Then she turned and walked away, without looking back. Lili just sat there, in shock, unable to move. She’d exposed her dream, laid it out on the table in a moment of unguarded enthusiasm, and in an instant, it was gone, evaporated. She had nothing to hold on to now, no ridiculous fantasy to shield her from that heartless enemy, reality. I felt sorry for her. She looked sad and defeated and, suddenly, so much smaller.

I found Eva
lying in the tall grass on the other side of the farmhouse, hands behind her head. She sensed me standing over her, and opened one eye.

“I was pretty tough on her, wasn’t I?”

“She got the message.” I crouched down beside her, and Eva met me halfway by propping herself up on one elbow. She picked a blade of grass and absentmindedly stripped the stalk as she spoke.

“I didn’t want to leave any ambiguity.” She looked me in the eye. “I don’t want to be saved, Jack. I intend to fight this war, in whatever way I can.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.”

“I need your help,” she said. “And I think you owe it to me.”

I didn’t answer right away because I was preoccupied with the way she twisted the stripped blade of grass around on itself, then tied it in a knot. She lowered her head so she could catch my eye.

“Will you help me, Jack?” she said softly.

“If I do, it won’t be because I owe you.”

“I must get to London,” she said.

I hesitated. “Maybe I want to help you, but I don’t want to think of myself as a pushover. I’d like to know who and—more importantly—what I’m helping.”

Eva searched my face for a moment. “Does it matter?”

“I’d like to think so,” I said.

She broke into an unexpected smile. “All right then, go ahead. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Well…” I decided not to beat around the bush. “You’ve been accused of being a murderer and a Nazi spy…”

“Guilty, your honor,” she said. “I plead guilty on both counts.”

I nodded, tried to think where to go from there. “Did you kill Eddie Grimes?”

“No.”

“Kleinmann?”

“Yes, I did kill him.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, like she was talking about buying a loaf of bread, but I couldn’t help recalling the neat little hole that had been made in the middle of the German’s forehead.

“Were you working for him? Before you killed him, that is.”

She sighed. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“Either you were or you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t working for
him
, precisely. I was working for Abwehr—”

“German military intelligence?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you were going to London? To spy for the Germans?”

She shook her head slowly. “You’ll have to sit down if you want to hear it all.”

I lowered myself onto the grass and waited. Eva was quiet for what seemed like a long time, eyes lowered, focused on her hands, which were folded in her lap. When she finally spoke, it was in an even, unflinching voice, devoid of any detectable emotion.

“I
n the spring of 1938—just over two years ago—a man appeared at my door. A nice enough man, harmless-looking, very polite. He showed me his credentials and explained that he was conducting a census of the area and would need to ask me some questions. It was the usual sort of thing, so I didn’t think anything of it. Not until later, anyway, when he started delving into my past, particularly my childhood in England. He pretended it was just curiosity, but I could see that there was more to it. At any rate, he soon left and I forgot all about it—until a week later, when a second man came to my apartment. This one wasn’t like the first man. This one was very serious and he came right to the point.

“My profile had been noticed, he said. Noticed by some very important people who believed that I could be of great service…Service to the fatherland.”

Eva raised her eyes to meet mine. “I wish I could say that they threatened me or coerced me in some way. But it wouldn’t be true. I signed up quite happily.

“It would be difficult for you to understand. I don’t even know if I understand it myself. It was a strange time. Everything was changing. After those dark days, people were finally smiling again. There was a sense that things were getting better, that we had a future…” A bitter smile found its way onto her lips. “I suppose the truth is that I thought it would be fun. A game. Some sort of grand adventure…”

She lingered for a moment, the only sound the overhead leaves rustling in a gentle afternoon breeze.

“I was sent to school in Hamburg—a school for spies. It was really quite something. Very exciting. I was meeting all sorts of people, from all walks of life. A few days earlier, I’d been struggling with Vivaldi’s Sonata in B-Flat Major, and now I was about to become a secret agent.

“They started me in an English course. Most of us were proficient in at least one other language, but we had to be absolutely perfect. There were several classes, each with an instructor from a
different part of the country, so we could learn the correct accents and idioms. I was put in the London class, which I was glad of. The idea of being in London, living a secret life…It seemed a very romantic future.

“Our education was soon expanded to include other skills. How to operate a radio transmitter, how to photograph documents in the dark with a camera no bigger than a cigarette lighter, how to read and write in code, the use of fireams…Everything you’d expect to learn at spy school, and some you wouldn’t.” She smiled. “There was one course called How to Behave Like the English. The men learned about cricket and rugby, while the women were taught how to cook roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

“In August of 1939 our class was graduated and we were sent off to various postings around Europe—a few even went to America. I was disappointed that instead of being assigned to London, I was given a position as an instructor at the Amsterdam conservatory, under my own name. It was rather an anticlimax. My orders were to bicycle out into the countryside every weekend and see what I could see. Well, I didn’t see much of anything, and I didn’t feel like a spy at all. I felt like a music teacher with a bicycle.

“Then, in May, the invasion came. It was as much a shock to me as it was to the Dutch. Oh, I knew we were at war, but I—” She paused to push a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “I didn’t expect it to be so brutal. First the bombings, and then, when the Gestapo came…It was terrible, Jack. Unspeakably cruel.” Eva’s eyes flitted away and she swallowed hard before continuing.

“A week later, I was instructed to enter France, traveling by train through Belgium, Luxembourg, and Switzerland, again using my own name. I was to make my way to Paris, where I would contact an American businessman called Charles Bedeaux. He was sympathetic to Germany and, apparently, quite well connected. He would introduce me at the British embassy as someone who might be ‘of interest’ to their intelligence service…It was quite an honor, I was told,
to be one of the few chosen to be a double agent for the Reich. A great trust had been placed in me.

“It was expected that I would be sent to England for training, then placed back in Germany as an operative for MI6. There would be a number of benefits to the Reich, of course. I’d gain valuable information about how British agents were trained, as well as how they were inserted into Germany. But, most importantly, I’d be able to relay all sorts of deceptive information across the Channel. Very useful when the invasion came. And I think it would have worked, if not for one problem—me.

“I was never really sympathetic to the Nazis. In the beginning, like all my friends, I’d simply ignored them. We’d shake our heads and wonder how anyone could take them seriously. Then one day, I woke up and found that they were in power, and no one was shaking their heads anymore. I listened to Hitler’s speeches and, like everyone, I was exhilarated. Not so much by what he said, but by the way he said it. He was strong and bold and you felt you could trust him. He cast a spell and we were all swept along. Perhaps if I’d been in Berlin still, I would’ve been among the crowd, cheering the awe-inspiring victories of the Third Reich, but in Amsterdam it didn’t feel at all like victory. It felt sickening. It was no longer just words. I saw what they did.

“Why? I asked myself. Why did we have to do this? There was supposed to be a reason, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be. Had it ever existed, or had it been conjured up, a trick of Hitler’s black magic? I hated myself. For being part of it, yes, but even more than that, for being so gullible. So blind.
What had I been thinking?
How had I not seen, not understood, what these men were? What they were capable of?…Those were the questions that went through my mind on the train to Paris. The answer, of course, was simple. Painfully simple, and even more disturbing.

“I did know. That was the sad answer. Of course I knew. How
could I not? How can anyone not see what the Nazis are and how they intend to use their power? They haven’t tried to hide their hate, or their brutality. Quite the contrary, it’s there for all to see. But I closed my eyes to it because to recognize it for what it was, and to do nothing about it…That would be inconceivable, wouldn’t it? So, like so many others, I went along.”

I became aware of Lili, standing in the grass a few yards behind us. I couldn’t be sure how long she’d been there, but when she realized that I’d seen her, she stepped forward. I jumped to my feet.

“I’m sorry, Lili. I—”

“Don’t apologize, Jack,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“We were just—” Lili waved me off.

“You stay,” she said. “I’ll send the car back for you.”

She sounded genuine enough, so I said I would see her back at the hotel for dinner. Lili nodded, then she stood there for a moment, looking uncharacteristically ill at ease. She looked to Eva, who was still sitting in the grass.

“I’m sorry, Eva, for being so stupid.”

“You weren’t, Lili.”

“Of course I was. But I suppose we all have the right to be stupid now and then. Even rich and famous movie stars.” She offered up a wry smile, then made a graceful exit across the field.

It had cooled off
considerably and looked like an afternoon shower was on the cards, so Eva and I moved inside, finding a welcome fire in the hearth. Rosa delivered a tray of coffee and cakes, which was left untouched on the table as we stretched out in front of the flames, and Eva picked up where she’d left off.

“When I arrived in Paris, I went straight to the address I’d been given for Charles Bedeaux, and that afternoon he introduced me to an official at the British embassy. A gentleman named Geoffrey Stevens, who seemed to be quite important. The three of us met in a quiet bistro off the Champs-Élysées, and after the wine had been poured, I told him my cover story.

“My father, I explained, had been working for Mr. Bedeaux’s company in Berlin when, six months earlier, he’d disappeared. I’d learned from the neighbors that the SS had come in the middle of the night and taken him away. I had no idea why they would take him, I said, making my lip quiver as I’d practiced, and that was Bedeaux’s cue to step in.

“‘Your father was working with me,’ he said. ‘With me, and oth
ers, against the Nazi regime. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to put you in danger.’

“It was part of the cover story, but I took a moment to act shocked before continuing with my account. I described to Mr. Stevens how I found out where my father was being held and how I went to the prison every day, demanding to see him, and how every day I was refused. I begged them to tell me why he was being held, but I was told to go home and wait for word. Finally, after several weeks, word came, in the form of a letter. Just two sentences. We regret to inform you that Rudolf Lange has died in prison. His death was the result of complications due to pneumonia.

“I choked back a tear and Bedeaux picked up the story from there. He told Stevens he’d sent for me to come to Paris, as my father had asked him to do in the event of his death. He was to arrange a visa to the United States. But when I arrived, Bedeaux told Stevens, I refused to accept the passage to America. Instead, I’d asked him to help me find a way to fight the Nazis…I would do anything, I added dramatically. Anything to avenge my father’s death.

“Stevens seemed to take the bait. After all, on the surface, I was the perfect intelligence candidate, and I had been introduced by a man whom he clearly trusted. A room was arranged for me in a nearby hotel and I was told to be at the embassy the next morning at eight o’clock. When I arrived the following day, I was taken to a small, windowless room where two men were waiting to interview me.

“I didn’t waste time. Before they could ask me a question, I confessed everything. About my training in Hamburg, about Amsterdam, and about my mission to become a double agent. Naturally, they got very excited and called Mr. Stevens into the room. He sat there, calmly puffing on a pipe, as I repeated my confession in more detail. When I’d finished, he just nodded and spent a long time looking at me. Finally, he stood up and said, ‘Thank you, Miss Lange. As you might expect, we’ll want to discuss this further with you.’ Then he left. The two men escorted me to the basement, where I was locked inside a very small room.

“Over the next two weeks, I was interrogated for eighteen hours a day, every day. It was all very polite, with tea and toast in the morning and a cup of hot milk before bed, but it was like torture going over the same material day after day. I’d be thrilled when the interviewers would change, because it meant that we were going to start a new subject. If a woman appeared, I’d know that the questions would be of a more personal nature. They left nothing untouched.

“Most often, we’d talk about technical issues, or they’d ask me for names, descriptions, anything I knew about my fellow students and teachers in Hamburg. They created a profile for each one. Even the tiniest piece of information was of interest—birthmarks, demeanor, likes and dislikes, that sort of thing. I answered all the questions as fully and honestly as I could, describing everything in brain-racking detail.

“Then, one afternoon, Mr. Stevens walked into the session. I hadn’t seen him since the first day and he seemed a bit on edge now. Less unflappable. After dismissing my interrogators, he sat down across the table from me.

“‘We’re not sure that you can be trusted,’ he said.

“‘I’m telling the truth,’ I answered.

“‘Oh, yes, we’re quite certain of that,’ he said. ‘But if you were trying to take us in, that would be an excellent tactic, wouldn’t it?’

“I told him that if he didn’t want to use me, there was nothing I could do about it. I’d find another way to fight the war. I told him that, if necessary, I was prepared to give my life, and again, it was the truth.

“Stevens looked at me for a long time, as though he was trying to decide what to do. Then he said, quite calmly, ‘The Wehrmacht is within fifty miles of Paris. The city will be occupied inside of two days.’

“I was horrified. If France had fallen in two weeks, how would they be stopped?

“‘I can’t get you to London now,’ Stevens said. ‘For obvious rea
sons. I’m not even sure how I’ll get back.’ He threw an envelope onto the table. ‘Inside are five hundred francs, thirty pesetas, and thirty escudos, along with your passport. If you can manage to get to Lisbon, you might find a way to London from there. If you do, find me.’

“‘I’ll get there,’ I assured him.

“He told me that there was a man in Lisbon who might be able to help me. ‘He’s with a special section of intelligence that’s just been set up,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about it or him, but I managed to get his code name and an address for you.’

“His code name was Bicycle,” Eva said, looking up at me. “And the address was Rua das Taipas, number thirty-five…The top floor.”

“Popov?!”
I laughed. “
Popov
was your contact?”

“That’s right.”

“That weasel works for British intelligence?” I shook my head. “If that’s how far England has sunk, I can’t say I fancy their chances in this thing.”

“It’s not a horse race, Jack.”

“Somebody’s gonna win and somebody’s gonna lose.”

“And you’ll be there on the sidelines, adjusting the odds.”

I shrugged. “I don’t go looking for fights.”

“It’s one thing to avoid a fight, quite another to run away from one.”

I gave her a look. “You’re trying to bait me.”

She laughed. “Is it working?”

“I like the lure, but I’m not too sure about the hook.”

“I’m afraid that you can’t have one without the other.”

“In that case,” I smiled, “go on with your story.”

“W
hen I arrived in Lisbon, I went straight to the address Stevens had given me, where I found Roman. I don’t think he’d been expecting me, but when I told him my story, he promised to do what he could. Passage to England was next to impossible at the
moment, at any price, he said, so he arranged for a room in a small hotel overlooking the port. When things calmed down, he’d find a way out for me. I’d used all my money, so Roman gave me enough to buy some food and a couple of English books. I spent the next three days reading Thomas Hardy and watching the ships sail.

“Roman appeared on the morning of the fourth day and told me there would be no way to get me to England, perhaps for weeks. But, he said, as I was stuck in Lisbon, there was something I could do for him.

“As far as the Germans knew, he said, I was still working for them. I’d gone to Paris, and following their instructions, I had volunteered for service with British intelligence. MI6 had interrogated me for two weeks, then instructed me to come to Lisbon in order to go on to England, just as Abwehr had hoped would happen.

“It was true, I agreed, that the Germans still thought I was on their side, and I expected the Brits to use that to their advantage, but how would that help him in Lisbon?

“Roman explained that he had been hearing things that led him to believe that important information was being passed to the German government from ‘a high-level individual.’ He suspected that the intelligence was being sent to Berlin through the head of Abwehr in Lisbon.”

“Kleinmann,” I said, and Eva confirmed it with a nod.

“If I could get close to him, Roman said, I might be able to confirm the stories that he had been hearing. I would contact Kleinmann, explain that I was on my way to London to fulfill my assignment, and suggest that he be my link back to Berlin. It was a plausible scenario because, in fact, I’d been instructed to find my own means of communication, depending on my circumstances. I’d been given a code name and a password, which Kleinmann could verify with Berlin.

“Roman wouldn’t tell me what he hoped I would find, but he said that if his suspicions were confirmed, it would be a very important discovery—one that might ‘change the dynamics of the war.’ I agreed
to the proposal and, that afternoon, went to the German embassy.

“Kleinmann was cautious at first, but once he’d contacted Berlin, he became very friendly. We spent the next day in his office, planning our future communications. I could see that he was attracted to me and I led him to believe that, if he played his cards right, ours could become something more than a professional relationship. So he set about wooing me, taking me to expensive restaurants and fancy nightclubs and even giving me an emerald brooch. It was horribly ugly, and, in fact, so was he, but I encouraged him nonetheless. It wasn’t easy smiling as he pawed me under the table with his fat fingers.

“I noticed that on some nights Kleinmann would leave his office with a locked black case under his arm. If he carried the bag home at night, he would be driven to the airport early the following morning, where he would deliver the bag into the hands of a courier, who would fly it directly to Berlin. There, a motorcycle from the Foreign Office would carry the consignment directly to von Ribbentrop, who had the only other key. If information was being passed to Berlin through Kleinmann, this was how it would travel. I had to look inside that case.

“An opportunity presented itself one night when Kleinmann decided to take me to a performance of
Don Giovanni
at the Teatro Nacional. He’d learned from my file that Mozart was my favorite composer and wanted to surprise me. When he collected me, I noticed that the bag was on the front seat of the car, beside the driver, and I knew that this would be the night. During the performance, I did everything I could to arouse him, which wasn’t difficult. I was shameful, really. By the time Don Giovanni was dragged off to hell, Dr. Kleinmann was putty in my hands—so to speak. I suggested that rather than join his friends from the embassy, we have a nightcap at his residence. He was beside himself, believing that all his romancing was about to come to a dazzling climax. Once we arrived at the house, it was just a matter of holding out for as long as I could—I managed to get the better part of a bottle of cognac inside him before I finally had to give in…”

The thought of Eva being manhandled by the likes of Kleinmann gave me a shot of angry adrenaline, but I was careful not to show it. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that she’d slept with him in the line of duty.

“He didn’t last long,” Eva continued. “After such a buildup, I suppose he just couldn’t hold out. Before I knew it, it was over, he’d rolled onto his back and was snoring like a pig, with his trousers in a twist around his knees. I finished undressing him, then waited—it must have been a full hour—before getting up. There was no light in the bedroom, so I went slowly, one foot in front of the other, hoping that I remembered correctly where the door was located. I walked into a table and something—maybe a picture frame—crashed to the floor. He stirred, but after a moment, his heavy breathing began again.

“I found my way out of the bedroom and into the study, where I’d seen him leave the bag. I turned a lamp on and found it on the desk—locked. I’d been stupid. His keys were in the trousers that I’d left hanging on the bedpost. I had to go back.

“This time I woke him. He sputtered and snorted and grumbled that I should get back into bed. I slipped under the sheet, and after he’d fumbled around for a few moments, he dozed off again. I was pinned under his arm, but managed to slide out from under him, retrieve the keys, and get back to the study without making any noise. By this time, there were signs of morning and I was getting anxious. I knew that his driver would soon be knocking on the door.

“Most of the papers were diplomatic exchanges. Standard bureaucratic chatter. But then, in the midst of all the typewritten memos, I found a large manila envelope addressed to the foreign minister. It wasn’t sealed, so I reached inside and took out a single, plain white envelope. There was nothing written on it, but I could see that there was a handwritten letter inside. Easy enough to steam open—if I had time.

“I carried the envelope to the kitchen and put some water on to boil. It seemed to take forever. What is the expression? ‘A pot—’?”

“A watched pot never boils,” I said.

“Yes, that’s it.” Eva smiled a thank-you. “But it finally did boil, and I was able to unseal the envelope and remove the letter. It was written on fine linen paper in a very tight, very precise script. As I read it, and realized what it was, my heart started to beat. I understood now what Roman had meant about it changing the dynamics of the war. When I’d finished, I read it again, to be sure I’d understood correctly. I started to memorize it, but I was too nervous and I had to have the words precisely right. I found a pen back in the study, slipped out of my panties, and copied the letter, word for word, into the inside.”

Eva closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said, “It read like this:”