The Unlikely Spy (59 page)

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Authors: Daniel Silva

BOOK: The Unlikely Spy
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She thought of the endless training lectures at Vogel's secret Bavarian camp. He had called it countersurveillance, one agent following another to make certain the agent was not being followed by the opposition. She wondered why Vogel would make such a move now. Perhaps Vogel wanted to verify that the information she was receiving was good by making certain she was not being followed by the other side. Just to contemplate the second explanation made her stomach burn with anxiety. Neumann was following her because Vogel
suspected
she was under MI5 surveillance.
She paused again and stared out at the river, forcing herself to remain calm. To think clearly. She turned and looked down the Embankment. Neumann still was there. He was intentionally avoiding her gaze, that was clear to her. He was looking out at the river or back up the Embankment, anywhere but in her direction.
She turned and started walking again. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She walked to Blackfriars underground station, went inside, and purchased a ticket for Victoria. Neumann followed her and did the same, except the ticket he purchased was for the next stop, South Kensington.
She walked quickly toward the platform. Neumann purchased a newspaper and followed her. She stood, waiting for the train. Neumann stood twenty feet away, reading the paper. When the train came, Catherine waited for the doors to open, then stepped into the carriage. Neumann stepped into the same carriage, but through the second set of doors.
She sat down. Neumann remained standing at the opposite end of the carriage. Catherine did not like the look on his face. She looked down, opened her handbag, and peered inside--a wallet filled with cash, a stiletto, and a loaded, silenced Mauser pistol with extra ammunition clips. She closed the bag and waited for Neumann to make the next move.
For two hours Neumann followed her as she moved through the West End, from Kensington to Chelsea, from Chelsea to Brompton, from Brompton to Belgravia, from Belgravia to Mayfair. By the time they reached Berkeley Square, he was convinced. They were good--damned good--but time and patience had finally depleted their resources and forced them to make a mistake. It was the man in the mackintosh walking fifty feet behind him. Five minutes earlier Neumann had been able to get a very good look at his face. It was the same face he had seen on the Strand nearly three hours earlier--when he had taken the film from Catherine--only then the man had been wearing a green oilskin coat and woolen cap.
Neumann felt desperately alone. He had survived the worst of the war--Poland, Russia, Crete--but none of the skills that helped him through those battles would come into play here. He thought of the man behind him--reedy, pasty, probably very weak. Neumann could kill him in an instant if he wanted. But the old rules didn't apply to this game. He could not radio for reinforcements, he could not count on the support of his comrades. He kept walking, surprised at how calm he was. He thought, They've been following us for hours; why haven't they arrested us both? He thought he knew the answer. They obviously wanted to know more. Where was the film to be dropped? Where was Neumann staying? Were there other agents in the network? As long as he didn't give them the answers to those questions, they were safe. It was a very weak hand but, if played skillfully, Neumann might be able to give them a chance to escape.
Neumann quickened his pace. Catherine, several feet in front of him, turned onto Bond Street. She stopped to flag a taxi. Neumann walked faster, then broke into a light run. He called out. "Catherine! My God--it's been ages. How have you been?"
She glanced up, alarm on her face. Neumann took her by the arm.
"We need to talk," Neumann said. "Let's find a place to have some tea and do some catching up."
Neumann's sudden move landed on the command post in West Halkin Street with the impact of a thousand-pound bomb. Basil Boothby was pacing and talking tensely to the director-general by telephone. The director-general was in contact with the Twenty Committee and with the prime minister's staff in the Underground War Rooms. Vicary had made a patch of quiet around himself and was staring at the wall, hands bunched beneath his chin. Boothby slammed down the telephone and said, "The Twenty Committee says let them run."
"I don't like it," Vicary said, still staring at the wall. "They've obviously spotted the surveillance. They're sitting there now trying to figure out what to do."
"You don't know that for certain."
Vicary looked up. "We've never observed her meeting with another agent before. And now she's suddenly sitting in a Mayfair cafe having tea and toast with Rudolf?"
"We only had her under surveillance a short time. For all we know she and Rudolf have been meeting like this regularly."
"Something's not right. I think they've spotted the tail. What's more, I think Rudolf was looking for it. That's why he followed her after making the rendezvous in the Strand."
"The Twenty Committee has made its decision. They say let them run, so we let them run."
"If they've spotted the surveillance, it makes no sense to let them run. Rudolf is not going to make the drop, and he'll stay clear of any other agents in the network. Following them now does us no good whatsoever. It's over, Sir Basil."
"What do you suggest?"
"Move in now. Arrest them the moment they leave that cafe."
Boothby looked at Vicary as though he had uttered heresy. "Getting cold feet now, are you, Alfred?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean this was your idea in the first place. You conceived it, you sold it to the prime minister. The director-general signed off on it, the Twenty Committee approved it. For weeks a group of officers has toiled night and day to provide the material for that briefcase. And now you want to shut it all down, just like that"--Sir Basil snapped his thick fingers so loudly it sounded like a gunshot--"because you have a hunch."
"It's more than a hunch, Sir Basil. Read the bloody watch reports. It's all there."
Boothby was pacing again, hands clasped behind his back, head raised slightly as if straining to hear something annoying in the distance. "They'll say he was good at the wireless game but he didn't have the nerve to play with live agents--that's what they'll say about you when this is all over: 'Not surprising, really. He was an amateur, after all. Just a university bright boy who did his bit during the war, then turned to dust when it was all over. He was good--very good--but he didn't have the balls to play in the high-stakes game.' Is that what you want them to say about you? Because if it is, pick up the telephone and tell the DG you think we should roll this all up now."
Vicary stared at Boothby. Boothby the agent runner; Boothby, patrician-cool under fire. He wondered why Boothby was dying to shame him into going forward when a blind man could see they were blown.
"It's over," Vicary said in a dull monotone. "They've spotted the surveillance. They're sitting there planning their next move. Catherine Blake knows she's been deceived, and she's going to tell Kurt Vogel about it. Vogel will conclude that Mulberry is exactly the opposite of what we told him. And then we're dead."
"They're everywhere," Neumann said. "The man in the mackintosh, the girl waiting for the bus, the man walking into the chemist's shop across the square. They've used different faces, different combinations, different clothing. But they've been following us from the moment we left the Strand."
A waitress brought tea. Catherine waited until she left before she spoke. "Did Vogel order you to follow me?"
"Yes."
"I don't suppose he said why?"
Neumann shook his head.
Catherine picked up her cup of tea, her hand trembling. She used her other hand to steady the cup and forced herself to drink.
"What happened to your face?"
"I had a little trouble in the village. Nothing serious."
Catherine looked at him doubtfully and said, "Why haven't they arrested us?"
"Any number of reasons. They've probably known about you for a very long time. They've probably been following you for a very long time. If that's true, then all the information you've been receiving from Commander Jordan is false--smoke put together by the British. And we've been funneling it back to Berlin for them."
She put down her cup. She glanced into the street, then looked back at Neumann, forcing herself not to look at the watchers. "If Jordan is working with British Intelligence, we can assume everything in his briefcase is false--information they wanted me to see, information designed to mislead the Abwehr about the Allied plans for the invasion. Vogel needs to know this." She managed a smile. "It's possible those bastards have just handed us the secret of the invasion."
"I suspect you're right. But there's just one problem. We need to tell Vogel in person. We have to assume the Portuguese embassy route is now compromised. We also have to assume that we cannot use our radios. Vogel thinks all the old Abwehr codes have been broken. That's why he uses the radio so sparingly. If we broadcast what we know to Vogel over the air, the British will know it too."
Catherine lit a cigarette, her hands still trembling. More than anything else, she was angry at herself. For years, she had gone to extraordinary lengths to make certain she was not being watched by the other side. Then, when it finally happened, she had missed it. She said, "How in the world are we going to get out of London?"
"We have a couple of things we can use to our advantage. Number one, this." Neumann tapped his pocket containing the film. "I could be wrong, but I don't think I've ever been followed. Vogel trained me well, and I'm very careful. I don't think they know how I deliver the film to the Portuguese: where it's done, whether there's a patter or any other recognition signal. Also, I'm certain I've not been followed to Hampton Sands. The village is so small I'd know if I was under surveillance. They don't know where I'm staying or whether I'm working with any other agents. Standard procedure is to find out all the components of a network and then roll it up all at once. That's how the Gestapo deals with the Resistance in France, and that's how MI-Five would do it in London."
"That all sounds logical. What are you suggesting?"
"Are you seeing Jordan tonight?"
"Yes."
"What time?"
"I'm meeting him at seven o'clock for dinner."
"Perfect," Neumann said. "Here's what I want you to do."
Neumann spent the next five minutes explaining in detail his plan for their escape. Catherine listened carefully, never taking her eyes off him, resisting all temptation to look at the watchers waiting outside the cafe. When Neumann finished he said, "Whatever you do, you must do nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would make them suspect that you know you're under surveillance. Stay on the move until it's time. Shop, go to a cinema, stay in the open. As long as I don't drop this film, you'll be safe. When it's time, go to your flat and get your radio. I'll be there at five o'clock--exactly five o'clock--and I'll come through the rear entrance. Do you understand?"
Catherine nodded.
"There's just one problem. Do you have any idea where I can lay my hands on a car and some extra petrol?"
Catherine laughed in spite of herself. "Actually, I know just the place. But I wouldn't suggest using my name."
Neumann left the cafe first. He drifted in Mayfair for half an hour, followed by at least two men--the oilskin coat and the mackintosh.
The rain fell harder, the wind picked up. He was cold, soaked to the skin, and tired. He needed to go somewhere to rest, someplace where he could be warm for a while, get off his feet, and keep an eye on his friends Mackintosh and Oilskin. He walked toward Portman Square. He felt bad about involving her, but when it was over they would question her and determine she knew nothing.
He stopped outside the bookshop and peered through the glass. Sarah was on her ladder, dark hair pulled back severely. He rapped gently on the glass so as not to startle her. She turned, and her face brightened into an instant smile. She set down her books and waved enthusiastically for him to come inside. She took one look at him and said, "My God, you look terrible. What happened to you?"
Neumann hesitated; he realized he had no explanation for the bandage across his cheekbone. He mumbled something about taking a fall in the blackout, and she seemed to accept his story. She helped him off with his coat and hung it over the radiator to dry. He stayed with her for two hours, keeping her company, helping her put new books on the shelves, taking tea with her at the cafe next door when her break came. He noticed the old watchers leaving and new ones taking their place. He noticed a black van parked at the corner and assumed the men in the front seat were from the other side.
At four thirty, when the last light was gone and the blackout had taken hold, he took his coat from the radiator and pulled it on. She made a playful sad face, then took him by the hand and led him into the stockroom. There, she leaned against the wall, pulled his body to hers, and kissed him. "I don't know the first thing about you, James Porter, but I like you very much. You're sad about something. I like that."

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