Churchill glared at the officers, who had become mute statues. “Thank you for your presentation, Miss Warbery.”
“There is one thing more, Sir,” Edna said. “From collating various information, we believe that the Luftwaffe, spearheaded by KG100, will increase its bombing raids over the next few months. And, as the radio beam system develops, they are likely to attack other cities and factories with great precision and heavier bomb loads.”
“So it is going to get worse, not better?”
“Yes, Sir, we believe it will. For the whole country, not just London.” Edna exhaled. It was somber news and she saw the effect it had on Churchill.
“Could your superior, John Cardington, have given as precise and cogent a report as you just did, Miss Warbery?” Churchill asked and she saw the wicked glint in his eye. “I want you to be absolutely candid with me.”
“No, he could not,” she said. Because the sod’s always drunk and I’m smarter than him anyway. “Because, as usual, I collected, analyzed, and then compiled the information you just received.”
“Then you alone should continue doing so, and Mr. Cardington can become an air-raid warden in Peckham. I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Warbery.”
“So do I, Prime Minister.”
Churchill rose to his feet and left. More precision bombing meant more deaths and more destruction. And as committed as he was to defeating the Third Reich, he could not completely banish the voices of those who insisted he should negotiate an armistice. It would save the lives of thousands. Of men, women, and children.
35
By early evening, Dieter Brandt had found them a boat to ferry the Crown Jewels across the Tagus to a wharf at St. Apolonia, on the northern bank east of the city center. They unloaded the boat and then reloaded the cases into a lorry while hidden from view by rows of low red-brick warehouses. As they drove away, Hector was in the cab with the driver, while for Caitrin, sitting in the lorry bed, the drive west along Avenida Infante dom Henrique was unreal. The avenue was filled with traffic, the pavements thronged with people, and there was light and color. Everyone was well dressed, children were running unchecked through the crowds, and Lisbon was bright and noisy with outdoor cafés and restaurants. Yellow trolley cars rattled along on narrow rails, while on street corners women sold paper flowers, and the scent of roasting chestnuts caught her unawares. Dour, battered London and the dread and violence of its daily existence belonged to a different world. Seeing the contrast between the two cities evoked a yearning for all the madness to be over. Seeing the difference, it would be easy to go insane.
She unconsciously moved her right hand to brush back an errant curl, but James, sitting across from her with the Crown Jewels cases stacked between them, had tied it to a stanchion. He held his pistol pointed at her.
“The Portuguese are usually a somewhat lugubrious lot,” he said as he watched the avenue pass. “But today they’re happy because 1940 is the year of the Portuguese World Exhibition or, if you’ll excuse my execrable Portuguese, Exposicão do Mundo Português. The country is celebrating eight hundred years of existence and three hundred years of independence from Spain.”
At that moment, Caitrin had no interest in Portuguese history. “Where are we going?”
James deflected the question and gestured to the avenue. “Not the whole world is at war. You see what can happen if we accept Germany’s offer and agree to an armistice? You will have cities intact and happy, alive people. Like those people out there.”
She ignored him.
“All right, I’ll tell you. We’re going west along the coast, through Estoril and Cascais, and then north to Sintra.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s the plan, of course.”
The lorry passed Cascais, turned away from the coast, and went north, climbing a serpentine road through a forest until it reached Sintra. There the road narrowed and steepened; the lorry turned hard right and stopped. Caitrin heard hinges squeak as heavy iron gates swung open, and gravel crunched when the lorry pulled in and halted. When the tailgate and canvas flap opened, James cut her restraints and led her out to a square, solid three-story house. The grounds were encircled by a high stone wall. With Hector, he guided her up a long flight of stairs into a room, and the door closed behind them. They were standing in the middle of an oak-paneled library. A wood fire burned beneath an ornate marble mantelpiece, oil paintings of long-dead noblemen and their families hung on the walls, and under those was heavy furniture of dark wood and red leather. The floors, worn and polished wood, were covered with Turkish carpets, and the window drapes had been drawn shut.
In front of the fireplace stood a slender, clean-featured man wearing a gray Nazi SS uniform. Caitrin recognized him. He was the third smiling young man in Hector’s Kolbensattel skiing photograph.
“Guten abend.” He stepped forward and put out his hand as he switched to flawless English. “Welcome to Sintra. Your Lord Byron thought it was a glorious Eden.”
“He’s not my Lord Anything,” Caitrin said.
“You are definitely Caitrin Colline, the woman who James says has caused us so much trouble.”
“And you must be used to kinder, küche und kirche Fräuleins. But that’s not me,” Caitrin said and ignored his outstretched hand.
He lowered it, gave a thin smile, and took a step back. “I am SS-Brigadeführer Walter Schellenberg.”
Caitrin caught her breath. She had learned about Schellenberg in 512. He was a true Nazi, a lawyer and an intellectual who believed Hitler’s edicts were above normal law and should always be obeyed without question. He and Reynard Heydrich were close friends, both rising stars admired by Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. Schellenberg had been in command of SD and Gestapo commandos when Germany invaded Poland. They were brutal to their captives. Rumor had it that he was in Portugal to offer the duke and duchess of Windsor fifty million Swiss francs to work for Germany. Schellenberg was on record as saying Britain was run by Freemasons, Jews, and the public-school elite. She glanced at James and Hector with the sinking feeling that they were completely out of their depth in dealing with this man.
“We are now close to the end of our journey,” Schellenberg said in measured tones, and Caitrin guessed he was a man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice. “It is a journey that will bring lasting peace between our nations, and I wish to ensure that you are unable to further disrupt our plans.”
Caitrin bit back an answer. This man, in his precise gray uniform, was sinister, and she had no wish to antagonize him.
“Sintra has many of these grand houses, few of them now occupied,” Schellenberg said and spread his arms to encompass the room. “They were refuge for the rich Lisbon merchants and ancient families from the summer heat. High walls and a secluded property are ideal for our purpose. Let me show you where you will stay until we are finished.”
He put up a hand to keep Hector and James in the room and pushed her out. He forced her up to the top floor to a door at the end of a long corridor, where a man in SS uniform was waiting: short, squat, his face saber-scarred.
“Fräulein Colline, allow me to introduce you to Untersturmführer Heiko von Eisen.”
Caitrin made no movement. Schellenberg was sinister, but this man von Eisen exuded evil.
“He has been with me through many difficult campaigns. He does not speak English. Polen war hart, oder, von Eisen? I said, Poland was hard, no?”
“Nein,” von Eisen said.
“Show her the room.”
Von Eisen opened the door and stood back. The corner room was small, with two windows and a minimum of furniture. Caitrin noticed the windows were barred. Schellenberg saw them too.
“With a room high on the top floor such a barrier would seem unnecessary. But I am told the original owner had an untermensch son, a giant of a boy with a malformed brain, and the kind of creature who will no longer exist in modern Germany. He sometimes got quite violent. They were forced to lock him away in here after he was found scampering around the grounds, naked and on all fours, chasing a maid and baying at a full moon. I suppose all families have their secrets and weaknesses.”
Caitrin fought back a suggestion that he might be his family’s weakness.
“James told me of your abilities in great detail and insisted you should not be underestimated, so there will be a guard outside your room, day and night,” Schellenberg said. “They will be von Eisen’s men. Gute nacht, Fräulein.”
