“Yes,” Schellenberg said. “More precisely, the British Crown Jewels.” He caught a movement as Hector hurried through the hallway. “Hector, come in here.”
Hector, startled at being seen, stopped, hesitated for a moment, and reluctantly entered the conservatory.
“Lord Neville-Percy? Hector,” an incredulous Sir Charles said.
“Sir Charles.”
Sir Charles’s expression shifted from surprise to anger. He waved a hand at the jeweled table. “You are involved in this . . . this outrage?”
Hector looked away.
“I knew your father, and I thought I knew you. He was a good man, a true Englishman.” He was suddenly aware of the film cameras running. “Turn those damn things off.”
“But Charles, we are recording history,” Leni said with a pout. She waved for the cameras to continue turning.
He ignored her and spun to face Schellenberg. “What do you expect to achieve with this vulgar display?”
“Do?” Schellenberg gave him a world-weary smile. “Sir Charles, I have already done what needed to be done. I have the Crown Jewels in my possession. The next step is completely up to you and your country.”
“Explain yourself, Sir.”
“Gladly. You are free to leave whenever you wish. James will take you back to your car. When you do return to the embassy, I suggest immediately telephoning Mr. Churchill to tell him what you have just witnessed. Please tell him he has until Monday at noon to publicly announce that England and Germany have reached an armistice agreement. If he does so, I shall have every single diamond delivered safely to your embassy in Lisbon by the following morning.”
“You do not know England, or Winston Churchill,” Charles said, his face tight. “He will never agree to being coerced by Nazis.”
“Then one minute after noon on Monday newspaper reporters will be allowed to view them, and Leni’s film will be in all the cinemas.” Schellenberg shrugged as though it was all inevitable. “After that the Jewels will be shipped to Germany, where I am sure Reichsmarschall des Grossdeutschen Reiches Herman Göring will be beside himself deciding what pieces to take back to his Carinhall lair. What’s left, if anything is after Der Dicke has pawed through them, will be melted down or sold to aid the Third Reich. Leni will film every moment for the world to see. Tell your Mr. Churchill that, and it might well change his mind.”
Sir Charles angled toward Hector and James. “You have both disgraced your country and your families. You will never be forgiven.”
“It’s for the best,” James said, but with no great conviction. “People are dying, innocent civilians in London. This will bring it to an end.” He took a step back, as though concerned Sir Charles might strike him.
“Your carriage home, Sir Charles,” Schellenberg said, the pillowcase raised, hanging from his finger. “Monday, before noon, or you will make Göring a very happy man.”
Schellenberg, Leni, and Hector stood at the conservatory door as James slipped the pillowcase over Sir Charles’s head and led him to the car.
“Poor man. I thought he was going to expire from apoplexy,” Schellenberg said.
Leni tilted her chin and shook her head. “The stupid English can be so—”
She stopped as all the lights failed.
Heiko von Eisen joined them. “I knew this would happen. The film lights were too much for an old electrical system. They have probably blown every fuse in the building.”
“Then repair them,” Leni said.
“Where are they?” Schellenberg said.
“In the cellar,” Heiko said, and paused, his expression changing. “It’s not the film lights that blew the fuses. The Englishwoman’s down there. She did it.”
“She’s Welsh, actually,” Hector said. “And I wouldn’t make matters worse by upsetting her and calling her English if I were you.”
Heiko shouted for soldiers to follow him as he fumbled toward the cellar. In the frantic darkness, Hector slipped away, went out the front door, and ran around the house toward the cellar delivery doors.
43
Billy the Brick was foremost in Caitrin’s mind. If he was right that killing a man forever changed who you were, then she was prepared to be changed. It was better than being killed. That was a permanent change. She sat in the dark cellar beneath the delivery doors, hidden behind a wall of wine cases, and at such an angle the cellar door ahead opened away from her. There would be no protection for any man once he entered. Her right hand was still swollen, but adrenaline would take care of that. And if not, she would shoot just as well with her left.
A stab of light showed at the bottom of the door, followed by another flash, mutterings in German, and a boot scrape. Metal on metal. They were outside. Caitrin listened and guessed there were three, four at most. The spiral stone steps down to the cellar were steep and narrow, the door low, and there was little room for them to maneuver. She exhaled, inhaled a calming breath, raised her revolver, and waited.
A key turned in the lock, the door squeaked open, and light beams cut through the darkness. If she had been one of the Germans, Caitrin would have sprinted through the doorway, low, without the torch, and rolled for cover. They did not enter that way. Instead, two of the men came in cautiously, aimed their torches into the cellar, and Caitrin killed them. The first shot shattered the left torch, the second went to the heart, the third to the head. The second man died the same way, and they fell to the floor almost together. A beam of light edged her for a moment, and a third man shouted, “Sie hat einen sechs schützen!”
Caitrin fired her remaining two shots; one to destroy the torch, the second a head shot to kill the man. “Wrong, not sechs, eight,” she murmured to herself. The gunshots echoed and died into silence. The cellar was dark again, and she heard boots scuffing the stone steps as a man retreated up them. She was safe for the moment, but they would be back, with more men, and now, having used all her ammunition, she was unarmed.
A pounding on the cellar doors overhead startled her. The blade of a garden spade cut through the soft wood and tore away the bolt. “Caitrin!” Hector hissed from outside.
“Here.”
She pushed while he tugged open the doors and helped her out. “The stables!”
“No, over there,” Caitrin said and ran toward thick undergrowth at a corner of the boundary wall. A full moon made the night clear.
Hector dropped down next to her. “Why not the stables?”
“Because they’d expect us to go there, and we’d be trapped.” She pointed to a group of soldiers who had crept across the grass to surround the stables. “Our first thought is their first thought. Our second thought is ours.”
“Take this.” He handed her his Browning automatic. “You’re a far better shot.”
“Thanks, but no,” she said, her expression softening. Hector was swallowing great pride to offer her his gun. “It would feel wrong somehow. I’ll find one inside.”
