The Lisbon Crossing (18 page)

The dawn’s silky light
seeped into the night sky, lifting the black veil that had draped the mountain in darkness. The world was taking shape again. I leaned into the doorway, absorbing it all as I lit a smoke and tried to get my bearings. I knew now who had sold us out, but that was for later. First, there was Eva. Where the hell was Eva?

Something caught my eye and made my stomach tense up again. About thirty yards from the house, a dark object, in the grass. The light was too faint yet to give it definition, but something was definitely there, something of substance. I tossed my cigarette aside, picked up the shotgun, and ran. My legs felt heavy and numb, as if I was running in one of those dreams where you have to get away from something, but you’re weighed down by some invisible force of nature, and the more effort you make, the harder it is to break free.

As I neared the object, it began to take on the form of a human. A man, flat on his belly, limbs fixed in a crawling position. I stood over him, breathing harder than I should’ve been for such a short sprint, feeling sorry that the bastard was beyond the pain that I would’ve liked to inflict on him, and that he deserved. It was some comfort to know that he hadn’t died quickly. I counted three places
where the bullets had torn through the black leather jacket before they ripped into his lungs. Behind him was a twenty-foot trail of matted grass that showed the path he’d crawled in his escape attempt, starting where the first shots felled him, finishing where his life had been ended with at least one point-blank bullet to the brain. The top right side of his head was pretty well missing.

I kicked him over onto his back. The lifeless face of an assassin. It didn’t say much. Just that I’d never seen him before. That didn’t matter, though. I already knew where he’d come from and why he’d been sent.

“Don’t turn around.”

Eva’s voice was muted, flat and cold.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’ve killed three men. A fourth won’t make any difference to me.”

“If you thought there was a reason to do that, you would’ve already done it,” I said, hoping like hell that I was right.

“Did you come with him?”

“No.”

“Why did you come?”

I needed to talk to her face-to-face, so I didn’t answer. “I’m going to drop the shotgun, Eva,” I said calmly. “Then I’m going to turn around. Okay?” I waited for a response, but none came, so I let the gun fall out of my hand, put my arms in the air, and started rotating around.

I could see that Eva was on the edge. She held the Luger tightly in both hands and stood firm, ready to absorb the kick when she pulled the trigger. I considered myself lucky that my skull was still intact.

We stared at each other for a moment.

“I thought they’d killed you,” I said, but she ignored the implication.

“You weren’t supposed to be here until later. Why did you come?”

“I saw Ritter last night.”

“And?”

“He was drinking champagne and talking too much.”

“What was he saying?”

“That he knew you were still alive. Somebody sold us out.”

Eva laughed. “I’m still not sure that it wasn’t you, Jack.”

“I think you know better,” I said.

She stared at me for what seemed a very long time, then she dropped her arm to her side, as if the pistol was too heavy for her to support any longer. She shook her head.

“Why, Jack?” I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I don’t know that she did, either.

“You said you’ve killed
three
men…”

“There’s another one over there.” She gestured up the field. “The same as this one. Gestapo.”

“There’s nothing we can do here,” I said. “My car’s on the drive.”

She nodded and slung her handbag over her shoulder. I didn’t feel right about leaving Rosa and Fabio, but it would have to wait. Eva glanced back at the house as we walked toward the car and I thought she was thinking the same thing. But neither of us said anything.

I slowly reversed down the drive, passing the killers’ vehicle, which was stowed in the brush just a few yards from where I’d stopped. I guessed that the driver had pulled up to keep Fabio busy, allowing his partner to come up from behind, then they’d gone on to the house on foot.

We hit the main road at the bottom of the mountain. Lisbon to the left, Estoril and the Palacio to the right. I turned right.

A
lberto was in his pajamas, watering the line of potted plants that sat on the doorstep of his two-room stucco home. He smiled as I pulled up, put down the watering can, and came toward the car. Then he saw my face and froze.

“Senhor…What a big surprise. Why—?” When Eva stepped out of the car, he went quiet and pale.

“Maybe we should do this inside,” I said. There were a number of
similar dwellings scattered along the dusty road and I didn’t want to wake the neighbors.

“I…I don’t understand. Has something happened?”

“Yes, Alberto. Something’s happened.”

He started backing away and stumbled over the watering can, hitting the ground squarely on his back. He flailed around for a moment, trying to find his legs, then resorted to covering his head when I leaned in. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with him, but I started by grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to his feet. I pushed him up against the wall of the house, my clenched fists pressing hard against his throat. He tried to say something, but couldn’t get it past his windpipe, so I eased up slightly. I didn’t want him passing out on me.

Before I could open my mouth, Alberto’s extra-large wife came barreling through the ceramic beads that hung in the doorway, launched herself onto my back, and started pummeling me, while screeching the Portuguese equivalent of
Help! Killer!
at the top of her lungs. Anyone within a half mile who wasn’t deaf would’ve heard it, but the locals all decided against playing hero.

Eva got the big lady’s attention by pressing the Luger up against her cheek. The screams ended abruptly, replaced by a series of long, equally annoying moans. Then the tears started. I was half hoping that Eva would just go ahead and pull the trigger when I noticed the young twins standing in the doorway, two looks of identical terror on their bookend faces.

“Tell her to take the kids inside,” I said to Alberto. He relayed the message with a nod, and his wife didn’t argue. She scooped the girls up and retreated into the house to await her husband’s fate.

“Let me see the gun,” I said, and Eva handed it over without comment. Alberto was starting to sweat, but staring a bullet down kept him focused.

“I am innocent,” he said defiantly.

“Of what?”

He frowned. “Have you come to kill me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “But it’s a possibility.”

He swallowed hard, and I pushed the pistol up under his chin. I wanted him to feel the metal.

“I’ll count to three before I pull the trigger,” I said. “Ready?…One…two…”

“They make me do it!”

“Do what?”

He was hyperventilating and got stuck. I removed the Luger and gave him a moment to catch his breath, but it didn’t help much.

“They have made me to tell…”—he panted—“…about the senhorita Eva…They want to know…where is she.”

“Who wanted to know?”

“The Guarda…Catela…He comes in the night and he says if I don’t tell, he takes me to jail…Please, senhor…I have my family…When I go to jail they don’t see me again…What happens for them?” He waited for a sign of understanding, but got none. “But is okay, yes?!” He tried to lighten things up. “The senhorita, she is okay! They don’t find her…Good! Good! To hell with them!”

I’d had enough. I cocked my arm and whipped the butt of the pistol hard across his head. There was a loud
crack!
and he went down again. I think even Eva was startled. Alberto cried out and held the wound, which wasn’t producing much more than a trickle of blood, but it was already starting to swell up.

“Bastardo!”

He spat on the ground, but it was meant for me. I stepped up and, straddling him, placed the gun next to his ear and calmly fired off a shot. Alberto cried out and rolled himself up into into a fetal ball. I shoved the gun into his ribs.

“Tell me the truth, Alberto!”

“I have told to you—!”

“The truth, Alberto! How much did the Gestapo pay you?!”

“It’s not like this! I swear!”

“The truth!” I prodded him. “No one came in the night and threatened you, did they?!”

“Yes! They came—! Capitão Catela—”

“Why would Catela come looking for Eva when he thought she was dead? Everyone thought she was dead—until you told them otherwise!”

“No…!”

“You saw a chance for some money, and you took it! That’s right, isn’t it?! You went to the German embassy and you told Ritter!”

“No!” I fired off another round.

“Didn’t you?!”

“Please, senhor…!”

“DIDN’T YOU…?!”

“YES!…Yes…I did…”

He looked up at me, wondering what I would do now. I stood there for moment, unsure myself. In spite of everything, I guess I pitied the poor bastard. He didn’t deserve it, but I did anyway.

“How much did they pay you, Alberto?” I said, softly now. “What’s the going rate in Lisbon for betrayal?”

He sighed, shook his head slowly back and forth, then looked to Eva for absolution. “I have to take care for my family…”

Eva gave him a steely look. “Go see Fabio and Rosa. You’ll see exactly how well you took care of your family.”

“What—?” Alberto looked from Eva to me and back to Eva again. “Is something happen to my cousins?”

I took Eva’s arm and led her back to the car. Alberto pulled himself to his feet and followed.

“Please, senhor…!” He called after us. “I was wrong to do it. But please tell me…Nothing has happened to Fabio and Rosalina! They are innocent…!”

I gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks. He knew what it meant. As Eva and I pulled away, I looked into the wing mirror and saw that Alberto had fallen to his knees.

But it was too late for praying.

The persistent
clackety-clack
of the wheels bouncing along the track, accompanied by the gentle rocking of the carriage, should’ve been enough to lull me into a much-needed slumber, but I had too many thoughts knocking around in my head to allow for sleep. Paris was still fourteen hours away—plenty of time to do what I had to do—but I’d have to make my move soon, in the early hours of the morning, after we’d crossed the Spanish border. There would be no room for mistakes.

I was pretty sure that “The Angel of Darkness” hadn’t spotted us at the station. He’d been too busy watching Madame Moulichon waddle aboard and settle herself into the compartment she occupied three cars behind the first-class accommodation that Eva and I were sharing. The German had a face that would be striking under any circumstances—the boyish Mickey Rooney looks, spoiled by the permanent scowl that somebody’s knife had carved into the right profile—but the black eye and the bandage across his left cheek, courtesy of Eva’s boot, made him impossible to miss. I’d watched him from behind the glass as he loitered on the platform, waiting until the very last moment to jump onto the train as it pulled out of Lisbon’s main station.

I didn’t like what lay ahead, but there was no other choice. Even if the Gestapo didn’t yet know the importance of the mission that had been entrusted to the duchess’s housekeeper, they’d figure it out once we hit Paris. We’d have to be very thorough with the cleanup, though. The German would have to simply disappear, with no tell-tale traces of blood left behind.

Eva murmured something unintelligible, slid her arm across my bare chest, and nestled onto my shoulder. I could feel the soft warmth of her breast through the thin cotton T-shirt she’d worn to bed, and the steady pulse of her heart seemed to match mine, beat for beat. An unfamiliar sense of sublime contentment engulfed me for a moment, but it was soon replaced by a foreboding for what was to come. I stared into the darkness and turned my thoughts back, toward the events of the last forty-eight hours.

“W
hat a lovely surprise…”

Harry Thompson displayed a perplexed smile, looked over to me, and nervously cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell me that you’d be bringing Mademoiselle Foquet, Jack…Er, perhaps she’d like to wait for you out here?” He made a sweeping gesture around the empty bar. “Inasmuch as we have a variety of matters to—”

“This is Eva Lange, Harry,” I said, stopping him midsentence. He stood there, staring at me for a beat, then had another look at Eva.

“I see,” he said. “Then she’s not dead, after all.”

“Harry’s a reporter,” I explained. “Nothing gets by him.”

“So I see.” Eva smiled.

“Yes, well…” Harry fumbled. “This is unexpected.”

“Is he here?” I said.

Harry nodded and ushered us into a back room, where Stropford was seated at a small wooden table, plunging a tea bag in and out of a cup of tepid water. He looked up as we entered, broke into a broad smile as he rose to his feet.

“Hello, Jack,” he said warmly, offering a hand. “Good to see you again. Glad we could make this work.”

He stole a glance at Eva and didn’t skip a beat when I introduced her. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you, of course,” he said. “Please, sit down. Can’t say as I can recommend the tea, I’m afraid. These wretched bags—another laborsaving device from America, I fear. It wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose, if they’d just allow it to brew in a proper pot, but they seem to think it a good idea to allow one to do one’s own dunking. Perhaps you’d like something with a bit more bite?”

“Whatever Harry’s having,” I said, knowing that was a safe bet.

“Canadian blend,” Harry informed me. “Not bad, actually.”

“Miss Lange?” Stropford offered.

“Nothing, thank you.”

Harry headed back into the bar to fetch my drink.

“So…” Stropford grinned across the table at Eva. “Everyone’s been looking for you, and here you are.”

“Here I am,” she echoed.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I said to Stropford.

He paused, scrunched up his forehead, and shifted his gaze toward me. “When Harry told me that you were inquiring about passage to England for a single female, my natural skepticism was aroused. I checked, and found that Lisa Foquet had already sailed, Wednesday night, on the
Avoceta.
When I wired the captain, he informed me of the last-minute arrest by the local authorities. They, of course, have no record of any such incident.”

“That was me,” I confessed with a grin.

“So I assumed.” Harry reappeared with the whiskey, and Stropford paused long enough to watch me sample it before turning back to Eva. “I take it, then, Miss Lange, that you’ve decided against a life in Hollywood.”

“You take it correctly.”

He nodded his head sympathetically. “Most people would view the chance to leave Europe for the sunny climes of California as an
opportunity not to be missed. Particularly when the offer comes under the auspices of the likes of Lili Sterne.”

“I don’t want to live under anyone’s auspices.”

“I quite understand.” He smiled. “Still, one can’t help wondering why you would choose to give up the safe haven of America in favor of an uncertain future in London.”

“I think I understand what you’re implying, Mr. Stropford,” Eva said. “And, given my background, I know that I must be subject to a certain amount of scrutiny before I’m to be fully trusted, but surely I’ve already gone some way in proving myself.”

Stropford cocked his head. “I’m not sure I follow you. Are you referring to the death of Dr. Kleinmann?”

“And the surrounding circumstances…”

He frowned. “My understanding is that his murder—if you will—was the result of a disagreement of a personal nature. Is it not true that you and he—”

“Excuse me,” I broke in. “But we didn’t come here to get the third degree.”

“Of course not.” Stropford nodded sympathetically, then leaned forward and frowned. “Why exactly did you come?”

“So you could—”

“—arrange entry into Great Britain for a German agent without asking any questions? I must say, I think you’re being somewhat naive if that’s what you expected.”

Eva shifted in her seat.
“Former
German agent,” she said.

Stropford gave her a contemptuous look, reached into his coat pocket, and removed a pipe. He looked her over as he took the stem between his teeth, struck a match, and fired up. “Perhaps,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “And perhaps not.”

Eva exhaled a short, sharp breath, and tried to smile. “I spent two weeks locked in the basement of your embassy in Paris, being thoroughly interrogated—”

“Yes, I’m aware of those interviews,” Stropford interrupted
dismissively. “But just two days ago you were attempting to sneak into Britain using a false identity. What am I to make of that?”

This was headed nowhere good and I was losing patience. “Look,” I said. “We can sit here playing ‘what if’ games all day long, but we’re just gonna go around and around in circles. So how about we jump to the bottom line? Are you going to help her get to England or not?”

Stropford gave me a weary look, leaned forward, and dropped his spent match into a dirty ashtray. “I must consider all the facts before making any sort of decision along those lines.”

“Then how about considering the fact that every German in Lisbon is trying to kill her?”

He shrugged. “She looks very much alive to me.”

“For Christ’s sake,” was all I could say.

“What about Bicycle?” Eva said softly.

“Bicycle?”

“Didn’t you see his report?”

Stropford was stumped. “I’m sorry…Which report is that?”

Eva stared at him from across the table. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I must confess that I don’t.”

Eva sat there for a moment, gathering steam, then sprang to her feet and started pacing the room. We all watched for a moment, then she stopped as suddenly as she’d started and swung around on Stropford.

“Then you don’t know about the letter?”

“What letter is that?”

“The one from the Duchess of Windsor to von Ribbentrop.”

Stropford needed a moment to take it in. He looked to Harry, who shrugged, and then to me. “There exists a letter from the Duchess of Windsor to the German foreign minister?” He spoke slowly, clearly enunciating each syllable, ensuring there would be no communication errors.

“Yes,” Eva said.

Stropford narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve seen it?”

She nodded.

“And the Gestapo know she saw it,” I said. “Which is why they want her dead.”

“What exactly did the letter contain?” Stropford asked warily.

“Would you like me to recite it word for word, or just give you the gist?”

“The gist will do, for now.” He laid his pipe upside down in the ashtray, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

“Well…” Eva closed her eyes and looked upward, as if she was reading from an image that she’d burned into her memory. “The duchess begins by saying that her husband wouldn’t stand idly by and watch England be destroyed…And that he’s working on a peace plan which has the support of—‘others in positions of influence’—is the way she put it.”

Stropford shifted in his seat. “She said that to von Ribbentrop?”

“Bloody hell…” Harry exclaimed.

“It gets better,” I said.

“Go on,” Stropford instructed Eva.

“She said that the duke would like ‘AH’ to know that there are documents that would shorten the war, and that they could be ‘made available’ once their ‘affairs had been settled.’ Then she asked him for money.”

Stropford went pale. He reached for his tea, but changed his mind and replaced the cup in its saucer. “Anything else?” he said.

“He’s asked Lili to carry a letter to Roosevelt,” I explained. “Asking America’s support for the peace proposal. That’s what my dinner was all about.”

“I see.” Stropford nodded his head slowly up and down for what seemed like a very long time, then he turned to Eva. “Do you have any proof of this letter’s existence?”

“No physical proof, no. I wasn’t in a position to—”

“Where is the actual letter now?”

“In Berlin, I suppose. It was sent over two weeks ago.”

“Hmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

“It means that it would’ve been helpful to have had this information sooner.”

“I thought you did have it,” Eva said.

“Yes. This Bicycle chap…”

“Who the devil is Bicycle?” Harry sputtered.

“He’s the Lisbon contact that Geoffrey Stevens gave me,” Eva said.

“Geoffrey Stevens?” Harry looked perplexed.

“Our man in Paris,” Stropford explained, adding, “When we had a man in Paris.”

Eva continued. “Stevens told me that Bicycle was a British agent who would help me get to London. He gave me an address, that’s all. He didn’t even know his name.”

Stropford sat forward. “I presume that you’ve learned it since?”

“Yes,” Eva replied. “His name is Popov. Roman Popov.”

“L
et me be clear about this,” Stropford said, once the stunned silence had worn off. “Roman Popov is not, never has been, and never will be an agent of His Majesty’s government.”

A look of dismay spread across Eva’s features.

“Are you sure about that?” I said, and Stropford bristled at the implication.

“I assure you that he could not be operating in Lisbon without my express knowledge and consent.”

“Then why would this guy Stevens steer Eva to him?”

“I have only her word that he did.”

“Why don’t you check with him?”

“Indeed,” Stropford responded coolly. “I would certainly do so if that were possible. Unfortunately, Geoffrey Stevens was killed in an artillery attack in northern France as he made his way back to England.”

I stole a glance at Eva. She looked exhausted and, not surprisingly, on edge. Her situation was painfully clear. The British government had never heard of Bicycle, let alone about the von Ribbentrop letter, and they believed that Eva was a German agent who had walked into the Paris embassy in an attempt to infiltrate British intelligence. They explained her shooting of Dr. Kleinmann, the head of Abwehr in Lisbon, as the result of a lovers’ spat, and the fact that she claimed Roman Popov as her contact in British intelligence made her all the more suspect.

“Even if she was still working for the Germans,” I said, “why would she invent something like that letter?”

“Any number of reasons.” Stropford shrugged. “As bait, to draw us in. Or to make us think the German High Command knows more than they actually do. They might believe that if we feel our defenses have been compromised, we’d be more likely to come to terms.”

“Sounds pretty far-fetched,” I said, noticing Eva move back around the table toward the seat she’d vacated.

“Possibly,” Stropford allowed. “Clearly, the only acceptable course of action is for both of you to accompany me back to—”

He stopped there, his face frozen. I wasn’t sure why until I looked sideways and saw that Eva had removed a Luger from her handbag and was pointing it across the table at the two Brits.

“Eva…?” I said.

“I’ve decided against going to London.” She moved a couple of steps toward the door. “You can come with me or you can stay, Jack, but you’ll have to decide quickly.”

I stood up, but didn’t move. Harry piped up.

“You’re a bloody fool, Jack, if you go along with this. If there was ever any doubt about what she’s up to, it’s gone now. Look at her!”

I did look at her, and she looked back. It couldn’t have been for more than a couple of seconds, but it was enough for me.

Eva handed me her bag. It was heavier than it should’ve been, and when I looked inside I saw why. She’d been collecting guns. Five,
in all. Three Lugers, including the one in her hand, a Colt .38 Special, which must have been Eddie’s, and a little Glock, which I took to be the weapon Popov had given her, the one she’d killed Kleinmann with. I chose the .38 and trained it on Harry, who just shook his head ruefully.

“Oh, Jack,” he moaned. “She’s not worth it.”