Horst Neumann came awake as the train clattered through London's northeastern suburbs. He glanced at his wristwatch: ten thirty. They were due in at Liverpool Street at ten twenty-three. Miraculously, they would be only a few minutes late. He yawned, stretched, and sat up in his seat. He looked out the window at the bleak Victorian tenement houses sweeping past. Dirty children waved at the passing train. Neumann, feeling ridiculously English, waved back. There were three other passengers in his compartment, a pair of soldiers and a young woman who wore the overalls of a factory worker and pulled a frown of concern when she first saw Neumann's bandaged face. He glanced at each of them now. He always worried about talking in his sleep, though the last few nights he had dreamt in English. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. God, but he was tired. Up at five o'clock, out of the cottage by six so Sean could give him a lift to Hunstanton, the seven twelve from Hunstanton to Liverpool Street.
He had not slept well the previous night. It was the pain of his injuries and the presence of Jenny Colville in his bed. She had risen with him before dawn, slipped out of the Dogherty cottage, and pedaled home through the dark and the rain. Neumann hoped she made it safely. He hoped Martin wasn't waiting for her. It was a stupid thing to do, letting her spend the night with him. He thought about how she would feel when he was gone. When he never wrote and she never heard from him again. He worried about how she would feel if she ever discovered the truth--that he was not James Porter, a wounded British soldier looking for peace and quiet in a Norfolk village. That he was Horst Neumann, a decorated German paratrooper who came to England to spy and who had deceived her in the worst way. He had not deceived her about one thing. He cared for her. Not in the way she would like, but he did care about what happened to her.
The train slowed as it approached Liverpool Street. Neumann stood, pulled on his reefer coat, and stepped out of the compartment. The corridor was packed. He shuffled amid the other passengers toward the door. Someone ahead of him threw it open, and Neumann stepped from the still-moving train. He gave his ticket to the ticket collector and walked along a dank passageway to the underground station. There, he purchased a ticket for Temple and caught the next train. A few minutes later, he was walking up the stairs and heading north toward the Strand.
Catherine Blake took a taxi to Charing Cross. The rendezvous point was a short distance away, in front of a shop on the Strand. She paid off the driver and threw up her umbrella against the rain. She started walking. At a phone box, she stopped, picked up the receiver, and pretended to place a call. She looked behind her. The heavy rain had reduced visibility, but she could see no sign of the opposition. She replaced the receiver, stepped from the phone box, and continued eastward along the Strand.
Clive Roach slipped from the back of a surveillance van and followed her along the Strand. During the brief ride he had shed his mackintosh and brimmed hat and changed into a dark green oilskin coat and woolen cap. The transformation was remarkable--from a clerk to a laborer. Roach watched as Catherine Blake stopped to place the ersatz telephone call. Roach paused at a newspaper vendor. Browsing through the headlines, he pictured the face of the agent Professor Vicary had code-named Rudolf. Roach's assignment was simple: tail Catherine Blake until she handed her material to Rudolf, then follow him. He looked up in time to see her replacing the receiver in the cradle and stepping from the phone box. Roach melted into the pedestrians and followed her.
Neumann spotted Catherine Blake walking toward him. He paused at a shop, eyes scanning the faces and the clothing of the pedestrians behind her on the pavement. As she drew closer, Neumann turned from the window and started walking toward her. The contact was brief, a second or two. But when it was over Neumann had the film in his hand and was shoving it into the pocket of his coat. She moved quickly on, disappearing into the crowd. Neumann continued in the opposite direction for a few feet, recording the faces. Then he abruptly stopped at another shop window, turned, and followed softly after her.
Clive Roach spotted Rudolf and saw the exchange. He thought, Smooth bastards, aren't you? He watched as Rudolf paused, then turned and walked in the same direction as Catherine Blake. Roach had witnessed many meetings by German agents since 1939, but never had he seen one agent turn and follow the other. Usually, they went their separate ways. Roach turned the collar of his oilskin up around his ears and floated carefully behind them.
Catherine Blake walked eastward along the Strand, then down to Victoria Embankment. It was then she spotted Neumann behind her. Her first reaction was anger. Standard rendezvous procedure was to part company--and quickly--as soon as the handover was complete. Neumann knew the procedure and had executed it faultlessly every time. She thought, Why is he following me now?
Vogel must have ordered him to do it.