The Unlikely Spy

Vicary slammed down the receiver.

 

"We're on, gentlemen." He turned to Harry. "Alive. We need her alive."

 

Harry nodded, grim-faced, then led the Special Branch men out of the room. Vicary listened to their footfalls on the stairs gradually fading away. Then, a moment later, he spotted the tops of their heads as they stepped from the building and headed across the street toward Catherine Blake's flat.

 

 

 

 

 

Horst Neumann parked the van in a small quiet side street around the corner from Catherine's flat. He climbed out and softly closed the door. He walked quickly along the pavement, hands thrust deeply into his pockets, one hand wrapped around the butt of the Mauser.

 

The street was in pitch darkness. He came to the pile of rubble that once was the terrace behind the flat. He groped his way across broken wood, crumbled brick, and twisted pipes. The rubble ended at a wall, about six feet high. On the other side of the wall was the garden at the back of the house--Neumann had seen it from the window of her room. He tried the gate; it was locked. He would have to open it from the other side.

 

He placed his hands on top of the wall, thrust with his legs, and pulled with his arms. Atop the wall now, he threw one leg over the other side and turned his body. He hung that way for a few seconds, looking down. The ground below was invisible in the dark. He could fall on anything--a sleeping dog or a row of dustbins that would make a terrible clatter if he landed on them. He considered shining his torch for a second but that might attract attention. He pushed himself off the top of the wall and fell through the gloom. There were no dogs or rubbish bins, just a thorny shrub of some kind that clawed at his face and his coat.

 

Neumann tore himself free from the thornbush and unlatched the gate. He crossed the garden to the back door. He tried the latch--it was locked. The door had a window. He reached in his coat pocket, withdrew the Mauser, and used it to smash the lower-left pane of glass. The noise was surprisingly loud. He reached through the shattered pane and unlocked the door, then quickly crossed the hall and ascended the stairs.

 

He reached Catherine's door and knocked softly.

 

From the other side of the door he heard her say, "Who's there?"

 

"It's me."

 

She opened the door. Neumann stepped inside and closed it. She was dressed in trousers, sweater, and leather jacket. The suitcase radio was standing next to the door. Neumann looked at her face. It was ashen.

 

"It could be my imagination," she said, "but I think something is going on downstairs. I've seen some men milling about on the street and sitting in parked cars."

 

The flat was dark, one light burning in the sitting room. Neumann crossed the room in a few quick steps and turned it off. He went to the window and lifted the edge of the blackout shade, peering out into the street. The evening traffic was moving below, throwing off just enough light for him to see four men charging from the apartment house across the street and heading their way.

 

Neumann turned and ripped his Mauser from his pocket.

 

"They're coming for us. Grab your radio and follow me down. Now!"

 

 

 

 

 

Harry Dalton threw open the front door and went inside, the Special Branch men behind him. He switched on the hall light in time to see Catherine Blake running out the back door, her suitcase radio swinging from her arm.

 

 

 

 

 

Horst Neumann had kicked open the back door and was running across the garden when he heard the shout from within the house. He rushed through the curtain of gloom, the Mauser in front of him in his outstretched hand. The gate flew open and a figure appeared there, silhouetted in the frame, gun raised. He shouted for Neumann to stop. Neumann kept running, firing twice. The first shot struck the man in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second shattered his spine, killing him instantly.

 

A second man stepped into his place and attempted to fire. Neumann squeezed the trigger. The Mauser bounced in his hand, emitting almost no sound, just the dull click of the firing mechanism. The man's head exploded.

 

Neumann raced through the gate, stepping over the bodies, and peered into the blackout. There was no one else behind the house. He turned and saw Catherine, a few feet behind him, running with the radio. Three men were chasing her. Neumann raised his gun and fired into the dark. He heard two men scream. Catherine kept running.

 

He turned and started across the rubble toward the van.

 

 

 

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