“Mark Scott. United States Department of Justice, ma’am. Or should I say Fr?ulein D? That would cover both of you.”
“I would like to see a means of identification. And move forward two paces.”
As the man flapped back an olive-green overcoat to reach the inside pocket of his jacket, Maisie stepped around to face him.
“No.” Maisie aimed her weapon at his heart. “Keep your hands out of the way.” She reached into his pocket, removed a wallet, and stepped back to take advantage of the light from a window above. She flicked open the wallet with her left hand, aware of the man’s every movement. “And please do not try anything, because—believe it or not—I can use this thing, and I have it on authority that I am not a bad shot. Mind you, anyone could be a good shot at this distance.”
She checked the identification. Mark Scott. US Consulate General.
“Trust me?” said Scott.
Maisie shook her head. “No. I don’t. For a start, it says here that you’re with the Consulate. But I do want to know why you’re here and why you’ve followed me.” She gestured back toward the Marienplatz. “There’s a busy pub sort of place back there. Walk alongside me—and remember, you are still at the end of my revolver.”
She let down her guard a little when they entered the pub and found a table. The revolver was consigned to her pocket, though she kept her hand on the grip.
“Now you can tell me what you think you’re doing, Mr. Scott—if that’s your real name.”
“I may have to shout.”
“I’ll lip-read if necessary. What do you want with me?”
Mark Scott raised his chin in warning as a waiter approached their table. He ordered beers for both himself and Maisie. Not until the waiter was halfway back to the bar, and then only after he had surveyed their immediate area, did he turn back to Maisie. “We want to make sure Leon Donat gets out of this country alive, though of course he might not be exactly fine and dandy, given where he’s been. You are his ticket; you have his release papers—or you will have them the day after tomorrow. It is in the interests of the government of the United States of America that Mr. Donat reaches Great Britain in a timely manner. We don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“What has America got to do with this?”
Mark Scott grinned. “Let’s just say we have a soft spot for your boffins.”
CHAPTER 8
Mark Scott stopped a few steps from the entrance to the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten. He turned to Maisie and tipped his hat. “Don’t worry, I’m on your side, Fr?ulein Donat. I’ve got your six.” He pronounced her assumed name in perfect German, and with a knowing smile.
“And what exactly is my six, Mr. Scott?”
“Sorry about that—I thought you would have heard the saying before. I was an aviator in the war. When you see your pal going in to take on the enemy, you let him know you’re right there, looking after him from the back. That’s having his six. You know, it’s like a clock—twelve is right out there in front, three has the starboard, nine the port, and six brings it up from the rear. You want someone back there at your six when you’re going in, so the bastards can’t come up and take out your tail.”
“Oh, I see.” Maisie nodded, smiling. “Right you are then, Mr. Scott. I daresay I might see you again, if I look over my shoulder toward the six.”
“You can count on it, ma’am. You can count on it.” Scott touched a finger to the brim of his hat and walked away into the night.
Maisie was sure he was who he claimed to be—and that meant Leon Donat was a far more valuable man than she had been led to believe. But then, he would be. Why else would the British government go to such great lengths to get him back onto home soil? And if the German authorities knew how important he was—over and above having so-called friends in high places—would they renege on the deal to release him? Maisie looked around, wondering if anyone else was following her or had seen her in the pub. She could not help but wonder whether she had made a wrong move in apprehending Mark Scott.