“I never expected you would need this much assistance either, Elaine. Go now, go on. Leave this country as soon as you can.”
The women parted on the street. Maisie turned away as their hands separated, and walked to a tram stop. She looked back once, but Elaine was gone. She wished she had questioned the young woman about Mark Scott. And she wished she had delved into the killing of a man who had now, to all intents and purposes, vanished. But perhaps it was best she knew no more on either count. What she did know was that she had done far more than she should for the daughter of a man she detested. Perhaps, with Elaine Otterburn gone, she could separate herself from this family. Their presence in her life had brought nothing but sorrow.
At the hotel, Maisie made her way to her room. She regretted ever accepting the assignment. The risks were escalating with each delay in securing Leon Donat’s release—and now those risks were almost entirely upon her head. As soon as Luther Gramm was reported missing, and his dead body found, there would surely be a search for Elaine Otterburn—and when it was confirmed she had left the country, Maisie would be questioned, along with the woman’s other friends and associates. Hans Berger knew of their connection, so he would pull her in—and perhaps delay Leon Donat’s release. Maisie prayed for another twenty-four hours. Just one day.
“Don’t be alarmed.” The voice was low, yet the accent unmistakable.
“How did you get into my room?” Maisie stood still, looking toward the silhouette of Mark Scott, sitting by the half-closed curtains.
“It’s a way I have with locks.”
Maisie pulled off her gloves, unwound her scarf, and removed her coat.
“You have some explaining to do, Mr. Scott.”
“Not as much as you will, if Berger discovers that his boy Luther is dead and Elaine has gone. Pity about that—Luther was very useful to us. Amazing what even the younger officers know, without really knowing they know it—forgive the tongue-twister. Give them a pretty girl and more drinks than they can handle, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re gabbing away merrily.”
“You’ve put her life in danger, Mr. Scott—and mine, and that of the very man you say your government wants you to ensure is released into the hands of the British government. Safely into the hands of the British government, I might add.”
“I didn’t actually murder anyone, Fr?ulein D.”
“Mr. Scott, I—”
“I will tell you enough.”
“Well, you’d better start, then.”
“As I explained, we don’t have a formal intelligence service in the States, so it’s down to me and some other fellows at the Justice Department. When I came here, I looked around at how your chaps work—let’s face it, you British have been in the intelligence business for a very long time. Even your Good Queen Bess had her Walsingham. Anyway, I thought it might be an idea to nab me an informer or two—and you British girls do seem to find your way into the most interesting places. The younger ones love a party, and—despite all indications to the contrary—so do the Germans around here, so they’re keeping a few for themselves. In the meantime, Hitler’s henchmen have closed down more places where people can have some fun than were ever open in the city I’m from.”
“Which is?”
“Best you don’t know, eh, Fr?ulein D?” Scott completed his retort with a grin. “Elaine Otterburn, it appears, decided to trust an American more than she did the Brits, who seem to think she is a bit of a fly-by-night. Indulged and spoiled, yes, but it didn’t take me long to realize that this woman did not just have a desire to do something useful for the old country—she had a need. Call it an atonement . . . of sorts.” He seemed to leave the word atonement lingering in the air.
“She brought you information. Yes, I know that, Mr. Scott,” said Maisie, refusing to take the bait.
“Each little piece she brought back to me—she was like a cat dropping a mouse on the doorstep—fitted in with something another of my contacts reported. And as you know, it’s like a puzzle, looking at all the pieces and seeing where they go together.”
“And where do they fit, Mr. Scott?”
“Ultimately, Fraulie D, they indicate that your government is being lulled by a cobra into thinking that all will be well.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know—though it’s clearly something you didn’t know, or you would not have put Elaine Otterburn’s life at risk.”
“Oh, Elaine would have been just fine and dandy, had she not led on the artist with the hangdog look.”
“Which artist?”
“A man who has more heart for the beauty of life than the ugliness, although, like many of the men of Himmler’s SS, he has a tendency to veer toward the extreme. I think you know that too. One of those people who cannot just join a club—he has to run it.”
“Berger?”
“Yes, Berger. Formerly an artist—and a better one than his boss, that’s for sure!”