“I will, yes.” Maisie wondered if Leslie knew she was armed.
“You will, to all intents and purposes, be on your own with your father once you are on the train.” Was Leslie divesting the camouflage now, revealing the full extent of his knowledge? Or was Maisie imagining each sentence to be a hint that he had her number? “We believe the Germans are so convinced that Leon Donat has nothing at all to offer, they will not be positioning an agent on the train—and definitely not across the border. We’re not yet sure why they aren’t more worried. Stupid requests such as stipulating that he can only be released to a family member, when the protocol is for the foreign service to receive the prisoner in a negotiated release, right down to this messing around with papers—it’s all been designed to rattle our cages. It was only to be expected. We poke sticks through their bars every now and again, and they poke sticks through ours. It could of course be an attempt by the Führer’s boys to present him in some sort of compassionate light, though that won’t last long. Anyway, I think we will know more when Donat is released to us.”
Whether he knew Maisie to be working on behalf of the Secret Service or not was not important now, though she knew she would feel safer if he was in the dark.
“Mind you,” he continued, “I would like to have a pin in the map for Elaine Otterburn. She could upset the whole apple cart.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Leslie.”
“It’s done now—and you were quite careful, though that meeting with Berger in the Residenz rather rattled us.”
“He just turned up there.”
Leslie turned in his seat to look directly at Maisie. “No one in the SS just turns up.” He faced the front of the motor car again and continued. “I have no doubt of our success today. However . . .” He did not continue.
Maisie’s voice was low as she filled the gap. “However . . . if it does not go to plan, the most important thing is to get my father out of Munich, to London. I think it’s evident I know that much, Mr. Leslie.”
They sat in silence for the remainder of the journey, Maisie resting her hand on her bag, feeling the now comforting outline of the small revolver, her short meditation not on the outcome of the day but on her training with MacFarlane, and a bullet striking the bull’s-eye with her very first shot.
The guard outside recognized Maisie and Leslie, gave their papers a cursory look, and waved them into the building. Leslie remained in the cavernous entrance hall while, ten minutes after being allowed entry, “Fr?ulein Donat” was summoned by another guard and shown into the same office as before. She was taken aback to be greeted by Berger. He gave a short bow, and held out his hand to the chair in front of his desk. The same junior officer stood to attention on his right. Berger shuffled some papers.
Maisie spoke first, as she took her seat. “How very nice it was to see you at the Residenz. I enjoyed hearing about it from someone who has studied every facet. Will you be long in Munich?”
“Thank you, Fr?ulein Donat. And I depart tomorrow—today is a busy day for the Führer’s staff. Now, Fr?ulein Donat, to business. Let me see—yes, all the papers are here for the release of your father into his loving daughter’s embrace.” He gave a tight half smile as he looked up from the papers.
Maisie thought of Frankie, and tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, Major. Thank you very much—I am so anxious to see him, and to take him home. He is not a well man, as you know.”
Berger looked at his junior officer, and they both began to laugh.
“What is it?” said Maisie. “What about my father’s health do you find worthy of mirth?”
“Mirth?” The men laughed again. Berger spoke in German to the boyish man in uniform behind him. “Warten Sie, bis sie sieht, was unwohl sieht aus wie nach Dachau!”
Maisie understood every word. Wait until she sees what unwell looks like after Dachau! She frowned. “Is something wrong, Major?”
“Oh, no, nothing, Fr?ulein Donat. Just a little joke between men in uniform—we have to let off a little steam on occasion.”
He looked down at the papers, countersigning each page, checking a word here and there, running his finger along a line and nodding. It’s all a game, thought Maisie. A man’s life had been trampled, and it was all a game.
Berger looked up again. “Just one more thing, Fr?ulein Donat.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Your friend, Fr?ulein Otterburn.”
“You already asked me about her. I tried once to get her to return to her parents, at their request. I’m not sure if she decided to heed my advice, but I believe she was thinking about it.”
“Then she must have left Munich.”