She could hear laughter and music even as she came alongside the shop selling women’s clothing. She caught the eye of the proprietress, who had stepped outside to look toward the pub. The woman shook her head, as if to communicate her disgust at having such an inconsiderate neighbor. It occurred to Maisie that the hostelry had probably been there before the shop. It wasn’t the best place to situate a business—unless, of course, one wanted to sell garments to women whose inebriate lovers had the money and willingness to indulge them.
She watched a few people emerge, laughing, and a few more enter, then took a deep breath and opened the door. Inside, it was dark, and the smell of beer and wine heavy in the air. She closed her eyes to help them adjust to the dim light. She opened them to see the landlord approaching.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
She replied that she was, but only needed a quick glimpse. He endeavored to bring her out of the shadows, but, insisting she was perfectly well placed to find her friends, she began to survey each table, searching for a familiar face. She found three.
In a corner to her left, Elaine Otterburn was seated at a banquette with a Gestapo officer whose back was turned to Maisie. Elaine was laughing, her head tilted, her lipstick-framed teeth catching the light. She reached for her cigarettes on the table in front of her, and the officer took a lighter from his pocket and pressed his thumb against the trigger. Elaine leaned forward, her cigarette between two fingers moving toward the flame. As Maisie looked away, her eyes caught another familiar face. Seated in another corner, Mark Scott was observing the pair. He was not leaning forward as if interested or anxious, instead he leaned back against the banquette, as if he were idly watching people while enjoying his beer. Maisie returned her gaze to Elaine Otterburn, and in that moment the officer leaned across to take a cigarette out of the packet Elaine had set down on the table, and Maisie could see his face in profile. It was Hans Berger, whom she had seen fighting tears in the Hofgarten just the evening before. Of that she had no doubt.
Maisie left the bar with the intention of going at once to the British consulate on Pranner Strasse. A brisk walking pace gave way to a run—she wanted to be away from the pub and arrange for the departure of Leon Donat for England as soon as she could, and she wanted to get Elaine Otterburn out of Germany at the earliest opportunity. It was not lost on Maisie that the latter task might be the more challenging of the two, but she had a plan. Hearing the rumble of a tram behind her, she ran to the stop and joined the queue, stepping up onto the tram and taking a seat. She closed her eyes. Elaine Otterburn. Now she was afraid for her. As she watched John Otterburn’s daughter, she had felt her heart soften, and compassion rise up for the young woman. She sighed. How would she extract Elaine from a web of her own making?
“That was a big sigh.”
Maisie recognized the voice at once. She turned to Mark Scott. “I have little respect for the game you’re playing, Mr. Scott, and the way you’re playing it.”
Scott looked around as if to search for landmarks beyond the window while trying to decide whether he was approaching his stop. Maisie knew he was taking the measure of other passengers. One or perhaps two of them might not be innocent travelers on their way to Marienplatz.
He turned back, keeping his voice low. “Never can be too careful, Fr?ulein D.”
“You should have been more careful when you recruited your local spies, Herr Scott. You weren’t offering jobs to gnomes to help Santa Claus pack toys and trinkets. When you approached Elaine Otterburn you knew what you had—a disillusioned party girl with a good but broken heart and a desire to do something worthwhile. You knew she had a . . . a need for atonement. You might not have known what had happened in her life, but you knew she was young enough, indulged enough, and vulnerable enough to have some mistakes behind her—and you made hay with them. So she became your mole, your source of information—utterly untrained and unprepared for the job.” Maisie turned away, then back to Scott. “You know my feelings on this matter already, but shame on you, Mark Scott. Shame on you.”
“She’s been very good—more useful than you can imagine.”
“Oh, I can imagine, considering the company she’s been keeping—so she can report back to you! Now she’s on a knife edge, and you know it. And you also know—as do I—who killed her SS officer lover, Luther Gramm. In fact, you may even have set it up to unfold in exactly that way. I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Needs must, Fr?ulein D. You should know that.” He raised an eyebrow and whispered, almost as if they were lovers and he was about to declare his passion for her, “You’re the one with a weapon in your bag.”
Maisie sighed. “You’ve a job to do on behalf of your government, I know, and it’s not an easy one—but for everyone’s sake, in future don’t use neophytes to mop your floors. It’s not fair to someone like Elaine Otterburn, and it’s dangerous for everyone concerned.”
“Enthusiasm can take a person a long way.”
“And it can also kill them.” Maisie turned to look at him. “Get on with that difficult job of yours, but try not to put too many innocents in the line of fire in the process.”