Invisible enemies. Not for the first time, Wilde was trying to work out who they were fighting – who they were trying to avoid. The murder of Harriet’s father made it plain that someone was prepared to go to any lengths to find her.
Lord Templeman and Philip Eaton had lifted Wilde off the street and had doped him, but that was a long way short of the merciless treatment meted out to the Reverend Hartwell.
So there were two distinct factions trying to get to Harriet Hartwell. Was it possible that one faction was trying to conceal Germany’s secret shame in the backwoods of Poland and that the other was trying to hide the truth behind the Duke of Kent’s flight to Sweden? They were thoughts worth considering.
In which case, Wilde had to protect himself – and Harriet. With invisible enemies, it was necessary to become invisible yourself.
The American embassy wasn’t really equipped for housing guests. Visiting dignitaries from the States tended to stay at the ambassador’s residence. But Phillips had allowed them the use of a couple of offices with camp beds in the OSS bureau and had made sure they had food and drink. Then he left them to their own devices, secure in the knowledge that the building was protected by US Marines.
‘I’ll see you folks at nine in the morning.’
Wilde spent a long time on the phone to Lydia. She wasn’t happy. Perhaps it had something to do with her own feeling of being trapped with a small child and being powerless to intervene in the unfolding events.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This will all be sorted out soon.’
‘I just want you home. Johnny wants you home. You seem to be involved in something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, or us.’
‘I know what you’re saying, but that’s not entirely true. You’ll understand when I see you next and have a chance to talk to you properly.’
‘Tell me now, Tom. What’s going on? Why aren’t you here? Haven’t you done your bit for the bloody war effort?’
‘There are many thousands of people giving a lot more than I have, Lydia.’
‘Oh, so now you’re feeling guilty because you’re alive?’
Perhaps I am, he thought. It was a sensation that had been with him all his adult life, since he heard of British schoolfriends going off to the trenches in the last war while he was tucked up safe in America. Lydia knew his feelings, but this was not the time to open old wounds. ‘No,’ he said simply, ‘that’s not it.’
‘What is it, then? And what about this bloody woman? You haven’t told me very much about her yet.’
So that was it. ‘I’m not sure there’s much to tell. I barely know her other than that her name is Harriet Hartwell and her life is in grave danger. Do you just want me to abandon her?’
A pause on the line.
‘Lydia?’
‘Well, yes, actually, I do think there are more important people in your life.’
‘This really isn’t like you.’
‘Well, maybe it’s because I’ve heard a thing or two about the perfectly gorgeous Miss Harriet Hartwell – and I don’t much like what I’ve been told.’
Wilde was horrified. ‘Who has been telling you things – and, more to the point, what have they been saying?’
‘She has a reputation, Tom.’
‘What do you mean? What reputation? Who have you been talking to?’
‘Philip Eaton, of course. He came to see me, to try to make me persuade you to turn in your bloody girlfriend. You realise she’s seen as a security threat, I suppose. She is in possession of a secret that could harm Britain and its alliances.’
‘It’s a great deal more complicated than that.’
‘Oh, I somehow thought you might have another take on the matter.’
‘Look, Eaton has his own agenda. But why would you believe him when he tries to defame a woman you’ve never met?’
‘They call her the Whitehall bicycle. Did you know that? Apparently, she knows a few professional tricks…’
‘I promise you, that is not the woman I’ve met.’
‘What, she hasn’t slipped her hand into your bags yet, Tom? Give her time. Is she with you right this minute?’
‘You’re demeaning yourself, Lydia.’
‘Don’t give me that. Everyone’s at it like there’s no tomorrow – because for many of us there is no tomorrow. So when you’re away from me with bicycle woman I know what’s on the table – and it’s very likely to be your good friend Harriet, with her legs in the air.’
‘I can’t listen to this.’
‘Am I embarrassing you? Is she there with you right now?’
‘Not here in this room, no. Anyway, I’m not handing her over to Eaton or anyone else. Look, I’m going to hang up, Lydia, because I’m in danger of saying things that can’t be unsaid. All I want you to know is that I love you and I love Johnny and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of you.’
‘We’ll see, won’t we.’
She hung up.
Wilde was left staring at the phone for a few moments. Gently he replaced it. There was a knock on the door and then it opened. Harriet peered in. ‘Can we talk?’ she said.
He sighed helplessly. ‘Come in. Did you hear any of that?’
‘Any of what?’
‘My phone call to Lydia. My wife.’
‘Of course, you’re married. Have to phone the little woman. But no, I wasn’t listening. I don’t eavesdrop.’
‘Good, because it wasn’t pretty. She’s not enjoying my absence.’
‘But if you’re working here in London as a matter of course, and she’s back in Cambridge, what’s the difference?’
‘The difference is that we were supposed to be having some time together and the Duke’s death put paid to our plans. And if you must know, we’re not actually married.’
‘So you both want to keep your freedom, do you? Keep your options open?’
The words stung. It had never been his decision to avoid marriage. That was all Lydia’s doing. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘What did you want?’ He instantly regretted the curtness of his response. Whatever the difficulties between him and Lydia, it involved no fault on Harriet’s part.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ She was giving him an expectant look, as though she wanted something from him and he was somehow missing the point.
‘You mean apart from involving me in a problem without a solution?’ he said, then softened. ‘I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.’
‘I think you’ll find you involved yourself when you decided to drive to my father’s house in Clade. Anyway, we need to come up with a joint plan of campaign. Your friend Bill Phillips isn’t going to help us, so we need to think of something else. I know what he said about Churchill wanting evidence, but what about the King? It was his brother who died, so he must want to find out the truth. Surely he has the power to persuade Churchill to help us get Rudi over from Sweden.’
‘Well, let’s go and knock on the door at Buckingham Palace.’
‘You’re not being very helpful.’ She was barefoot, having removed her shoes and stockings. Her maroon summer skirt swished as she moved, her blouse was cream silk and loose. She seemed to move constantly, picking up things – a pencil, a notepad, a paperweight, anything – inspecting them and putting them back down again.
Wilde tried to ignore her. ‘Well, I’ve had a damned awful day, preceded by a foul night.’ He nodded towards the put-me-up bed that had been rustled up for him and was presently stretched out with a pile of blankets and a couple of single sheets by the wall beneath the window. ‘I need sleep. Badly.’
‘Tom, you’re a Cambridge don. You must have contacts, someone who could get us to the King.’
‘None that spring to mind,’ he said.
‘How did you find out my address in Suffolk?’
‘A newspaper friend helped me.’
‘Reporters have good contacts. Maybe your friend could help us get an audience with the King.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Well, why don’t you ask him anyway? Call him now.’
Wilde had no intention of calling Ron Christie. The idea that a newspaper journalist could somehow fix an audience with the King was laughable. Harriet Hartwell looked at Wilde strangely. ‘You’re an unusual man, Tom. I can’t make you out. Don’t you like me?’
The question took him off guard. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean what I say. I’m asking you if you like me. Men usually do, but you seem unsure.’
‘I have a partner at home and a small child.’
‘So do most men of your age. It doesn’t seem to make much difference.’
‘Well, it does with me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘Then as I said, professor, you’re an unusual man.’
She smiled at him, sighed and shrugged, then kissed his cheek. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Sweet dreams.’
The swastika fluttered in the late-summer breeze high above the sixth floor of the German embassy in central Stockholm. Axel Anton strolled in through the front door, past the checks by the two uniformed guards, as though he owned the place. The receptionist recognised him and immediately put a call through to an office on the second floor.
Within moments a uniformed SS officer was at Anton’s side. He bowed stiffly with a salute and click of the heels. ‘If you would accompany me, Herr Anton. The Gruppenführer is waiting for you in the ambassador’s office.’
It was early morning and Müller was on his second coffee. He wore a smart civilian suit and was sitting at the desk of the ambassador, who was elsewhere in the building.
‘Gruppenführer!’ Anton said, with an expansive bow. ‘What a pleasure, dear sir.’
Müller laughed at him. ‘Look at all this, Anton. This is Viktor zu Weid’s office. The height of luxury for the junkers while our boys are dying in Russia. God, they know how to look after themselves, these filthy aristocrats. How I hate them all. The devil knows why Hitler puts up with them.’
‘Many of them have supported the Party since early days, have they not?’
‘Supported the Party? Looked after their own interests, you mean. I’d happily shoot every last one of them. Anyway, talking of shitty aristocrats, that’s why I’m here and why I wanted to talk with you.’
Anton knew exactly why the Gestapo chief was here. ‘It is my honour as always, Herr Gruppenführer. I came just as soon as I received your message, sir.’
‘I’m looking for a man. An aristocrat.’
‘Well, you’re spoilt for choice here in Stockholm.’
‘Don’t be droll, Anton. I don’t have time for such things.’
‘Then you had better tell me the man’s name – and if I can help, I will do all in my power to assist you.’
‘Rudolf Coburg. Some sort of minor aristo, distant relative of the Saxe-Coburgs, I believe. I want him very, very badly. He is an enemy of the Reich and I have reason to believe he is hiding out here in Sweden.’
‘I have heard of the man. It is possible I even met him at some embassy party or other in Berlin.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve met him, Anton. You know everyone. Anyway, he was part of Prince Philipp von Hessen’s little jaunt to Drottningholm which you, of course, organised.’
‘Were you privy to that curious event, sir?’
‘Well, I am now that Coburg is missing.’
‘Of course, of course… well, yes, it is true that Coburg was among the prince’s small retinue. He was rather taciturn. I knew I had seen him before, but it didn’t register at the time. Quite a clever young man, but not very forthcoming.’
‘Not so clever that he’ll survive this.’
‘And he is now missing? I had no idea. I will not, of course, ask why you want this man, but do you have any information at all about his whereabouts or whom he might be connected to in Sweden? It is my experience that most people who go into hiding have some sort of assistance.’
‘I can tell you this: there was a woman from the English delegation at Drottningholm and I know for certain that she was involved in Coburg’s disappearance, but it is our information that she is now back in England. Her name is Harriet Hartwell, but that is all I know.’
Axel Anton did not react to this information. He had believed she died in the plane crash, but maybe Müller knew something he didn’t. ‘And is it possible Coburg accompanied her to England?’
‘No. It is certain that he didn’t.’
‘Well, I shall do my utmost to locate this heinous fellow, for I have no doubt that he must be an enemy of the Reich.’
‘There would be something in it for you, of course.’
With an extravagant flourish of his arm, Anton waved away the very suggestion that money might be involved. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking for money, Herr Müller.’
‘No?’
‘Certainly not.’ He hunched his shoulders and juggled the palms of his hands up and down as though weighing a side of bacon. ‘There would be overheads, of course. Cases such as this often involve the use of bribery, which can become expensive.’
‘What sort of figure are we talking about, Anton?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Ten… twenty thousand Reichsmarks at the very least, I suppose.’
‘Let us say a hundred thousand and be done with it.’
‘Well, such a generous figure would make my quest all the easier. Astonishing how silver and gold loosens tongues, Herr Gruppenführer.’
‘This must be done at speed. The longer this man is at large, the more dangerous he becomes. He is in possession of secret papers.’
‘Then I am your man.’
‘When you have located him, you will not approach him. Instead you will come back to me and my agents will deal with the matter. Is that understood?’
‘Precisely,’ Anton said.
Müller gazed at Axel Anton without expression for a few moments. The very thought that he would give this man a hundred Reichsmarks, let alone a hundred thousand. Preposterous. Inside, he laughed; this game, this charade. As if he didn’t know that it was Anton who had arranged Coburg’s disappearance. Of course he knew where the dirty traitor was.
Wilde slept until Bill Phillips woke him up. ‘I’ve got coffee for you, Tom. You sure must have needed that sleep.’
‘What time is it?’ Wilde was struggling to his feet.
‘Eight. Your friend is already up and about. She’s in my office, waiting. Come on, get to it. I’ve got a proposition for you.’
Wilde took the cup from Phillips, blew on it briefly, then drank it straight down. The coffee was strong and black and it burnt his throat, but he needed the hit.
‘OK, Bill. Tell me.’
‘Come to my office.’
Somehow she looked every bit as beautiful as she had before saying goodnight. How did she do it? It was a trick every woman would like to know, and plenty of men too. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Sleep well, professor? Were your dreams sweet?’
He nodded, saw that there was a coffee pot on the table and poured himself another.
‘Right,’ Phillips said, ignoring the tension between his two guests, ‘let’s get down to business. I have been talking to Donovan in Washington DC and Herschel Johnson in Stockholm. You’ve got them both interested. Donovan says that this is just the kind of thing the OSS was set up for. He’s very enthusiastic. Herschel has a different perspective. He says there has been a sudden increase in German activity in Stockholm, particularly among known agents. On top of that, Heinrich Müller has been spotted at the German embassy.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ Wilde said. ‘Who exactly is Heinrich Müller?’
‘Head of the Gestapo. It’s believed he has taken charge of the hunt for Rudolf Coburg. It’s big news that such a senior guy would leave Germany.’
‘Then we may be too late,’ Wilde said.
Harriet shook her head. ‘No, they’ll never find him.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because he is too well hidden.’
‘Anyway,’ Phillips said, ‘we’re not going to hang around. William Donovan and Herschel Johnson are both absolutely as one on this – if Müller wants Coburg, then we want him more. And unlike Müller, we want him alive.’
‘I’m glad you all see it the way I do,’ Wilde said.
‘Hey, anything that harms our enemy’s reputation has to be good news.’
No, Wilde thought, it was more than just that. A lot more. This wasn’t merely about the propaganda war; this was the essence of the real war. To hell with Hitler’s reputation. If he was murdering innocent people by the thousand, something had to be done to stop him.
‘So,’ Phillips continued. ‘Freshen up, have some breakfast, then you’ll both be driven to a US airfield from where you will be flown to Stockholm. I want you to bring Mr Coburg back to Britain, to this office, along with his stash of documents.’
‘Simple as that?’
‘Simple as that.’ He turned and smiled at Harriet. ‘Are you OK with this, Miss Hartwell? It could be a dangerous assignment and it will be one hundred per cent American apart from yourself. But you are the one who knows how to find our man.’
‘She could tell us,’ Wilde said. ‘Map it out.’
‘No, it’s not straightforward. I have to go.’
‘I rather thought you’d say that,’ Phillips said.
‘But I don’t need him.’ She nodded towards Wilde. ‘Just give me a plane and a pilot – I can do this myself.’
Phillips laughed. ‘No chance, I’m afraid. Wilde goes too or it’s no deal. This is our operation now.’