They arrived, and Wilde was incredulous. ‘Are you serious about this?’ he demanded.
‘This is where I was told to come.’
‘You can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘You may have forgotten, Tom – I have perfect recall.’
‘But this is just a family home.’ Wilde looked up at the modest house and could not believe that the place had anything to do with an international arms dealer and fixer. ‘It seems strange… unprofessional.’
‘Good camouflage then.’
The building was well away from the little town of Ekberg, about three miles inland. It was deep in the countryside of farmland and forest, down tracks, nowhere near any main roads. Wilde had questioned her about the place on the way here, but she hadn’t answered, merely jutted her chin towards the back of the driver’s head, as if to indicate that she didn’t want him to hear their conversation.
Before turning off the highway, they had passed a curious variety of Heath Robinson vehicles – ordinary cars converted to wood-gas because of the petrol shortage in Sweden. No such problems for the US embassy staff. In the darkness, they saw houses with lights shining behind unblacked-out windows, a welcome change from the eternal gloom of night-time England.
By the time they arrived, the moon was high and bright silver. The wrought iron gates to the property had been left open and they drove straight through. ‘Park here and wait, please, Mr Bateman. We won’t be long.’
The driver pulled to a halt right in front of the house. Even by moonlight, Wilde could see that it was a traditional Swedish house, constructed of wood panelling painted a faded lemon yellow with light blue window frames. Pretty, but certainly not imposing or grand. Not the stately home or headquarters of a wealthy man.
Harriet climbed out and Wilde followed her. She knocked at the door, then stood back and waited. The door opened to reveal a small girl of eight or nine with the fairest hair Wilde had ever seen, all tied up in plaits. She smiled at Harriet, gave a little curtsy, said something in Swedish then disappeared back into the house, calling out, ‘Mamma, mamma.’
A minute later, a woman of about thirty appeared. She looked just like an older version of the child, her hair almost as fair and her skin gorgeously tanned from the long summer. She was wearing a light blue summer dress and a yellow apron, so that she almost matched her charming house. Like her daughter, she curtsied and smiled at her guests.
‘Kerstin Larson?’ Harriet demanded.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ the woman answered in well-accented English.
‘I am Harriet Hartwell. I was given this address for Axel Anton.’
‘Ah yes, of course – do come in.’
The Swedish woman shook Harriet by the hand, then ushered her through into her front room before turning her attention to Wilde. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Come in, whoever you are.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now how do we go about this?’ Harriet asked. ‘Is he here?’
‘Oh, Lord no, I am merely his exchange. One little step in the exchange. Mr Axel is most elusive and lives between various hotels in various countries. But I will make my call and with luck that call will be passed on quite quickly. But one can’t be sure with Mr Axel, just as one can never be certain which country he is in at any given moment, but that of course is not my business, so I make no inquiries. Anyway, I heard you would most probably be coming, Miss Harriet, so you and your friend must make yourselves at home and wait. Would your driver like to come in?’
‘No, he’ll stay in the car.’
‘Well, perhaps I’ll take him a glass of schnapps. And I hope you will have one too. It is from my own plums, and is delicious if I say so myself.’
‘Thank you, that would go down well,’ Wilde said.
‘But first make the call,’ Harriet insisted.
‘Yes, yes. All in good time, Miss Harriet.’
‘I’m sorry, but we’re on a very tight schedule.’
‘I understand. I will be back with you in five minutes.’
They stood in the front parlour. A large wall-clock ticked loudly. It was a friendly room with light, floral wallpaper, a pine table and a photograph on the wall of a handsome young man in uniform.
‘Who told you about this place – Coburg or Anton himself?’
‘It was Anton. I went with Rudi to meet him that night at Drottningholm. When it was clear that Rudi could not go on the flying boat, Axel Anton said he would keep him safe until I had found a way to get him to England. When I came back I was to contact him via Kerstin Larson at this house. Until then he would be in a safe place, alone on an island where no one would find him.’
‘What island?’
‘One of 24,000. Only he knows which one. That way Rudi cannot be found.’
‘Tell me about Axel Anton.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What does he look like – what is his character? I know nothing about him.’
‘How do you imagine him?’
‘I see him as a mountain of a man in a vast fur coat, selling cannon to tyrants in exchange for diamonds.’
She laughed. ‘No, he is not vast, and he would be good-looking if he weren’t a little on the chubby side. Nor was he in fur when I saw him, but you wouldn’t expect fur in August, would you? I might say he looks Scandinavian, but that wouldn’t be true. A better word is Baltic – but which side of the sea, I could not say, so that could be one of many places.’
‘Not Swedish?’
‘Perhaps Swedish, perhaps north German, perhaps Russian or Danish. I don’t know. Does it matter?’
‘No.’
‘He struck me as an engaging fellow – unfortunately he is just as engaging to our enemies. Anyway, if all goes well you’ll meet him soon enough. Judge for yourself.’
Kerstin Larson came back into the room, this time carrying a tray with a bottle and three small glasses. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I have made my phone call. My contacts will make their phone call and so on – I don’t know how many, which means I can give very little away. You could threaten or torture me and I would never be able to tell you where Mr Axel is located and even if I gave you the phone number I called, the person on the other end would be able to tell you nothing. Anyway, now we wait and drink a little plum schnapps. I don’t know how long. Can I give you some food, too, perhaps? There is plenty to go around.’
‘No,’ Harriet said bluntly.
‘That’s a very kind offer,’ Wilde said, ‘but I’m not hungry right now.’
From somewhere else in the house, a phone began ringing. ‘Well, well,’ Kerstin said. ‘That was extremely quick.’
‘Just answer it, please.’
‘Of course. Too much talk. Mr Axel is always telling me I am too chatty. Silly of me. One moment, please.’
She disappeared again, then returned quickly with an even wider smile.
‘Well?’
‘Mr Axel will be here within forty minutes. Isn’t that good news? So let me pour that schnapps now and then, in a flash, he will be here.’
Anton arrived exactly forty minutes later. They heard his car pulling up and Harriet immediately went to the window. Kerstin left the room to answer the door.
Wilde had noticed the tension in Harriet all the time she had been here, but now her body visibly relaxed. She turned to Wilde. ‘It’s him, thank God. We’re OK.’
‘What are we going to get from him?’
‘He will take us to Coburg. And then, God willing, we will be on our way home. All plain sailing. I was scared, Tom – petrified something would go wrong.’
Wilde nodded, but said nothing. Experience in the boxing ring had taught him that even when a bout seemed won, you should always anticipate the sucker punch.
Through the open doorway to the hall, Wilde watched the man enter and was surprised by what he saw; he was rather overweight with smooth, well-groomed features. If you encountered him on the London Underground you might initially think him a bespoke tailor or perhaps a well-meaning and well-fed Anglican canon. And if you happened to smile at him, he was the sort of fellow who would be certain to smile back. Wilde wasn’t at all sure he agreed with Harriet that he looked Baltic. To Wilde, the man could be from anywhere in the Western world.
But Anton’s appearance was not the only thing that caught Wilde’s eye. It was Pernilla’s behaviour that he noted. The little girl who had greeted him and Harriet with a prim curtsy now slunk away behind the kitchen door.
Axel Anton kissed Kerstin Larson on both cheeks and held her a little too long. But perhaps that was all right, as she had told them they were distant relatives by marriage. And then, in English, he said, ‘Now come, where is my little Pernilla? Won’t you give your Uncle Axel a lovely hug?’
Pernilla did not move.
‘She’s a little shy today, Mr Axel,’ Kerstin said. ‘Forgive her.’
‘But I have brought her sweets.’ He removed a packet from his pocket and dangled it from his chubby fingers. This was too much for the girl. She edged forward into the hallway, gave her customary curtsy and reached up for the packet.
He immediately pulled it away. ‘First a hug for Uncle Axel.’ The girl submitted to his blandishment and allowed herself to be pulled into his arms. The man held her tight and patted her behind.
Wilde’s eyes strayed to Kerstin and he was sure she was stifling a grimace.
Anton released the child and strode into the front room. ‘Harriet Hartwell,’ he said, arms wide again. ‘What a joy to see you here, safe and sound!’
Kerstin, who was standing to the side of the newcomer, gave her beatific smile again, then said, ‘I will leave you three to talk among yourselves. I must put Pernilla to bed.’
They waited until the door was closed, then Harriet introduced Wilde and the men shook hands.
‘Bring me up to date,’ Anton said to Harriet. ‘I heard about the terrible plane crash, of course – and I feared you were dead. But the fact you are alive must reinforce my belief in the Almighty.’
‘I have been betrayed, Axel. In England I have been hunted and I don’t trust anyone. But I have placed my faith in Tom Wilde here because I calculated that as an American he has nothing to gain from harming me or Rudi.’ She met Wilde’s eyes for a moment. ‘That’s true, isn’t it, Tom?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
She reached out and clutched Axel Anton’s hand. ‘Can you take us to him tonight? The sooner we get him to Britain, the better our chances.’
‘Well, the good news is that Rudi Coburg is in excellent health and perfectly safe. But there have been minor complications, so first we must talk.’
Wilde saw the tension return to her finely carved jawline and noted that her slender shoulders sagged once again.
‘What do you mean, complications? Just take us there.’
‘Sweden is swarming with German agents. Even the damned Gestapo devil Heinrich Müller is here. They will do everything in their power to find your friend. They want him dead.’
‘But you said he is safe. Anyway, only you know where he is!’
‘I’m worried. It’s possible they are looking for me. For a while I even feared I was being tailed here. My Berlin contacts have sent me warnings. This is all becoming hideous. I loathe these Nazis as much as you.’
‘Then the sooner we get Rudi away from here, the better for all concerned.’
He sucked in air between his teeth.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘Miss Hartwell, you know I would never ask anything of Britain, but I have to tell you that my expenses are becoming terrifyingly high. I am not impoverished, but I do live by my contacts – and they all demand payment.’
‘Bribes…’
‘I wouldn’t use such a word. But yes, that is basically the truth of the matter.’
‘You want more money?’
Anton angled his head to one side as though considering an awkward and unpleasant problem, as though the very discussion of filthy lucre wounded his pride. ‘No, of course not – well, not for me, anyway.’
‘Rudi has already paid you a fortune. I know he has.’
He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘This is war, Harriet. In Germany and the occupied territories people will pay ridiculous sums for a cup of real coffee or a piece of fruit. But information is even more sought after – and the penalty for talking out of turn is often death. Those who I usually rely on for information and help are terrified – they fear they are being watched and listened to. And not only by the Gestapo, the SD and the Abwehr. But the Allies, too. Come on, Miss Hartwell, I know MI6 is on my case. And now the Americans have an outfit up and running – the Office of Strategic Services. What a dull, rather academic name for a secret service. Have you heard of them, Mr Wilde?’
‘Can’t say I have.’ He knew his denial had not fooled Axel Anton for one moment.
‘Well, I am sure they are on the same side as you and me, but that doesn’t necessarily make my life any easier. My problem is that things have become so hot I have to buy silence from people everywhere or I will be denounced. Without pay-offs I am a dead man.’
Wilde decided it was time to cut to the chase. ‘What sort of figure are we talking about here?’
Anton threw up his hands. ‘Mr Wilde, you make me sound like a prostitute haggling over the price of her services! I am hurt.’
‘For which I apologise. But I repeat, if you need more money to pay off contacts and protect yourself, what’s the price?’
‘I hardly dare to say it, but I am thinking a figure in the region of a hundred and twenty thousand Reichsmarks. It is preposterous, I know, and I will quite understand if you just get up and walk out right now.’
‘No amateur dramatics, Mr Anton. Just tell me, what’s that in sterling or dollars?’
Anton shrugged. ‘I don’t know, there is no official rate since America joined the war, but I would say five RM to the dollar, so that would make $24,000. Or £6,000 in British money.’
‘That’s a lot of dough.’
‘As I said, these things are incredibly expensive. This war… it has turned the world upside down. I am not sure those in the West understand quite how ruthless these Nazis can be. Anyone who defies them or stands in their way risks his or her life. They are murdering people wholesale.’
Wilde had a sudden desire to punch the man’s lights out. Instead he turned to Harriet. ‘I think we need to talk privately.’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you leave us for a few moments, Mr Anton?’
‘Of course, sir. Take all the time you need. But remember, this is not me – this is for the people who must be paid off. You have no idea of the pressure I am under. Sweden may be an independent, neutral country, but she is at the mercy of her German neighbours.’