Peter walked arm in arm with Bridget along a Stockholm canal during a warm spring day.
“Keith put it on Roger Hollis’ desk, that’s all I know. He thinks Hollis took it home.”
“Took it home. Isn’t that against the rules at MI5?” Bridget asked.
“Of course it is, but Hollis is the senior man. Keith had someone search Hollis’ office, but the file was gone.”
“So what did Keith think about the turnaround time on that bogus report?”
“He was astonished. He’s very keen to get to the bottom of this. This Soviet mole business saps the energy of the entire organization.”
“So Keith suspects Hollis?” Bridget asked.
“Keith does, but Hollis works with Anthony Blunt so the mole could be either or both of them.”
They walked on in silence for a bit.
“We need to be careful, Bridget,” Peter said. “That bogus document could get us in hot water.”
“You think it might come back to bite you, Peter?”
“We are the pipeline for Dr Kramer’s secrets, so if they discover that the report is bogus, then it could come back to us.”
“You could lose your job, darling.”
“I’m sure Hollis and Blunt don’t think that we’re much of a threat. They’ve already cut us off. We’re out of the loop.”
Bridget stopped and looked down at the canal.
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Bridget,” Peter said, putting his arm around her. “They can’t get rid of me without justification. Our operation has been way too successful.”
“And Keith? What is Keith going to do?”
“Keith is going over Hollis’ head to Liddell and to Jane Archer. Jane is not having a good time at MI5 at the moment, but she’s our best hope. She’s an expert on Soviet intelligence gathering after her interrogation of Walter Krivitsky.”
Bridget remembered the name. Krivitsky was a Soviet intelligence officer who had defected weeks before the outbreak of war and subsequently revealed the plans for the signing of the Molotov–Ribbentrop pact dividing up Poland between Germany and the Soviet Union.
“I’m worried about Keith,” Bridget said. “He may be in more trouble than we are.”
“Keith can take care of himself. He’s tough. No one is going to touch him.”
At the end of the day, Golcher and Akersen entered the ‘in transit’ section of the Bromma Airfield hangar. No one was around, so Golcher used his key to open the door to an office in the rear where he had set up a viewing room for his artworks. On the desk, there was an ashtray and a bottle of aquavit and glasses. In the corner of the room sat an easel covered in black cloth, surrounded by shipping notices in Swedish on the walls. The wooden shipping container lay propped up against the wall. Golcher turned on two very bright lights illuminating the painting and the room.
“Like a drink, Herr Akerson? I think I will have one.”
“If it is what I hope it is,” Akerson said, “then this calls for a drink.”
Golcher pulled the cork on the bottle of aquavit and served two glasses. He handed one to Akerson.
“What do you know about the ‘Seated Woman’, Herr Akerson?”
“The last I heard was that Paul Rosenberg had it in his gallery in Paris in 1940. He left for New York shortly after, so I don’t know what became of it.”
“I have been doing some research on this painting. You remember that Paul Rosenberg had a brother, Leonce,” Golcher said. “They both had art galleries in Paris: one on the rue de la Boétie and the other on rue de la Baume.”
“I visited Paul Rosenberg’s gallery in ‘39. He had the most amazing collection of modern art. You know, the Rosenbergs were the most famous art dealers in the world until you Germans chased them out of Paris.”
”A very unfortunate time, Herr Akerson. The Rosenbergs were Jews, so their paintings were confiscated and deposited in the Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume. Some of them made it to Germany, but the Entartete Kunst, you know the degenerate stuff, was sold in Switzerland.”
“And some were destroyed, weren’t they, Herr Golcher?”
“Yes, a terrible tragedy. There was a fire on the grounds of Jeu de Paume in 1942 and some paintings by Picasso and Dali were lost. So we’re very lucky to have found this Matisse masterpiece.”
The men drank their aquavit.
“Time to take a look,” Golcher said, building the suspense. “Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Golcher slid the black cloth away from the painting and revealed a woman with a veil sitting on a chair. Akerson looked silently at the painting, transfixed. He stepped up close to get a better look at the paint texture and colour on the canvas. Akerson was obviously a true connoisseur and, from the look on his face, he had a keen appreciation for art.
“Take your time, Herr Akerson.”
Akerson could barely conceal his excitement. He glanced nervously at Golcher, then took a magnifying glass from his pocket and examined the brush strokes on several parts of the canvas. Finally, he stood back to take it all in.
“This is quite amazing,” Akerson exclaimed, “a Matisse in Stockholm.”
“Indeed.”
“I am not an expert, Herr Golcher, but if it is a fake, it is a very impressive piece of work.”
“I can assure you, Herr Akerson, that Berlin doesn’t deal in fakes.”
Peter and Bridget returned to Peter’s flat later in the evening and ran into Vincent Ansell, waiting for them at the entrance.
“Hello, Vincent?”
“Peter, Bridget. I thought I would try to catch you here.”
“What happened, Vincent?” Peter asked with concern.
Vincent stamped his feet and remained silent.
“What’s wrong?” Bridget asked.
“Hanne’s disappeared,” Vincent said. “Elsa went to her flat. Everything was normal, but where is she?”
“Could she have gone on a trip?” Bridget asked.
“Not without Elsa knowing. I tell you she has disappeared.”
“What about her job with the Kramers?” Peter asked.
“Elsa called the house and asked for Hanne, but the nanny said she no longer worked there.”
“This is very unusual, Peter,” Bridget said. “We need to find her. She can’t just disappear like this.”