“I have the immense regret to announce that Bernie Dixon and his wife Sabrina were murdered in their flat yesterday morning,” Victor Mallet said in a grave voice.
The chief had convened all the staff in the legation boardroom.
“As you know, Bernie Dixon was a model employee here at the legation. He had been with us for over ten years and he will be missed by everyone. He was a mainstay along with his lovely wife Sabrina, a wonderful woman. The police will be interviewing our staff over the next few days, as they attempt to find the perpetrators of this horrible crime.”
Several employees looked anxiously at their chief. Peter stood next to Bridget and Joanna at the conference room door. They had come in to collect a few things before leaving town.
“Sir, are we in any danger?” a secretary asked.
“Certainly not,” Mallet said. “The police seem to think it was a theft with violence. Bernie was dealing in diamonds, according to his brother-in-law. This may have attracted the criminals. At the moment, we know very little.”
“Bernie was a good chap,” Allan said, overcome with emotion. “The diamonds were a hobby. He worked in the documents division in the basement. Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“I heard they were tortured, sir. Why torture Bernie and Sabrina?” asked a Swedish accountant in heavily accented English.
“It doesn’t make sense,” said another woman. “Everyone liked Bernie and Sabrina.”
“We really have no idea,” Mallet replied. “The police have told us so little. I will keep you informed as to plans for their funeral when the police release the bodies. I hope all of you can attend. We must stand together in these difficult times.”
The meeting broke up with Joanna fleeing the room in tears. Peter and Bridget watched her go.
In Consular Services, Peter poured a glass of brandy for Joanna as Bridget sat down opposite her. They had sent Sigge home and locked the door.
“What about Tikander, Joanna?” Bridget asked.
“I tipped them off. That’s all I did. They wanted to know where Peter was meeting him,” Joanna said with tears in her eyes.
“They tried to kill Tikander,” Bridget said, her voice rising. “Didn’t you bloody well know that? Did you tip them off about Bernie, too?”
“No, of course not.”
“They slaughtered Bernie and Sabrina, Joanna. They tortured and killed them...”
“to send me a message,” Peter finished the sentence for her.
Joanna drank her brandy and looked at Peter.
“I know about your brother, Joanna. I was told he was a scientist on a list of communist sympathizers, but I never would have thought his sister would betray her country.”
Joanna was stunned by this revelation. First, Anthony Blunt had mentioned her brother, now Peter Faye. It must be in her file.
“You were tagged by the security services,” Bridget said. “That’s why you had only limited clearance, just enough to work for SOE.”
“I never knew anything about this,” Joanna said.
“What are you doing for Anthony Blunt?” Peter asked. “I know he asked for you.”
“I can’t tell you, Peter. Blunt swore me to secrecy.”
“So it was your brother who put you up to this?”
“I won’t say anymore.”
Peter was frustrated by Joanna’s denials and was trying to maintain some self-control, but he could tell that Bridget was starting to lose it. She had been deeply shaken by the deaths of Bernie and Sabrina, and her anger had fused into a blind rage.
“You bitch!” Bridget exploded, lunging for Joanna and pummelling her with her fists.
Joanna raised her hands to protect her face as Peter tried to restrain Bridget. He managed to get his arms around her and pull her away.
“You got Bernie and Sabrina killed!” Bridget shouted as Joanna cowered in her chair. “Your tears aren’t worth tuppence.”
Peter was amazed at how strong Bridget was. He had to pin her arms tightly against her sides until he felt her body relax.
“She’s an accomplice to murder. We should have her arrested.”
Peter held Bridget’s gaze for a moment and then turned to Joanna.
“Are you a communist?” Peter asked.
“No, Peter. I’m not,” Joanna said. “I just wanted to do my part. They are our allies and they need our help. I wasn’t betraying the country.”
“How do you contact them?” he asked softly.
“Tell us, you sodding bitch!” Bridget screamed.
“A woman,” Joanna whispered, “she meets me after I call a number.”
Peter and Bridget looked at each other as they realized Joanna had just divulged something of real value.
Anders and Stefan drove over to Bernie’s flat. They climbed the stairs and stopped at the front door with the yellow police tape barring their way. While Stefan took pictures for the newspaper of the police tape on the front door, Anders returned to the street to look for Bernie’s Opel. He found it a short distance from the flat. It was unlocked. He opened the door and looked for a key under the mat. The key was exactly where Peter had told him it would be. He called to Stefan who was in the street photographing the building.
“I’ll leave it to you, Stefan. See you later.”
Stefan waved and Anders got into the Opel and started the engine.
Peter trained his binoculars on the Swedish employees, leaving the Soviet Legation at the end of the working day. He was sitting next to Anders in Bernie’s Opel parked up the street from the front gate. In the back seat, Bridget kept a lookout for nosy policemen.
“Peter, are you sure she will stop for me?” Anders asked.
“Of course she will. She’ll be curious,” Peter said as he looked at his watch. “She should be on her way to her meeting with Joanna about now.”
Anders pulled a photograph from his briefcase.
“I borrowed this picture from a contact in Säpo. You know who that man is?”
Peter looked at a surveillance photograph of Anthony Blunt at Tullgarn Palace.
“Nicked it, did you?”
“I prefer the term ‘borrowed’, Peter.”
“Yes, I know who it is. He works for MI5. His name is Anthony Blunt. He works with Ewan Butler and Victor Mallet.”
“I saw him again at Bernadotte’s cottage in Trosa. He’s out there every few days with Schellenberg.”
“I’m not privy to what is going on, Anders, but I surmise that Blunt’s interest is the man’s secret files. You know that a load of secret RSHA files recently arrived at Bromma. Schellenberg thinks he can hire out to the British or the Americans in post-war Germany.”
“This is extraordinary.”
“The Foreign Office wants first dibs on those files to avoid any embarrassment with our American allies when the contents are revealed. You didn’t hear this from me, Anders. There’s still a chance I might have a job when this is all over.”
Bridget sat up suddenly.
“She’s coming this way.”
Peter looked up and saw Evdokia Petrov leaving the gate in a grey raincoat and scarf.
“Now, Anders,” Peter said.
Anders nodded and stepped out of the car.
“Get ready, Bridget.”
Bridget pulled a bottle and a rag from her handbag and slipped out of the car on the driver’s side.
Anders started along the footpath toward Evdokia who didn’t seem to be unduly alarmed by his presence. She had obviously seen him before at press conferences and recognized him as a journalist. She frowned as he approached, but made no effort to avoid him.
“Hello, Madam Petrov. We’ve heard that the NKVD has been running illegal operations on Swedish soil. I am with the Stockholms-Tidningen newspaper. Do you have a comment for the paper?”
Evdokia appeared shocked, but quickly recovered.
“No comment, please. No comment.”
She started to walk away, but Anders hustled after her.
“We hear you and your husband Vladimir Petrov have been involved in serious violations of Swedish law. Your people firebombed the flat of a member of the British Legation, murdered three respectable Swedish citizens and murdered a British citizen and his Swedish wife. It’s going to be in all the papers tomorrow.”
In a panic, Evdokia hurried away along the footpath towards Anders’ car. She was so upset by his allegations and focussed solely on getting away that she didn’t notice Peter and Bridget until it was too late. Peter stuck a Brownie Hawkeye camera equipped with a flashbulb out the window of the car and took a picture. The flash blinded Evdokia, who didn't notice Bridget come from behind and slap a rag dipped in a chloroform solution over her nose. She struggled briefly against Bridget, but soon lost consciousness.
Peter and Bridget dragged Evdokia to the back of the car and dumped her body in the boot. Peter slammed it shut and joined Anders at the front of the car.
“Good luck, Peter, Bridget,” Anders said as he gave Peter the keys to Bernie’s Opel and collected the camera.
“Thanks, Anders.”
Peter and Bridget climbed into the car and waved as they drove away.