Bridget knocked lightly on the door to Peter’s flat and slipped inside to find Ewan Butler fast asleep on the couch and Peter in the kitchen drinking coffee.
“Thanks for coming, Bridget,” Peter said, embracing Bridget. “How are you, darling?”
“I’m fine. What’s Ewan doing here?”
“Sleeping it off.”
“I can see that, but why is he here?”
“A long story. I am seeing Michael Tennant in an hour, and I don’t think we should leave Ewan alone for an instant.”
“Why? What happened?”
“He was sitting by my door drinking whisky when I came home last night, completely sloshed. He’s very anxious and unstable. He wants to return to London, but Mallet won’t allow it. Can you look after him for an hour or two?”
“Of course, I love to babysit drunks,” Bridget said with a laugh. “It’s just my idea of having a good time.”
Peter grinned at Bridget as she pulled out a hankie and wiped the lipstick off his face.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Go along, Peter. I’ll be fine, but I would like a cup of coffee before you go.”
Peter nodded and poured her a cup before he went to fetch his coat.
Kramer had been as good as his word. Golcher was installed in his old office on Nybrogatan street and his entire staff had been reinstated. He looked up as Kemper, his assistant, appeared in the doorway.
“Brigadeführer Schellenberg is in Stockholm!” Kemper said excitedly. “He flew in an hour ago.”
Golcher was horrified. He feared that things could easily change for the worse as quickly as they had changed for the better.
“Mein Gott! Is he coming here?”
“I have no idea, sir,” Kemper shrugged.
In his haste, Kemper had left the front door to the SD office open and Golcher turned in time to see Dr Kramer, shaking the snow off his boots. There was no sign of an impromptu visit from Schellenberg, at least for the moment.
“Later, Kemper,” Golcher said, dismissing his assistant.
Kemper left the office and gave a salute to Dr Kramer on his way out.
“Guten Tag, Dr Kramer. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard the news?” Karl-Heinz asked, “Perhaps you know already?”
Golcher got up and closed the door behind his visitor.
“Yes,” he said as he returned to his desk. “I just heard that the Brigadeführer has arrived.”
“Well, at least your sources are good.”
Golcher inclined his head at the compliment.
“Is he coming here?” Golcher asked.
“No, Herr Golcher. We need to keep quiet about his arrival. We don’t want the press to know, so you need to keep a lid on rumours. Can you do that?”
“Of course, sir.”
“He’s having several top-secret meetings. I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Kramer’s got a deposit box at the Enskilda Bank filled with Bosch shares,” Peter said.
“Did Butler say that?” Michael Tennant asked.
“Yes, I think he thought I was party to Mallet’s secret negotiations.”
“Who are the shares for?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know, but Schellenberg is holding on to them until some kind of immunity arrangement can be worked out with the British and Swedish authorities.”
“Bloody hell, talk about dealing with the devil.”
Michael and Peter were sitting in a very ordinary Legation car in front of the Grand Hotel when a luxurious Duesenberg Model J sedan pulled over. Marcus Wallenberg stepped out, followed by Victor Mallet carrying a briefcase.
“There’s the angry rabbit,” Michael said.
“What do we do about Ewan?” Peter asked.
“Nothing. Mallet is looking for an excuse to get rid of me after I leaked that anonymous report to London. I have to keep out of it.”
“Ewan’s a security risk.”
“I don’t know how Mallet puts up with him,” Michael said. “Stay here. I’m going to have a look.”
He stepped out of the car and headed towards the hotel.
At the Bellmansro Restaurant, a waiter knocked on the door and then entered the private room carrying several steaming plates on a tray. Brigadeführer Walter Schellenberg, Dr Schmidt, Marcus Wallenberg and Victor Mallet sat at a large table with a white tablecloth. Mosel wine and hors-d’oeuvres were served. The men stopped talking as the food arrived.
“Guten Appetit, meine Herren,” proposed Schellenberg.
“I love your city, Herr Wallenberg,” Dr Schmidt said. “It’s wonderful, even in the winter. Berlin is so dreary.”
“I think it is the peace, the tranquillity,” Schellenberg said. “You can feel it in the air.”
“I agree, Herr Schellenberg, but I think the canals are the secret,” Mallet said. “The city is surrounded by water.”
“Let’s drink to the coming peace, to health and prosperity. Skål,” Wallenberg said with a jovial air.
The men echoed his toast and raised their glasses.
Michael Tennant ran back to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Peter put down The Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle.
“They’re not there. I checked Mallet’s suite.”
“They must have moved the meeting.”
“I think Mallet reserved the suite as a diversion.” Michael and Peter drove off.
“Ewan might know where they are meeting,” Peter suggested.
“Good idea,” Michael said. “Let’s go back to your flat and have a chat with him.”
They drove to Peter’s flat and climbed the stairs. They found Ewan Butler wide awake on the sofa. He was in a nasty mood, evidently hungover and suffering from a severe headache. His hair was sticking out at all angles and he reeked of alcohol.
Bridget came in with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
“Thank you, Bridget,” Peter said.
She rolled her eyes and gave Peter a disapproving look before returning to the kitchen.
“So Butler, we hear Mallet is having a meeting with Wallenberg and some top German brass,” Michael said. “Do you know where they are having the meeting?”
“Bugger off, Tennant. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Ewan said sharply. “It’s way above your pay grade.”
“We know about Mallet’s secret financial negotiations.“
“It’s none of your business. Mallet has the confidence of our top people in intelligence.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Michael said angrily. “He must be doing it for personal gain.”
“Bloody hell, Tennant. Are you daft? I report to Blunt. It’s all top-secret stuff. I can’t tell you the half of it.”
Peter looked shocked.
“Anthony Blunt?” Peter asked. “That tosser from MI5. That can’t be right.”
“I said the top people, that’s all I can say,” Ewan warned, with a frown that quickly turned into a self-satisfied smirk. “Stay out of it, Tennant. If Mallet hears about this, you’re gone.”
“You silly bugger,” Michael said, exasperated, “you don’t have any intelligence connections, you old boozehound.”
“You haven’t seen the reports that I send to London.”
“You’re talking bollocks because there haven’t been any.”
“My material goes out via the Swedes, that’s why. This stuff is way too sensitive for the diplomatic bag. They set it up just for me,” Ewan retorted with pride.
“You mean the royal courier, the Swedish crown?” Peter asked.
“Of course, old chap.”
Michael suddenly looked cowed. If Ewan was using the Swedes to courier Mallet’s reports to London, then this was a secret negotiation at the very highest level of power, approved by both British and Swedish authorities.
“I think we better get him back to the office,” Michael said, “before the angry rabbit comes looking for him.”
Michael’s dark mood was gone. He just wanted to be rid of Butler. Peter picked up on this and called to Bridget.
“Bridget, are you ready to move?”
“Yes, Peter,” Bridget said, coming in from the kitchen.
“I need a drink please,” Ewan begged Peter as Michael left to get the car.
Peter nodded to Bridget, who went to the drinks table to fetch the whisky. She poured Ewan a glass and then went to get their coats.
“Are you OK, Ewan? We need to go,” Peter said.
Ewan savoured his whisky as Bridget and Peter put on their coats.
“Yes, I feel better already. Thank you, Peter.”