End of Spies Alex Gerlis (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

isn’t it?’ Prince was leaning in front of her, his hands on his knees so that he was at eye level. He was still holding his Beretta. ‘We’ve met before. That’s Edward Palmer – did you kill him?’

The woman shook her head and said something in a voice so quiet Prince asked her to speak up, and she replied that she didn’t have the faintest idea who he was and what he was talking about.

‘I’m a prisoner,’ she said.

There was a commotion from outside the office and a lot of shouting inside it.

‘This is her, Hanne – this is the woman.’

‘We need to handcuff her.’

‘We don’t have any cuffs.’

‘Then we need to tie her up. Have you searched her?’

Hanne walked over to the woman and told her to stand up, then started to frisk her. ‘Get some rope or something, Richard. You – put your hands down!’

Myrtle Carter held out her left arm but moved her right hand towards her mouth. Hanne grabbed it, and a struggle followed. By the time Prince realised what was happening, the two women were wrestling on the floor.

‘Oh my God, Richard – look, grab her arms!’

Myrtle Carter was writhing on the floor in agony, her hands clutching her throat, her eyes bulging and her face turning a shade of blue as she appeared to choke.

‘Get some water or something!’

‘It’s too late, Richard – I tried to get it out but it was too late. It must have been a suicide pill.’

Bartholomew and the FSS men entered the first floor office on Viale Miramare with their guns drawn and a scene of chaos and carnage laid out before them. Had Prince not been at the entrance holding his hands up and shouting who he was, he was sure there’d have been more shooting.

He was aware of Bartholomew asking what the hell was going on, and Evans from the FSS shouting and threatening the Slovenians, and Hanne saying something about them all being dead.

A few hours later, they were in the Field Security Section office on Via San Lazzaro, and Bartholomew – still wearing his raincoat – thrust the headphones and microphone at Prince.

‘Mr Gilbey wants to speak with you.’

‘I struggle to see how you’re going to manage to come up with a plausible explanation, Richard, but I imagine you’re going to attempt one?’ The line was surprisingly clear, and Prince noticed that while Gilbey sounded annoyed, he didn’t sound furious. His tone was more one of resignation, and he had called him Richard.

‘In what sense, sir?’

‘In the sense, Prince, that I ordered you and Hanne to return to London and you chose to disobey that order, and now we have a bloodbath in Trieste to try and sort out.’

‘An opportunity presented itself to catch Friedrich Steiner, sir, along with Myrtle Carter and Edward Palmer. That was our original mission. I know it would be preferable for them to have been captured alive, but at least they’ve not escaped. I don’t know about Bormann…’

‘Bartholomew said the man dressed as a priest isn’t Martin Bormann – he doesn’t look remotely like him. He’s dead too, isn’t he?’

‘So I believe, sir.’

There was a long pause, and as the line filled with static, Prince asked Gilbey if he was still there.

‘And I daresay if I ask where the hell Friedrich Steiner is, you’ll say you have no idea, eh?’

There was a long pause. Enough time had elapsed. Prince remembered they’d told him Slovenia was just five miles from Trieste, so they’d almost certainly be there by now. It was probably safe to tell the truth.

‘Actually, sir, I believe some of our Slovenian friends may have captured him. I saw them dragging him away just before our chaps—’

‘So Bartholomew tells me – and you didn’t try to stop them?’

Prince laughed. ‘I think you’ll find that even had we wanted to, Hanne and I would have been outnumbered.’

‘So you just let them take him.’

‘He’ll face justice, sir, I think we can be sure of that.’

‘And the others? A bloodbath by the sounds of it.’

‘The woman killed Edward Palmer before we got there, and then killed herself.’

‘Poison, I understand?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

There was a long silence during which Prince heard Gilbey cough and possibly say something to another person.

‘I think, Prince, it would be safer all round if you and Hanne returned to London immediately.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Let’s just hope no more opportunities present themselves before you get here, eh?’

They stayed in Trieste that night. Bartholomew didn’t want to leave the city while it was dark, but he made a point of ensuring that Prince and Hanne were never left alone. Either he or someone from the FSS was with them the whole time, and when they went to bed, the door was locked and a guard remained outside.

But there was one lapse, and it came the following morning. They were already awake and were beginning to pack when there was a knock on their bedroom door and they heard the FSS guard tell them to open it for the chambermaid. When the young woman came in, she closed the door behind her and went over to the sink, where she turned on both taps before turning round and beckoning them towards her. It was only then that they realised it was Marija, barely recognisable with a scarf tied round her head.

‘Come closer, I don’t have long.’

The three of them huddled together.

‘We took Friedrich Steiner straight to Maribor and interrogated him all night. It was so easy – the man’s terrified and showed no courage whatsoever. He gave us the details of all the safe houses he stayed in – in the Tyrol, near Munich, Salzburg, all of them. He was truly desperate to tell us as much as he could, anything to save himself. We’ve written those addresses down for you – here.’ She handed them a piece of paper. ‘He pleaded for us to spare him and he betrayed everyone he could think of. I’ve given you those names