End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

to have a chance of finding about Kestrel. Those two chaps following Falmer – see them there?’

Hanne nodded.

‘They must be the Americans Gilbey sorted out – and there are more of them too, apparently. Let’s hope they’re as good as he says they are.’

They’d pulled more strings than there were in a large orchestra.

After interviewing Charles Falmer the previous day, both Hanne and Prince had agreed there was no question he was a link to the Kestrel escape line, and through that to Friedrich Steiner. But now that he was in custody and the money confiscated, that lead appeared to have vanished.

They needed to find a way of restoring it.

They managed to get a call through to Tom Gilbey in London, and he in turn contacted the senior OSS officer in the IG Farben building, who promised to do what he could. The man from the Office of Strategic Services turned out to be as good as his word, not least in promising the services of an officer called Tim Sorensen.

That night, the three of them hatched a plan. Falmer would be informed – with a degree of ill grace that would hopefully make it appear more credible – that the case against him was being dropped on technical grounds, and that not only was he free to go – with the money – but that he should also consider himself a very lucky man.

‘You don’t think he’ll be spooked?’ Sorensen seemed keen to help but was struggling to conceal a degree of scepticism.

‘In what way, Tim?’

‘What I mean is, one minute he’s being told he’s committed a serious offence and is losing all that money, and the next he’s being told he’s free. In those circumstances don’t you think the first thing he’ll do is get the hell out of Frankfurt and go back to Cologne – or indeed, just disappear? With all that money, I’d be tempted to.’

‘There is a risk of that.’ Prince was nodding thoughtfully.

‘I don’t agree.’ Hanne looked annoyed. ‘He’s a weak man. I have experience of dealing with criminal organisations; Falmer is probably fairly low down in this one and will feel accountable to the people above him. He’s more likely to be spooked, as you put it, Tim, by the thought of what will happen if he leaves Frankfurt with the money. I believe he’ll have come with instructions about what to do if the first rendezvous didn’t work. It’s inconceivable there wouldn’t be a backup plan.’

They agreed that following his release, Charles Falmer would be followed. If he headed for the Hauptbahnhof and back to Cologne, then the gamble would have failed. But it was a risk worth taking.

There was something close to a spring in Charles Falmer’s step as he left the American headquarters. He couldn’t relax completely, of course, but the worst part of the nightmare was over. His stomach no longer felt quite as wretched as it had done over the past few days, and he paused for a minute or two to breathe in fresh air.

It wasn’t quite as fresh as it had first seemed. There was a definite early-winter bite to it along with the ubiquitous smell of burning. That was what he’d noticed in Cologne too: everything was being burned – wooden beams, ruined furniture, and some kind of filthy coal that exuded thick brown smoke and stuck to the back of the throat.

Falmer had asked the American officer who’d escorted him from the building for directions to the station, and he’d very helpfully pointed the way: just over a mile south-west of here but probably longer given the detours you’ll need to make. He’d indicated a ruined building in the distance that seemed taller than the ones around it, twisted metal beams pointing accusingly at the sky. Head for that, the station’s nearby.

Falmer walked slowly, mindful that most of the pavements were impassable and the roads could be dangerous, with the few vehicles on them not appearing to be subject to any kind of Highway Code. It wasn’t an easy journey – not so much because of the detours the American had mentioned, but more due to the absence of many of the street signs. He paused on a street corner to buy a packet of cigarettes from a young girl and allowed himself a minute or so to gather his thoughts and get his breath back, although the acrid smell didn’t make that easy.

He’d certainly been lucky, as the Englishman and the woman with the odd accent had repeatedly told him, though he considered that to an extent he’d been responsible for that luck – they ought to have at least acknowledged that. After all, he’d stuck to his story, and what he’d told them was, by and large, true. He was surprised they’d allowed him to have the money back, though, but then the Americans had been so heavy-handed, he wasn’t altogether surprised they’d breached their own rules.

The little girl who’d sold him the cigarettes was pestering him to buy another packet, and in a rare moment of goodwill, he chucked a couple of coins from his pocket in her direction and watched in amusement as half a dozen children emerged from the rubble to scrap over the money.

He could head straight back to Cologne, but the consequences of that would be too serious. He just wanted to be shot of the money and put the whole sorry business behind him. Never again would he allow his uncle, or indeed anyone else, to talk him into something like this, no matter how much he agreed with the cause. Apart from anything else, his health wasn’t up to it.

He’d memorised the instructions about where he was to go if the first rendezvous didn’t work out, and reckoned he was now around five minutes’ walk from his destination. He looked around to check that no one had followed him, but he needn’t have worried. There were no Americans in uniform; just a few