The Company of Strangers

  ‘We might be about to see Sutherland in a state of excitement,’ he said.

  The meeting was set for 4.00 p.m. in a safe house in Rua de Madres in the Madragoa district of Lisbon. Anne was to report to the PVDE in Rua António Maria Cardoso after lunch to confirm her residency and receive her work permit. From there she would go to Rua Garrett and buy cakes at the Jerónimo Martims cake shop and then walk to Rua de Madres where she would ring the bell to number 11 three times. To whoever came to the door she was to say:

  ‘I’ve come to see Senhora Maria Santos Ribeira.’

  If the housekeeper said that Senhora Ribeira was out, Anne was to reply with the line: ‘Come what come may, / Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.’

  The housekeeper would then tell her she could come in and wait. Anne relished the absurdity.

  Shortly after 4.00 p.m. Macbeth had been recited and Anne was sitting on a hard wooden chair in a shuttered room that was initially so dark Sutherland was not immediately apparent. He was sitting in a soft chair with wooden arms in a corner furthest from the window. Tea was laid out in front of him with an empty plate for the cakes. Behind him a crack had worked its way up the wall and finished in an estuary of lath at the ceiling. Sutherland volunteered to be mother, which she learned later from Wallis meant that he was pleased with her.

  ‘Lemon?’ he asked. ‘Milk’s a little complicated in this heat, although there might be some powder. Not the same, though, is it?’

  ‘Lemon,’ she said.

  ‘No problems with lemons in this country,’ he said, and sat back with his legs crossed, cup and saucer in hand, cake on the side. His first question was surprising but, she realized with more experience, typical.

  ‘Wilshere…whacking your horse like that…what do you think that was all about?’

  ‘Judy Laverne…I was wearing her riding clothes at the time.’

  ‘According to Cardew’s notes, or rather Rose’s reading of Cardew’s notes, because I still can’t read a damned word of what that man writes, you didn’t ask Wilshere what the hell he was up to, hitting your horse out of the blue, so to speak.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  ‘First of all I didn’t want there to be any confrontation in front of the major and secondly, if he knew what he was doing…’

  ‘You mean if he was conscious of what he was doing…?’

  ‘He would have apologized with an excuse, invented an accident.’

  ‘Unless he wanted a reaction from you.’

  ‘Of course, if he wasn’t conscious then we are dealing with somebody who has a mental problem and he would have to be handled accordingly. I decided to bide my time…see what else happened.’

  ‘You didn’t think that perhaps he was testing your cover?’

  The words cooled her innards, which with the heat stuffed into the room as thick as wadding, made her light-headed.

  ‘I know this is a difficult situation, the sociability of the environment, but didn’t you think of that?’ he said, nibbling his cake.

  ‘Yes, but I was thinking more about Judy Laverne…I’d been unsettled by Wilshere’s wife’s reaction to the riding clothes…’

  ‘I think you should bring it up. Sooner rather than later,’ said Sutherland. ‘Make it plausible. You know…you didn’t want to bring it up in front of Major Almeida, been thinking about it a couple of days…that sort of thing. Give him chance to apologize and make his excuses.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘You mean if it was an unconscious act? Well, then it would appear that whatever happened between Wilshere and Judy Laverne has made him a somewhat unpredictable entity.’

  ‘And who was this Judy Laverne, sir?’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘A mess. A terrible mess. I don’t know whether we’ll ever get the full story on her. She used to be a secretary at American IG.’

  ‘What’s American IG?’

  ‘The American sister company of IG Farben, the German chemical conglomerate,’ said Sutherland. ‘And, as you know from what you overheard in Wilshere’s study, Lazard had been an executive with American IG too. As far as I can make out, Judy Laverne had lost her job with them back in America and Lazard invited her over here to work for him.’

  ‘So, she wasn’t working for the Americans.’

  ‘In intelligence? The Office of Strategic Studies, you mean? Another one of their brilliant euphemisms, I must say. No, no, I don’t think she was, although there seems to be some confusion here. It seems that they were trying to get her to do some work for them but she was very loyal to Lazard, and enjoying herself with Wilshere, so didn’t want any part of it. We don’t know what they were after from Lazard, still don’t. Totally obsessive about secrecy, these Yanks – and this even after D-day, which, Christ Almighty, must…’ Sutherland reined himself in, pinched the bridge of his nose, screwed the tiredness up in his fist and threw it on the floor.

  ‘Do we know that she died in a car accident?’ asked Anne. ‘There was some confusion about deportation.’

  ‘Her visa renewal had been turned down by the PVDE, that was true. She had three days to leave, true as well. And she did meet her death in a car that came off the road around the Azoia junction…’

  ‘You don’t know why she was being deported?’

  ‘No, nor did the Americans. In retrospect we thought they might have arranged it, pulled her out when she wouldn’t play ball, but they deny it. They say it was as much a surprise for them as it was for Judy Laverne.’

  ‘The Italian contessa said that Mafalda arranged for her deportation.’

  ‘You can take that with a pinch of salt,’ he said. ‘Beecham Lazard is very close to the PVDE director, Captain Lourenço. He’d have found out.’

  ‘Do you think Lazard suspected that she was being approached by the OSS?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Do you think his suspicion might have been stronger than that?’

  ‘If he thought she was working for the OSS I don’t think he’d have just arranged for her deportation.’

  ‘You mean he’d have killed her?’ asked Anne. ‘Well, she did die.’

  ‘In a car accident.’

  ‘You’re satisfied with that?’

  ‘The PVDE came down on it hard and fast, wrapped it up in a matter of hours – don’t like a song and dance over foreigners’ deaths. They sent a full report to the American consulate. The Americans accepted it, or at least they didn’t react. More tea?’

  She drank the first cup down. He poured more. The air became breathable again.

  ‘So, you don’t think my position is vulnerable.’

  ‘As long as you maintain your cover, no,’ said Sutherland. ‘We didn’t exactly position you, remember. We took advantage of an opportunity given to Cardew by Wilshere as a result of their relationship. The background to it is strong. Cardew’s secretary getting pregnant, wanting to leave…all that. But you tell me…what’s your worst fear?’

  ‘That Judy Laverne was working for the OSS, her cover was blown and Wilshere or Lazard killed her.’

  ‘Do you think Wilshere could have killed her?’ he asked, suddenly following the crack in the wall up to the lath estuary. ‘You say he loved her. Our reports of them being seen together in Lisbon indicate the same.’

  What does anybody know from just looking, she thought. Voss’s words, which she’d so admired, suddenly began to create doubts in her own mind about his interest in her.

  ‘How would you feel,’ she said, ‘if you found that the woman you loved was a spy, was spying on you? You’d start thinking that her love was part of the cover, wouldn’t you? And that would make you very angry, I’d have thought…that your trust had been so completely abused.’

  ‘If she was an agent, which she wasn’t.’

  ‘You asked me for my worst fear.’

  ‘And I say it has no basis in fact and that even if it did I doubt Wilshere could have killed her…Lazard, on the
other hand…’

  ‘That makes me feel safe.’

  Sutherland writhed in his seat, exasperated by what he saw as nothing but an irrelevance to the real intelligence operation.

  ‘You have to stop thinking about Judy Laverne,’ he said. ‘She has nothing to do with your assignment.’

  ‘But she could have a bearing, surely,’ she insisted.

  ‘We’ve examined the possibility of Wilshere positioning you so that he can control the flow of information or disinformation going out. We have decided that it was a game he didn’t need to play, so why, when there is so much at stake, play it?’

  ‘He’s a gambler. Cardew said.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sutherland, taking out the chip which had found its way back to him from the dead-letter drop. ‘What is this?’

  ‘One of the many chips that Lazard swept over to Wilshere in the casino.’

  ‘But, you see, to me this is not a man who is gambling. This is a man who sat at a baccarat table and took a pay-off. He is someone who is playing certainties.’

  Anne blushed at her own stupidity. She was losing this. Her mind was not concentrated on the information at hand. She’d been distracted by what she thought Sutherland would probably have called emotional nonsense. And not just Judy Laverne’s.

  ‘One other question…the man who helped you up to the house with Wilshere?’ asked Sutherland. ‘You didn’t say…’

  ‘He didn’t make himself known.’

  ‘But clearly someone who was following you.’

  ‘It wasn’t Jim Wallis.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’d asked him to keep an eye on you but not to get too close. If he humped Wilshere up to the house that is what I would call…’

  ‘Then we have a mystery man.’

  ‘They’re all mystery men,’ said Sutherland.

  ‘Except for Beecham Lazard.’

  ‘Yes, he seems quite straightforwardly venal…although I was surprised by this business with Mary Couples.’

  ‘Perhaps the Couples are more desperate than we think.’

  ‘Well, now, here’s something interesting. You say he worked for Ozalid?’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’

  ‘We were talking about American IG earlier,’ said Sutherland. ‘Among the companies they own are General Aniline & Film, Agfa, Ansco and…Ozalid. GAF supplied khaki and dyes for military uniforms, which gave their salesmen access to every military installation in the United States. All military training films were developed in Agfa/ Ansco labs. All blueprints of military installations were made by Ozalid.’

  ‘And all that information found its way back to Berlin?’

  ‘It was a phenomenal breach of security, but it all changed in 1942 after Pearl Harbor,’ said Sutherland. ‘They had a spring clean…as they say.’

  ‘And one of the people swept out was Beecham Lazard?’

  ‘Which was why he came here…but as a free agent. He doesn’t work exclusively for the Germans, but he has those high-level contacts, he’s trusted by them…’

  ‘And by the Americans.’

  ‘It seems so,’ said Sutherland.

  ‘So, given that they worked for connected companies, it’s possible that Hal Couples and Beecham Lazard already knew each other?’

  ‘We’re not sure.’

  ‘Do you know when Couples started working for Ozalid?’

  ‘We’ve asked for more information from the Americans. It takes time.’

  ‘What would Hal Couples have for sale that could possibly be of interest to the Germans on a continent thousands of miles away?’

  ‘Quite. The dogs are on their doorstep, why should they want to know the state of the kennels?’ said Sutherland, sucking on his empty pipe, desperate for a smoke. ‘Now look, let’s not jump to conclusions about Couples. The Americans will come back in their own time. From our side we’ll be watching all the Lisbon/Dakar flights. Your next task is to get into Wilshere’s study and find any information you can about the provenance of these diamonds, where they’re being held, how this business is going to work…anything. If Wilshere is holding these diamonds you work out a system with Wallis to let him know if and when the gems leave the house.

  ‘Now, personalities…Wolters you know about. I think he revealed himself sufficiently at the dinner. To give you an idea, he took up this post at the beginning of the year as an SS Colonel. When the head of the Abwehr, Admiral Canaris, was removed from office he was promoted. He is now an SS General. He is effectively running the German Legation. Who else? The Contessa della Trecata. I notice you gave her a very sympathetic review. Do not talk to her. She is dangerous for the very reason that she elicits sympathy. The others, well…you know, I think.’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned Karl Voss.’

  ‘The military attaché is an Abwehr man. He reports directly to Wolters,’ said Sutherland, stopping in the middle of the room, on the brink of offering additional material but deciding against it.

  ‘Major Almeida?’

  ‘Portuguese Army officer. Don’t know which side his bread is buttered, so steer clear,’ he said. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

  If there were other things, Anne couldn’t think of them. What she thought, at first, was the stress coming from Sutherland seemed to have pushed everything else out of the room. It was only later, as she made her way down to the station, that she realized it could have been something else – ambition. This could be Sutherland’s big moment of the war.

  Karl Voss was happy, although he didn’t quite know it yet. He was at that stage of happiness where his behaviour could still be classified as normal – no unconscious outbursts of laughter, no running skips in the street, no profligacy to beggars – but a change had taken place. His insides were weightless, his step was light on the uneven cobbles, he hopped off pavements, trotted over tramlines, made way for struggling ladies, even in the dire heat he couldn’t put a foot wrong. He looked up and out too. He noticed things in an unintelligent way for the first time in years. Façades of buildings, panels of tiles, shop fronts, railings, dogs flaked out in the square, a girl hanging out washing from a high window, dust on the leaves of the trees, and the blue sky, even the blue sky beyond the skeletal arches of the Igreja do Carmo, destroyed in the earthquake and left as a monument to Lisbon’s dead. He was at that stage of happiness where he no longer looked down or inwards. He wasn’t thinking about his situation any more.

  He broke into a run as he saw people coming across the metal walkway. The elevador had just arrived. He made it to the lift, which descended to the Baixa. He took the steps down to the Rua do Ouro two at a time and headed towards the river at a fast walk. He crossed the road to the building of the Banco de Oceano e Rocha which at this time of the day was closed. He looked up and down the street for the car he’d arranged to meet him outside the bank. He didn’t mind the five-minute wait, which was unusual for him. The car arrived, he rang the bell to the offices on the first floor. Fifteen minutes later he was sitting in the back of the car with a small but heavy case beside him.

  Chapter 15

  Monday, 17th July 1944, outside Lisbon.

  Anne sat in a railway carriage opposite a Portuguese couple in their sixties with a dog at their feet, which had legs too short for its body and bulging eyes. The man had a goitre the size of a cantaloupe hanging from his neck. The woman was so small her feet didn’t touch the floor and her left leg was swollen to twice its normal size. Anne didn’t want to look at them but each time she turned away from the view out to sea, of a three-funnelled ship pumping black smudges into the bleached sky, their eyes were on her, even the dog’s. It was only on the third occasion, as she let her gaze drop from thyroid to dog, that she noticed the couple’s hands were clasped between them, resting on the seat.

  She leaned her forehead against the window. The silver train curved out in front, reflecting the ocean in its glass panels. A sandbank surfaced outside the Tagus estuary, the surf peeling back from its brown hump. She had an irratio
nal desire to be out there, alone, simple, offshore from the complexities of the city. She glanced back over her seat. Jim Wallis had his head down in the Diário de Notícias. He looked up but not at her. They’d spoken earlier about the diamonds – how she would signal if the gems left the house. She turned back to the sea. Her mind circled back to the same spot – Karl Voss, Abwehr.

  She would have to stop this…this what? What was it she had to stop with Karl Voss? A kiss. Was that anything? She told herself not to think. The Rawlinson gambit – the danger’s in the thinking. Just finish it. Simplify the equation. Reduce the variables.

  Forget Judy Laverne. Let her into the bracket and she was the quickest route to a blown cover.

  Sutherland wanting her to break into Wilshere’s study. Was that the right thing to do? Was that an unnecessary risk? Surely the Americans were right, Lazard was the man to watch. He was the go-between.

  She was leaning forward, her eyes were unconsciously drilling into the soft neck of the woman in front of her. She eased back. The train braked with a screech of metal as they came into Paço de Arcos station. The old couple got up and left the carriage, the woman on the man’s arm, the dog shuffling behind.

  The image of Karl Voss returned, stronger now.

  They hadn’t said anything to each other. They’d smoked a cigarette. Touched lips. Nothing had happened but everything had changed. They didn’t know each other and would never know anything of each other, except what was allowed to be known, and none of that was true. But then how much do we want to know about each other? Everything? Everything except that which sustains our interest – the mystery. To know that is to kill it.

  Her thoughts multiplied. Squared. Cubed. Ramified to the nth.

  She walked up through the square in Estoril. The heat was still terrible but a dying heat now, one that was slumped against the buildings, sagging in the stillness of the palm trees. She felt drowsy, needed to lie down after a long day, after long hours spent running around in her head.