His Majesty's Hope(96)
“But according to Catholic doctrine, he’ll go to hell.”
Nelson shrugged. “Maybe his version of hell wasn’t as bad as what he was experiencing in Berlin. At any rate, surely God would take his motives for the greater good into consideration?”
Maggie said nothing. Gottlieb was dead. The German boy was dead. The little girl and her mother on the train were probably dead. Elise … She felt numb inside. Nelson reached for the enamel pitcher and poured her a cup of water. She waved it away.
“Miss Hope,” Nelson said. “You were right to obtain that information and get it to Lehrer and his group. It wouldn’t have done much good to us in Britain, and in fact might have backfired if we’d tried to use it—dismissed as mere propaganda. But directing the information into the hands of the German resistance movement, and letting a German Bishop expose what the Reich was doing … that’s a coup. Against the rules, of course. But still, a coup. Brava.”
“I don’t give a flying fig about any coup.” Maggie was fighting back tears. “What about the murders? Operation Compassionate Death? Has it been shut down?”
“Not yet,” Nelson answered. “But it’s only a matter of time now. The program will be officially shut down within days. But unofficially …” He shrugged again. “Hitler and his goons are capable of anything, as you now well know.” He graced her with a sad smile.
Maggie stared up at the ceiling, eyes unseeing. The “units”—the children. Gottlieb, Elise. John, alive. The escape. Clara …
“How is”—Maggie didn’t know what to call her—“Frau Hess?”
Nelson pulled up a metal chair, its legs scraping against the spotless linoleum. “Frau Hess is fine,” he answered. “And she’s an important Nazi official with any number of ties in Berlin. She could have returned to Germany. Instead, she deliberately surrendered herself to us.”
“She did what?” Maggie wasn’t sure if something had happened to her ears or if she’d been administered too much morphine.
“We were surprised as well. After all, she was on Churchill’s most-wanted list. But after her plot with the London water supply failed—”
“Plot with the water supply?”
Nelson smiled. “Classified information, I’m afraid, Miss Hope. But I assure you that Clara Hess is in British custody. She’s been transferred to the Tower of London, where she will be interrogated.”
“What will happen to her?”
“She’ll be imprisoned. If she’s willing to work for us, she’ll live. If not …”
Clara’s unspoken fate hung in the air between them. Nelson pulled out a silver cigarette case and a lighter. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He lit it, then watched the tip smolder before saying, “She had an unusual request.”
“And what is that?”
“She wants to be interrogated by you, Miss Hope.”
“Me?”
“You.”
Maggie was silent.
“I suspect a game of some sort, quite frankly,” Nelson continued. “As does Mr. Churchill. But we’re not going to know what she has up her sleeve until you talk to her.”
“I am not talking to her,” Maggie spat. “I will never lay eyes on that woman, ever, ever again. Do you understand me?”
Nelson dropped his cigarette in the cup on Maggie’s bedside. It hissed as it hit the water. He rose. “I’ll leave you to get some rest, Miss Hope. You should be released today, and we’ve chartered a flight for you back to Britain tonight.” He turned.
“I’m not going to talk to her! Never!”
“Feel better, Miss Hope,” he said at the doorway.
“Wait!” she called. “What about John?”
“Mr. Sterling is fine. In fact, he’s back in London now.”
“And Ernst?”
“We were able to get him to London as well.”
“And Elise?” Maggie asked in a small voice. “Did she really go back to Berlin?” If Elise had gone back to Germany, there would be no chance to talk to her, to explain …
Nelson nodded. “Yes, she decided she was needed in Berlin.”
Maggie wished tears would fill her eyes, but they remained hot and dry. “Just go,” she said. Nelson hesitated. Maggie threw the cup at him, splattering him with water and ashes. “Go!”
Elise sat in one of the pews at St. Hedwig’s Cathedral for High Mass.
The cathedral was crowded—women in their best dresses and hats, men in suits, small children being shushed. The air was scented with candle wax and incense, and shafts of light pierced the edges of the boarded-up windows. The light danced over the floor, the pews, and the faces of the congregation.