The Prime Minister's Secret Agent(68)

“Was this part of the experiment?”

“Yes! To prove that I would let them do anything to me!” Then, “I hate you!” She growled, low in her throat, like a wounded animal. “I want to kill you!”

She made an ungodly sound, more of a howl than a scream. Then she went limp. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He pushed it between my legs,” she said in a little-girl voice. “And they all laughed and clapped. They laughed at me!”

She turned her face to the wall. “That was when I started to hate him. And that’s when they realized I was ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to go to England,” she said flatly, without emotion. “Because they had created the perfect spy.”





Chapter Sixteen


Dr. Carroll was in his office. It was late at night. He had Clara Hess’s file in front of him.

As he read through, he tried to put the pieces together. A German woman named Clara Hess had surrendered herself to the British. She claimed she wanted to disclose Nazi secrets, but would only speak with her British-born daughter, Margaret Hope. When Miss Hope refused to see her, Clara refused to speak with anyone else, and fell into what he considered a depressive state.

Then, without any warning that he could see from her medical records, she not only revealed another personality, but regressed, into a girl of about five, named Agna Frei, who was sweet and innocent. Agna Frei had, in fact, been Clara Hess’s maiden name, Agna Clara Frei. Clara had started out as a doll, but eventually became a facet of Agna’s personality. She was created by the trauma of witnessing her parents’ fighting, her mother’s narcissism, and her father’s neglect. Clara was brash and tough, with a sneer on her face and a chip on her shoulder. Her voice was different—lower and harder, harsh. She fiercely protected Agna, although she also longed for her own existence.

From what Dr. Carroll could put together from their fractured conversations, Agna Clara Frei had been recruited by Sektion, a precursor of the Abwehr, the German intelligence agency, who exploited her childhood trauma in order to create a completely separate alternate identity. Thus Agna Clara Frei became the woman known as Clara Schwartz. Clara Schwartz was an aspiring opera singer, but was also being secretly trained by Sektion to become a spy. When her training was complete, as evidenced by the trial with the candle—here Dr. Carroll shuddered—she was sent as Clara Schwartz to London. There she met Edmund Hope. But Edmund met and fell in love with Agna, not Clara. They married, and she had a daughter, Margaret Hope.

At some point her mission was concluded and she changed back into Clara, then went back to Berlin, leaving her husband and daughter to believe that she had died in a car accident. Secretly, though, she had staged the accident and escaped from the hospital, substituting the body of a prostitute in the morgue for her own, and making her way back to Berlin.

He sagged back in his chair and sighed wearily. It was ingenious, really. As part of the split personality, Agna could be kept in the dark, perfect for a cover. And Clara could step in when needed, obtaining the information Sektion wanted and then planning her escape. It all made perfect sense. Except for one thing.

Dr. Carroll made a note on Clara’s chart. What is Agna/Clara’s relationship to Peter Frain?

He looked at his desk calendar. Only twenty-eight hours until Clara’s execution.


Across town from the Japanese Embassy, Kramer was pacing as Bratton went through the latest of the decrypts. “You’re sure this is all thirteen parts?”

“Yes,” Bratton said bleakly. The strain of the last month was showing. “Tokyo’s holding the final part until tomorrow morning.”

Kramer sniffed. “Well, I’m going to make the rounds with what we have so far. Thank God the President’s back on the Magic distribution list. And let me know the moment the missing part arrives.”

“Of course.”

With his wife as his driver in their trusty blue Chevrolet, Kramer planned to deliver the message in locked briefcases to every single one of the addressees on his distribution list—General Marshall, Secretary Knox, Admirals Stark and Turner, Captains Ingersoll and Wilkinson.

At the White House, the President was in bed with a sinus infection. Kramer gave it to Harry Hopkins—who didn’t have a Magic key. Hopkins accepted the thirteen-part decrypt, saying he would deliver it to the President. “But don’t worry, the Old Man just sent a personal message to the Emperor. He’s sure it will get negotiations back on track again.”

At Admiral Stark’s residence, his aide answered the door. “Admiral Stark can’t be reached tonight, sir.”