Free The British Lion by Tony Schumacher

university.”
    “She’s working? I thought you said she was a Jew.”
    “She is a special Jew, which is why we want her, and why you will get her. Do you see the post office on the other side of the street?”
    Koehler put the pencil in his mouth as he scanned the street and found the post office.
    “Yes.”
    “When the girl is in London, go to that post office and collect a parcel that will be waiting for you there. Further instructions will be inside. Do not deviate from these instructions or the ones in the parcel. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    There was a pause on the other end of the line.
    “You’ve been chosen carefully, Ernst. None of this is accidental. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.” Koehler leaned an elbow on the shelf and rested his forehead in his hand.
    “Ernst, the bullet, the one you picked up outside your apartment.”
    “Yes?”
    “I took three out of a box this morning. I selected them myself, the first three, right next to each other, out of a fresh box.”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t make me use the other two.”
    The phone clicked dead and Koehler lowered his own receiver into the cradle. He ran a hand across his mouth and looked up and down Queensway through the windows of the box.
    The neon sign pulsed; life went on as the snow slowly fell.
    The ground under his feet rumbled. Koehler looked down at his boots; it felt like the devil was coming up to take his soul.
    He shivered. It was going to be a long night.
     

CHAPTER 8
    A NJA COULDN’T S TOP shaking. She hugged her arms around herself and squeezed her eyes tight, but still she shook.
    It was as if her clothes were made of ice and the blankets she lay under were soaked in water.
    Her breath came in gulps, and though the tears had stopped, her eyes still ached as if they’d been wrung out and then dipped in vinegar.
    “Be quiet,” said King, who was standing at the door.
    Anja wondered if she’d made a sound.
    She shook again.
    “Crying isn’t going to bring her back. You must be quiet,” King said again.
    “I’m not crying.”
    “Well, be quiet then.”
    Anja opened her eyes and turned on the mattress, away from the wall with its dirty gray damp stains, toward him.
    “I’m a child. I’m allowed to cry,” she said, and King surprised her by smiling.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I want my father.”
    “Soon.”
    “Where is my mother?”
    “She is being looked after.”
    “She’s dead. I’m a child, not an idiot.”
    King tilted his head a fraction and nodded.
    “Of course, I’m sorry.”
    Anja bit her lip and felt another shudder building in her chest.
    “Why are you doing this?”
    “We need you, just for a while.”
    “Why?”
    “You don’t need to know. Your father will collect you soon.”
    “My father will kill you.”
    “So be it,” King replied.
    “You’ll be sorry,” Anja said.
    “I’ve been sorry a long time. A little longer won’t make much difference. Now please, try to be quiet.”
    Anja stared at him and he stared back until she rolled over again to face the wall.
    The mattress squeaked, but Anja was silent.
    She wasn’t going to cry anymore. She was going to do what her mother had told her.
    She was going to fight.
    She was going to get to her father.
    “SHE’S DEAD?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, I’m sure; I’m not an idiot.”
    “Don’t get smart with me. Remember who you are talking to.”
    “I’m sorry.” King rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips before resting his forehead on the cold window of the call box.
    “How did she die?”
    “She had a gun, hidden. When we tried to lift her, she became suspicious and pulled it. She was struggling with Eric and it went off; the round caught her in the leg and she bled out. There was nothing we could do.”
    “Jesus,” Allen Dulles said softly.
    King lifted himself off the glass and stood up, waiting for his boss, across the city in the American embassy, to collect himself.
    “Did you tell Koehler when he