Free A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) by Edward Wilson Page B

American accent.
     
    Catesby declined the help of his host in finding his way out. He was careful not to step on to a ‘staircase that wasn’t there’ and was relieved when he found himself in the cold night air. He felt that he had spent two hours swimming in a cesspit. As he opened the car door, she loomed out of the shadows. Catesby wondered where ‘the niece’ had been while they were dining. Had she been waiting there the whole time? She suddenly extended her right arm in a clenched fist salute and shouted something in Chinese – a language Catesby didn’t know. She remained rigid like a soldier on parade and then shouted again in English: ‘The East is Red! Long live Chairman Mao!’
    Catesby gave an ideologically non-committal wave and gotin his car. The drive back to Bonn was going to be long and thoughtful.
     
    Catesby looked at Gerald who had just entered the office carrying a folder bearing the parallel red stripes that denoted top secret. ‘Have you signed the card for Miss Greenwood?’ asked Catesby.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And I wouldn’t mind a bob or two as your contribution to the flowers and bath stuff.’
    ‘Not D marks?’
    ‘No, I got the stuff from the NAAFI.’
    Gerald searched his pocket and put a half crown on Catesby’s desk.
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Cheers.
    ‘What else have you got for me, Gerald?’
    ‘Can I ask a question first?’
    Catesby yawned.
    ‘Why did you wait until after your visit to give the baron a butcher’s?’
    ‘I don’t want to frighten him off. If he knew that someone like you was poking around in the undergrowth he might have cancelled the invite.’
    ‘You thought the Schloss was a dodgy one, didn’t you?’
    Catesby nodded. ‘Not the castle, but him being in it.’
    Gerald opened the file. ‘This wasn’t easy. The owners of the castle no longer live in Germany – and the person representing them refused to provide a forwarding address. In fact, they refused to talk to me at all until I went back with a frightening Polizei type from the BfV.’
    Catesby doodled BfV on his notepad and drew an arrow from it pointing east. The BfV – Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz – was the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution, the West German equivalent of MI5. ‘I wish,’ said Catesby, ‘you hadn’t done that without asking me.’
    Gerald gave a sly smile. ‘I think I know why.’
    ‘I bet you do. Why?’
    ‘The BfV have been heavily infiltrated by the HVA.’ Gerald was referring to the Hauptverwaltung Aufklärung , the foreign intelligence branch of the East German Security Service.
    ‘And you thought you were being really clever?’
    ‘Yes, and that’s why I used Fritz the Violin.’
    ‘Fucking hell.’ Catesby winced. Fritz the Violin, a BfV officer who played and made his own violins, was under high suspicion of being a double agent, but they didn’t arrest him because they hoped leaving him free would lead to others.
    ‘And it paid off.’ Gerald handed Catesby a piece of paper with a typed name and an address in Paraguay.
    ‘If they’re not careful, they’re going to blow Fritz’s cover.’ Catesby closed his eyes and tried to piece together the chess moves involved. The East German intelligence service was not being helpful and idealistic by exposing a Nazi on the run. They wanted to smear the West Germans for protecting war criminals – and the smears were not completely untrue. The HVA also wanted to cause friction and suspicion between the Western intelligence services.
    ‘Have you got it now?’ said Gerald.
    ‘This is dangerous. We can’t be suspected of cooperating with any East Bloc intelligence service, even if we have mutual interests – like stopping the earth being destroyed by a giant meteor.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because the Americans will use it against us and start shouting about Reds under the bed.’
    ‘Or in the bed.’
    ‘That too. Okay, let’s go back to the beginning.’ Catesby waved the piece of paper with