CHAPTER 25

The Swedish police didn’t seem to know how to deal with Wilde and his companions. They were put up in a private house in the seaside town of Skillinge on the south-eastern coast. A series of telephone calls finally reached the American embassy, where Wilde was told he might be better off talking to the British.

‘We’re all a bit up in the air here, new ambassador arriving any day, Germany’s declared war,’ the envoy, a second secretary, said. ‘Your best bet might be to talk to Harrison and say I suggested they might be able to help. He should be able to put in a word with BOAC, who still run some sort of service out of Bromma.’

Wilde got through to the British Legation in Stockholm and asked for Bertrand Harrison. He gave him a severely edited version of events, then said, ‘We need to get to England.’

‘Are any of you actually British?’ the envoy asked in a slow, upper-class drawl.

‘I’m an American citizen, but I live and work in Cambridge.’

‘And the lady and child?’

‘The lady is half-German, half-American. The girl is German.’

‘Well, I don’t really see how I can assist you then, Mr Wilde. I would like to help, of course, now that we seem to be allies in this war, but it would be highly irregular. Perhaps you should call the American mission for assistance.’

‘They suggested you.’

‘Indeed. Very tiresome for you.’

‘Look, we have to make our way to England. You are the people to organise flights, are you not? I think it would probably be best if you called a man named Philip Eaton in London. He’s MI6. Tell him I have the package.’

‘MI6? What is that?’

‘Oh, don’t play that game!’ Wilde couldn’t disguise his exasperation. ‘Everyone in the diplomatic service knows what MI6 is. You’re probably a member yourself.’ This ridiculous British conceit of pretending – even to their own people – that the Secret Intelligence Service didn’t exist. Who did they think they were kidding, and why? He gave the man Eaton’s number. ‘You’ll speak to a man named Carstairs, who will put you in touch with Eaton. I promise you, this will be a matter of priority for MI6. Just call him, OK.’

‘I’ll get back to you, Mr Wilde.’

And he hung up.

*

Gunther Freest sat at Spahn’s desk and wondered exactly what had happened out on the street in front of 8 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse.

‘Otto, old friend,’ his master had called out in the moment before he was shot. Otto Kalt, the man’s papers said, and he was clearly an old Party member. But why had an ‘old friend’ shot Horst Spahn?