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It continued in London
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
settantuno
MUTUS PICTOR
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Hauptmann Loxuru from the Abwehr got the information from a mole (codename 'Fossy') at the Soviet embassy in Berlin. But don't worry, Abwehr does not intend to pass the information to those bastards of the Sicherheitsdienst!
Migoz2
Senator
So it will be available on the War Thunder forum?
PeterVl
Magistrate
Chapter 19
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939.
Barbara lay alone once more, her broken body both salved and exhausted from the intense attentions of Emma, her matron-keeper.
The ring of keys had disappeared with Emma, but Barb was hopeful that it would return and maybe, just maybe she might be able to get out of this room, which was both stifling and unnerving her.
What Barb didn’t know was that at this very moment there was a meeting going on elsewhere in this very same flat.
“She cannot be trusted,” said a black capped man, to Emma, Barbara’s most recent lover.
Emma sighed and shook her head a little. “I don’t know Gerhard, she has suffered a lot at the hands of the SS, and …”
“And nothing …” Gerhard cut in. “Look at the facts. She is the only daughter of a very wealthy industrialist who we know to be supporting the Nazi’s extended armament programme. Moreover, she has her own shady past.”
Emma nodded.
“The BDM was a feeding ground for Nazi indoctrination, we know that, and really we have to ask ourselves why her lover, Rudy Weiss, was executed by the SS, while Fräulein Mohr was released …”
“Oh God, I know but she seems …” Emma was recalling the damaged but soft skin that had so recently been the cause of so much pleasure for her.
This time Gerhard cut his colleague off with nothing more than a withering look.
“Now that Underwood has left us, Moscow wants us to find out who she really is and what she is doing here.”
Issuing an order over his left shoulder, Gerhard said, “Johan, Paul, take the girl into the basement and fasten her up. I will be down shortly.”
Nørrebro District, Copenhagen, Friday 3rd October 1939
Standing outside Søtorvet looking across the Lake Square it was easy to believe that there was no war. Despite rumblings of Nazi mobilisation, Denmark’s neutrality was still in place and being respected, though for how much longer Henry Underwood had no idea, he suspected no more than a few months at the most.
The small fishing vessel had dropped him at the docks in the early hours of this morning. It was easy to disembark anonymously and disappear into the crowds when you were in the largest, busiest seaport in the Baltic Sea Basin.
He had undertaken the 180 km road journey from Hamburg to Rostock in the back of a very similar Opel Blitz that had rescued he and Barb from the SS HQ, to then be bundled onto a boat filled with eel and perch from the Warnemünde. He then sailed to Gedser whereupon Henry than transferred to a small cargo boat heading from Gedser northwards and into Copenhagen.
And now he stood on the edge of Lake Square, feeling hungry and tired.
His thoughts turned to his lover and colleague, still in Germany and quite possibly about to be left on the doorstep of the SS to reinterrogate, except that back in the hands of those bastards, Barbara would be brutally executed, that much was for certain.
Seeing a sign for Café da la Reine, he wandered in.
It was a hive of activity even at this late morning hour.
“Axel, three Copenhagen Cocktails please, and make it quick …” Laughter accompanied the order being yelled over to the bar.
“Hold da kæft Sørensen, those cocktails are the most popular drink we’ve ever sold …”
More laughter, as Underwood settled at a quiet table with nothing more than a coffee for company. He was perturbed, unsettled, he felt incomplete and not at peace with himself, in fact anything but.
“I have to go back for her …” He said to himself, and that second Henry Underwood decided what his next course of action would be.
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939
“Whip her then rape her ...” Gerhard uttered the words quietly and calmly, his tone laced with a menace that struck a whole new level of terror into the heart of Fräulein Barbara Mohr.
“No, please, you don’t need to … we’re on the same side …” Barbara found herself pleading with these people, who one minute were making love to her and the next stringing her up to be tortured.
Barbara hung from a wooden frame, wrists cuffed in manacles, her whole naked body exposed to these people.
“These are the words of our Muscovite Masters, ‘Whip her then rape her, and then rape her again’.”
Her eyes closed as she tried to keep the tears inside behind the lids. Her body still bore the scars from her latest treatment at the hands of the SS, and now …
Johan and Paul stood by the door to this basement room, Emma was thankfully nowhere to be seen. But it was Gerhard who picked up the whip …
And then the lash fell …
******
There seemed to be no nerve in her body free from excruciating, stinging pain ... the entirety of her skin a human canvas of sweat, welts and blood. Barbara could feel the red liquid thicken across the cuts engraved upon her flesh, decorating her lithe, suspended body.
But just as bad, almost worse was the fact that one of the other men, she couldn’t see who, was stimulating her cunt from behind as the lash fell over the front of her body and now she felt herself on the verge of a lash driven, finger stimulated orgasm. She tried desperately to hold it back ... conceal it from Gerhard’s notice, but the swelling of her beaten breasts, the convulsions in her pelvis, the solid throbbing of her pussy and fierce tingling in her clitoris pushed soft, high grunts of reluctant pleasure out of her throat.
“Pl … please ... ohhhhh God,” she groaned, knowing not what she was actually pleading for.
With her body and mind still swimming in the fiery sea of unwitting ecstasy, she heard Gerhard step up from behind, his whip now laid aside, his abrupt presence beside her only slightly less terrifying now that he wasn’t wielding a lash.
He watched her with detached interest, silently observing Barbara’s enticing display, her hips and ass danced an erotic dance of pleasure and pain for him, and he waited, a smirk on his face, as she writhed with frustrated squeals toward the merciful, solitary climax that had overtaken her naked and bound body.
Through the crisscross haze of her twenty-five squirm-inducing, scream-laden lashes, a burgeoning warmth and wetness drenched the inside of both her thighs as well as her open, dripping core.
“Who are you Fräulein Mohr,” he remarked softly, with obvious amusement. “Sie sind Doppelagent,“
He walked slowly, menacingly, around her. “We know you are more than you seem … I saw it in your eyes, the day you arrived.”
She twisted her head away.
“Tell me what you are and why you are here Barbara Mohr.”
She jerked her eyes back to him in revulsion. “You whip me and torture me, but I am telling the truth. I serve the British, I hate the Nazi pigs as much as you do. You must believe me.”
“And your colleague, Mister Underwood. Surely, he cannot truly believe you are on his side, can he? I mean his willingness to leave only proves how unworthy you both are for one another … Oh, I can only imagine your anguish as you watched him ride off, Fräulein Mohr ... abandoning you here, only to save himself...leaving you behind.”
Barbara’s head hung now. She was not trusted by anyone and it is as this bastard says … she has indeed been abandoned. And then suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of grief and rejection, she lost all control, weeping madly.
“You bastards ... all of you”
“Fräulein Mohr, you suffer needlessly ... lose nothing by telling me who you really work for. Give us something we can use.”
Through the wet strands of hair hanging over face, she glared at him, scarcely containing the fierceness of her rage.
“Go fetch your whip and finish me.” As soon as she said it, she felt her body opened once more as a thick hard cock penetrated her from behind.
“Fuckkkkkkk!” She groaned as hands gripped her hips and a steady fucking commenced.
As fingers slipped around her waist to massage her clit, it took only seconds before she was convulsing again.
Gerhard looked past where she hung, across to the table, where the whip lay. He was considering her words.
“Tempting,” came his calm reply.
“Are you … oh … also … ohhhh fuck … a coward?” she sneered at Gerhard, goading him. “Do it! Whip me for the disgrace I’ve brought upon your great and noble resistance!”
Seeing and hearing Gerhard’s smile deepen to vile, scornful laughter, she writhed angrily in her bondage, and then every limb stiffened, her parched throat gasping as the lash fell again …
The cock, spent now, slid from her body … the next brutal assault would surely break her, perhaps even kill her, but at least she would die remembering the precious brief moments of love she had shared with Henry, whom she knew in her heart had left her only for the good of a much greater cause.
Then without warning, Gerhard swooped violently towards her, wrapping one muscular arm around her neck, the other around her whip-streaked back, and yanked her body forward. Whimpers of fresh pain escaped her lips as deft fingers dug deeper into her perspiring, lash-stripped skin
With a move so blunderingly insensitive he planted his lips upon hers, covering her mouth hungrily with an angry, punishing kiss. She struggled instinctively against the man’s invasive touch, fuming, shocked the turn of events.
Barbara cried out into his mouth, body dangling, arms held high and wide in the chains, until he withdrew his lips, smoothing back a wayward strand of her hair.
She looked him in the eyes and then she saw the expression upon his face, mocking her, and, as if in slow motion, his arm swung back and the whip crashed upwards splitting her cunt and slashing further upwards to strike the crack of her ass.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” She screamed, her body racked beyond what her mind could bear. Her shoulders slumped, her head fell forward, and then ... only blackness...
TBC
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939.
Barbara lay alone once more, her broken body both salved and exhausted from the intense attentions of Emma, her matron-keeper.
The ring of keys had disappeared with Emma, but Barb was hopeful that it would return and maybe, just maybe she might be able to get out of this room, which was both stifling and unnerving her.
What Barb didn’t know was that at this very moment there was a meeting going on elsewhere in this very same flat.
“She cannot be trusted,” said a black capped man, to Emma, Barbara’s most recent lover.
Emma sighed and shook her head a little. “I don’t know Gerhard, she has suffered a lot at the hands of the SS, and …”
“And nothing …” Gerhard cut in. “Look at the facts. She is the only daughter of a very wealthy industrialist who we know to be supporting the Nazi’s extended armament programme. Moreover, she has her own shady past.”
Emma nodded.
“The BDM was a feeding ground for Nazi indoctrination, we know that, and really we have to ask ourselves why her lover, Rudy Weiss, was executed by the SS, while Fräulein Mohr was released …”
“Oh God, I know but she seems …” Emma was recalling the damaged but soft skin that had so recently been the cause of so much pleasure for her.
This time Gerhard cut his colleague off with nothing more than a withering look.
“Now that Underwood has left us, Moscow wants us to find out who she really is and what she is doing here.”
Issuing an order over his left shoulder, Gerhard said, “Johan, Paul, take the girl into the basement and fasten her up. I will be down shortly.”
Nørrebro District, Copenhagen, Friday 3rd October 1939
Standing outside Søtorvet looking across the Lake Square it was easy to believe that there was no war. Despite rumblings of Nazi mobilisation, Denmark’s neutrality was still in place and being respected, though for how much longer Henry Underwood had no idea, he suspected no more than a few months at the most.
The small fishing vessel had dropped him at the docks in the early hours of this morning. It was easy to disembark anonymously and disappear into the crowds when you were in the largest, busiest seaport in the Baltic Sea Basin.
He had undertaken the 180 km road journey from Hamburg to Rostock in the back of a very similar Opel Blitz that had rescued he and Barb from the SS HQ, to then be bundled onto a boat filled with eel and perch from the Warnemünde. He then sailed to Gedser whereupon Henry than transferred to a small cargo boat heading from Gedser northwards and into Copenhagen.
And now he stood on the edge of Lake Square, feeling hungry and tired.
His thoughts turned to his lover and colleague, still in Germany and quite possibly about to be left on the doorstep of the SS to reinterrogate, except that back in the hands of those bastards, Barbara would be brutally executed, that much was for certain.
Seeing a sign for Café da la Reine, he wandered in.
It was a hive of activity even at this late morning hour.
“Axel, three Copenhagen Cocktails please, and make it quick …” Laughter accompanied the order being yelled over to the bar.
“Hold da kæft Sørensen, those cocktails are the most popular drink we’ve ever sold …”
More laughter, as Underwood settled at a quiet table with nothing more than a coffee for company. He was perturbed, unsettled, he felt incomplete and not at peace with himself, in fact anything but.
“I have to go back for her …” He said to himself, and that second Henry Underwood decided what his next course of action would be.
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday, 3rd October, 1939
“Whip her then rape her ...” Gerhard uttered the words quietly and calmly, his tone laced with a menace that struck a whole new level of terror into the heart of Fräulein Barbara Mohr.
“No, please, you don’t need to … we’re on the same side …” Barbara found herself pleading with these people, who one minute were making love to her and the next stringing her up to be tortured.
Barbara hung from a wooden frame, wrists cuffed in manacles, her whole naked body exposed to these people.
“These are the words of our Muscovite Masters, ‘Whip her then rape her, and then rape her again’.”
Her eyes closed as she tried to keep the tears inside behind the lids. Her body still bore the scars from her latest treatment at the hands of the SS, and now …
Johan and Paul stood by the door to this basement room, Emma was thankfully nowhere to be seen. But it was Gerhard who picked up the whip …
And then the lash fell …
******
There seemed to be no nerve in her body free from excruciating, stinging pain ... the entirety of her skin a human canvas of sweat, welts and blood. Barbara could feel the red liquid thicken across the cuts engraved upon her flesh, decorating her lithe, suspended body.
But just as bad, almost worse was the fact that one of the other men, she couldn’t see who, was stimulating her cunt from behind as the lash fell over the front of her body and now she felt herself on the verge of a lash driven, finger stimulated orgasm. She tried desperately to hold it back ... conceal it from Gerhard’s notice, but the swelling of her beaten breasts, the convulsions in her pelvis, the solid throbbing of her pussy and fierce tingling in her clitoris pushed soft, high grunts of reluctant pleasure out of her throat.
“Pl … please ... ohhhhh God,” she groaned, knowing not what she was actually pleading for.
With her body and mind still swimming in the fiery sea of unwitting ecstasy, she heard Gerhard step up from behind, his whip now laid aside, his abrupt presence beside her only slightly less terrifying now that he wasn’t wielding a lash.
He watched her with detached interest, silently observing Barbara’s enticing display, her hips and ass danced an erotic dance of pleasure and pain for him, and he waited, a smirk on his face, as she writhed with frustrated squeals toward the merciful, solitary climax that had overtaken her naked and bound body.
Through the crisscross haze of her twenty-five squirm-inducing, scream-laden lashes, a burgeoning warmth and wetness drenched the inside of both her thighs as well as her open, dripping core.
“Who are you Fräulein Mohr,” he remarked softly, with obvious amusement. “Sie sind Doppelagent,“
He walked slowly, menacingly, around her. “We know you are more than you seem … I saw it in your eyes, the day you arrived.”
She twisted her head away.
“Tell me what you are and why you are here Barbara Mohr.”
She jerked her eyes back to him in revulsion. “You whip me and torture me, but I am telling the truth. I serve the British, I hate the Nazi pigs as much as you do. You must believe me.”
“And your colleague, Mister Underwood. Surely, he cannot truly believe you are on his side, can he? I mean his willingness to leave only proves how unworthy you both are for one another … Oh, I can only imagine your anguish as you watched him ride off, Fräulein Mohr ... abandoning you here, only to save himself...leaving you behind.”
Barbara’s head hung now. She was not trusted by anyone and it is as this bastard says … she has indeed been abandoned. And then suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of grief and rejection, she lost all control, weeping madly.
“You bastards ... all of you”
“Fräulein Mohr, you suffer needlessly ... lose nothing by telling me who you really work for. Give us something we can use.”
Through the wet strands of hair hanging over face, she glared at him, scarcely containing the fierceness of her rage.
“Go fetch your whip and finish me.” As soon as she said it, she felt her body opened once more as a thick hard cock penetrated her from behind.
“Fuckkkkkkk!” She groaned as hands gripped her hips and a steady fucking commenced.
As fingers slipped around her waist to massage her clit, it took only seconds before she was convulsing again.
Gerhard looked past where she hung, across to the table, where the whip lay. He was considering her words.
“Tempting,” came his calm reply.
“Are you … oh … also … ohhhh fuck … a coward?” she sneered at Gerhard, goading him. “Do it! Whip me for the disgrace I’ve brought upon your great and noble resistance!”
Seeing and hearing Gerhard’s smile deepen to vile, scornful laughter, she writhed angrily in her bondage, and then every limb stiffened, her parched throat gasping as the lash fell again …
The cock, spent now, slid from her body … the next brutal assault would surely break her, perhaps even kill her, but at least she would die remembering the precious brief moments of love she had shared with Henry, whom she knew in her heart had left her only for the good of a much greater cause.
Then without warning, Gerhard swooped violently towards her, wrapping one muscular arm around her neck, the other around her whip-streaked back, and yanked her body forward. Whimpers of fresh pain escaped her lips as deft fingers dug deeper into her perspiring, lash-stripped skin
With a move so blunderingly insensitive he planted his lips upon hers, covering her mouth hungrily with an angry, punishing kiss. She struggled instinctively against the man’s invasive touch, fuming, shocked the turn of events.
Barbara cried out into his mouth, body dangling, arms held high and wide in the chains, until he withdrew his lips, smoothing back a wayward strand of her hair.
She looked him in the eyes and then she saw the expression upon his face, mocking her, and, as if in slow motion, his arm swung back and the whip crashed upwards splitting her cunt and slashing further upwards to strike the crack of her ass.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” She screamed, her body racked beyond what her mind could bear. Her shoulders slumped, her head fell forward, and then ... only blackness...
TBC
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
In one story getting tortured by the SIS, the Gestapo and the communist resistance (on orders of Moscow). What Mohr reason does one want to complain about that situation?
Migoz2
Senator
So, just another typical day in the life of Barbara Mohr........
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I think Barb is entitled now to a good glass of Riesling, don't you think?
Only one???I think Barb is entitled now to a good glass of Riesling, don't you think?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
All right! One bottle of Riesling for Fräulein Mohr, Bitte!Only one???
Migoz2
Senator
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
All right! All right! Bring in a crate of Riesling for Barb! But ONLY ONE!
Trusting Barb is Controversial!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 20
British Embassy, Bredgade 26, Copenhagen, early Saturday morning, 4th October 1939.
Henry Underwood rose from his seat in the anteroom where he had been told to wait after presenting himself at the British legation offices. The thin-faced, unsmiling embassy official who lad left him there to cool his heels for more than an hour, had finally returned.
“Kindly follow me, Underwood. We have London on the telephone line, and there’s a certain Major Laurence Grand there who wishes to speak to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Handed a telephone receiver, Henry shooed the embassy official away with a dismissive wave of his hand and said quietly into the instrument, “Underwood here.”
“Henry! About time we heard from you! Made it out through Copenhagen, eh? Well done. I trust you and Mohr were successful in obtaining what you were sent to Hamburg for? Is she with you now? I’d like to congratulate her as well.”
“Yes. I’m in Copenhagen. And yes, I’ve film rolls of the Joachim Mohr papers with me. But sadly, I must report that Barbara Mohr is still in Germany.”
“What? You didn’t bring her out with you?”
“No. Things unfortunately didn’t go entirely as planned. We were caught in the act and only I escaped. Fräulein Mohr was detained and taken to Berlin where she was interrogated and brutally tortured by the Gestapo. I eventually managed, with some outside help, to rescue her from their clutches and can report that she bravely resisted, as trained to do, and gave up nothing. But she was in a bad way, as you can well imagine. I had no choice but to make my way to Copenhagen without her. She’s presently still in Berlin. I left her in the hands of a Red Front cell operating there.”
“Well, bloody shame, but seems we have no choice but to write her off. I’m sending a plane to Copenhagen this afternoon to pick you up, Henry.”
“No, Laurence! I’ve decided I’m going back to bring her out!”
“Permission denied. You’re to come home immediately. Write her off, Underwood! Given that Stalin, as of late, has literally climbed into bed with Hitler, there’s little chance the Red Front will protect her. In fact, they’re probably turning her over to the Gestapo as we speak. Forget her … she’s expendable. … and get on that damn plane! That’s an order!”
Henry looked blankly at the receiver in his hand, which had gone dead. He shrugged, tossed it aside and stormed out, nearly knocking the hovering embassy official over as he passed him by.
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday afternoon, 4th October, 1939
Barbara winced as she tried to shift herself to a more comfortable position. She was lying on the bare floor of the back bedroom of Emma’s tenement apartment … gagged, hooded and trussed up with her wrists tightly bound behind her back to her ankles.
She had found herself able to identify, through the sound of their voices, four of the people seated at the table. Emma’s was unmistakable, feminine but raspy, presumably from a lifetime of chain smoking. Johan and Paul were also there. Johan spoke calmly and deliberately, while Paul was more excitable and could sound rather whiny. The fourth voice belonged to Gerhard, the Red Front cell leader who had earlier interrogated, whipped and raped her in the tenement cellar.
The conversation was about determining what should be done with her. Emma was pleading her case, arguing that Barbara was more or less one of them, and deserving therefore of their continued protection.
Johan agreed, but Paul was quick to insinuate that all Emma really wanted was to keep Barbara around as her personal sex toy. They, as a group, seemed to come to an impasse as Gerhard expressed his distrust of her, stating that he happened to have known Rudy Weiss, and still suspected that Barbara had somehow conspired in the young Hamburg red cell leader demise.
But it was a fifth voice that sent a chill down her spine. Its owner spoke German, but with a heavy Russian accent. The others referred to him as Comrade Dimitri. He was apparently newly arrived in Berlin and acting as some kind of Commissar under direct orders from Moscow. And he took control of the conversation, making it known to the others in no uncertain terms that Barbara was to be liquidated as soon as possible.
Johan finally said, with a note of resignation in his voice, that if that was the final decision arrangements would be made for the Blitz van to return on Sunday, and that Fräulein Mohr would be driven out to a secluded wooded tract near the Wannsee. There they would interrogate her under torture one more time. And if nothing useful came of it, they’d put a bullet in her head and dispose of the body.
Københavns Hovedbanegård, late Friday evening, 4th October 1939.
Looking neither right nor left, with hat pulled low to cover his face, Henry passed under the heavy wooden arches of Copenhagen’s national romantic style Hovedbanegård. Striding quickly down the platform, he boarded the overnight train to Berlin.
Earlier that afternoon he’d exchanged the last of his German marks to purchase a suit and hat, a small travel bag, and a train ticket. Thus outfitted, he hoped to pass back into Germany as a businessman returning home to Berlin. His papers were still the false ones with which he had originally entered Germany, and the hope was that the German border officials would not be on the lookout for a Hans Unterholz traveling into, rather than out of, the Reich.
Once on board, he settled himself into a compartment occupied by a Danish couple, who sat close to one another, holding hands.
Young lovers, he thought to himself. More interested in one another than in him. Perfect.
The train pulled out on schedule and the sun was setting by the time it rolled west across the large Danish Island known as Fyn. Crossing over to Jutland they headed south for the border crossing at Padborg. Once on German soil, a number of border officials boarded the train to begin working their way through the carriages demanding papers.
When they reached his compartment, he handed his over, hoping for the best. And his papers were returned to him after only a cursory glance.
The border officials appeared to be more interested in ogling the pretty Danish girl seated opposite while her boyfriend rummaged frantically through his pockets in search of their papers.
She gave the nearest official a coquettish smile, made a show of crossing her legs, baring a generous expanse of thigh in the process before smoothing her skirt down over her knees.
The official smiled back, waved the boyfriend off without bothering to check the couple’s proffered papers, and moved on with his companion to the next compartment.
“Works every time,” she said to Henry with a wink.
He grinned at her, and raised his eyebrows knowingly. After which he slumped in his seat, pulled the hat down to cover his head and feigned his intent to drift off to sleep.
After a while the boyfriend got up to dim the compartment’s lighting. And as the train rolled on into the night, Henry … fully awake and alert … listened to the girl’s giggles, the rustling of her skirt, and mutual fumbling followed by a lot of very heavy breathing, the murmuring of sweet nothings, and eventually a long but muted climactic gasp.
That gasp reminded Henry of what his Barbara sounded like when in the throes of her glorious orgasms. The thought went straight to his heart. Somehow, he had to get Barbara back! He didn’t quite know how, but he was determined to find a way.
TBC
British Embassy, Bredgade 26, Copenhagen, early Saturday morning, 4th October 1939.
Henry Underwood rose from his seat in the anteroom where he had been told to wait after presenting himself at the British legation offices. The thin-faced, unsmiling embassy official who lad left him there to cool his heels for more than an hour, had finally returned.
“Kindly follow me, Underwood. We have London on the telephone line, and there’s a certain Major Laurence Grand there who wishes to speak to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Handed a telephone receiver, Henry shooed the embassy official away with a dismissive wave of his hand and said quietly into the instrument, “Underwood here.”
“Henry! About time we heard from you! Made it out through Copenhagen, eh? Well done. I trust you and Mohr were successful in obtaining what you were sent to Hamburg for? Is she with you now? I’d like to congratulate her as well.”
“Yes. I’m in Copenhagen. And yes, I’ve film rolls of the Joachim Mohr papers with me. But sadly, I must report that Barbara Mohr is still in Germany.”
“What? You didn’t bring her out with you?”
“No. Things unfortunately didn’t go entirely as planned. We were caught in the act and only I escaped. Fräulein Mohr was detained and taken to Berlin where she was interrogated and brutally tortured by the Gestapo. I eventually managed, with some outside help, to rescue her from their clutches and can report that she bravely resisted, as trained to do, and gave up nothing. But she was in a bad way, as you can well imagine. I had no choice but to make my way to Copenhagen without her. She’s presently still in Berlin. I left her in the hands of a Red Front cell operating there.”
“Well, bloody shame, but seems we have no choice but to write her off. I’m sending a plane to Copenhagen this afternoon to pick you up, Henry.”
“No, Laurence! I’ve decided I’m going back to bring her out!”
“Permission denied. You’re to come home immediately. Write her off, Underwood! Given that Stalin, as of late, has literally climbed into bed with Hitler, there’s little chance the Red Front will protect her. In fact, they’re probably turning her over to the Gestapo as we speak. Forget her … she’s expendable. … and get on that damn plane! That’s an order!”
Henry looked blankly at the receiver in his hand, which had gone dead. He shrugged, tossed it aside and stormed out, nearly knocking the hovering embassy official over as he passed him by.
31 Kameruner-Strasse, Wedding, Berlin. Friday afternoon, 4th October, 1939
Barbara winced as she tried to shift herself to a more comfortable position. She was lying on the bare floor of the back bedroom of Emma’s tenement apartment … gagged, hooded and trussed up with her wrists tightly bound behind her back to her ankles.
She had found herself able to identify, through the sound of their voices, four of the people seated at the table. Emma’s was unmistakable, feminine but raspy, presumably from a lifetime of chain smoking. Johan and Paul were also there. Johan spoke calmly and deliberately, while Paul was more excitable and could sound rather whiny. The fourth voice belonged to Gerhard, the Red Front cell leader who had earlier interrogated, whipped and raped her in the tenement cellar.
The conversation was about determining what should be done with her. Emma was pleading her case, arguing that Barbara was more or less one of them, and deserving therefore of their continued protection.
Johan agreed, but Paul was quick to insinuate that all Emma really wanted was to keep Barbara around as her personal sex toy. They, as a group, seemed to come to an impasse as Gerhard expressed his distrust of her, stating that he happened to have known Rudy Weiss, and still suspected that Barbara had somehow conspired in the young Hamburg red cell leader demise.
But it was a fifth voice that sent a chill down her spine. Its owner spoke German, but with a heavy Russian accent. The others referred to him as Comrade Dimitri. He was apparently newly arrived in Berlin and acting as some kind of Commissar under direct orders from Moscow. And he took control of the conversation, making it known to the others in no uncertain terms that Barbara was to be liquidated as soon as possible.
Johan finally said, with a note of resignation in his voice, that if that was the final decision arrangements would be made for the Blitz van to return on Sunday, and that Fräulein Mohr would be driven out to a secluded wooded tract near the Wannsee. There they would interrogate her under torture one more time. And if nothing useful came of it, they’d put a bullet in her head and dispose of the body.
Københavns Hovedbanegård, late Friday evening, 4th October 1939.
Looking neither right nor left, with hat pulled low to cover his face, Henry passed under the heavy wooden arches of Copenhagen’s national romantic style Hovedbanegård. Striding quickly down the platform, he boarded the overnight train to Berlin.
Earlier that afternoon he’d exchanged the last of his German marks to purchase a suit and hat, a small travel bag, and a train ticket. Thus outfitted, he hoped to pass back into Germany as a businessman returning home to Berlin. His papers were still the false ones with which he had originally entered Germany, and the hope was that the German border officials would not be on the lookout for a Hans Unterholz traveling into, rather than out of, the Reich.
Once on board, he settled himself into a compartment occupied by a Danish couple, who sat close to one another, holding hands.
Young lovers, he thought to himself. More interested in one another than in him. Perfect.
The train pulled out on schedule and the sun was setting by the time it rolled west across the large Danish Island known as Fyn. Crossing over to Jutland they headed south for the border crossing at Padborg. Once on German soil, a number of border officials boarded the train to begin working their way through the carriages demanding papers.
When they reached his compartment, he handed his over, hoping for the best. And his papers were returned to him after only a cursory glance.
The border officials appeared to be more interested in ogling the pretty Danish girl seated opposite while her boyfriend rummaged frantically through his pockets in search of their papers.
She gave the nearest official a coquettish smile, made a show of crossing her legs, baring a generous expanse of thigh in the process before smoothing her skirt down over her knees.
The official smiled back, waved the boyfriend off without bothering to check the couple’s proffered papers, and moved on with his companion to the next compartment.
“Works every time,” she said to Henry with a wink.
He grinned at her, and raised his eyebrows knowingly. After which he slumped in his seat, pulled the hat down to cover his head and feigned his intent to drift off to sleep.
After a while the boyfriend got up to dim the compartment’s lighting. And as the train rolled on into the night, Henry … fully awake and alert … listened to the girl’s giggles, the rustling of her skirt, and mutual fumbling followed by a lot of very heavy breathing, the murmuring of sweet nothings, and eventually a long but muted climactic gasp.
That gasp reminded Henry of what his Barbara sounded like when in the throes of her glorious orgasms. The thought went straight to his heart. Somehow, he had to get Barbara back! He didn’t quite know how, but he was determined to find a way.
TBC
Threatening Barb, Comrades?