Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [140]
He thought, What kind of woman is she?
He set the sailors to work—one to tidy the house and unbar the doors and windows, another to replace the blown fuse, a third to make tea.
He sat down in front of the woman and looked at her. She was dressed in ill-fitting, mannish clothes; her hair was wet; her face was dirty. Despite all that, she was remarkably beautiful, with lovely amber eyes in an oval face.
Bloggs smiled at the child and spoke quietly to the woman. “What you’ve done is tremendously important,” he said. “One of these days we’ll explain, but for now I have to ask you two questions. Is that okay?”
Her eyes focused on him and after a moment she nodded.
“Did Faber succeed in contacting the U-boat by radio?”
The woman just looked blank.
Bloggs found a toffee in his trousers pocket. “Can I give the boy a sweet? He looks hungry.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Now, did Faber contact the U-boat?”
“His name was Henry Baker,” she said.
“Oh. Well, did he?”
“No. I short-circuited the electricity.”
“That was very smart,” Bloggs said. “How did you do it?”
She pointed at the empty light socket above them.
“Screwdriver, eh?”
“No. I wasn’t that smart. Fingers.”
He gave her a look of horror, disbelief. The thought of deliberately…he shook himself, trying to put it out of his mind. And thought again, What kind of woman is she?…“Right, well, do you think anyone on the U-boat could have seen him coming down the cliff?”
The effort of concentration showed on her face. “Nobody came out of the hatch, I’m quite sure,” she said. “Could they have seen him through their periscope?”
“No,” he said. “This is good news, very good news. It means they don’t know he’s been…neutralized. Anyway…” He changed the subject hastily. “You’ve been through as much as any man on the front line. More. We’re going to get you and the boy to a hospital on the mainland.”
“Yes,” she said.
Bloggs turned to the senior sailor. “Is there any form of transport around?”
“Yes—a jeep down in that little stand of trees.”
“Good. Will you drive these two over to the jetty and get them onto your boat?”
“Surely.”
Bloggs turned to the woman again. He felt a tremendous surge of affection mixed with admiration for her. She looked frail and helpless now, but he knew she was as brave and strong as she was beautiful. Surprising her—and himself—he took hold of her hand. “When you’ve been in hospital a day or two you’ll begin to feel depressed. But that’s a sign you’re getting better. I won’t be far away and the doctors will tell me. I’ll want to talk to you some more, but not before you feel like it. Okay?”
At last she smiled at him, and he felt the warmth. “You’re very kind,” she said.
She stood up and carried her child out of the house.
“Kind?” Bloggs muttered to himself. “God, what a woman.”
He went upstairs to the radio and tuned it to the Royal Observer Corps frequency.
“Storm Island calling, over.”
“Come in, Storm Island.”
“Patch me through to London.”
“Hold on.” There as a long pause, then a familiar voice. “Godliman.”
“Percy. We caught the…smuggler. He’s dead.”
“Marvelous, marvelous.” There was an undisguised triumph in Godliman’s voice. “Did he manage to contact his partner?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Well done, well done!”
“Don’t congratulate me,” Bloggs said. “By the time I got here it was all over, bar the tidying up.”
“Who…?”
“The woman.”
“Well, I’m damned. What’s she like?”
Bloggs grinned. “She’s a hero, Percy.”
And Godliman, smiling on his end now too, understood.
38
HITLER STOOD AT THE PANORAMIC WINDOW, LOOKING out at the mountains. He wore his dove-grey uniform, and he looked tired and depressed. He had called his physician during the night.
Admiral Puttkamer saluted and said good morning.
Hitler turned and peered closely at his aide-de-camp. Those beady eyes never failed to unnerve Puttkamer. “Was Die Nadel picked up?”
“No.