Around 10.00 hours, the french windows leading onto the terrace opened and an elderly man wearing a woollen cap pulled down over his ears and a shabby overcoat came out. He carried a long handled broom. He began to sweep the terrace clear of snow. Having completed his task, he set out four lounging chairs and carried out a wooden slatted table.
This activity encouraged Cade. He spent a little time focusing his camera on one of the chairs, making sure he would get needle-sharp photographs, then he replaced the lens cap and lit a cigarette.
During the wait between 10.00 hours and 11.00 hours he had a sudden scare. In the silence, he heard men’s voices directly below him talking in German. He stiffened and looked down, but the thickly interwoven branches of the tree made it impossible for him to see what was going on at ground level. It was irritating that he couldn’t see what was happening, but at the same time, reassuring to know that if these men looked up they couldn’t discover him. Finally, he heard the crunch of snow as the two unseen men moved away.
It wasn’t until the sun was directly overhead, and it had become really warm, that there, was any further activity. Suddenly the french windows opened and Anita Strelik came out onto the terrace. Watching her through the telescopic lens, Cade immediately recognised her. She was tall, blonde with an Ekberg bosom, flat Asian features and a lazy, tigerish walk that always excited her fans. She was wearing close fitting scarlet pants, a white sweater and her short blonde curls glittered in the sunshine.
Cade slightly altered the focusing ring of his camera, bringing her face into sharp focus. Through the powerful telephoto lens, he could see dark smudges under her eyes and sharply etched lines of weariness either side of her nose down to her full lips.
He leaned back, resting his hands on his knees and watched her. She sat in one of the lounging chairs, opened her bag and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. As she lit the cigarette, a man came out onto the terrace and joined her. He wore black skiing trousers and a black turtle-neck sweater: a man of middle height, his iron grey hair close cropped, his shoulders square, his bearing upright and military.
Cade peered at the man as he walked over to Anita who raised her hand, smiling at him. The man bent and kissed her fingers and Cade instinctively pressed the cable release. The focal plane shutter snapped across. The first photograph was taken.
He continued to stare at the man. Where had he seen him before? In the course of his work as a photographer, Cade had seen many famous personalities, and with growing excitement, he knew this man was famous, although for the moment he couldn’t place him. He peered through the eye-piece of the camera, shifting the Rokkor lens slightly as the man sat down by Anita’s side, then he stiffened, looked again at the hard, sun-tanned face that filled the focusing screen. His mind flashed back to two years ago when he had visited East Berlin and had taken a series of photographs for the Daily Telegraph’s Week-end Supplement. He remembered waiting for three cold, boring hours for the expected arrival of General Erich Hardenburg, Head of the East German Secret Police, and how, when the General eventually arrived, he had glared at Cade and refused to be photographed.
And here he was: the most dangerous and the most ruthless German since Himmler, whose cold, snake-like eyes seemed to be staring directly into Cade’s as Cade peered through the telephoto lens, a sudden chill crawling up his spine.
Hardenburg! Here with Anita Strelik! This couldn’t make more sensational news than if Garbo at the height of her fame had had a tryst with Himmler himself. So Braddock with his instinct for sensational news had guessed right!
This accounted for the armed men in the grounds of the Château: they would be members of Hardenburg’s Secret Police. Cade, suddenly apprehensive, looked at the patrolling men, aware that this could be his most dangerous assignment. He knew that if he were seen, none of these armed men would hesitate to shoot him. There would be no questions asked. A finger would tighten on a trigger, and that would be that.
He forced his mind back to the terrace. The elderly man who had swept the terrace came out, carrying a loaded tray and a silver coffee pot which he put on the table. He then went away.
Anita and Hardenburg were talking animatedly. Hardenburg got up to pour coffee while Cade continued to take photographs. He was satisfied in the brilliant sunshine he was getting the photographs he wanted.
Then the french windows opened wide and two men came out onto the terrace. One of them, a tall, gaunt-looking man of forty or so, wearing the same ski-ing outfit as Hardenburg was pushing a wheel chair in which a much older, fatter man sat.
Cade immediately recognised the gaunt man as Herman Lieven, Hardenburg’s right-hand man, who, two years ago, had been so rude to Cade when he told him the General was not to be photographed.
But it was the old man who held Cade’s rooted attention. He stared through the long focus lens, not believing his eyes, but knowing that there could not be another man who looked like Boris Duslowski. The fat, coarse face, although aged, still had the same arrogant, sneering character. The completely bald head, the pointed ears, the snarling bitter mouth made this man Duslowski, one time Stalin’s Chief of Police, terror of the Jews who had ranked in world opinion with the same feeling of revulsion and horror as the Beast of Belsen.
Cade’s instinct for headline news and his past training as a news hunter immediately told him he was witnessing a historical event. This meeting of such ruthless men with the astonishing addition of one of the most famous international movie stars was an unique event of world-shaking proportions. Here was an enemy of the present Russian régime consorting with the man who controlled East Berlin and supposedly an ally of the Russian government.
In spite of his excitement and surprise, Cade continued to take photographs.
Hardenburg and Duslowski were now at the table. Lieven had returned to the Château. He came out again carrying a portfolio of papers which he laid on the table.
Anita got up and stood behind Hardenburg, her hand resting familiarly on his shoulder. Hardenburg took papers from the portfolio: one of them was a map. This he spread out on the table. The efficiency of the Rokker lens enabled Cade to see some of the details of the map which was of West Berlin. He suddenly realised he had finished one cartridge of film. He rewound the film and reloaded the camera.
The two men were talking earnestly together. Hardenburg was pointing out features on the map. Cade went on pressing the cable release, knowing his camera was making history, that the pictures he was obtaining were beyond price: far too important and explosive to sell to Whisper. These pictures had to go direct to the Secretary of State. No one should see them until he had seen them. Cade had sufficient political education to realise such pictures could give America a tremendous bargaining power with the Russians.
The men were still talking, still examining the various papers that Hardenburg had taken from the Portfolio when Cade had finished his second cartridge of film. He now had seventy-two explosive pictures, and that was enough. His one thought was to get away, get back to the hotel and get the pictures to the American Consul at Geneva.
He found he was shaking as he wound off the film. He put the second cartridge in his pocket, then took a long drink from the brandy bottle. As he put the cap back, the bottle slipped out of his frozen fingers and dropped through the fir branches into the snow below.
He remained motionless, his heart racing, cold chills crawling up his spine. If one of the guards passed and spotted the bottle!
He switched on the short wave receiver.