Finally, Anna read minds and Macurdy auras, and Anna would carry a 6.35mm Beretta pistol.
Meanwhile MI5 just might have a tap on her aunt's phone. Anna should keep the possibility in mind when she called. All in all it didn't look too sticky.
The next morning before daylight, a sergeant drove the two to a village in Essex, where shortly after dawn, Anna dialed her aunt on a public phone. After several rings, a voice answered: "This is Agnes Henderson."
"Aunt Agnes, I realize this is terribly early, and I hope it isn't too great a shock, but I'm your niece, Anna."
"Anna Really! What a nice surprise to hear from you! How is your dear mother?"
"I'm afraid I haven't seen her for months. I've been away on confidential business, to do with the war effort actually, and been hard to reach. The reason I'm calling is that I'm stranded here in Essex, in East Dunsford, and desperately need transportation to London. For myself and my husband It's quite urgent, I'm afraid. We have important business to transact there for our employer, and I do hope you can help me. "
"I see. Well." Anna could imagine the wheels turning in her Aunt's mind, and wished she could tune in telepathically at distances like that. "Let's see. It is now-6:12. Where can you be picked up?"
"I'm in the lobby of the Dunsford Inn. It's in the center of the village, easily found."
"I won't be able to pick you up myself, my dear, but someone will be along later today. I'm not sure when. How are they to recognize yon? I haven't seen you for years, you know."
"I'm still small, which doesn't surprise you, I'm sure. My husband is large he looks rather like a docker, actually-and limps from a war wound. Both of us are unkempt just now-almost as if we'd spent the night walking about the heath-but we'll take the opportunity to tidy up a bit."
"How may we recognize the person you're sending?"
"I don't know yet who it will be. I need to phone around. But he'll wear-let's see. Something in his cap. A small flag perhaps, or a sprig of something."
She paused. "This call is costing you or your employer money, my dear, so unless there is something else that must be said, I'll hang up."
"No, I think not. It was so nice speaking with you, and so good of you to help. We're registered here as Mr. and Mrs. Monday. And thank you again."
Anna hung up and turned to Macurdy. "And now, Mr. Monday, it is time to register. I hope they have a room with a private bath. I could use one, and then a nap." She lowered her voice. "Can I trust you?"
Macurdy laughed, and answered softly: "Colonel Landgraf trusted me, and you know how that turned out. But yes, you can trust me, and I'll trust you."
Macurdy was still napping when their pickup arrived. Anna had been waiting in the lobby with the Times, and leaving the man there, went up to et her "husband."
She wakened him with a sake. "He's here," she said quietly. "Our ride. He's Irish. He even has a sprig of shamrock in his cap! With his connections that's idiotic during wartime(Let's go before he draws attention."
Macurdy got up and put on his sweater, the only outer garment he had. "And remember not to talk," she reminded him. "It's best if he thinks you speak only German-I'm sure the station chief does-but the innkeeper knows you're a Yank."
He'd do better than simply not talk, he decided. Once out of the inn, he'd reinstate fully his persona of Montag the retarded, Montag the handicapped.
In the lobby, the Irishman hardly glanced at him. His aura reflected a low level of curiosity and a simmering discontent. He'd taken the shamrock from his cap though, as if he'd only worn it for Anna's recognition.
Also, he'd brought along a small bag from Alice, with travel odds and ends for Anna. Seemingly she suspected her niece had arrived by submarine, a reasonable supposition.
Despite his dourness, the Irishman drove wisely, observing the speed limits all the way to London. It was dusk when they got there. Macurdy had wondered if they'd be delivered to Agnes, but instead they were taken to a tenement in a working class neighborhood, where their driver led them up two flights of stairs and knocked at an apartment door.
"Who is it?"
Macurdy couldn't identify the accent.
"It's Wicklow, come to ask after my spectacles."
The door was thin; Macurdy could hear someone moving around inside. Then it opened, and a smallish balding man looked out at them questioningly through thick glasses. The Irishman fished a small-folded paper from his watch pocket and handed it to him. The baldheaded man unfolded it and read, then looked up. "Come in. Come in."
"Not I," the Irishman muttered, "I've things to do," then turning, slouched toward the stairs.
Anna stepped inside, Macurdy following, the bald man closing the door behind them. He looked them up and down without speaking, then led them into the kitchen, and after gesturing them to sit, sat down himself. "What language shall we use?" he asked in English.
"Deutsch," Anna answered in German. "You were no doubt given erroneous names for us. I am Anna Hofstetter, and he is Kurt Montag. He speaks only German."
The man's eyebrows arched. "Only German?" he said. "It is strange to send someone here who speaks only German." He turned to Macurdy. "How did you come here? Under the circumstances."
"We came in an Unterseeboot!" Macurdy's pride and pleasure sounded childish. "All the way from"-he paused as if groping for the place name-"Saint-Nazaire. That is in France."
Their host's eyebrows had jumped again, not at what Montag had said, but at his dialect. "You are Baltic German!"
"Jawohl."
"It is good to hear baltisches Deutsch after so long. Where are you from? East Prussia I think."
Their host proved talkative, soon addressing himself more to Anna than to Montag, because she seemed much the more intelligent. He was an ethnic German from Lithuania, from Memel, where his father had worked in a shipyard, when there was work to be had. Times had been hard. As a child, he himself had gotten involved in the underworld, and later inpolitical issues. "Here," he said, "I pass as a Litvak, a Jew," and chuckled sourly. "I am known as Israel Geltman. At ten I was a runner for a criminal syndicate, and the fences to whom I carried messages were mostly Jews. I got on their good side by learning Yiddish. In Memel there weren't enough Germans, the Yiddish wasn't too different from German anyway."
Then he asked more about Kurt Montag-where he'd grown up, what he'd done. Not primarily out of curiosity; he was examining the two, watching for signs of deceit. Macurdy was considerably protected by his mentally dull persona, and at length Geltman asked, "Fraulein Hoftetter, what is it that Herr Montag does, that he has been sent here?"
"He has certain-abilities, Herr Geltman, which I am not free to talk about, and you are better off not to know. Be content that he is not here to handle cargo on the docks, as he did before he was-discovered."
Geltman looked at Macurdy thoughtfully; he had no idea what she was talking about. "Excuse me, Fraulein. I did not realize…"
"Of course. One would not realize. That is another virtue of Herr Montag's: People look at him and do not realize."
She paused. "I presume you will be notifying someone that we are here?"
He nodded and stood up. "Please excuse me. I must make a phone call." He went into his living room, and they could hear him speaking Yiddish on the phone. When he was done, he came back in. "It will be awhile before someone arrives. When did you last eat?"
"At noon."
"Ah. I suppose I must offer you super." He took boiled potatoes an boiled beef from the ice ox, heated them, and put out unleavened bread and margarine. "I eat and live like a real Jew," he said. "Ironic, is it not? I have even been circumcised! But I do not go to the synagogue. Fortunately, it is enough to be a secular Jew. Otherwise I'd have had to spend years learning all their verdammte rules." He shrugged, then smiled. "Actually it is not a bad life. I make eyeglasses. Not very many; enough to serve as cover."