Traitor's Gate Read Online Free Page A

Dressel. ‘And you,’ he said to Conrad.
    ‘But I am a British citizen,’ said Conrad.
    ‘May I see your papers, please?’ The Gestapo officer held out a gloved hand, his face impassive.
    Conrad was aware of people at the neighbouring tables staring at them. The band was playing on resolutely, but aside from the music, the chatter in the club had died down to a murmur.
    Conrad reached into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket and handed the man his passport. There was some­thing im­mensely reassuring about the stiff blue document with its gold coat of arms and its demand on the inside page that His Britannic Majesty requested and required that foreigners keep their hands off his subjects.
    Reassuring for Conrad, but not for Joachim. His cousin was sitting frozen at the table. There was still fear in his eyes, but also determination. Conrad saw his glance flick towards a door at the back of the club, only a few feet away. Despite their fearsome reputation, Conrad was pretty sure that the Gestapo would not risk harming him, a foreigner. But Joachim with his gossip about wayward generals? His best, his only chance of escape was in the next few seconds.
    And it was up to Conrad to give him that chance.
    The gloved fingers flicked through the pages clumsily. ‘You speak German very well.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Conrad, although it was more of an accusa­tion than a compliment. Also he had only said a couple of words.
    Dressel thought for a moment. ‘You come with us.’
    This was his chance. Conrad pulled himself to his feet, knock­­­ing over the chair behind him. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, drawing himself to his full height so that he looked down on the Gestapo officer. ‘I will do no such thing.’
    The man stared at Conrad. ‘You look like a spy. You sound like a spy. You are coming with us.’
    ‘This is outrageous!’ said Conrad. ‘I don’t know what you think Herr Mühlendorf has done, but I can assure you he is a man of the utmost integrity. And as for myself, I am a British citizen! I demand...’ He paused, shaking, switching up a gear from outraged Englishman to furious German. ‘I demand that you contact my embassy at once! At once, do you hear!’ He snatched his passport back from Dressel’s fingers.
    Dressel’s colleague reached out and placed a glove on Conrad’s sleeve. Conrad angrily shook it off. ‘Take your filthy hands off me!’ he shouted, and pushed the Gestapo officer hard in the chest so that he took a step backwards. Dressel grabbed Conrad’s other arm and Conrad shoved him too. Conrad saw out of the corner of his eye a pistol bearing down on his skull. He managed to duck so that it only caught him a glancing blow, but it was enough to send him to his knees.
    He heard a bang, and he and the two Gestapo officers turned to see the back door to the club swing open. Joachim had gone.
    ‘After him!’ snapped Dressel, and the two men rushed for the door, leaving Conrad on his knees in a pool of spilled champagne.
    Smiling, Conrad pulled himself to his feet. He touched his temple, which was wet with blood, but the dizziness in his brain was already clearing. He stumbled for the front entrance, the other patrons staring after him open-mouthed, the waiters making no attempt to stop him. He spilled out into the warm night air and climbed the steps to the street. A green van was parked directly outside the club and he could hear the sound of running feet to his left. Without looking that way he turned right and walked hurriedly down the street.
    He had gone about ten yards when he heard the sound he was dreading: ‘Halt!’
    He kept moving, but then there was a sharp crack and the whine of a bullet as it ricocheted off a lamp-post in front of him. The sound brought back the dusty battlefields of Spain. He stopped, turned and raised his hands.
    Dressel ran up to him, panting and waving a pistol. ‘Now you are coming with me!’
    He was handcuffed, shoved down the street and