Artillery of Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

sub-agent Pinetree.”
    They went inside and Garcia scanned the paper. “Definitely not,” he said.
    Templeton had found an armchair to sprawl in. “Personally, I think it’s rather good.” He allowed his eyes to close.
    â€œGood? It’s brilliant. Full marks for style, and I’m sure the
Abwehr
would love the content. What Hitler wants right now is fewer Allied convoys to Russia. Unfortunately, that may well happen.” Templeton opened his eyes. “His U-boats are sinking our ships in the Atlantic like billy-o, whatever billy-o is,” Garcia said. “Sinking them faster than we can build them. At this rate, we shall have to cut the Russian convoys whether we like it or not.”
    â€œAh. That’s different.” Templeton made a supreme effort and stood up. “Sherry? And then I really must go to bed. Which, incidentally, is what Luis and Julie did an hour ago. Ingenious young devil, isn’t he?”
    â€œHe has a knack for stumbling on the truth.”
    â€œHe’s going to hate you for killing it.”
    â€œOh no. He’s going to hate
you
for killing it. Then I’ll catch him on the rebound and he’ll love me. I’m his case officer, Charles; I can’t afford to let him hate me. Whereas you will soon be off to Lisbon. You are emotionally expendable.”
    They went in search of sherry.
    â€œPrune juice,” Templeton said. “Remind me to tell you about prune juice.”
    The MIS report on Eldorado was wrong in one important respect. Wolfgang Adler had not murdered Brigadier Christian by strangulation, as he had told Luis Cabrillo. Adler had been convinced that he had killed the Brigadier. Later, an appropriate obituary notice had appeared in the Berlin newspapers. MIS knew that a Brigadier Wagner had taken over as head of Madrid
Abwehr.
Christian’s death seemed to have been confirmed on all sides, but in fact he was still alive. Adler had chosen the wrong way to kill him.
    As a cause of death on the Russian Front in 1942, strangulation came well down the list. Those who died in action usually got shot or shelled. Those who died from other causes either froze or starved. Hardly anybody got throttled, whether by an enemy or by an angry friend. To do it properly you had to take your gloves off, which nobody wanted to do; and even so, it could be a lengthy business, making you a standing target for any third party with a rifle.
    So, although Wolfgang Adler had witnessed death in many forms during his spell on the Russian Front, he had no experience of strangulation. When he had followed Brigadier Christian, chief of Madrid
Abwehr,
into the lavatories of the Lisbon embassy, smashed a large bottle of disinfectant over his head and (as he thought) strangled him with his tie, he had bungled the job. To begin with, a lot of blood streamed from Christian’s head. It made Adler’s fingers slippery. He tried to pick bits of broken glass off Christian’s neck and shoulders, not wanting to cut himself, but his fingers were too slippery to grip the shards. He began to panic: at any moment someone might come in. He grabbed Christian’s tie and tried to rip it off. That was a mistake: all he did was tighten the knot. And then his fingers were so greasy with blood that he couldn’t unpick the knot. He rolled Christian onto his face, took one end of the tie in each hand, crossed the ends at the back of Christian’s neck and heaved on them and kept on heaving until all the strength had drained out of his arms through his fingers and he let go. Christian lay like a sack of wheat.
    Still nobody had come in. Adler got up, washed his hands, dried them, went back to the basin and, unhurriedly, washed his face. The pool of blood around Christian’s head was congealing. By this time Adler was irrationally confident that nobody would come in. He felt very sure of himself; he had done it. He combed his hair. He left.
    When the