BERLIN, 27 SEPTEMBER 1937.

‘Fuck, I’m Cumming!’ Durrant exclaimed huskily.

And so was I!

She was mounted on top of me, her small round tits bouncing above my face, hands clamped on my shoulders, riding me as if she was on the Derby winner. Suddenly the walls of her Vagina tightened around my pulsating cock, she shuddered, uttered a thin scream and we were transfixed in mutual Orgasm as I pumped my load into her. We remained in that blissful condition for some time after John Thomas had quit performing, until she finally came down from her climax, relaxed and slumped forward on top of me.

She gave a contented sigh. ‘Nice,’ she murmured softly in my ear.

‘Agreed,’ I gasped as my heart rate slowed and I felt the sweat cooling on my skin.

It was a muggy afternoon in my room at the Excelsior Hotel in Berlin. We were private investigators who for a month had been chasing Joseph Grindley, a notorious jewel thief, around Europe. He had stolen a unique pearl necklace owned by the Countess of Ecclesall and insured for £200,000. Vayle, Harding & Hobbs, the Loss Adjusters for Empire Assurance, were offering a reward of 10% of the insured value for its recovery. Twenty thousand pounds was a fortune and we meant to get our hands on it.

We had finally tracked Grindley to Berlin but needed his precise location. Until we received this from our contact, we had to pass the time somehow, and with Durrant having a voracious sexual appetite, the solution had been obvious.

‘You can not just lie on top of me,’ I told her eventually. ‘I want a drink.’

‘Post coital boozing?’ Her teeth bit sharply into my earlobe. ‘Disgusting. I’ll have one, too.’

‘There’s only Scotch?’

‘Perfect.’ She rolled over and lay beside me, her long fingers gently fondling JT now quietly resting. ‘Wasting my time here,’ she said after a few minutes. ‘Where’s that drink?’

‘On its way,’ I said and got off the bed.

Durrant was tall, slim, mid-thirties with small breasts and long legs. Her pale face was angular with high cheekbones, a straight nose and a firm, decisive mouth. She had a helmet of coal black hair with a fringe across her forehead, and sharp grey eyes that observed the world cynically through round gold-rimmed spectacles. She was definitely not the prim spinster she appeared to be. As well as being red Hot in bed, she was fluent in French, German and Italian, very useful when gallivanting around the Continent.

As she took her drink, the phone rang.

‘Herr Curtis?’ asked a man in thickly accented English.

‘It is.’

‘Suite four-two-two, Adlon Hotel.’

‘Thanks.’

The line went dead. I checked my wristwatch – 1:40 p.m.

‘Get your knickers on, girl,’ I told her. ‘As Sherlock would say, the game’s afoot.’

*****

The necklace, nicknamed the Mona Lisa, consisted of 61 matched pink pearls. In July, the Countess had instructed Mayer, her London jeweller, to send it to Salomans, a jeweller in Paris, for a potential buyer to view. The sale had fallen through and Salomans had returned it in the typical way, in a sealed box by registered post. When Mayer received the box with the seals still intact and opened it, he had found eleven lumps of sugar wrapped in tissue paper.

The news of the theft had caused a sensation, with an explosion of theories about how it had happened and who was behind it. To me it was obvious; if the seals were unbroken then the switch had occurred before they were applied. This could only have been done by Salomans or a member of his staff. We had pursued this idea in Paris and met with ordinary French outrage at such a suggestion. They were adamant the theft had occurred on the other side of the Channel. Perfidious Albion!

As to the identity of the culprit, three London underworld contacts had each named the same man — Joseph Grindley. They claimed only he had the skill to pull off such a spectacular theft.

Furthermore, another agency pursuing the reward was closing in on him. That morning I had received a telegram from my London office. JUPITER AGENT REDMAN IN BERLIN AFTER GRINDLEY. Jupiter was a sneaky, underhand outfit that had no scruples about how it went about getting results – just like us. I needed to be on my guard.

*****

Twenty minutes later, suited and booted, we headed up the Wilhelmstrasse towards the Adlon. The air was sultry with dark clouds rolling in from the West accompanied by distant rumbles of thunder. Durrant looked matronly in a tan raincoat, brown cloche hat and sensible low-heeled shoes. Her shoulder bag held many useful items including a paste copy of the necklace, lock picks, a bottle of chloral hydrate, needle and thread, Cook’s Continental Railway Timetable and condoms. She liked to be prepared for a host of eventualities.

The rising wind snapped at the red and white Nazi banners with their black swastikas and the green, white and red Italian Tricolore flags hanging on the flagpoles of the Reich Chancellery and other government buildings on the Wilhemstrasse. The carpet muncher was having a cosy get together with his little fat friend from Rome. There were black and brown uniforms everywhere with helmeted SS troops standing guard outside the numerous Ministries. It showed just how seriously Hitler was taking it.

As we were passing the German Foreign Office, our way was suddenly barred by a bulky individual wearing a black leather coat and a low brimmed hat.

‘Papier, bitte!’ he demanded harshly.

‘He wants to see our papers,’ Durrant told me.

‘Who the hell is he?’

She asked him.

He shoved his fat face at her and hissed, ‘Sicherheitspolizei,’ and flashed an identity card.

‘Security Police,’ she said. ‘We’d better give him what he wants.’

We handed over our passports and he studied them suspiciously and then blasted another question at her.

‘Hotel Adlon,’ Durrant replied smoothly. ‘Wir treffen uns mit einem Freund.’ Then to me, ‘We’re meeting a friend.’

He glared at us, trying to decide if he believed us or not. Then he thrust the passports back into her hand, snapped out another mouthful of German and trudged off to discover someone else to terrorise.

‘We can go,’ she said.

‘Christ, I’ll be glad to get out of this fucking country as soon as I can,’ I said with a sigh of relief. Nazi Germany was not a pleasant place to be.

‘Well, there’s something else to worry about now,’ Durrant announced. ‘We are being followed. About fifty yards back on the other side of the road. Blonde girl wearing a light green coat and carrying an umbrella.’

‘Sure about that?’ I queried, resisting the temptation to look.

‘Wouldn’t have said if I wasn’t,’ she said tartly. ‘Picked us up shortly after we left the hotel.’

I immediately wondered of the telegram from London.

‘Has she twigged we’ve spotted her?’

‘Don’t think so.’

We continued on, blondie keeping pace and distance. Rain started to spit in the air as we reached the junction with Unter den Linden and the sound of thunder grew louder from beyond the Brandenburg Gate. Adolf was entertaining Benito in the Olympic Stadium that afternoon, and trying not to think about Jesse Owens. I hoped they got drenched.

‘What now?’ Durrant asked as we reached Berlin’s most luxurious hotel, with the enormous Nazi flags on its roof swirling in the wind.

My watch showed 2:12 p.m. ‘Wait in the lobby and keep an eye out for blondie. I’ll see what I can understand about Grindley.’

She went in and I waited outside, smoking a cigarette. There was no sign of blondie. The rain increased and the lightning flashes drew closer. Flinging my cigarette away, I went past two enormous bronze lanterns fixed to the wall on either side of the entrance, and into a vast lobby with square marble columns and a vaulted ceiling. Durrant sat on a nearby sofa reading a newspaper. The gift of a five-mark note made me a sincere friend of the desk clerk, and he confirmed that Grindley was still in suite 422 on the fourth floor.

‘Blondie came in while you were at the desk,’ Durrant said as we ascended in the lift. ‘Headed towards the restaurant.’

‘Must be hungry.’

‘Or sneaking up the backstairs.’

‘There’s a wondered.’

‘To the right,’ she advised as we stepped out onto the fourth floor. When we came to 422, I spotted further along the corridor an alcove with a table and a couple of easy chairs.

‘You can keep watch from there,’ I said.

‘Yes, master,’ she replied irritably. She’d been quite tetchy with me at times recently.

I knocked on the door of 422 and Grindley opened it. His features were lined and careworn, his shoulders slumped inside the jacket of his dark pinstriped suit. He looked 20 years older than his age of 59. He ran nervous fingers through his iron-grey hair. ‘Who are you? ‘

‘Curtis from Empire Assurance.’ I showed him my identification. ‘Your luck’s run out.’

For a moment shock registered on his face, then he recovered. ‘I suppose it had to happen,’ he muttered. ‘Come in.’

It was a luxurious sitting room. Red velvet curtains framed the window that provided a view of the Brandenburg Gate and there was a rich Persian carpet resting on the parquet floor, as rich Persian carpets are required to do. A sofa and two armchairs were drawn up in front of a marble fireplace with a gilt mirror hanging above the mantelpiece. On the other side of the room, a communicating door, slightly ajar, provided access to the adjoining suite.

He looked at me with tired eyes. ‘Now what?’

‘The necklace, hand it over! Or do I have to take it off you?’

‘No need for any rough stuff,’ he protested. ‘It’s in the bedroom.’

‘Okay, let’s go and get it — and no tricks!’

‘I’m not that stupid,’ he replied.

A large four-poster dominated the sumptuous green and gold room. Flimsy articles of feminine clothing lay over the back of one of the chairs, and a faint aroma of perfume hung in the air. Grindley shifted a couple of suitcases standing in front of an ornate wardrobe, unlatched the door, removed a Gladstone bag and from it produced a chamois leather pouch.

‘It’s in there,’ he said, tossing it onto the green silk bedspread.

I opened it and the Mona Lisa spilled out into my hand. It matched our replica, right down to the large pearl in the centre, which had once belonged to the Portuguese Royal Family. I returned it to the pouch and pocketed it.

Back in the sitting room, Grindley slumped down in a chair. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning to do next, Curtis, but you should listen to what I have to say.’

‘Should I?’

‘I’m getting out,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough. Why don’t we do a deal?’

‘Why?’

‘There’s a hundred thousand pounds tied up in the necklace.’

‘Only a hundred?’ I scoffed. ‘It’s insured for twice that amount.’

‘On the open market.’

The penny dropped. ‘You’ve got a buyer here in Berlin?’

‘I’ve been talking to the best fence in the city. He works for the Immertreu, one of the gangs who control Berlin’s underworld and they have links to senior figures in the Nazi party. He is negotiating with one such person, who is offering a hundred thousand. We’re finalising the deal tonight. He would be very unhappy if I told him I no longer had it.’

‘Your issue not mine.’

‘Is it? If I informed him that you have taken it off me, I’m sure he wouldn’t be too fussy about how he recovered it, bearing in mind the forces at his command.’

‘You mean the Gestapo?’ I asked, a small shiver running up my spine.

‘He is a powerful man.’

Outside there was a crash of thunder and rain hit the window.

He continued, ‘The Loss Adjusters are offering ten percent of the insured value for its recovery, and you’ll get twenty thousand when you return it. So, I’ll pay you thirty thousand if you allow the sale to go ahead. How does that sound to you?’

‘Very tempting,’ I agreed, ‘but it makes me an accessory after the fact.’

‘Who’s to know?’ he replied scornfully. ‘You don’t have to report your failure to anyone, do you? It just between you and me.’

‘Granted, but will you keep your word?’

His face twisted in a crafty grin. ‘Not very trusting, eh? I like that. But you have the necklace. Without you, I’m snookered. I can not afford to cheat you. What’s more, to show my good faith, I’ll take you with me tonight. You can witness the sale. Cannot say fairer than that, can I?’

‘Your buyer might not be happy having a stranger present.’

‘Not a issue,’ Grindley said smoothly. ‘I can assure you.’

‘Okay, what time is this meeting?’

‘Eleven o’clock. I suggest we meet here at ten.’

I didn’t believe a single word. If a bigshot Nazi wanted the necklace, all he had to do was take it and stick Grindley in a concentration camp and no one would know. But what was behind his offer? He was a devious sod and whatever his plans were, I was damn sure they didn’t include handing me thirty grand.

He looked at me keenly, a wry gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘What do you say, Curtis? You’ll never get another offer like this. It’s the chance of a life time for you.’

True, but a worthless one.

‘Agreed, we’ll do it your way,’ I said, playing along.

‘Excellent!’ He flung his arms wide with a enormous smile as though he’d just won the Irish Sweepstakes. ‘You’ll not regret it!’ Then he added, ‘I’m suffering from diabetes, you know. This windfall will allow me to enjoy what time I have left in comfort.’

Bring on the violins and flowers.

‘I’ll see you at ten,’ I told him, walked to the door and then turned. ‘One thing, how did you make the switch? It was done in Paris, right?’

Grindley smirked. ‘It was simple, as all the best plans are. I discovered that one of Salomon’s employees had serious financial problems. I resolved them for him. In return, he replaced the pearls with sugar cubes equal to the declared weight of the necklace to avoid suspicion if it was checked in transit.’

‘Smart.’

‘I wondered so,’ he said smugly. ‘Now, how did you get on to me?’

‘No mystery, somebody squealed. I’ll leave you to work out who it was.’

He gave a tired sigh. ‘You can not trust anyone these days,’ he observed sadly.

‘Way of the world,’ I said and went out.

But I felt apprehensive about what had just occurred. It had been far too easy.

*****

I gave Durrant the details as we headed for the lift.

‘You believe him?’ she asked in amazement.

‘About having a buyer — yes, but not the Nazi bit. That’s a scare tactic. And giving me thirty thousand is bollocks. I just can not fathom what stunt he’s pulling.’

‘Maybe he’s taking you at your word and you’ll turn up with the necklace at ten o’clock.’

‘Then he’s stupid — and stupid he’s not.’ I changed the subject. ‘No sign of blondie?’

Durant shook her head, ‘Maybe I was wrong about her after all.’

As we waited for the lift to arrive, she glanced back along the hallway. ‘Well, fuck me!’ she suddenly exclaimed.

‘I did just over an hour ago,’ I reminded her. ‘Wondered you’d have remembered.’

‘She is going into Grindley’s room.’

‘Who? Blondie?’

‘No, my sainted grandmother.’ She sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder why I bother with you, Curtis. She must be working for him. Now what do we do?’

‘Figure out what they are up to.’

‘How?’

‘Come on,’ I urged her, ‘the communicating door to the neighbouring suite is open. It’s probably hers. Let’s get in there, we might hear something.’

Durrant’s lock picks had us inside Suite 421 within a minute. Quickly we crossed to the door and I heard the woman’s voice raised in anger.

‘You’ve given him the necklace?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘I had to,’ Grindley whined. ‘I was in a tough spot. He threatened me. What could I do? You know I’m a sick man.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ she snapped. ‘You’ve got to get it back. The sale is tonight and I want my half distribute.’

‘I know,’ he said soothingly. ‘And I’ve come up with a plan to recover it. Will you go to his hotel and use your charms on him? Try to get him drunk. I’ll give you a drug to spike his drink that will knock him out for hours. Then grab the necklace and get back here. By the time he comes round, we will have sold it and be well away. Can you do it for me, please?’

Blondie uttered a harsh laugh. ‘For fifty thousand I would do more than slip him a Mickey. Right, I’d better get moving, but first I need a bath and fresh clothes. Where’s this drug you want me to use?’

‘Top drawer of my bedside table. A box marked Veronal.’

I’d heard enough. ‘Let’s go,’ I whispered.

Swiftly we returned to the hall and Durrant quietly locked the door.

‘Christ, how dumb can you get?’ I said as we headed back to the lift. ‘She’s no chance of getting a penny out of Grindley.’

‘Maybe she’s got her own plans,’ Durrant observed. ‘Now what do we do?’

My brain had been racing with just that question and I gave her the answer. ‘You take the real necklace and hide it in the safest place you can discover. I’ll replace it with our copy.’

I handed it to her. She scrutinised it carefully, lightly stroking the pearls with her fingertips, a slight frown on her face.

‘Anything the matter?’ I queried putting our copy into the pouch.

‘No… no,’ she muttered. ‘Just checking everything’s in order.’ She finished her inspection and dropped it into her bag with a small, satisfied smile.

‘We need to leave as soon as we can,’ I said as the lift arrived. ‘Can you discover the first train to get us to a Channel port by tomorrow morning?’

In the lobby, we took seats in a quiet corner and Durrant studied the Cook’s timetable. Then she said, ‘Our best bet is The Nord Express leaving the Schleisischer Bahnhof at nine-o-six tonight. It has a sleeping car to Ostend connecting with the ten o’clock ferry to Dover.’

‘Okay, we’ll go for that. Now I’ve got to try and deal with blondie when she turns up.’

‘Lucky old you,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Get back to the hotel. I’ll wait here and call you when she leaves. She’ll need about an hour to make herself irresistible to you.’

*****

Back in my room, I stowed the pouch in my briefcase on the bureau, beside the bottle of Scotch and glasses. Then I undressed, took a Shower and put on my dressing gown. Blondie looked very tasty. It was shaping up to be an interesting meeting.

The phone rang at 3:30 it was Durrant. ‘Blondie’s just left. You can practically see through her dress and there is not much underneath. She intends to give you a good time.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I bet you are,’ she sniffed.

‘Ring me when you get back,’ I suggested.

‘Will do,’ she said and hung up.

I lay on the bed listening to the rain falling like Noah’s worst nightmare. Shortly before four, there came a soft tap on the door. I opened it and there she stood a picture of wet, demure innocence, with instant appeal to any red-blooded male.

She was slender, with a heart shaped face, creamy complexion, blue eyes and rosebud lips just waiting to be kissed. Her blonde hair, matted by the rain, hung down to her shoulders. She had been cute and smart. The thin blue raincoat over a flimsy white dress that clung to her boyish figure left little to the imagination. She carried an umbrella and a small leather handbag.

‘Hello,’ I said with a smile — because there was plenty to smile about.

‘Mr. Curtis?’ The blue eyes were misty.

‘Yes. How can I help?’

‘I need to talk to you urgently,’ she pleaded. ‘Can you spare me a few minutes?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Heavens, you’re soaked! Come in before you catch your death. You are?’

‘Oh, thank you,’ she gushed. ‘My name’s Carol Redman. You must think I’m very silly.’ She shivered, treating me to a frail smile that almost melted my heart – almost.

I ushered her inside. ‘Not at all. Go into the bathroom and put your wet clothes on the radiator to dry. There’s a bathrobe in there. In the meantime I’ll get you a drink.’

‘You’re so kind. And please call me Carol.’ She shot me a provocative look from her baby-blues, placed her handbag next to my briefcase and headed into the bathroom. I could hear her moving about behind the half-open door.