by James R Benn
“All part of Harken’s regimen,” Cosgrove said. “They demanded I get out of bed the next day and walk the corridors. I wasn’t in the mood for it, I don’t mind saying, but I wanted to prove him wrong about my being too decrepit for the operation. In a few days I was feeling limber. Up and out, that’s his motto, and, by God, it worked. So much so that I kept up the walking regime to keep myself fit.”
“So, when you heard about Kaz and me getting put in here, you decided to have Dr. Harken in for a second opinion,” I said, thinking about the threads that had pulled Cosgrove back to Saint Albans.
“I did,” Cosgrove said, busying himself with another refill. The liquor had hit me hard, but I still knew there was a missing piece to this puzzle.
“I didn’t know the Foreign Office kept tabs on Saint Albans,” Big Mike said. He shot me a quick glance, and I knew his cop’s instinct was at work. It was like a friendly interrogation, but it was still an interrogation. Cosgrove was obviously keeping something back, and the best way to find out what was to tug gently until he had no choice but to give it up.
“Well, I knew Skory would be brought here, and when I contacted Basil to make arrangements, he mentioned you and Baron Kazimierz. He knew of our work together and thought I’d be concerned,” Cosgrove said. “Which I was.”
“Fast work,” Big Mike said. “Especially since you had no way of knowing Skory would need a hospital. He was shot right before the aircraft picked him up.”
“What are you getting at?” Cosgrove demanded, slamming one hand flat on the desk. That was more like the old Cosgrove. “The RAF Dakota that picked him up was in radio contact the entire time. I knew every detail of his injuries.”
“Listen, Major,” I said, “we appreciate what you’re doing for Kaz. I hope Dr. Harken can help him as much as he helped you, even if shrapnel isn’t Kaz’s problem. But I know you well enough to know there’s some other angle you’re working. Why exactly are you here? Holland isn’t really your main concern, and you could have arranged for Harken’s visit from London. Skory is unconscious. Maybe he’ll be awake tomorrow, who knows? But it all begs the question, what are you doing here now?” I knew I should be grateful; after all, he’d rescued me from the high-voltage treatment. But that didn’t mean I liked wondering what his next move was.
“Come on, Major,” Big Mike said. “You’re a good man. How bad can it be?” Cosgrove didn’t answer for a long minute. I began to think it might be damn bad at that.
“Nearly dying, then being granted life, is a strange experience,” Cosgrove said, rising and walking to the window behind Snow’s desk. He pulled the curtain and stared into the darkness. “I wanted to do something good. To balance things out.”
“What’s out of balance?” I asked, wondering if there were things he’d done in the name of God and country that he was now ashamed of.
“I am aware that the baron’s sister, Angelika, is in Ravensbrück. And I am aware as well of the reason she was picked up,” Cosgrove said.
“Her small hands,” I said.
“Indeed. Otherwise, she might have been left alone. Or killed. No telling with these Nazi swine,” he said, pulling the curtain tightly shut in an angry gesture. “I’m also aware of Diana Seaton’s incarceration there.” With that, he turned to face me.
“Okay,” I said, waiting for the bad news.
“She is an SOE agent in Ravensbrück under a false identity. That is a tremendous advantage to us,” he said.
“To us? What about her?”
“And to her, yes,” Cosgrove said. “The Germans are holding other SOE agents in Ravensbrück, but they were known to them when taken. Miss Seaton, however, is simply a French girl involved with the Resistance as far as the Gestapo knows. Hundreds like her are in that camp.”
“Major, please tell me what this means,” I said, walking to the window and facing him. “What’s going on?
“I have a plan. A plan that may result in Miss Seaton being freed soon. Very soon.” It should have been good news, but the way he said it I knew bad news was not far behind.
“But not Angelika,” Big Mike said.
“No. Not Angelika Kazimierz,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it may well result in her death.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I need some air,” Cosgrove said. He stashed the brandy and strode out of Snow’s office, Big Mike and me trailing him into the night, neither of us able to form a coherent sentence or ask a decent question.
Diana, alive and free. It was too good to be true. But at too terrible a price.
Or was it? So asked the small, selfish voice in my brain.
I never knew Angelika. Kaz had already thought her dead once. What was the difference a second time around?
I immediately felt ashamed.
After that, I realized that if Diana ever found out her freedom was at the cost of Angelika’s life, she’d never recover.
When I first met Diana, she was racked with guilt from her experience at Dunkirk. She’d been with a First Aid Nursing Yeomanry detachment, working the headquarters switchboard for the British Expeditionary Force. Until the rear area was overrun with panzers and everything fell apart. She’d been evacuated on a destroyer crowded with the wounded; the decks were covered in stretcher cases. The ship was hit by Stuka dive-bombers. As it capsized, she watched the men strapped to their stretchers slide into the cold Channel waters.
She survived. And always wondered why. It had nearly crippled her, but she’d come through, like the tough British lady she was. But if this plan came to pass as Cosgrove had laid it out, nothing could ever make it right.
“Wait up, Major,” I said, double-timing to keep up with him. For all his gray hair, he could move at a damn brisk pace. “What’s the plan? And what’s Angelika got to do with it?”
“It’s the bloody V2s,” he shouted, then looked about guiltily, discomfiture flooding his face over the unseemly outburst. “We have to stop them, at all cost.”
“Okay, I’ve heard about the V1 rocket,” I said, glancing at Big Mike. He was more in the know than I was, but he simply raised his eyebrows. Cosgrove was spilling top-grade stuff.
“A child’s toy in comparison,” Cosgrove replied, his arms pumping. “The V2 is a guided missile. A supersonic weapon that is impossible to shoot down and carries a twenty-two-hundred-pound warhead. The first have just hit Paris. There will be more.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, trying to keep up physically and mentally. This sounded like Buck Rogers stuff. “What the hell does this have to do with Diana?”
“It’s the Swedes, Boyle,” Cosgrove said, stopping on a dime and facing me, his eyes narrowed with anger and frustration. “That is the main reason I am here. To make certain you and the baron never speak of Sweden again.”
“How do you even know about that?” I asked, as he resumed his pace.
“I wrote up a report for Harding,” Big Mike said. “Kaz filled me in as soon as he was well enough.”
“It was the mention of the Swedes that caused it to be flagged and brought to my attention,” Cosgrove said. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”
“No. I couldn’t make any sense of it, so I thought the smart move was not to tell anyone here. They already thought I was crazy,” I said. “And I still don’t understand any more than I did when that German officer told me to go to the Swedes about Diana.”
“Keep your voice down, man!” Cosgrove said. “Come, we’ll go to my quarters. I don’t want to chance anyone overhearing you. That would result in an extended stay at Saint Albans. Big Mike, tell Boyle about Skory’s connection to this.” With that, he bent his head and tramped on, stones crunching under his determined steps. He wasn’t ready to explain everything, which I could understand, since the plan probably included trading lives for the greater good or some similar rationalization for betraying people who needed yo
ur help. I wanted Diana safe, but I didn’t want to end this war with innocent blood on my hands. So I listened as Big Mike put a few of the puzzle pieces together.
“The Krauts have a weapons research center on the Baltic coast,” he began. “They’ve been testing a new rocket, this V2. The Polish Underground has been keeping tabs on them and snatching parts from the rockets that crash along the Polish coastline.”
“Stands to reason they would have a few crashes, if they’re working out the kinks,” I said.
“Yeah. The Poles had their scientists study the collected parts. Then about three weeks ago a V2 rocket, mostly intact, landed in a marsh. The Krauts couldn’t find it, but a local farmer had seen it hit. He contacted the Polish Underground, and they got some scientists and professors to take a look at it. They took photographs and disassembled the most important components.”
“Let me guess. One of those scientists was Skory.”
“Right. He was the lead guy. The underground contacted the SOE who devised a plan to get Skory and the V2 parts out. He had the photographs and about a hundred pounds of components. The Brits stripped down a Dakota and loaded it with enough fuel to make the round-trip flight. They picked up Skory, but not before he’d been shot up at a roadblock on his way to the airstrip. The hardware and photos got here safely, and the doctors say he’ll be okay.”
Big Mike clammed up as two men walked toward the three of us, their white coats marking them as doctors even in the darkness. Dr. Hughes and Dr. Fielding, in an animated conversation. They didn’t look up until we were a few yards apart, and I saw the surprise register on Fielding’s face. He probably didn’t like being reminded of the one who got away. Hughes frowned, and I realized it was after curfew for patients. But he didn’t say anything. Maybe word had gotten around that I had influential friends. Or maybe Big Mike looked scary in the dark.
“Like I was saying,” Big Mike picked up when they were out of hearing, “the doctors say Skory will be awake tomorrow and ought to be up and about in a couple of days.”
“And we know Angelika was picked up for the purpose of working on delicate machinery. I can guess what machinery we’re talking about, given Feliks’s involvement with Skory.”
“It’s a guess, but a good guess,” Cosgrove said. “We know Jerry has farmed out production of different components for the V2. We’ve bombed their facility at Peenemünde enough that they can’t make all the parts there. And we know there’s a V2 factory right outside the Ravensbrück camp, run by Siemens and Halske, an electrical firm.”
We took a path off the main walkway, and I saw the dim outline of the guest quarters ahead. It was a long single-story building with a wide front porch and four entrances. This was where I’d visited Cosgrove months ago. Funny how at the time I hadn’t paid much attention to the place. It was just another secret SOE outpost with a lot of security. Now I knew why.
“Blackie,” Cosgrove shouted to a figure on the porch.
“What ho, Charles!” The pungent odor of tobacco floated on the night air as the rosy glow of his pipe lit the face of Colonel Blackford. He sat in a wicker chair, legs crossed, collar undone, and looking thoroughly at ease. High cheekbones sat on an angular face, a shock of black hair trimmed close on the sides accenting the narrowness of his features.
“Very glad to meet you,” Blackford said, after Cosgrove had done the introductions. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Boyle. I must say the first reports were colorful and occasionally dicey. Lately they’ve been rather laudable.” He grinned and saluted me with his pipe.
“Always glad to be on the major’s good side, Colonel,” I said.
“Care for a drink, gentlemen? I have a decent bottle of Scotch inside,” Blackford said, eyeing the three of us.
“Not now, Blackie,” Cosgrove said. “We still have a bit of work to do. Did things go well with your man Densmore?”
“Well enough. I didn’t want to push him too hard. Dr. Robinson just came by to tell me to expect my chap to be released in four days, which is none too soon. I’ll finish my work with him tomorrow and then toddle off. Let me know if you’ll need a ride, Charles,” he said, with another briar-pipe salute.
“Wait, where’s the sentry?” I asked. “Snow was going to have a guard posted.”
“Basil went off to attend to that a few minutes ago,” Blackford said, puffing his pipe back to life. “Told him it was silly, but he insisted. Can’t take chances in a madhouse, eh?”
“I could tell you some electrifying stories, Colonel, but we don’t have time.” I tossed off a salute as Blackford stood and stretched his long arms, returning the salute with a vague, distracted movement and a grunted good night.
The three of us filed into Cosgrove’s room. A couch and two easy chairs faced a fireplace in the small sitting room. We arranged ourselves as Cosgrove looked everywhere but at me.
“Okay, Major,” I said. “Connect the dots for me. How does all this V2 stuff get Diana out and Angelika killed? And what the hell do the Swedes have to do with it?”
“Sweden first,” he said. “But I must caution both of you. What I am going to tell you is highly sensitive information. If word of this got out it would be disastrous for all concerned.”
“Understood,” Big Mike said.
“We’ve learned that some high-ranking Nazis have seen the writing on the wall and are interested in saving their own hides,” Cosgrove said, settling into his chair and the story. “Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, among them. He’s been persuaded by Walter Schellenberg, one of his most trusted deputies, to release some concentration camp prisoners as a sign of goodwill.”
“He can’t believe that will make any difference at this point,” I said, knowing Himmler was responsible for uncountable deaths.
“It will not,” Cosgrove said with a growl. “In his mind, the timing may seem fortuitous. The Swedish government has been after the Germans to release Scandinavian prisoners into their custody. The Danes as well have been demanding the return of four hundred Jews who were rounded up in 1943.”
“But the Germans occupy Denmark,” Big Mike said. “What clout can the Danes have?”
“Even though Denmark is occupied, they’ve been allowed a functioning government, and it has been demanding the release of its citizens. Probably one reason why those Danish Jews are still alive. A bit of a miracle, since most of the four hundred are those who were too old or infirm to take part in the escape to Sweden engineered by the Danish resistance.”
“This is good news, right? That offer is tailor-made for Himmler’s purposes. Has he agreed?” I asked.
“Not yet. But Count Folke Bernadotte, head of the Swedish Red Cross, is working on a proposal. Our contacts in Sweden tell us Himmler is petrified Hitler will find out and keeps getting cold feet. Schellenberg, on the other hand, is all for it and has suggested a trial release of one hundred prisoners.”
“And if Adolf doesn’t tumble to it, then they can go on to bigger and better things,” Big Mike said. “Having proved to Himmler that it can be done secretly.”
“Exactly,” Cosgrove said. “Himmler hopes the Swedes will help him to broker a peace deal. The German officer in Paris who mentioned the Swedes to you must have known of the plan. I take it he was acquainted with Miss Seaton?”
“Yes. We’d had dealings with him before. He was Abwehr. Anti-Nazi, as far as I could tell,” I said. The Abwehr was the German Army’s intelligence service. It had recently been taken over by the SS following the July 20 bomb plot against Hitler. The Abwehr officer in Paris was under suspicion as well and had been happy to tip me off about the Swedes. He’d died before he could tell me what his cryptic comment meant.
“The Abwehr spends as much time spying on the SS as on us, so I’m not surprised,” Cosgrove said. “I was astonished to see reference to the Swedes in your report, especially linked to Miss Seaton’s transport to Ravensbrü
ck. I came as soon as I found out.”
Cosgrove took a deep breath and sat back. This was like pulling teeth.
“You’ve got an in with the Swedes,” I said, thinking it through. Otherwise, why all the hubbub? He had to have a spy in the Swedish government. As I tried to work it out, I was distracted by the scuff of boots on the porch. I looked toward the window.
“Gotta be the guard,” Big Mike said, standing up and pushing aside the curtain. “Can’t see anybody, but he might be walking the perimeter.”
“As you say, Boyle, I do have contact with the Swedes,” Cosgrove said once Big Mike returned to his seat. “Enough so that I’ve arranged for her cover name, Malou something-or-other, to be on the list of one hundred people to be released.”
“You can’t get Angelika’s name on there?” Big Mike asked. Cosgrove hung his head, slowly shaking it, his lips a thin line of reproach.
“No. They were adamant. One name only, in case everything falls apart. If this doesn’t go beyond the trial run, they want to get as many of their own people out as possible,” he said. “Even though Sweden is neutral, there were Swedish citizens residing elsewhere in Europe who were picked up for various offenses, or simply because they were married to the wrong person. They go first. One was the best I could do.” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture.
I stood and paced the small room. Three steps, then I turned around, then three more. I got to the second turnaround and everything fell into place.
“You want Diana back because she’s a trained agent and will keep her eyes and ears open. If there’s anything to learn about the V2 facility at Ravensbrück, she’ll pick it up. The Gestapo doesn’t know she’s SOE. They think she’s a small-fry Resistance fighter, so they won’t worry about cutting her loose. And Angelika will be dead because as soon as Diana is in your hands, you’ll bomb the V2 factory outside the camp.”
