Prince of Spies

by Prince of Spies (retail) (epub)

  ‘Perhaps if I summarise Agent Laertes’ meeting with Horatio? Agent Horatio is a sales representative for a Danish engineering company. He—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Gilbey – a sales rep!’

  ‘He’s hardly a door-to-door salesman selling vacuum cleaners or encyclopaedias, Lord Swalcliffe. The company he represents manufactures specialist components for the engineering industry. Weston’s original understanding was that they make ball bearings, but according to Agent Laertes, they are far more sophisticated than that. They specialise in manufacturing small parts for engines and are particularly skilled at fabricating components that can withstand very high temperatures. Agent Horatio was on a business trip to Berlin in the first week of August to discuss an order for parts for a factory making tanks. One night his contact took him out for dinner, where they were unexpectedly joined by another guest, who turned out to be an Oberst in the Luftwaffe. You’ll correct me if I’m wrong, Frank, but as I understand it, an Oberst is more or less equivalent to a group captain in the RAF?’

  ‘That’s right, Tom: he’d be somewhat junior to me but would outrank Tim here.’ The air vice marshal chuckled as he patted the arm of the officer next to him. Gilbey was relieved: the tension in the room appeared to have dropped by as much as one degree.

  ‘The Oberst was introduced to Horatio as Kurt. I imagine that’s not his real name, but he—’

  ‘Hang on, Gilbey, hang on – you imagine Kurt is not his real name but somehow you’re sure he’s an Oberst? For heaven’s sake: you’ve seriously been wasting Winston’s valuable time with all these fanciful stories?’ Lord Swalcliffe slammed his pencil onto the table, causing the lead to snap.

  ‘Edward, perhaps if we let Tom finish his account, then we can draw some conclusions. Wouldn’t that be a more… scientific approach?’

  Swalcliffe didn’t reply, and Gilbey continued. ‘According to Kurt, the Germans are actually developing two long-range rockets, both designed to be fired at targets in England from the Continent. These rocket programmes are called V-1 and V-2. The V apparently stands for Vergeltungswaffen, which translates as “vengeance”. Frank, you’ll forgive me if I show technical ignorance here, but the two programmes differ from each other quite substantially. I know you’ve read the report and perhaps you’d be able to explain the essential differences? But before you do, I want to mention a distinction between the two that we’d not appreciated: while the V-1 is being developed by the Luftwaffe, the V-2 is being developed by the army. This has led to intense rivalry, which in turn is causing problems with the production of the rockets. We should seek to exploit that rivalry. Over to you, Frank.’

  ‘Thanks, Tom. Wing Commander Carter here is our expert on the German rocket programme, so I’ll ask him to explain the technical details. But I want to emphasise the importance of realising that the two programmes are not version one and version two of the same weapon. The intelligence you’ve given us that they are being developed separately by the Luftwaffe and the army is most interesting – if true, of course. They also differ in terms of the technologies they use. I’ll ask Tim to explain this and I should acknowledge we’ve been able to update our intelligence on these programmes thanks to the report you’ve put together. Tim?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. As you say, we’re talking here about two very distinct programmes. In layman’s terms, the V-1 is essentially a pilotless aircraft with a maximum speed of around four hundred and fifty miles per hour and carries a one-ton warhead. It has a range of just over two hundred miles, so to target London and the south coast ports, it would be fired from somewhere in – say – northern France and the trajectory and other settings would, the Germans hope, ensure it hits its target area, most likely London or the south coast ports. According to your report, the V-1 carries a one-ton warhead.

  ‘The V-2, on the other hand, is a very different beast. It’s a rocket rather than a pilotless aircraft. One of our boffins has come up with a term to describe it: a guided missile. It’s launched high into the sky, possibly as high as seventy miles. Its engine is then cut at a crucial moment by means of a radio signal from the ground and this causes the rocket to fall onto its target. Like the V-1 it carries a one-ton warhead, and it has a similar range, around two hundred and twenty miles, but it travels a great deal faster – possibly around three and a half thousand miles per hour. Mr Gilbey’s report was able to furnish us with considerably more detail than we’d had up to now.’

  Lord Swalcliffe was coughing vigorously, clearly impatient to make his case.

  ‘One moment, Edward,’ said Pearson. ‘I have one question: if we are to believe what we’re being told, what are the implications for Britain?’

  ‘Potentially devastating,’ said Hamilton. ‘While we’d stand a reasonable chance of intercepting a V-1 rocket, I doubt we’d get much of a shot at a V-2, not going at that speed. Our Spitfires are being updated all the time, but their top speed is currently not much more than four hundred miles an hour.’

  ‘Which is a flaw, isn’t it?’ Lord Swalcliffe spoke with the air of a barrister at last allowed to begin his cross-examination. ‘Why bother with the so-called V-1? If this V-2 rocket is so bloody good, they ought to be putting all their resources into that, surely? All this rivalry nonsense we’re expected to buy…’

  ‘The V-1s would be much easier and certainly cheaper to produce,’ Hamilton replied. ‘They’ll be able to fire far more of them at us.’

  The young wing commander chipped in. ‘And also, who knows how the technology would work out? The rockets are still being developed, after all. This is an area we really need to know far more about. The report says the Oberst implied that both weapons are proving problematic in their development stage. This is something we’d really like to have far more detail on.’

  ‘Well the technology is at the heart of my very considerable reservations about all of this nonsense.’ Lord Swalcliffe waved a hand dismissively at the folder in front of him. ‘I simply cannot see how they are going to launch a one-ton warhead, let alone keep it in the sky. The missiles – both of them – simply aren’t big enough, and even if they were, the correct fuel systems for them don’t exist. They’d need solid fuels to carry those warheads and the rockets would have to be many times bigger than what we’re being told they are. And the idea that liquid fuels could be used… well I simply don’t accept it. And then there’s the question of where the damn things are being developed. If they actually existed, it would need a massive site, and we’d easily be able to identify it. My view,’ he was standing up now, as if making his closing speech, ‘and I’ve told Winston as much, is that this is all a hoax, and not a terribly sophisticated one at that. It’s designed to get us all excited, to devote an enormous range of resources to combating these so-called V-1 and V-2 rockets and in doing so take our eye off the ball. We’ll be so distracted by peering into the sky for rockets that are never going to appear that we’ll miss some other trick the Germans are preparing for us. This is both fanciful and madness.’

  ‘Surely not so fanciful?’ Pearson shifted in his chair. ‘After all, we know the Americans are currently developing a bomb that would be considerably more lethal than—’

  ‘That subject is most certainly NOT for this room, Pearson!’ Lord Swalcliffe looked furious, banging the table. ‘It has the highest possible classification and is not for discussion here. In any case, it is an altogether different system, as I know personally. I would ask that no reference is made to this in anyone’s notes.’

  ‘There is one concern I have,’ said Hamilton, ‘and I do think it needs to be addressed if what the Oberst says is to have any credibility. We need to establish what his motives are. Why would he come out with all this highly sensitive information at a dinner, passing it on to a Danish businessman? My wing commander here is right, of course, that we need further technical information, but we also need to be satisfied as to why this Kurt is passing on secrets to a stranger. Until we can be sure of that, a question mark hangs
over whatever else he’s told us.’

  * * *

  The discussion continued for another half an hour. Just as Sir Roland Pearson was about to bring the meeting to some kind of conclusion, a hitherto unheard voice emerged from one end of the table. It was Long from the Ministry.

  ‘My minister is of the view that we have to be prepared. He has told the Prime Minister as much, and as you know, they spent the weekend together. He feels one can allow one’s scepticism to get in the way of the need to be vigilant.’

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Pearson, ‘that we need to find out more. Maybe get some answers to various questions that have emerged here this morning. Don’t you agree, Tom?’

  ‘According to what he told Agent Laertes, Horatio is due to return to Berlin on another business trip next week, the first week in December.’

  ‘How long is he going for?’

  ‘Around four or five days, I gather.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Pearson, ‘say we send him over there with some company?’

  ‘And who did you have in mind, Roly?’

  ‘Agent Laertes would seem to be ideally placed, wouldn’t you agree? Nothing like getting intelligence straight from the horse’s mouth. Send him over with a clear brief: to check out the Oberst, get as much technical detail as possible and—’

  ‘And see if we can find out where these bloody rockets are allegedly being developed. If we can find that out and go and have a look at the place to verify it, even I might be persuaded. And if I’m persuaded, Winston will be too.’

  ‘Of course, Edward. I was just about to add that requirement. I suggest we reconvene once Agent Laertes returns to Copenhagen?’

  A nodding of heads around the table,

  ‘Assuming the poor bugger gets back, of course,’ said the air vice marshal.

  * * *

  They walked in line through the narrow corridors and up the steep staircases to the ground floor of 10 Downing Street. The two RAF men left, as did Long from the Ministry. Tom Gilbey was about to follow them when Lord Swalcliffe grabbed him by the elbow, causing him to stop.

  ‘Well done, Gilbey, one nil to you. But we haven’t even got to half-time yet.’

  Gilbey bowed his head in what was meant to come across as a magnanimous gesture.

  ‘One thing, though. This Agent Osric in Copenhagen, the one you describe as being well placed?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘She’s a woman, isn’t she?’

  ‘How the hell…?’

  ‘Pronouns, Gilbey, pronouns. You studiously avoided using male or female pronouns when talking about Agent Osric. You did it again just now.’

  With that, Swalcliffe disappeared through the door, the rain now little more than a drizzle.

  Gilbey stood there with a bemused look on his face – a chess player defeated by an ingenious move he never saw coming.

  ‘Those damn foreign types who become fluent in English, eh, Roly? They develop a precision in our language that can put them at an advantage over us native speakers. That French geography teacher at school, the one who broke Mogg’s nose in the staff versus pupils rugby match… what was his name?’

  ‘Leclerc?’

  ‘That’s it, Leclerc: always on about our use of the subjunctive.’

  Pearson patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t take it so personally, Tom. I told you he was clever, didn’t I?’

  Chapter 10

  Copenhagen, November–December 1942

  My dearest Gerda,

  The family and I were delighted to receive your letter, and we were especially thrilled to read Uncle Kristian’s news – it seems almost too good to be true! We’re so pleased Viggo finally managed to see him. It’s good to hear Uncle Kristian is visiting his cousin in Jutland again. I think Viggo should accompany him on that trip. It will do him the world of good to get into the countryside and I’m sure he has plenty of questions for his cousin! Maybe you’ll write again as soon as he and Uncle Kristian return from Jutland.

  The garden is looking terrible at the moment. I find so little time for it these days, and in any case those fat black cats from next door are under the impression it belongs to them! Next week I hope to start painting the hall, although I have yet to decide on the colour.

  With my fondest love,

  Father

  ‘And that means I have to go with him to Berlin? Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m absolutely sure, Peter. I keep telling you: Uncle Kristian is Agent Horatio, you are Viggo, Jutland means Berlin and the cousin will be Horatio’s contact there, the Luftwaffe officer. “It seems almost too good to be true” will be London’s way of saying they want the intelligence Horatio brought back from Berlin corroborated. It doesn’t mean they don’t believe it, but they want to know more, which is understandable.’

  Prince paced up and down, finding it hard to disguise his nervousness. He’d assumed his role would be confined to being Horatio’s contact in Copenhagen, which was dangerous enough. It hadn’t occurred to him he’d have to go to Berlin. He felt hot and sweaty and his mood wasn’t helped by Hanne looking tense and edgy herself.

  ‘And what’s all this about the garden and cats and painting the hall – what on earth does all that mean? Am I supposed to try and arrange tea with Hitler?’

  ‘It means nothing. The last paragraph of London’s communications are meant to be trivial domestic news; the idea is for the letters to appear as mundane as possible in the unlikely event someone comes across them. I’ll reply and confirm you’re going and I expect London will then send a briefing for you – what to ask Kurt, for example.’

  * * *

  Prince was struck by just how calm Agent Horatio was. He’d watched him come home from work, standing on the other side of the Nyhavn as the tall Dane strolled along the canalside and entered his apartment block at around a quarter to six.

  Prince waited five minutes and then walked slowly along the canal, crossed it on the Nyhavnsbroen and walked back in the direction of Agent Horatio’s building. This time he couldn’t enter through the rear because he wasn’t expected, but going through the front entrance would be risky. He waited near the entrance, leaning on the railings as he slowly lit a cigarette. The longer he waited, the more exposed he’d be, and for some reason the area seemed to be especially busy with German troops, most just strolling along. After five minutes he spotted his opportunity. An elderly lady with shopping bags in each hand approached the building and paused at the door, putting the bags down and removing a bunch of keys from her pocket.

  Prince walked up to her. ‘Let me help you.’

  ‘You’re so kind. I just need to find the right key. Please don’t go out of your way.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I’m taking this parcel to a friend.’

  Upstairs, Otto Knudsen opened the door and beckoned him in as if he was expected. The Dane had peered over his shoulder to check no one was behind him on the small landing.

  ‘Is everything all right, Peter?’

  ‘It is – there’s no need to worry. Everything is fine.’

  ‘So have you popped in for a chat?’ Agent Horatio smiled. He’d led Prince into the smartly furnished lounge, and each man was sitting in one of a pair of very modern-looking armchairs. Prince had never seen anything like them in England. ‘Coffee maybe – or perhaps a beer? I can offer you an aquavit, but you’ll excuse me if I don’t join you. I can’t stand the stuff!’

  ‘There’s no time for a drink. We need to talk. London received the information you gave me about your Berlin trip and what Kurt told you. They were very grateful and have asked me to pass on their thanks.’

  ‘But? Surely they wouldn’t risk sending you here just to say thank you?’

  ‘They feel they need to know more. There are questions they have for Kurt.’

  ‘Give me the questions and I can ask him if I see him next week. I’ll need to wait until I’m there and then ask my contact to arrange a—’

  ‘They
want me to go with you.’

  ‘Really… to Berlin? Is that such a good idea? I need to have a think.’

  Horatio walked around his lounge, pausing by the bookcase to put a couple of books back in line. Then he went over to his desk and removed a diary from his briefcase before sitting down.

  ‘I was planning to fly out next Tuesday night – the first of December. I was only intending to stay until Thursday. I try to minimise my time in the Reich. It’s not exactly pleasant, you know.’

  ‘Will two nights be enough?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Peter. My contact would probably need longer than that to arrange the meeting with Kurt – I wouldn’t want to risk asking him before I see him in person.’

  ‘Of course not. Can you bring the trip forward?’

  ‘Probably not. The Monday flight is always fully booked. But we could take the ten o’clock flight on the Tuesday morning and come back on the Thursday evening. That gives us two nights and the best part of three days. Hopefully it will be enough time to get to see Kurt. And we need to think about you. You’ll need a visa and accreditation too, as well as tickets for the flights, and then there’s the hotel…’

  Otto ran his hand through his hair; he was as close to being stressed as Prince had seen him. But he didn’t look so much worried as someone enjoying the challenge of seeking a solution to a problem.

  ‘Tomorrow’s what… Wednesday. First of all, let me see if I can change my flight and see what we can do about you. Here, let me have a look at your legitimationskort.’

  * * *

  They’d arranged to meet at lunchtime on Thursday at a café close to where Agent Horatio worked.