Prince of Spies

by Prince of Spies (retail) (epub)

  ‘Thank you, sir. I hope that when I get home—’

  ‘Don’t underestimate how much these missions can affect you. Life when you return home can be almost as tricky as when you were on the mission. I’m told the difference feels rather… abrupt.’

  Gilbey walked over to where Prince was sitting, pulling up another chair so he could sit opposite him. He leaned over and patted him on the knee.

  ‘Well done, though. I would say that all things considered, that was a successful mission.’

  ‘All things considered? That sounds rather grudging, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.’

  ‘Pluses and minuses, Prince, as my old maths master used to say. We’ve lost Horatio and his contacts in Berlin, and it’s an awful pity about Agent Osric. However, the intelligence you gathered from your trips into Germany was excellent, and you were able to get into Peenemünde, which was more than we could have hoped for.

  ‘The most important aspect of your mission was to provide us with irrefutable evidence that the V-1 and V-2 rocket programmes exist and represent a threat to this country. Amongst other things, the report you brought back from Browning corroborated that too. As you know, there was something of a disagreement in London about how seriously we should take the threat of these rockets. That battle has now been won. We now just have to deal with the bloody things.’

  ‘Was the bombing raid on Peenemünde a success?’

  ‘Tell me what you think, Prince. You were there.’

  ‘I was arrested the following day, sir, so I didn’t get much chance to check out the whole site. My impression was that there was a fair amount of damage, but perhaps it wasn’t as extensive as one would have hoped.’

  ‘Spot on. The RAF intelligence branch have done a good deal of analysis on the post-bombing photo reconnaissance. I don’t know if you’re a boxing man, Prince, but their conclusion is that we landed a couple of heavy blows, and one or two may even have put the opponent down on the canvas and cut him up a bit, but we didn’t manage to knock him out. To extend the pugilistic analogy, it looks like this one is going to go to points. From what they can gather, the RAF boys think that at best we may have set the work at Peenemünde back by two, perhaps three months, which is not to be underestimated: a delay like that could save an awful lot of lives, and who can predict the course of the war?’

  For the first time in months, Prince felt a slight sense of relaxation. The tension that had wrapped itself around him since September seemed to be detaching itself from him. He gazed out of the window onto a perfect English scene: lush green meadows rolling towards a hedge, beyond which a herd of cows grazed, all facing in the same direction. In the distance was a church spire, pointing to a sky in which the clouds were hurrying away to reveal an early summer sun. The breeze carried the faint sound of children playing from somewhere far away.

  ‘I may indeed have been more grudging than I intended to be, Prince, for which I apologise. The problem with this business is you can never take anything for granted. Winston says our biggest enemy is complacency, and he’s right. These days I tend to regard victories as simply a matter of avoiding defeat: one barely has time to catch one’s breath before moving on to the next mission. You did very well in terribly difficult circumstances, which I’m aware probably sounds like a serious underestimation of the danger you were in and the risks you took. You got in and out of Germany twice: I don’t think any other British agent has managed that. You’re good, Prince, very good… you’d certainly be one of the first names on the team sheet for the first eleven. This mission was an undoubted success.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Which is a way of saying we’d like you to carry on with us. You’re a first-class agent: you remember how in Matlock I described you as cum laude? Well, you’ve proved me right. You’re wasted in the police, finding house burglars and the like.’

  ‘I think I’ll need a while to think about it, sir. I had rather assumed I’d be returning to my old job, and most of all I do wish to spend some time with my son.’

  Gilbey moved back to the desk and straightened a file or two, then adjusted the Anglepoise lamp. ‘Hang on a moment, Richard, will you. I’m just going to ask Hendrie to join us.’

  Prince waited for more than a moment. It was a good ten minutes before Gilbey returned to the room, followed by Hendrie – both men hesitating in the doorway, insisting the other enter first.

  As soon as they came in, Prince knew something was up: it was the feeling he’d had when he’d first seen Gilbey, and now it was even more acute. It could have been the tentative nature of their approach, the excessive time they took to sit down and arrange their chairs, the lengthy clearing of throats and other nervous gestures, or quite possibly the fact that neither of them appeared to have looked directly at him since entering the room.

  They sat next to each other, opposite him, and another period of silence followed. Gilbey looked at Hendrie, clearly willing him to speak first, and then Hendrie at Gilbey, obviously thinking likewise. The atmosphere in the room was such that it seemed no extraneous noise and little light was permeating it. The temperature had dropped by a few degrees.

  Prince broke the stalemate. ‘Is something the matter, sir?’

  Hendrie leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together. When he spoke, his Scottish accent was more noticeable than ever before.

  ‘I’m afraid, Richard, there’s no easy way to put this, but we have some terrible news for you.’

  Chapter 25

  England, May–June 1943

  What surprised him afterwards was how calmly he took the news.

  Calm was possibly the wrong word: detached would be more accurate. It was as if he reacted as a police officer rather than as a father: concentrating on the facts, not jumping to hasty conclusions before he’d heard everything, his emotions under control – more or less. Which wasn’t to say, of course, that he hadn’t been utterly stunned. It was indeed truly dreadful news. Maybe his apparent detachment could be explained by shock. It took Gilbey and Hendrie a good quarter of an hour to stumble their way through something that could have been said in less than five minutes.

  …no easy way to put this, but we have some terrible news for you…

  I’m sorry to tell you, Henry is missing…

  From a hospital… adopted, actually…

  must not lose hope…

  …our very best efforts…

  Not leaving a stone unturned…

  They were both visibly relieved when there was a knock at the door and Prince’s Chief Constable entered.

  Perhaps you two should go and have a good old chat… I’m sure we’ll have this sorted in no time.

  * * *

  Where Gilbey and Hendrie had been awkward and embarrassed, the Chief Constable was supportive and sympathetic, almost fatherly in his manner. He took Prince into a room on the ground floor with French windows open to a terrace, framing an enormous rose bush, the gentle breeze sending an early scent of summer into the room.

  ‘What have they told you, Richard?’

  ‘That Henry has disappeared, sir. It was such a garbled account, I’m rather confused. They said you were on your way down and would explain everything to me.’

  ‘Let me tell you what happened, and then I can explain what we’re doing about it. Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?’

  Prince shook his head. The two men had settled in comfortable armchairs opposite each other. Behind the Chief Constable was a large oil painting of a Victorian family standing against a large fireplace that looked just like the one the picture was above.

  ‘You’ll appreciate some of the information I’m about to give you is incomplete: we’ve had to piece together what we can. Some dates, for instance, are guesswork. Our main source is your housekeeper, Janet. We do know that towards the middle of January, your sister-in-law Evelyn went to stay for a few days with a friend in London and took Henry with her. Your housekeeper had taken a week of
f to visit her sick mother in Scotland and we think Evelyn decided to go away at the same time. Does the name Marsden mean anything to you?’

  Prince shook his head.

  ‘Janet recalls Evelyn saying they were going to stay with a friend called Anne Marsden who lived in Lambeth in south London. We have established that your sister-in-law and an Anne Marsden were at secretarial school together. Anne Marsden lived in a road called Upper Marsh in Lambeth, very near Waterloo station, and on the night of Sunday the seventeenth of January, there was a Luftwaffe bombing raid and a number of bombs fell in that area. Quite a few houses on Upper Marsh were hit and four were destroyed, including the Marsdens’.’

  ‘The bodies of Anne Marsden and your sister-in-law were found, but Henry’s body wasn’t. Now I have to make an important point here, Richard: no one would have known that Evelyn and Henry were staying at the Marsdens’ house. More to the point, the rescuers at the scene would not have known a little boy was there so wouldn’t have been specifically looking for him. Furthermore, about an hour after the bombing, an air raid warden found a young boy wandering down Royal Street, which runs off Upper Marsh. The boy was very dazed and was taken by ambulance to St Christopher’s hospital, which is nearby. The boy was concussed and confused and it transpired he’d also broken his wrist. He had no idea what his name was and said very little at all throughout his time at the hospital.

  ‘Now I have to say Mr Gilbey has been terribly helpful: once we became aware of the situation, he was most generous in terms of helping us. Thanks to him, the Metropolitan Police allocated a couple of officers to make enquiries in the hospital. Between us, we’ve talked with everyone who came into contact with this boy. He certainly matches Henry’s description: we obtained recent photographs from your house, and everyone we showed them to agrees that it’s the same boy. We are as certain as we can be that it was Henry who was found in Royal Street that night and taken to St Christopher’s hospital.’

  ‘And he was in the hospital for how long?’

  ‘Two weeks.’

  ‘It took that long to establish who he was?’

  ‘It was a week before Janet returned from Scotland – it was only then that anyone realised that Evelyn and Henry were missing. It took us a further ten days to discover where they’d been staying and what had happened. By the time we made enquiries at St Christopher’s, I’m afraid Henry had been adopted just a few days previously.

  ‘I’m not going to pretend it’s not a dreadful, dreadful predicament, Richard. We’ve worked tirelessly to identify the couple who adopted him, but with no luck so far. We’re giving this top priority, I can assure you. I’ve taken personal charge.’

  ‘I simply do not understand how a couple can walk into a hospital and walk out with someone else’s child – my child!’

  ‘I tell you what, Richard. First thing tomorrow morning, you and I will visit the hospital.’

  * * *

  The matron was defensive and defiant, sitting with her back to the window in a small office overlooking the Thames, the Houses of Parliament neatly framed behind her. Her arms were folded tightly under an ample bosom and her head was tilted high, as if trying to pick up a particular smell.

  ‘Nothing we did was wrong or improper. We followed our procedures.’ Her accent was from somewhere in Ireland.

  ‘What I don’t understand is how this couple who adopted Henry left no trace?’

  ‘I shall explain again how these matters work, Mr Prince. When children are orphaned as a result of hostilities and there are no family or close friends to take them in, they are discharged as patients and sent to a children’s home, unless…’ she paused to underline the importance of that ‘unless’, ‘a suitable family is available to adopt them.’

  The matron inhaled deeply. ‘From time to time we are approached directly by couples looking for a child to adopt. A Thomas and Susan Brown with an address in Croydon in south London had contacted us in January I believe it was. In my opinion they were suitable for adopting a child. In the case of this boy, when he was ready to be discharged I contacted Mr and Mrs Brown. I hope you can accept that however regrettable the situation is, we acted in good faith. If it’s any consolation, we have learned lessons from this.’

  ‘I can assure you it’s no consolation. And this couple,’ said Prince, ‘what were they like?’

  ‘They seemed pleasant enough,’ said the matron. ‘They said they had no children. I’d use the word nondescript to describe them. They seemed to be in their forties.’

  ‘And you have no address?’

  ‘We had the address in Croydon.’

  ‘Which turns out to be a boarding house.’

  The matron smiled weakly. ‘Which of course I wasn’t to know at the time.’

  Not a word was spoken as Richard Prince absorbed what he’d been told. His eyes filled with tears and he struggled to speak.

  ‘Were they nice people?’

  The matron leaned across the table and placed her hand on his, her tone less defensive.

  ‘As I said, sir, they seemed nice enough; perhaps a bit formal, but then you must understand these are not easy situations – visiting a hospital, adopting a child at such short notice. I have no doubt he’ll be very well cared for. I hope you find them soon, and obviously if there’s anything we can do to help…’

  * * *

  ‘It’s been what… a month now, Prince?’

  ‘One month, sir – almost to the day, in fact.’

  They were in Tom Gilbey’s office in Broadway in central London. Gilbey was doing his best to appear sympathetic. ‘And Hendrie tells me there are still no leads?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘He assures me you’ve been most thorough.’

  ‘I have, sir, but there are literally tens of thousands of people with the surname Brown in this country, probably over a hundred thousand. Henry could be anywhere. It’s possible Brown was never their real name and they’ve moved to another part of the country; apparently there’s something of a stigma about adoption and it’s by no means uncommon for people to use different identities so people don’t realise a child is adopted. It’s beginning to feel utterly hopeless, sir. Henry was adopted by these people in early February, which was what… four and a bit months ago? He’s young. He may well have forgotten everything about his past. Would he even recognise me? After all, it’s been over seven months since he last saw me. At that age…’

  Gilbey walked round the room, pausing by Prince to pat him on the shoulder. ‘What I said to you last month – about going on another mission. Something’s cropped up and I know you’d be the ideal person for it…’

  ‘While Henry is still missing? How could I possibly contemplate that?’

  ‘You’re the best man we have at the moment, and this mission requires our best man. I give you my word that I will make finding Henry a priority while you are away – I can pull strings few other people can. I promise you we put top people on this. The process may take time, but I’m sure we’ll find him. You should only be away for a few weeks.’

  ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘Hopefully, yes.’

  Prince got up and paced the room, started to speak, then paused. Gilbey said nothing, letting him make up his mind. But he was hopeful: he could see the signs. It was apparent he wanted to say no but couldn’t bring himself to. When Gilbey had first entered this world, one of his seniors had taken him aside and told him the most important thing he needed to know about espionage was that it was an addiction. His experience since then had convinced him the man was right. All the best spies were addicts. They couldn’t say no.

  Prince continued to pace, then returned to his chair, looking annoyed with himself. ‘Very well then, sir, but I want another month to look for Henry. At least then I can set in train various lines of enquiry and know I’ve done my best.’

  ‘Very well. One month, but after that I’ll need you.’

  ‘There is one other thing, sir: Agent Osric, Han
ne.’

  ‘MI9 say they’re convinced she’s not being held in a conventional prison. They believe she’s most likely being held in one of these places the Germans call concentration camps. George Weston is keeping an eye on things in Copenhagen, in as much as he can from Stockholm. He says no one has heard any more news about Hanne. His instinct is that if she was dead, somehow that information would have worked its way back to Denmark. It’s probably a case of no news being good news.’

  ‘Not if she’s in a concentration camp, sir.’

  A plane flew low overhead and both men looked nervously out of the window. It was warm in Gilbey’s office and he removed his jacket and loosened his tie.

  ‘One month, Richard. In my experience, this kind of search will yield results some way down the line: sow the seeds now and eventually someone will put two and two together and we’ll find Henry. The new mission is vital for the war effort, that’s all I can say. We’ll need a month to prepare you. See you in July – and good luck.’

  Chapter 26

  Copenhagen, September 1943

  At five to eight on the morning of Tuesday 28 September, Ferdinand Rudolf von Buhler opened the front door of his residence in Lyngby and exchanged Heil Hitler greetings with his driver.

  He settled into the back of the Horch with a mounting degree of trepidation and lit his fifth cigarette of the day. Over the past fortnight there had been increasing tension at the embassy. It was unclear what the cause of this was: as the commercial attaché, he wasn’t exactly a member of the inner circle, for which he was most grateful. He probably sat somewhere between the second and third circles, and as far as he was concerned, if there was a fourth circle he’d happily reside there.

  In truth, the tension had been on the rise ever since the Danish government resigned at the end of August. Now the Germans were running Denmark themselves and there could no longer be the pretence that this wasn’t a real occupation.