by Jana Petken
Heller slowed down. “If we take Romek on, MI5 and MI6 will be forced to share an unacceptable amount of classified information with the Polish authorities. More than we have in the past.” He stopped walking. “Having British or German nationals as double agents is one thing, but Romek is still answerable to his Polish exiled government who will want to know what we and the Germans are doing with him. I need to go higher with this one, and if we are given the green light to take him, and he still insists on working with you, you will have to leave SOE and come back to MI6. Have you considered that?”
“No. But if you think he’s important, and Blackthorn agrees, then yes, I’ll return,” Max said, surprised by his own eagerness.
“You should never have left in the first place,” Heller grumbled, walking ahead. “Go home, Max. Think about what you’ll be getting into. Think about what it’ll be like being a twenty-four-hour babysitter to a man who’s been trained by our enemies. I’ll see you in my office in the morning – and before you ask, I will clear your return to MI6 with the Foreign Office and Blackthorn – Christ, he’s going to love this.”
“What about the German woman?”
“I’ll put surveillance on her immediately. Let’s see if she leads us to other enemy agents before we arrest her.”
“We could put Romek in there with her?”
“We could, but I’d rather get rid of her and replace her with one of my people.”
Heller got to his office door. “Get some rest, Max,” he repeated. “This has been a good day.”
******
After spending four hours in the flats’ garden bunker during a ferocious air raid, Max had gone back to his room blue with cold. The silly gits who managed the building had forgotten to take gas for the bunker’s heater and lamps, and he’d sat in his pyjamas and dressing gown in a black, wood-panelled shelter with neighbours, including an elderly widow from next door who’d peed herself and farted for England. God bless her old gums.
Life twisted and turned on a sixpence, he thought, still shivering in bed and unable to get warm. The previous morning, he’d pictured a clear path forward with SOE, a new beginning and perhaps another overseas posting coming up for him. But as much as he loved his job, he now found the prospect of working with Romek more appealing than spy work on foreign shores. Handling a double agent was tricky, challenging in the extreme but highly rewarding when handled right. He’d be mad to turn it down, despite Romek’s thinly veiled digs at him when he’d enquired about Klara during the initial interview. Was it possible that he’d found out about the affair? No, Romek would have punched him in the face.
Max lay on his back and stretched out his hand for his cigarettes on the bedside table, felt the lamp stand and then heard it crash to the floor. It was so dark, he couldn’t even see the damned black-out curtains.
He rolled over again, the cigarettes forgotten, and felt a quiver of excitement and the warning that went with it. No point planning anything in wartime, his inner voice told him. One minute he was going somewhere and the next he was on a path travelling in a different direction. No use projecting what his future might look like, or what people might do, or who was in his life and who would leave it.
Paul came to mind, leaving Max with mixed emotions. He was over the moon that his twin was safe, but he couldn’t seem to get rid of his disappointment. They would get over this bad patch between them, eventually, but in the meantime, he wasn’t going to contact Paul again.
Klara replaced Paul in Max’s thoughts, making him groan. His body was tired, but his mind was still active. What was Klara to him now? he wondered. A beautiful memory? The woman he would always love, the one who’d got away in the chaos and cruelty of war, or someone who would forever leave a bitter taste in his mouth?
He punched the pillow, frustrated at not being able to sleep, then he slipped his hand under it and retrieved his torch. To hell with this carry on, he’d have a cup of tea.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Max was looking forward to spending Christmas Eve and Christmas day with his mother and father. Heller’s orders that he deliver classified correspondence to Dieter by hand, had come as a complete surprise. The letter was urgent, Heller had said, and he didn’t want to send it by military post, nor with anyone else.
Max spent most of the train journey to Bletchley Park in Buckinghamshire, thinking about Romek. He was still in MI6 custody in London and would remain their prisoner until the British reached an agreement with the head of Polish Intelligence about what to do with him.
Max’s prediction that he’d be re-joining MI6 as Romek’s handler had almost immediately come to pass, leading Max to believe that a deal for Romek had already been struck. Max’s transfer had not been smooth, however, for it had caused a full-blown argument between Blackthorn and Heller behind closed doors. Blackthorn had argued that Max was not a toy to be passed back and forth between sections. SOE had invested money in him, and it was not willing to let him go at a time when experienced agents were needed in occupied Europe. Heller had reminded Blackthorn that Max was an MI6 agent on loan to SOE, and therefore, not Blackthorn’s property to begin with.
When he’d been given the chance to speak, Max had been honest with both men. He would miss SOE and the hands-on approach behind enemy lines, but he would return to that section as soon as Romek no longer posed a security threat. With this, he’d placated Blackthorn.
Heller had already agreed to make the transfer temporary but had later reneged, somewhat, when he’d pointed out that Max was going to work with Romek and his challenging situation for however long it might take to defeat Germany. He’d added that the Pole was a wild card and not completely trustworthy because of his earlier promises to the Abwehr and his concern for his family in Poland.
Another troublesome question for Heller had been whether the Germans would fully trust Romek because of his previous association with the British in France, again putting forward the idea that Max was probably the only man who’d be able to see signs of deceit and subterfuge. If Max had to spend the rest of the war by Romek’s side, then so be it, he’d repeated numerous times.
Max walked the short distance from the train station to the row of terraced house in the village near Bletchley Park. He was carrying three bags, two of which were full of family Christmas presents that he’d hastily purchased the day before, including one for Judith Weber. Laura was going to Scotland to spend New Year with Hannah and Frank and would take their presents with her. The third bag contained a change of clothes and toilet bag, as he planned to stay two nights with his parents.
“Darling, this is the best Christmas present ever,” Laura told Max, after kissing him in the hallway.
He looked past his mother to Judith Weber. Before Max had left London, Heller had informed him that the German girl had recently joined Laura and Dieter after accepting a job in Bletchley’s decoding and translation section. She was a welcome surprise, and Max found himself unable to peel his eyes away from her. Beautiful, in a festive red dress with a white frilly apron and a sparkling tinsel bow in her black hair, she looked like a shining angel in the dimly lit passageway; a cliché, perhaps, but precisely how he saw her. “Hello, Judith. How are you?”
She gave him a demure smile as she walked towards him, and he wondered if his face were as flushed as hers. He cleared his throat and asked Laura, “Where’s Papa?”
“Your father will be home shortly,” Laura replied, looking first at Judith and then at Max. “I’m very busy in the kitchen, darling. Why don’t you be a love and take Judith for a walk. The poor girl never gets any exercise except when she walks up to Bletchley Park in the morning and comes home at … whatever time that is. Honestly, Max, she’ll make herself ill working all the hours God sends.”
“Do you feel all right, Judith?” Max asked.
“Yes, I like my job. It hardly feels like work at all.”
“Don’t listen to her. She’s working six days a week,” Laura grumbled. “The othe
r day she left here at three thirty in the afternoon and didn’t return until after midnight. And sometimes she doesn’t even start until midnight.”
Max, his feet barely in the door and still holding the bags, smiled at his mother’s concern. She was clearly very fond of Judith, who was now clasping and unclasping her hands at her waist in a sweet, innocent gesture that melted his heart.
“Tell you what, Mother, let me put these bags down before I go out,” he suggested.
“Oh, yes, of course, darling. I didn’t mean to rush you.”
Max put the presents in the living room, looked longingly at the blazing fire, and wished he didn’t have to go out in the cold again.
“Right, off you go, you two,” said Laura, waiting for him at the front door with Judith’s coat already in her hand. “You can have a nice chat on your walk while I finish peeling the potatoes.”
Max shot a warning glance to his mother not to embarrass him. She had apparently seen his admiration for Judith and was trying her hand at matchmaking. She was out of her depth with him, he thought. The last thing he needed was another romantic entanglement.
He set Heller’s envelope on the hall table and said, “Make sure Papa sees that when he gets home, will you, Mother? Jonathan said it’s important.” He then helped Judith with her coat while wondering whether his mother had tried to partner up Judith and Paul when he’d taken Judith to the Berlin house. He thought not. His mother was a romantic at heart, but she wouldn’t have wanted her son to get involved with a Jewish woman in Germany no matter how much she liked the girl.
Five minutes after his arrival, Max and Judith were clumping across a field getting mud and cow dung on their shoes. He’d just had what was commonly known as the bum’s rush. His mother hadn’t even offered him a cup of tea.
“How is your English coming along, Judith?” he asked in German after a rather long silence.
“Better than last month. To be honest, I spend most of my time listening to and speaking German. Your mother is helping me. We speak English together at home.”
Judith stopped at a stream, lifting her coat and skirt to jump to the other side. Max, when he’d joined her asked, “Are you happy?”
Her expression changed. She grew serious as though thinking about how to answer. “Yes. I suppose I am. This Christmas Eve has been hard for me. I couldn’t stop … I was thinking…”
“I can’t imagine how much you must miss your father and sister,” said Max, instinctively knowing what was on her mind. “Paul told me what happened to them. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, thank you. I try not to think too often about my papa and Hilde. It hurts too much. I just say to myself every day, well, Judith, you’re doing your bit to defeat the people who killed your sister and took your father, so put everything you have into it. That makes me feel better.”
Max knew not to ask what she was doing at Bletchley Park. He surmised that she was listening to radio transmissions and reading correspondence, as were the other vetted exiles employed there. It was also possible that she was involved in detainee interviews in London. Since finding out that two German translators had lied during interviews with German defectors to deliberately mislead the MI6 agent, the section had ordered that a silent German speaker be present to report the translator’s discrepancies, should there be any. People like Judith, who now spoke just enough English to get by, travelled from Bletchley to MI6, posing as secretaries. In the interviews, they took notes of questions being asked by the intelligence officer, and the German detainee’s answers being repeated by the official German translator in English. Judith would be a good candidate for this sort of subterfuge; she was a young, pretty woman whose presence wouldn’t threaten the official translator.
Judith slipped on a patch of grass, white with frost, and squealed as she fell backwards. Max pulled her up and then to him, but instead of letting her go when she’d righted herself, he continued to hold her. He stared at her face: her pink cheeks, the reddened tip of her nose, wide, watery brown eyes, and lips slightly parted in fright; her beauty captivated him.
Their heavy, misty breaths merged in the frigid air. Max, still mesmerised, drew her closer to him and in a moment of impulse, kissed her lips.
“Was I … I’m sorry … I was wrong to do that?” Max finally let her go and watched her run her hands down her coat fumbling with its buttons, which were already in their buttonholes. He’d had no intention of kissing her before the walk or while he’d been thinking about her job. This wasn’t like him. He barely knew her and was stunned by his lack of control. He looked at her fawn-like eyes and blurted out, “I know I’m not Paul.” Damn it! He could kick himself for saying that.
She smiled and touched his icy cheek with her gloved hand. “No, you’re not Paul. I never thought you were. I never saw him the way I see you. The first time we met, I didn’t think about your brother at all except for the few moments when we spoke about him … to ask how he was … you remember?”
“Yes, I remember.”
She blinked. “Max, your brother saved my life and tried to help Hilde. He will always be in my heart. But you’re … well, you might look like him and talk like him, but you are as different from each other as any two people could be.” She lowered her head. “You must think I’m terribly forward, but I told myself that if I ever met you again I wouldn’t be like one of those women who never say what they feel because they’re afraid of being brazen or rejected.” She touched his cheek again. “Life is precious to me, and so are moments like these.”
They walked in silence, their gloved hands touching, until they had almost reached the wooden gate at the edge of the field, where Judith halted, put her hand on Max’s arm and said, “I felt something between us in Scotland. Did you, Max? Did I imagine it?”
Max hesitated to answer both questions. He’d admired her looks, but he hadn’t felt an immediate attraction to her. At that time, he’d been too busy planning his meeting with Klara the following day and trying to sort out his feelings for her. He still wasn’t used to the strange sensation of thinking about her without the familiar ache in his stomach, the desire coursing through him, the want, the need, the frustration. She seemed a million miles away, like an object shrinking to nothing on the horizon. She was no longer cluttering his mind; it felt tidy, as clean as a mopped floor. He didn’t know how else to describe his feelings. Was he fickle or just ready to move on? Was Judith so very special that he was forgetting Klara, or had his obsession for her finally run its course?
Coming back to the woman standing before him, he said, “You’re beautiful, Judith, and you’re strong and courageous. I was drawn to you, but in the spirit of honesty, I had a lot on my mind that night and…”
“No, please … it’s all right. Don’t say anything else. I opened my mouth and that popped out. I won’t mention our kiss or this conversation again. But I would like us to be good friends, Max. We can start there, can’t we?”
He could stop this in its tracks, say yes, we can be friends, before it went any further, he thought, but he didn’t want to. She was refreshing, like this brisk walk in the countryside without the London smog or deadly air raids. With her, he could breathe.
Damning the consequences, he leant in and kissed her again with a passion he’d thought lost for good. She felt wonderful; he was exactly where he was meant to be. “We can be friends, but we could also be more. Maybe, if you come to London, we could have dinner or go dancing. Would you like that…?”
“Yes, very much,” she said, before he’d even finished the question
This time he kissed her forehead. “We should go back. My mother will be getting worried about us.”
“Get in here, Max, now,” Dieter grunted as soon as Judith and Max entered the house.
In Dieter’s study, Max stood like a schoolboy in the headmaster’s office without a clue as to what his crime had been. His father, scowling as he read aloud from the letter in his hand, finally looked up and threw the
pages at Max.
“How could you keep this a secret from me?” Dieter demanded.
Max’s face reddened, but he was in no mood for an argument. “Keep what a secret? What are you on about?”
“You’ve been deceitful, Max, that’s what I’m on about. Why did you not tell your mother and I about Paul? About you running off to France without Blackthorn’s permission to negotiate with the criminals who abducted your brother? He almost got himself killed and you didn’t say a word to us. I had to find out like … this … then you lose your brother in a French forest!”
Max was furious, not because his father was yelling at him but because Heller had gone behind his back and spilled the beans before he’d had the chance to do it in his own way in his own time. “I was going to tell you…”
“Don’t lie. You’ve known about this for weeks.”
“What did Heller say?”
“You tell me.” Dieter picked up the pages and went on to read another excerpt aloud.
Max gulped. Jonathan had been thorough. “What good would it have done to tell you about Paul when I didn’t know at the time if he was alive or dead? Hmm, what would you have done?”
Laura opened the door and then slammed it shut behind her as she entered. “I can hear every word you two are saying from the kitchen, and so can Judith.” She stood, hands on her hips as was her way when she was angry. “Your father showed me Jonathan’s letter, but I want to hear it from your lips, Max, and you had better not leave anything out if you know what’s good for you.”
“Does it have to be right now? You know Paul’s all right…”
“Max…”
“He’s back at his base…”
“Max! Halt die Klappe und hör’ zu! – shut up and listen!” Dieter stood up and clung to the desk as the veins in his neck bulged. “Did you tell Paul that I’m alive?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
