by Jana Petken
Max, who was still recovering from a bad cold, was reading a book in the living room. It was mid-afternoon on the sixth day of the current operation, and the gentle April showers had become thunderstorms with a downpour that had been hammering the streets all day.
Someone was moving on the stairs. Even if one tiptoed, the squeaking sound of uncarpeted wood alerted those in the living-room and kitchen. Max was dozing off with his heavy novel, The Story of My Experiments with Truth, by Mahatma Gandhi, resting on his chest. He jumped at the noise, leapt off the sofa, and went into the hallway.
“Where are you going, Romek? It’s pouring down out there,” Max asked from the living-room doorway.
Romek opened the front door with one arm already in his coat sleeve. “I like the rain, and where I’m going has nothing to do with you. Heller has let me off the hook, remember?”
“You’re not going out in that, are you love?” asked Mrs Mullins appearing in the narrow passageway. “You’ll catch pneumonia. It’s raining cats and dogs!”
Romek cocked his head to the side and looked puzzled, “Well, Mrs Mullins, as long as a cat or dog doesn’t land on me, I’ll be all right. I’m going to the library. I won’t be long,” said Romek going outside, and closing the door behind him.
Max waited a few seconds, then went to the living-room window where he watched Romek hurry along the street in the direction of the underground station; the library was two streets farther on from there, as was Camden market and the shops.
“Do you think he’s going to the library?” Mrs Mullins asked Max.
“No. He picked up two books yesterday,” Max replied.
Mrs Mullins said, “It’s been six days since I gave him the envelope, Max, and he hasn’t said a word about it. Despite his moods, I find him a rather nice chap. I’d hate to think he was double-crossing us.”
Max agreed. Agents knew their number one rule was to alert their handlers when anything out of the ordinary happened or if they met anyone not directly involved in their cases. Romek’s silence on the letter and money was troubling.
“Mike and Tom are tailing him. If Romek so much as goes into a pub or café they’ll telephone me. Don’t worry. If he contacts anyone, we’ll know.
“Well, I hope you get to him before he does anything silly. He can be slippery, our Romek.”
“As can I.”
The telephone rang fifteen minutes later, and Max instinctively knew the operation was a go. This was confirmed when Tom explained that Romek had met with a young woman in a bed and breakfast establishment called Rochester’s in Camden High Street. Tom had observed Romek and the female speaking to an elderly man at the reception desk before disappearing up a flight of stairs, presumably leading to a bedroom.
Mrs Mullins helped Max on with his coat.
“Thank you. I hope this doesn’t become violent, Mrs M. I’ll lose if there’s a punch up. I’m still not feeling great,” Max grinned.
“That’s why you have Tom and Mike at your back. If you ask me, you should be on leave recovering from that cold, not here babysitting Romek.”
Max ran to the garden gate, closed it behind him, and made for the opposite end of the street to the one Romek had headed for. His car and driver were parked out of sight, just around the corner.
“Let’s go, quick as you can, Stan,” Max said, diving out of the rain into the passenger seat. “We’re going to the Rochester Bed and Breakfast. It’s on Camden High Street near the market.”
Stan put his foot down. “I might not be able to park outside because it’s market day, sir,” he said as he pulled into the traffic.
“Get as close as you can.”
Tom opened the passenger door for Max as the car came to a stop outside the Bed and Breakfast. Mike was also there, and he was moving along a flower shop van so that Max’s car could park. Very few vehicles were on the road nowadays, but market stalls and people selling bomb-damaged goods on wooden handcarts had overflowed from the High Street and were blocking adjacent roads.
Inside the three-storey Bed and Breakfast, Max ordered Tom to watch the entrance for anyone else going in or coming out while he spoke to the owner of the establishment.
“A man and women arrived about fifteen minutes ago. My friend standing at the door used your telephone just after they went upstairs…”
“That’s right, ‘e seemed to be in a bit of an ‘urry. It’s all legal ‘ere. I got me papers to prove it,” the man interrupted.
“You’re not in any trouble,” Max assured him. “I just want you to tell me which room the couple went to?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m with the government and this is very important – which room?”
The man, his eyes flicking from Max to Mike and finally to Tom, responded with a grimace, “Oh, Gawd, I ‘ope I’m not gettin’ into any funny business ‘ere.”
Max extended his hand, palm up, “The spare key?”
“Now, I don’t know about that…?”
“Give me the key, or I’ll have you arrested for obstructing an on-going investigation.”
“I don’t bleedin’ know … comings and goings … strange men and women dolled up,” the owner grumbled, as he took a key off a hook behind him. “Up those five steps to the mezzanine floor. Room two, you can’t miss it. The number’s ‘anging upside down – screw loose.”
As Max walked up the stairs with Mike behind him, he resolved to go easy on Romek. It was possible, he thought, that this was nothing more than a romantic dalliance between Romek and the woman who had sent him money. It might not be a great mystery but a very simple one, easily solved. For the first time that day, he felt as though he were the one doing wrong, an interloper in what might be a private party. Nonetheless, when he reached the door, he turned the key in the lock and walked in without knocking.
“Shit – shit, Romek! Go downstairs, Mike. Make sure we have the right room.”
Max flicked his eyes around the empty bedroom. The bed was made, the window wide open with rain coming in. Max crossed to it, stuck his head out and looked down. It was an easy jump onto the tarpaulin of the full horse-drawn dustcart parked directly below. Even without it, an agile man and woman could have made it.
An envelope sat on the bedside table with Max written on it. Max picked it up and ripped it open. Goodbye, predictable Max – bye, bye.
“This is definitely the room, sir, and I checked with Tom, no one has left the building.”
“At least not through the front door,” Max said, scrunching the letter in his closed fist. “Nice one, Romek. Very nice.”
******
When Max arrived at Heller’s office, soaking wet and fuming, Heller didn’t look the least bit surprised to see him. Stony-faced behind his desk, Heller gestured Max to sit, and then immediately picked up a two-page letter with the Polish Government in Exile’s official stamp.
“It seems Romek has been busy. This arrived an hour ago with Captain Kaczka. I never did like that man with his heroic limp and leery smile. I should have expected this, I suppose,” Heller said, still clutching the letter.
“You said he brought this an hour ago? That’s about the same time I was racing around Camden looking for Romek.”
“Well, more fool you.”
Max let the sarcasm go, sensing he was in more trouble than Romek. “I take it the Poles had something to do with Romek’s disappearance; if that’s what’s happening here?”
“Before you read the letter, you should know that I’m not going to take Romek to task over this. Because of our recent botched mission, as the Twenty Committee see it now, they have decided to let Romek go, but take the necessary action against the Poles. This has caused a severe loss of trust between our two governments, and it will have to be resolved.”
Max, not taking in the part about the Poles, grumbled, “Is this a joke? After getting this far with Romek, we’re now going to let him walk out on us just because he doesn’t want to play anymore?”
�
��We didn’t get anywhere with him, Max,” Heller retorted. “Romek and the Poles have been planning his defection for weeks … since day one … read it for yourself.”
Max read the letter from top to bottom, but then went back to the highlighted paragraphs. The duplicity in them stung him to the quick.
Romek’s family, of which there are seven surviving members in Poland, were removed from Warsaw and subsequently relocated with the Free Polish Army for their own protection. This was after an operation which lasted weeks and involved numerous Polish Free Fighters in situ. Only Romek’s grandmother and great uncle chose to remain in their home, and they were arrested by the Gestapo three days ago and are presumed to be dead or incarcerated.
Max’s head shot up as that sank in. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“Yes. Given that the Abwehr have not sent a single transmission to Romek since the North Sea fiasco, we must presume they found the loss of their U-boat and agents suspicious. Romek is finished, and unless we want to give him a new identity and put him back in the field as a subagent, we might as well let him go.”
“What about the woman, Nowak, who sent him the money?” Max cocked his head.
“She works for the Poles. I presume Romek was going to disappear and use the money she sent him to hole up somewhere until our Captain Kaczka got him out of the country using Polish resources. Or he might just have been toying with us for the fun of it. We might have scuttled their plans by intercepting the letter and then whisking Romek off to Grimsby, but the truth is, and it’s in the letter, Romek probably schemed to make his family safe and then bugger off to join the Polish Free Army from the word go. There’s no great mystery here, Max. His stunt this morning was to humiliate you. We’ve been triple-crossed, and that doesn’t happen very often.”
Max felt the irony. He’d trained Romek who’d apparently become a better spy than he could have hoped for. All of Romek’s visits to the library, his cups of tea in the local café, and his walks in Camden had probably entailed contact in some form or other with other Poles. They would have been brief encounters; a handshake and the passing of a note, a nod of confirmation for a meeting, a fleeting, coded conversation with someone in the library, a note inside a book?
“What now for Romek?” Max asked.
“Nothing, as far as we are concerned. We don’t want to throw him in jail, and if he’s not going to cooperate with us, the Poles might as well put him to good use in Poland.” Heller grunted, “It could have been worse, I suppose. He might have been working for the Krauts instead of the Poles. I persuaded Captain Kaczka to bring Romek in. We’ll debrief him and then let him go.”
Heller leant across his desk. “It would be better for all concerned if you weren’t included in the meetings, Max. Leave this to us now.”
Max frowned. “I’ve let you down.”
“You let yourself down by giving Romek a reason to hate you. Go to Bletchley, get your health sorted out. I need you back here in five days. You’ll have new orders to come back to. A posting out of the country.”
“Where this time?” Max asked, still coming to terms with his last assignment being abruptly terminated.
“I’ll come to see you in Bletchley over the weekend. I have business with your father, and I believe we have a birthday party to go to. We’ll discuss your new posting then.”
Max was desperate to know where he was being sent, but he sensed that Heller had finished with him for the time being and didn’t want to rock an already shaky boat. It had been a tense meeting, and he was certain that many of the details surrounding Romek’s defection had been left out of the conversation because he was no longer considered to be trustworthy.
“I’ll see you in Bletchley, then,” Max said, getting to his feet.
“Max, before you go … I will be telling Romek about his wife’s death when I see him, but not how she died. If you ever see him again, keep your mouth shut. I don’t want any more cock-ups. You hear me?”
“Yes, I understand.” Max swallowed. “Thank you, Jonathan. It’ll be easier for him coming from you.”
Heller dismissed Max with a wave of his hand, and the latter walked out of the office feeling two feet tall and two years old.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The Vogels
Bletchley Park, England
End of April 1942
Max took Judith to the pub for a quick lunch, after their long country walk. She was beginning her afternoon shift at three o’clock and wouldn’t be home until after midnight.
Max felt better than he had in months. His concerted effort to switch off the noise of war and to enjoy a more serene setting with those he loved had done him the world of good.
He was constantly thinking about his new posting, however, for Jonathan had mentioned it without using the word assignment. A posting was of a more permanent nature than a mission or operation, and Max was anxious; he had no idea where it might be or for what duration, and he’d not yet shared the news with his family.
Max caressed each of Judith’s fingers as she studied the menu. With her, he’d found a peace that not even Klara had been able to provide during their most passionate encounters when obsession and desire had overruled his head and his heart.
Romek’s betrayal had knocked Max for six. He’d arrived at his parents’ house a conflicted man and with his confidence in the gutter. Judith had sensed his troubled mind, and without question or demand had lifted him up. She was his peace, a gentle soul, a safe harbour to shelter in when he felt himself floundering. He was in love with her. It was not a question; it was his truth, and it had come so very easily to him.
“I’ve had a wonderful time with you, Judith,” he said.
“And we still have the weekend together.” She smiled. “I was thinking, Max, if you want I could visit you in London. I’ll be working with Mr Heller again soon.”
He couldn’t lie to her. To her, he would give only honesty for she deserved that and more. “If I could, I’d be with you every day, dearest, but I’ll be going away again soon. It might be out of the country.”
“You are?” Judith whispered. “Of course, you are. It’s your duty. Take care of yourself – I couldn’t bear it if…”
“Will you wait for me?” Max held her eyes. “Is that asking too much?”
Two small creases formed between Judith’s eyebrows. “What does it mean to wait for you? Of course, I’ll be here or in London.”
He smiled at her naivety. She was not being coy, at least not deliberately; she just didn’t understand his meaning. The previous day, they had kissed, cuddled, and had even lain naked on a rug in an old barn they’d found during a picnic; the only occasion the weather had allowed them a long outing in the fresh air. They hadn’t made love, but caressing her, exploring her body and feeling her warmth against his bare skin had seemed more intimate and beautiful than anything he’d ever experienced before with a woman.
Max recalled a question Hannah had once asked their mother. His sister had been a teenager at the time, full of romantic ideas and dreams of men sweeping her off her feet. “Mama, when did you know you loved Papa?” Hannah had asked. Their mother’s answer had been immediate. “The first time your father took me to dinner, I felt comfortable, settled, as though I’d known him all my life. It was as if an electric lightbulb had been switched on inside me. Everything seemed brighter, warmer. I felt safe, and for the first time I saw my reflection in another’s eyes. You can’t possibly understand, dear, but one day, you will. I promise.”
Max had thought it a ridiculous feminine notion to believe that love could blossom in an instant, but their mother had aptly described how he felt now with Judith. Perhaps he had phrased the question wrongly? War didn’t give love the luxury of subtlety.
“Judith, what I meant to say,” he began, still holding her gaze, “was that I am falling in love with you, and when this terrible war is over, if I make it through, I would like to spend the rest of my life with you.”
> Judith’s hand, still clutched in his, tensed. “I had no idea.”
Max was startled at the confusion in her face. Was she angry, shocked or maybe afraid to say she didn’t feel the same way about him? Had he gone too far, too soon? Stupid idiot. “Forgive me, Judith. This probably isn’t the right time. I shouldn’t have…”
“Oh, yes… yes, you should have,” she pre-empted him, now with tears brimming. “Whenever I read your letter, I prayed I’d see your feelings in the words, but I didn’t dare think you could love a woman like me – a Jewess.”
“No. No, Judith, you must never see your religion as a detriment, not under any circumstances. You must know by now that most British people abhor fascism and racism in all its forms. There will always be bigots in this world, and those who fear the unusual, the different, the idealists. But, to me, you are Judith, intelligent, sweet, kind Judith, and one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I can see you love me too, my darling, so let’s not waste a moment more on small hurdles made large by the weak and the cowardly.” Max took a sip of water from his glass, then cast all caution aside. “Will you marry me? Say yes, please … be my wife.”
She nodded. Then nodded again uttering a tiny sob. “Yes, Max … yes, I will … oh, I wish I could thank Paul and your father right now for saving me. They brought me to you. I think I must be the luckiest woman alive.”
******
Laura had made a beautiful birthday cake, despite the sugar and flour rationings. She’d bartered with other women in the village for the ingredients she’d needed to bake the sponge and make it rise. “You’ve outdone yourself,” Dieter had remarked when he’d seen it.
