Chasing Aquila

by James Hume

  Jane took her usual seat in the courtroom, and greeted her colleagues beside her who did the French to English and Russian to English translations. ‘Happy New Year.’ She put on her headphones. The American senior judge opened the session, so she didn’t have to translate. She picked up the evidence pack for the day and thumbed through it to see any problem documents. Tables of information were particularly difficult as she had to listen to what the lawyer or witness said in German, interpret it into English, and try to follow the columns and rows in the table they referred to. But, at first glance, today looked okay. Then the French judge started to talk, and she passed the microphone and evidence pack to her colleague.

  After her usual Wednesday lunch with Porritt, she pondered whether she should tell him about Andreas’ proposal and long-term plans, but decided against it. She didn’t want to raise any questions about her contract too early. Porritt announced that, from the end of January, he’d move to a fifty/fifty split between his duties in Nuremberg, and a new communications control service for the UK. Everyone wished him well.

  In the evening, the court usually finished just before five. Jane had read the note from Gisela with instructions on the new traffic arrangements, and when she got back to the interpreters’ room, called the transport office number. ‘UK08 at five twelve, please.’

  ‘That’s confirmed,’ came the reply.

  She left the building on time, stood in the UK shelter, and sure enough her car came down the lane right on time. She got in and said to Josef, ‘Well, that seemed to work okay. Looks like they’ve solved the gridlock problem at last.’

  By the end of the week, everyone had got used to the new arrangements, and the whole sequence of cars arriving and departing worked smoothly. During the day, the girl, Astrid, helped out in the translation department with her fluent English, French and German.

  She sometimes also joined the interpreter girls for lunch, and Jane discovered she’d recently married, and had come over to Nuremberg for three months with her husband, as part of the international press corps.

  On the Saturday after New Year, after they attended Stephen’s football game, Jane, Andreas and the boys went into town. They’d told the boys the previous evening they planned to get married, and the boys seemed content.

  Andreas wanted to buy her an engagement ring, and so they visited a number of jewellery shops. Jane chose a beautiful, straight five diamond ring, and when Andreas slipped it on her finger, her heart leaped and she kissed him there and then in the shop. ‘Euch,’ said Stephen, echoed a second later by George.

  They went to a tea room and Stephen glanced at the ring. ‘Does that mean we should call you ‘Daddy’ now?’ he asked.

  Jane wondered how Andreas would answer that one.

  He glanced at her and then leaned over towards Stephen. ‘Only if you want to. But I’d be very honoured if you called me ‘Daddy’.’

  Stephen nodded seriously. ‘Okay, then. I’ll call you ‘Daddy’.’

  George piped up. ‘Me too.’

  Jane leaned over towards the boys. ‘That’s a really nice thing to do, boys. And it’s very much appreciated by both of us.’

  Stephen looked over at her. ‘That’s okay, mummy. Alvin in my class at school says second daddies are much better than first daddies.’

  Jane wondered what would come next. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because second daddies give you lots more dollars and presents than first daddies.’

  Jane put her two hands up to hide her mouth and try to stop herself laughing. She glanced over at Andreas, who raised an eyebrow as though to say, ‘That’s boys for you.’

  At work the following week, her female colleagues cooed over her ring and screamed with delight. Marie said, ‘Oh, my God. Lucky, lucky you. He’s such a catch.’

  Porritt gave her his warmest congratulations. ‘That’s brilliant news. All the very best to both of you.’

  Jane settled into her work pattern. She’d now largely forgotten about her ‘Hermann pill’ each day. And apart from the constant reminder of Josef, she’d forgotten about the invisible police presence that followed her and her children.

  She found the Thursday, two weeks after New Year, a particularly tough day. The court heard evidence from inmates of the concentration camps, and she was ‘on mic’ for almost the whole day. Their stories were heart-rending, and at times she had to swallow some water just to keep her voice steady. She felt relieved when the day ended, and she could book her car slot. ‘UK08 at five fourteen, please.’ She just wanted to get home.

  ‘That’s confirmed, Jane.’ By now, all the transport people knew who was in each car.

  She walked out to the UK shelter, and waited in the fresh air. Astrid came over in her Kleppermantel. ‘I hear you had a tough day in court, Jane. You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.’

  Astrid smiled at her and checked her board. ‘Oh, Josef called me twenty minutes ago. He’s had a family emergency. Something about his father being rushed to hospital. He’s got his colleague, Kurt, to collect you tonight, but he’ll pick you up as usual in the morning.’

  ‘Okay, that’s fine. Thanks.’ Just then, her car pulled up, and she got in, sighed, and put her head against the back of her seat.

  ‘Tough day, ma’am?’

  She nodded and wiped her eyes. ‘Yeah, tough day.’

  Several cars waited to get out to the street. The driver said, ‘I’m working with the Americans, ma’am. I‘ve got some cans of orange juice here, straight from Florida. It’s so sweet, it’s unbelievable. Do you have children, ma’am?’

  ‘Yeah, two.’

  ‘I could get you a couple of cans for tomorrow. They’re three marks each. I’ll pass them on to Josef and you can pay him. Would you like to taste it? It’s delicious.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He poured some juice from a tin into a plastic cup, and handed it back to her.

  She’d heard a black market flourished on the American side, and tasted the juice. It was utterly delicious. Wow, her boys would love this. She snuggled into the comfortable seat. It had been a hell of a day. She put her head back and closed her eyes. Home in twenty minutes. Andreas would come over later. She needed a cuddle from him. She dreamed the car stopped briefly, and the girl Astrid got in, her Kleppermantel swishing as she settled herself in the front passenger seat, but that couldn’t be. She loved her ring.

  ***

  Porritt reread the letter from London, and grimaced. Shit, he really needed to get back there and take control of this communications project.

  After the Aquila incident, Churchill grumbled that the British authorities had missed radio signals to and from abroad that had allowed Aquila to flourish. He’d asked Porritt and Sir John Halton, Porritt’s ex-boss, to recommend what he should do about it.

  They had examined the situation, talked to experts, and recommended the government should set up a specialist organisation, called Government Comunications Headquarters (GCHQ), with three broad aims. First, to gather information from all incoming and outgoing radio traffic with foreign countries; second, to secure the integrity of Britain’s internal communications network; and third, since much of the data was coded, to extend the breadth and depth of the Code and Cypher Service at Bletchley Park, and integrate it with the new organisation. All of this would require a significant upgrade to existing capabilities.

  Churchill had approved their recommendations, and asked them to draw up a plan on how to create such an organisation. Their initial assessment included the use of a Ministry of Defence site at Eastcote in North-West London, and they developed plans on how best to use the site for their purposes.

  Churchill had lost the General Election in July 1945, but in his hand over to Attlee, had emphasised the importance of the communications work. Attlee had supported it, but information on the plans had seeped out, and now it seemed every sofa strategist, academic and left-wing intellectual wanted to be part of it.

  Porritt had bl
ocked all of them in favour of experienced operations people who could bring a project to fruition, rather than those cerebral time-wasters, whose idea of action was to set up a sub-committee. But he now faced pressure from Whitehall mandarins, who had accrued influence, but little ability, to include some of these talking-shop veterans.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need to spend as much time now in Nuremberg, and could devote more time to the new project. But the letter indicated it might take more than he expected.

  His phone rang. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mister Porritt, this is the mother of Jane Thomson.’ He recognised her voice and limited English. ‘Jane is not home now, but did not phone. I’m worried.’

  He glanced at his watch, ten to six. ‘Let me check, Mrs Wiseman. She may still be here at a VIP reception.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He called Gisela. ‘Is Jane Thomson on duty at a reception tonight?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s just a small local reception. We didn’t need a translator.’

  ‘Well, she hasn’t arrived home and didn’t phone, so her mother’s worried.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll call the transport office and find out when she left.’

  ‘I’ll see you down there.’ He packed his papers and headed for the main door.

  Gisela said, ‘She asked for a five fourteen slot and got picked up then, sir.’

  ‘Then something must have happened on the way home. Check with the ambulance service and see if there have been any accidents with one of our cars? I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She picked up the phone and talked rapidly in German.

  Porritt called Hans Wolff. ‘Hans, we seem to have lost Jane Thomson. She got picked up at five fourteen, but hasn’t arrived home. Could you check with the tailing car?’

  ‘Yeah, will do. Did Josef pick her up?’

  ‘I assume so.’ Just then, Josef appeared. ‘No, he didn’t. He’s just walked into the office.’

  ‘Let me speak to him.’

  Josef talked rapidly in German and eventually handed the phone back to Porritt.

  ‘Jonathan, the transport office told Josef to pick up Jane from a reception in the Garden Room at six. When she didn’t appear, he went in to find her, but she hadn’t been there. He then came round to the transport office to find out what happened.’

  ‘Exactly who told him that?’

  ‘Put him on the line again.’

  Again, Josef talked rapidly in German, then handed the phone to Porritt.

  ‘He says Marta, in the staging area, told him, but he thinks Astrid told her. Let me make a couple of phone calls from here, and I’ll then come over to you.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll try to find Astrid.’

  Gisela came off the phone. ‘The ambulance service says there’s been no road accidents in the last hour that would fit.’

  Porritt felt his heart beat faster. ‘Okay, Gisela, could you find Astrid, please?’

  Gisela talked to the man in the transport office in German, then turned to Porritt. ‘Astrid left about half an hour ago to go home.’

  ‘See if you can phone her at home, please.’

  Gisela got the number from the man, and phoned. ‘No reply.’ She hung up.

  Porritt thought for a moment. ‘She’s married to someone in the press corps. Can you remember his name?’

  Gisela thought. ‘Erm. Rhys?’

  ‘See if he’s still here. These chaps file their stories, so they’re always late leaving.’

  Gisela picked up the phone again. ‘All lines are engaged, sir. I’ll go and find him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Porritt took a big breath. What else could he do? It was a bugger that he couldn’t speak or understand German.

  A few minutes later Gisela returned with a man in his forties. ‘This is Geert Rhys, sir.’

  Porritt shook his hand. ‘Do you speak English?’

  ‘Ja. Of course.’

  ‘Do you know where your wife is?’

  Rhys looked puzzled. ‘Yeah, she’s at home.’

  ‘There’s no reply at the number we have. Can you check, please?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah, if you like.’

  He picked up the phone and talked in German. In a few moments he said, ‘Hi Astrid, it’s me. Hang on a minute.’ He looked at Porritt. ‘What is it you want to ask her?’

  Porritt thought for a moment. ‘I want to know why she told Josef here to go and collect Jane Thomson at the Garden Room.’

  Rhys looked blank. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, why would she talk to him?’ he asked, and pointed at Josef.

  ‘Because she’s in charge of transport here, and he’s one of the drivers.’ He knew as he said it what was coming, and a pit developed in his stomach.

  ‘But she’s at home in Amsterdam.’

  Porritt dropped his head. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d been duped by these people again. Yet the girl had used Rhys’s wife’s name, Astrid. She must have met him to know that. He held up a finger. ‘Hold it. Please stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  He left the office and ran back up to his own office, searched through his filing cabinet, and found the photo of the couple Sandra had sent over weeks ago. He grabbed two copies and headed back downstairs.

  ‘Have a look at this. Have you ever met this couple before?’

  Rhys studied the picture and shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’

  Porritt looked at the picture. Why wouldn’t he recognise the girl. Then it hit him. Astrid had jet black hair, but the girl in the photo was blonde. He took a pencil and blacked in her hair. ‘Do you recognise her now?’

  Rhys glanced at the picture. ‘Sure. I met her and her husband at a hotel here before Christmas. But I’m not sure it’s this lad. He had dark hair and a moustache.’

  Porritt got the pencil again and darkened the man’s hair, and drew a moustache.

  Rhys nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s them.’

  Porritt took a deep breath and exhaled. Jane had been kidnapped. Again. Now what should he do? First of all, deal with the family. ‘Can you get me Andreas on the phone, please, Gisela?’

  ‘Of course.’ In a moment she handed the phone to Porritt.

  ‘Andreas, it’s Jonathan Porritt here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Something’s happened to Jane. She’s disappeared for the moment. Could you get round to her family, please. They’ll need some support.’

  ‘Oh, my God. What’s happened?’

  ‘Remember we talked before Christmas about her being a target? Well, it looks like they’ve managed to get her. They switched her car this evening. Now, there’s another police car on her tail for just this possibility, but we haven’t heard from them yet.’

  ‘My God. What else can I do?’

  ‘If you could keep her mother and children calm, that would be a great help. I’ll let you know more when I can, though it may be tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get round to her mother now.’

  ‘Thanks. Tell her we’re doing all we can to find Jane and bring her back safe. I still believe she’s not in any danger.’ He hung up, and hoped his words were true. Then Hans Wolff arrived.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked. ‘Any progress?’

  Porritt quickly updated him. ‘What about the tailing car? Have you heard from them?’

  ‘We haven’t, Jonathan. All our car phones are down. We don’t know why.’

  Wolff turned to Josef and asked him a couple of questions. Then turned and talked to Gisela. She gave him the piece of paper with Astrid’s phone number, and dashed out of the room. Wolff picked up the phone and issued instructions to someone.

  Porritt felt impotent, with all the discussions going on in German, and waited for Wolff to clear his phone call. Gisela rushed back into the room and handed Wolff another piece of paper. He talked on the phone, then hung up and turned to Porritt.

  ‘Right, Jonathan. This girl, Astrid, instructed Josef t
o go to the North Door to get him out of the way. She’s then organised a similar car to pick up Jane, and must have given her a plausible story so she wasn’t suspicious, even though Josef wasn’t the driver. So, we’re on the lookout for a black Mercedes 170.

  ‘Unfortunately, we don’t know the reg number of the car. I’ve sent a team to the address we’ve got for Astrid to see if we can pick up any info on the car or on them. I assume the driver’s her husband or boyfriend. I’ve also issued instructions to all our police colleagues in adjacent states, to stop all Mercedes 170 cars and verify the occupants. But there are lots of them, so it’s a bit of a long shot.’

  He turned to Rhys, who looked bewildered.

  ‘Now, sir,’ he said, in English. ‘You met this couple some weeks ago. Can you tell me how you met and anything about them?’

  ‘I met them in the Hotel Royale bar. That’s where a lot of the press corps stays. I had ordered some drinks at the bar, and I guess she heard the Dutch accent. She said, ‘It’s a long way from Amsterdam,’ or something like that. I took the drinks to my party and came back to the bar to chat with them, just to be polite, really. Very pleasant couple. He’s an engineer for boiler controls in power stations, and works for a Dutch company. Just after the war, they got a contract for a power station in Dortmund. They then saw a big opportunity, and phoned other power stations in Germany. They picked up a lot of business that way.

  ‘He was allocated this job in Nuremberg, and they decided to take a delayed honeymoon in the Black Forest. He’s not Dutch, though he spoke the language well. They asked about Nuremberg, about the trial, and how we reported the stories. The total conversation was maybe fifteen minutes, twenty tops. And that’s it. Never saw them again.’

  ‘Didn’t you see her here? She organised he transport office, I believe.’

  He shook his head. ‘The press pack use the East Door, so we’re never round this side.’

  ‘I see, sir. What I’d now like you to do is to keep very quiet about this. Please don’t talk about it to anyone. Would you do that for me, please?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure, though it sounds like a good story.’

  Wolff turned to Porritt and waved for him to say something.