The Secret Houses

by John Gardner

  *

  They met in the lobby of the Frankfurter Hof – an old hotel near the Kaiser Platz – surrounded by suspicious waiters and thinly disguised whores.

  ‘I need the okay to talk to people in the Compound,’ Arnie said.

  ‘They have plans?’ Fry did not smile as he asked.

  ‘I think they might need to speak with someone high in the Gehlen Organisation. After that, if it happens, the whole circus is going back to London.’

  ‘Ah – then you’ll probably be able to combine things. Washington’s either gone paranoid or they’re onto something. They seem to think there’s a Sov hit team operating under their noses.’

  ‘In Washington?’

  ‘So it would seem. Buelow’s down to the Sovs, it appears, after fingering Dollhiem and Newton.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I get you into the Compound. You fire off your questions – I’m not even asking you what they are. And then Washington wants you to do some research in London and other places.’

  ‘What kind of research?’

  ‘Political. Views, attachments, and backgrounds.’

  ‘Whose backgrounds?’

  ‘Relatives of yours, Arnie. Washington wants everything on Caroline Nellie Railton Farthing and Josephine Grenot. Relatives and one-time members of Tarot.’

  ‘Probably dead relatives.’ Arnold did not look happy.

  ‘Washington wants it finished yesterday. I said you’d get it done in two weeks. They say ten days tops. Political education, political literacy, societies, habits, beliefs, right down to the colour of their souls, via the colour of their underwear. Got it?’

  ‘Get me into the Compound and I’ll try.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll do more than try.’ Fry took off the clear glass spectacles and for a moment looked human. ‘You’ll do more than try, Arnie. You’ll do it all. That’s what you’re paid to do.’

  ‘Money doesn’t enter into it.’

  ‘Really? We’ll see. But, as we’re on the subject of death, there is something else you should know – and possibly pass on.’ Fry then quietly told him of the way the Otter had fingered Dollhiem and Newton before his murder.

  Neither Fry nor Arnie even saw Herbie Kruger who sat, a newspaper raised to cover his face, at the far end of the lobby.

  When Fry and Arnold left, the big German lad quietly got up and followed Roger Fry, carefully and at a distance. He followed him all the way home and reported the results, later, to Naldo Railton.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘It’s time for the truth game, Arnie.’ Naldo Railton sat across the dining room table from Arnold Farthing. It was two in the afternoon, they had lunched on Zwiebelsuppe and Frankfurter Würstchen – the spectacular onion soup and smoked pork sausage of which there now seemed to be no shortage. It had been their staple diet since arriving at this particular safe house. Along the hall, Caspar was having another session with Ramillies. He had not mentioned to anyone that the Frankfurter Würstchen constantly carried him back to the Fenice pig farm at St Benoît. He even dreamed about it. In nightmares he saw the bodies of Caroline and Jo-Jo lying among the pigs.

  Arnie smiled pleasantly. ‘What truth game would that be?’

  ‘The same one you’re playing with your case officer.’ There was no warmth in Naldo’s voice.

  ‘I’m just trying to do us all a favour.’

  ‘With your case officer?’ Naldo’s voice rose, moving up the scale with incredulity.

  ‘What is all this, Naldo?’

  ‘You’re on loan to us, Arnie. You and I’ve been working as a closed-shop team for C on and off since last year. Right?’

  ‘Yes, but – ’

  ‘No buts, Arnie. C is not a happy man. He’s been on the scrambler to me this morning – angry would be a good word. Anyhow, he wants some answers.’

  ‘About me?’

  ‘Among other things, Arnold. Yes – about you. About you and Mr Roger Fry.’

  ‘But you knew I was – ’

  ‘Seeing someone from Liaison, yes. We’ve known it was Fry for some time. He follows you around like a dog. Your meeting with him at the Frankfurter Hof was monitored, and London’s run Fry through their card index. Roger J. Fry, aged thirty-four, unmarried but has prospects with a Miss Gloria Van Gent who works in State and has a rich daddy. Fry is CIA Covert Action – just as you are when you’re at home. Served with OSS from its inception; awarded CMH for ops with a Jedburgh team in Norway, where he was wounded. One wonders if he came up against any of the Norge Waffen SS. We know he’s running two – two, mind you – CA agents in Europe. You, Arnie, are one of them.’

  ‘So? The product is to be shared from Symphony.’

  ‘After C’s had it all. How much have you given your people, Arn? The works? Every move? If you have, then you’re out; finished; probably put through the wringer.’

  ‘No. I’ve been discreet.’ Arnie sounded very calm. His conscience was all but clear. ‘Okay, so I have been seeing my case officer. What d’you expect, Naldo? I work for them.’

  ‘You work for us at the moment. I repeat – how much have you given them?’

  Arnie let out a long sigh. ‘As little as I reasonably could. They have no idea – no idea at all – about what’s at the heart of Symphony. That I promise.’

  ‘But they know the general brief?’

  ‘Not if you mean C’s brief – they knew nothing of that. They knew from the outset that we were out to find Klaubert, but they’ve always thought we wanted him for the Diable d’Orléans thing. It was difficult, Nald. Especially once they got the Central Intelligence Agency off the ground. Putting me in Covert Ops – well, they expected me to pass on intelligence. I suspect they know we were also trying to get at the truth about Caroline and Jo-Jo. They have seen the Tarot Enquiry transcripts, on C’s say-so.’

  ‘But they haven’t seen – or heard – any of C’s suspicions?’

  ‘I can promise you, Naldo, that all C’s classified stuff has stayed locked in my brain. Even when Symphony went on hold, and I was back in Washington, I gave them only the minimum. None of the stuff we’ve read. Certainly nothing from C’s First Folio.’

  Naldo nodded. ‘I believe you, Arn, but C was in panic. He sees it as an important line we have to draw – which means if we come up with answers he’ll be able to trade with your people. You know what he’s like. He’s had the whiff of something big, so he wants it in a safe deposit account.’

  ‘You really believe it? C, I mean.’

  Naldo gave a shrug. They seldom talked openly about the weird and complex web which C had woven together in the series of documents they spoke of as the First Folio.

  ‘I don’t know. With C it’s hard to tell. Yet he could be right, Arnie. You know that.’

  ‘I know we should draw your Uncle Caspar in. Last night he said he was working in the dark. If we could – ’

  ‘Not a word!’ Naldo snapped. ‘I damned near pleaded with C this morning. No go. It’s almost as though he thinks Caspar’s a conspirator.’

  ‘When you think about it,’ Arnold said, ‘the silence is necessary. Caspar’s personally involved. If all this was normal, C wouldn’t let him near his brother.’

  Naldo grunted again. It was difficult to tell whether he agreed or not. Then: ‘Okay, Arnie, what did you tell Mr Fry this morning?’

  ‘I’ve applied to get us into the Compound.’

  ‘We decided to wait that one out.’ Naldo did not sound angry.

  ‘I know, but it’s there if we want it.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me. You knew of course that your Roger Fry’s living in the Compound?’

  ‘No, but it’s in character.’ Arnold paused. ‘My turn to be indiscreet now. Fry got heavy this morning. Following the Otter’s death, Washington wants me to do an in-depth analysis of Caroline and Jo-Jo. Political in-depth. I said we were probably going back to London.’

  ‘We’re almost certainly going back, and taking Rogov-Sodoff-Ramillies with us. I
t appears that notes have been exchanged. The Sovs are hopping mad: asking what’s happened to their boy. We’ve denied all knowledge – at least the Foreign Office has denied it.’ He gave an evil smile. ‘They don’t know we have him, of course.’

  ‘And the Russians do?’ Arnie looked serious. ‘Hence the move from Munich to here, and, I presume, the return to your green and pleasant land.’

  ‘Particularly after what’s happened to the Otter.’ Arnold paused, then said Fry had told him something else.

  ‘Important?’

  ‘I think so. I’m giving it to you as a sign of good faith.’ And he went on to tell Naldo about the fingering of Dollhiem and Newton.

  When he had finished, Naldo said it fitted – meaning that if Dollhiem and Newton were Russian penetration agents, within the war-time Office of Strategic Services, it fitted C’s complex theory.

  ‘As does the killing of Florence, which seems to have upset friend Ramillies so much. You think that bastard’s got any suspicions?’

  ‘Hard to tell. I really would like to see him sweated by the hard men at Warminster. You’re right, of course, Caspar’s too close – too personally involved.’

  After a moment of silence, as though wrapped in thought and grave decision-making, Naldo said they should go and listen in on the present session.

  In the sterile room that had once been the wine cellars, the recording machines turned steadily. Through the earphones came the relaxed voices of Caspar and his treacherous brother. Caspar was again leading him through the dance of questions, still trying to catch Ramillies off guard.

  ‘Can we not pinpoint the date when Klaubert first made approaches to your people?’ Caspar asked as Naldo put on his headphones.

  ‘We’ve been over it, Cas.’

  Patiently, Caspar said he would like to go over it again.

  ‘The shape of the picture is there; now I want the detail.’

  ‘He made the pass in Berlin. I know that.’

  ‘When exactly?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was ’39. The spring of ’39.’

  In the cellar Naldo muttered, ‘Come on, Ramillies. You know when, right up to the day, hour, and minute.’

  ‘Was it after Molotov became the Russian Foreign Minister?’ Caspar was off again.

  ‘Yes.’ Unequivocal.

  ‘That was in early May 1939. Right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah. So when did he make his pass at your people?’

  ‘I don’t know if I was even told.’

  ‘But you were his control, for God’s sake. What rank was he when you first met him?’

  ‘SS-Sturrnbannführer. A major.’

  ‘And he was working in Berlin?’

  ‘He was on Himmler’s staff.’

  ‘So he must have made his pass towards the end of April.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘But I thought you were sent to advise him to stay in place. That’s what you said before.’

  A longer pause.

  ‘That’s true. I was told to make him stay in place.’

  ‘Then it’s reasonable to assume that you were sent to Berlin pretty sharply, Ram.’

  ‘I suppose I was.’

  In the cellar, Naldo pulled one phone away from his ear, raising an eyebrow at Arnie, who followed suit. ‘We know.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘We know the exact date, so why’s he playing silly buggers, Arn?’

  ‘Did you go fast, Ram?’ Caspar asked upstairs. ‘I mean did the instructions come out of the blue?’

  ‘Everything happened quickly in my line of business.’

  He was not giving an inch.

  And so it went on. ‘Ever-decreasing circles,’ Caspar said over dinner. ‘My dear brother’ll end up spinning into his own arse.’

  ‘He’s turned particularly evasive.’ Naldo spoke as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘They do that – defectors do it. And Ramillies is no willing defector. He spewed everything out about the long past pretty quickly. When he was frightened. Now the fear’s off, he’s become difficult. It was like pulling teeth trying to establish when Klaubert made his pass at the Russians.’

  ‘So we noticed.’ Arnie was distracted.

  ‘Picked up one of the Russian Legation people, we gathered in the end. Mid-April 1939, right?’

  ‘That’s what he says now. Ramillies was sent as soon as they realised the man was serious.’

  ‘And it took them the best part of a month to establish that.’ Naldo smiled to himself. Those dates were probably correct, for they fitted perfectly with the documents in C’s First Folio. Tomorrow he would have another go at C. It was time for Caspar to be pulled off and Ramillies exposed to a taste of danger. He would get that at Warminster.

  The radio was on, tuned to the AFN. Vera Lynn sang ‘There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover.’

  ‘We could get your brother Ramillies a job from her.’ Arnie grinned.

  ‘Oh?’ Caspar was still preoccupied with his subject’s prevarication.

  ‘Yeah.’ Arnie’s grin widened. ‘He’d be just right for it.’

  ‘For what, Arnie?’ Naldo joined in the game, playing straightman, for it was already an old joke.

  ‘For cleaning all that bluebird crap off the white cliffs of Dover.’

  Early the next morning, after speaking to London, Naldo told Arnie he could go and fish in the Frankfurt Compound.

  *

  The members of the Gehlen Organisation, seen by Arnold Farthing, were very correct and strictly professional. ‘They’re like a bloody detective agency,’ he told Naldo afterward. ‘It’s as though they’re going out of their way not to take sides. The first guy who saw me said it wasn’t really his province, but he’d put me onto the right man.’

  ‘And he did?’ asked Naldo.

  ‘Yes and no. They specialise in Russia – “We are only really familiar with the Eastern areas of operation,” the guy told me. Interesting, though. Knew Rogov without batting an eyelid. Knew what he did, who he worked for. Didn’t know his agents, but they understood exactly who he was.’ Arnold did a passable impression of an impassive German officer: ‘“This Rogov, he has gone astray, I think, yes?” “Yes,” says I. “And he is not Russian-born according to our sources.” “Really?” says I, looking shocked to my colonial core. The guy gives me one of those smiles – you know, half-a-mouth and no eyes. “You should examine his background, Herr Farthing. He could be of special interest to you.”’

  ‘Good luck. Get your kit together, Arn. We go late tonight. I’ve yet to break the news to Herbie and Caspar.’

  ‘Which means I’m confined to barracks and not allowed to use the phone. Herr Fry must not hear of this, yes?’

  ‘Jawohl. For you, Herr Fry is over – until he figures we’ve gone.’

  *

  They gave Ramillies no warning. In fact even Caspar was not told until ten o’clock. They were scheduled to move out just after midnight. SIS hoods appeared to come out from under stones. The night was alive with them, shadowy figures moving outside the house – cordoning off the area for a radius of ten miles: some could be detected only by the crackle of their big walkie-talkies. They were all young ex-officers who enjoyed the games of glamour and asked no questions except what weapons they could carry and whom they could kill.

  Naldo had spent two hours on the telephone talking to C, and during the late afternoon a very young man in blazer, cavalry-twill slacks, and sporting an Etonian tie, turned up and spent another hour with Naldo. His name was Curry Shepherd – ‘New, but bright. Good on organisation. He’s just twenty years old and looks younger than Herbie,’ Naldo told Caspar and Arnie.

  The convoy was made up of four cars, the van- and rearguard cars were specially stripped-down vehicles with reinforced bumpers, bulletproof glass, and no rear windows, for these had been removed to take the mountings for Bren guns. The hoods in the back sat on swivel gunners’ seats facing outward.

  A shaken and
white-faced Ramillies was put into the car behind the armed lead vehicle, flanked by Herbie and Shepherd. Arnie sat up front with the driver, his hand resting on the Thompson clipped under the dash on the passenger side.

  Caspar and Naldo were in the next car, while the other special vehicle brought up the rear.

  They drove west, to an unused airstrip around ten kilometres away. One runway was still usable – the two others were pockmarked with bomb craters. An RAF team had rigged up emergency lighting and there was a yellow control van parked to the right of the runway about half-way down.

  The cars pulled up beside an Avro York, one of the many transport aircraft derived from the Lancaster bomber, its Rolls-Royce Merlins clattering.

  Herbie and Shepherd hustled Ramillies aboard. The others followed.

  The takeoff was bumpy and noisy and, once airborne, they had to shout to converse. The whole aircraft was alive, trembling from the engine power and shaking in the air that was flung against its wings and fuselage.

  ‘Are we going in to Northolt?’ Arnie shouted.

  ‘Lyneham actually.’ Naldo gave his colleague a long slow smile as he cupped his hands near to Arnold’s head. ‘Wiltshire,’ he explained. ‘It’ll be easier for the boys to take Ramillies off to Warminster. That should put the fear of God into him. We’re to go to the Northolt house.’ Naldo paused, then cupped his hands again. ‘C’s seen the sense of things. Caspar’s to come with us. He’s joining the Symphony team. Going to be initiated with a couple of days’ reading – the First Folio. One of us’ll have to be with him.’

  ‘I’ve got to fit in this bit of research for the Agency. Can you cover, or will Barbara never speak to me again?’

  ‘Herb’ll cover. He comes with us. Young Shepherd and a team are taking friend Ramillies to his incarceration. I’m going to ask how long we’ve really got – a marriage has been arranged, remember?’

  After a silence broken only by the thrashing engines and quivering air, Arnie asked Naldo’s advice. ‘How would you go about looking into their pasts – Caroline and Jo-Jo, I mean?’

  Naldo shrugged. ‘I personally wouldn’t, but – as you’re under discipline – why not talk to Richard? Better still, sit down with Sara. She knows everything.’