by John Gardner
Arnold nodded and lapsed into silence – the shouting was too difficult. Yes, he would go and talk to Sara and Dick. He also wanted to spend a lot of time with Liz No-Name, if she was willing.
It was still dark, a good two hours before dawn, when the York tilted its wings, levelled out, dropped its gear, and began a bumpy descent into Lyneham, the engine pitch rising and falling and the airframe grumbling when the flaps were lowered.
They all stood on the asphalt apron as two cars and a van drew up alongside the aircraft. Two large men, gentle as wild bulls, came from the van and escorted Ramillies into the back. Naldo had seen men go like this before. The men would sit very close to their prisoner during the bone-shaking drive, saying nothing and refusing any rights. Curry Shepherd, after giving them a merry ‘Cheerio!’ climbed in next to the driver, and the van went off fast, its taillights disappearing into the darkness.
‘You’re to come with us, Cas.’ Naldo nodded toward his uncle.
‘For what?’ Caspar was obviously out of sorts because his errant brother was being removed from him. He probably thought it reflected on his methods.
‘For a talk with C. He’s got a nice fat file for you to read.’
They reached the Northolt house in time for breakfast. Liz served them but purposefully ignored Arnold, only speaking to him in a whisper when he managed to slip from the table and caught her in the kitchen. She said yes, he could call her, and Arnie returned to his bacon and eggs, feeling that all was well with the world. He even tolerated Herbie, who had spent most of the journey, and now most of breakfast, practising his English.
Later, when C arrived with Cherub almost yapping at his heels, the room was cleared and they sat in a semicircle – like a Bible class, Arnie thought.
Cherub stayed in the hall and they heard the outer door close as Liz left the house.
‘Right,’ C began brightly. ‘We have a couple of days’ work for you, Caspar. The others know all about it, as they are completely familiar with a theory of mine which has bearing on you, Tarot, Klaubert, the whole shooting match. My collateral – my proof – is here.’ He slapped his hand on the thick, flagged file at his elbow. ‘I compiled this, and only Naldo and Arnie know what’s in it. Herbie, old dear, would you join the good Cherub in the hall?’
Herbie went like a lamb, but as he reached for the door he turned. ‘You call him good Cherub. I think he’s a shit, Chief.’
‘Nevertheless.’ C glared at the big German, who grinned at him and went out quietly.
‘Right, Caspar, as your friends and relatives here will tell you, the nub of our theory is that Klaubert was indeed working for the NKVD.’ He paused to make it more dramatic – as he had done when first revealing the information to Naldo and Arnie. ‘He was working for the Russians because we told him to. You see, he came to us first and there’s nobody left around to tell us about it. But the files contain all the essential facts. Now let me go through them for your benefit.’
As he talked, Caspar’s face assumed a picture of disbelief – just as Naldo’s and Arnie’s had done when they first heard it.
Naldo watched his uncle, thinking. You wait until you’ve read the file, Caspar. Then you’ll see what fools we mortals be.
Chapter Thirty
‘You might well ask, how can this be?’ C spread his hands, a brief smile entering and exiting his face like a flash from a signal lamp. His speech had taken on an almost Churchillian timbre. ‘Yet you, Caspar, of all people, should understand. You know of the trials, tribulations, blood, sweat, tears and toil that went on in those fifteen years prior to the war. The constant battles with the Treasury, the rows with the Foreign Office over diplomatic status, scandals over missing funds, officers in sensitive positions long after they should have been put out to grass, simply because our late Chief couldn’t get his hands on decent Treasury allowances.’
Caspar nodded, but C did not pause for breath – ‘Then the gradual loss of networks – not to mention stations: Vienna Head of Station arrested; Berlin closed down. Then that ghastly final year, with dear old C so ill that I had to do his job for him half the time, and run Section Two into the bargain. You know what a godawful cock-up it all was, Caspar. You even went to the Chief and asked – what? He told me your exact words, but – ’
‘I asked to be sent into the highways and byways of Europe and compel them to come in. To set up networks. To take up arms against a sea of troubles.’
‘And he replied?’
‘By all means.’
‘And you did well, Cas. Very well. But 1939 was about the most ghastly year in my life. You realise that by 1940 I was left with only Berne, Lisbon, and Stockholm, while our depleted networks were going out all over Europe. There were moments when I never thought they would be lit again in our lifetime.’
‘But they did come on again, sir.’ Naldo felt sorry for his Chief, who had now lapsed into brooding silence.
‘Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. But it was a close-run thing, young Railton. ‘ He took a noisy breath and fixed Caspar with his small eyes. ‘We had one agent within the Abwehr but he went dead in ’42.’ He spoke of Paul Thummel, a senior Nazi Intelligence Service officer. ‘And we viewed him with some grave disbelief until he delivered the goods.’ He tapped the dossier they called the First Folio. ‘To understand this, you must be aware of two things. First, that I was foolish not to have caught on to the truth earlier than I did. Second, that any offer from a person inside the Nazi hierarchy was looked at with great care. We always showed immense caution where the Gestapo and the Abwehr were concerned.’
He pushed the heavy dossier toward Caspar. ‘It is all there now. I just hope to God it’s not too late.’
For a full minute he sat, staring at the folder as though it was some kind of bomb – which, in a way, it was. Then, pulling himself together he looked around the crowded pink room. ‘Herbie’ll baby-sit you, Caspar. My Cherub will maintain contact. You’ll need two days minimum – ’
‘Probably three, sir.’ – Naldo, anxious to get as much time as possible.
C nodded, turning back toward Caspar. ‘If you need to talk, use the secure line to my office. Or, better still, tell Cherub, via Herbie, and I’ll be with you in an hour or so. As for the rest of you’ – he stared around grimly – ‘don’t stray too far away. Let my office know where you can be found.’ His eyes finally rested on Arnold. ‘I’ve an intuition that they’ll be expecting you back in Washington soon. Things are apparently hotting up over there. Who knows, we might even find our prodigal son, Klaubert, romping around the Reflecting Pool.’
*
Because C had given them a lift back to central London – making them leave the house separately and walk to appointed pickup locations – Naldo and Arnie did not feel secure enough to speak with one another until they were safely back in Naldo’s house near Exhibition Road in Kensington. Herbie, having no such inhibitions, had mumbled something about it being ‘Good luck for some. The wine, women, and the singing, I suppose,’ as they left the Northolt house.
Now Arnie repeated it – ‘The wine, the women, and the singing for you, Nald?’
‘I couldn’t care less about the wine and the singing, actually.’ He lunged for the telephone. Barbara’s phone double-burped eighteen times before he gave up.
‘Off with another guy, I shouldn’t wonder.’ Arnie shook his head. ‘Might I use the instrument?’
‘Fixing up a visit to Redhill?’
‘Second on my list. Trying to arrange a night of lewd lust and abandoned passion first.’
Liz No-Name was in and agreed to meet him for lunch. Arnie made straight for his bedroom, where Naldo allowed him to keep his things. Arnold had so arranged matters to give himself a permanent excuse to return to Washington via London if recalled quickly. He was out of the house within the half hour.
As for Naldo, he sat and waited it out, dialling Barbara’s number every five minutes. He finally got through at three in the afternoon.
‘Oh, my
God, if I’d known!’ she shrieked. ‘You’re really back? Back for some time?’
‘Where the hell’ve you been?’ Naldo knew his patience had worn thin, just as he knew his attitude was unreasonable.
‘Out to lunch with Vi.’
‘Vi?’
‘Vi Short. You’ve met her. School chum. Lady Vivienne Short.’
‘Oh, her.’
‘Yes, her, Nald. What d’you expect? D’you really want me to sit at home all day just waiting for you to get back into London?’ Her voice had become shrieky with hostility. ‘Because if that’s what you want, you can bloody well think again.’
‘Barb, look, I’m – ’
‘I only hope to heaven you’re back for a reasonable amount of time. My people’re getting very difficult. They really do have to start making plans for the wedding.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He could think of nothing else to say.
‘Sorry about what? Your bloody-minded attitude? Or are you trying to tell me this is just another wham-bang-thank-you-ma’am interlude?’
There was a long silence, then Naldo said, ‘Both actually.’
‘Both actually,’ she mimicked. ‘Well, if it’s both actually, you can bloody well fuck off.’ And she banged down the receiver. Naldo dialled five times, but she had obviously taken the phone off the hook.
‘Oh, Lord,’ he sighed, then went slowly to take a shower and change. He could be at her flat within the hour.
*
Over lunch, Liz appeared perfectly normal – she joked and chatted, looked happily into Arnie’s eyes, and even reached out to caress his sleeve.
While they sipped their coffee, Arnie asked how she would like to spend the afternoon. She glanced away, then said, ‘I have to leave to go back to you-know-where about five. But, if you’re really asking, then I have to tell you. I’d like it very much if we could spend the rest of the afternoon in bed.’
Arnie felt free, much as a prisoner might feel as he leaves jail, or a man who rises from a severe illness of which he thought he was likely to die.
They made love with inventive tenderness for almost two hours. Then, at around four-thirty, as they lay on their backs, Liz suddenly clasped his hand tightly. It was a movement he found vaguely unnerving.
‘Liz?’ he asked, turning his head to see she was crying – silently, without a shaking of her body or sobs in her throat. With Liz it was a hail of tears flooding her cheeks from the wellspring of her eyes.
‘Liz, what’s wrong?’ He propped himself on one elbow and looked down into her face as she swallowed and took a deep breath.
‘Arnie…’ She paused. ‘I have to tell you.’
‘What?’
She struggled. ‘We can’t meet again. That was it. It’s over now.’
‘Liz – but why?’
A long silence, then he repeated, ‘Why, Liz?’
‘Because I’ve been warned off.’
‘Warned?’
‘Wait.’ She placed a hand over his mouth. ‘My Section Head told me you were coming back to the house last night. She was nice enough about it, but apparently we’ve been spotted.’
‘So? You said it wasn’t against the rules.’
‘It’s not.’ She tried a little laugh. ‘I know a girl with “Five” who’s been having an affair with her Head of Department since the war began – or at least everybody presumes she is. Stays with him and all that.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Arnie.’ She took another deep breath, more in control now. ‘Arnie, I’ve got too fond of you in a very short time. It isn’t fair on either of us.’
‘Why the hell not?’ He felt the first twinge of anger, and a nasty little warning voice in his mind.
‘Because you’ll be going away again soon. Back to the States. I’ve thought about it, truly I have. My Head of Section advised me to give it a lot of thought. She said she didn’t want to see me hurt; knew I was becoming involved with you, and it’s true, Arnie. In a few more days I might not be able to let go, and I don’t want to get hurt. Not again.’
‘Someone before?’
‘We all have our wartime stories, Am. You know that. I have mine. You’ll go back to the States, and – well, maybe I’d never see you again.’
‘So nobody’s ordered you to stop seeing me?’
She shook her head. ‘But it’s the sensible thing, isn’t it?’
Arnold thought for about twenty seconds before saying, yes he supposed it was the most sensible thing. He did not feel happy about saying it, but – having a suspicious nature probably nurtured by his work – Arnie knew the ways of these things. He had no reason to think that Liz was lying, but she was right. He might well be on his way back to Washington in a couple of days. He might not return to England for a very long time. On the other hand, the girl could quite easily be trying to force the pace, and so lead him into a commitment. Arnie was not one to be hurried down that slippery path.
‘Okay, Liz.’ He nodded, unhappy and disappointed. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you think it should be.’
She seemed very preoccupied, even worried, as they dressed.
Arnie did not kiss her as he left. She would have allowed it, but he was not taking any chances. As he walked up the street, looking for a cab, a voice in his mind said, ‘Arnie, you’re a shit.’ And another voice answered, ‘Yes, I know. Sometimes you have to be in order to survive.’
Returning to Naldo’s house, he put in a long-distance call to Redhill Manor. Both Dick and Sara seemed excited at the prospect of even a short visit.
*
On the other side of London an even more melodramatic scene was being played out by Naldo and Barbara.
They were close together, half naked on her bed, now. But for the best part of two hours they had shouted and clawed at each other like animals.
Barbara accused Naldo of being insensitive.
Naldo, with equal vehemence, told her she did not even begin to understand the kind of discipline under which he worked.
She threw her engagement ring at him, cutting him slightly on the cheek.
Naldo said that if she really wanted out, then she could go – and good riddance to her.
Barbara said she did not want to speak to him or see him ever again.
Okay, that was fine, but could she return his copy of Forever Amber?
That made Barbara say he was nothing but a sex maniac. ‘You only want me for my body,’ she said, throwing back her head, an act which she knew displayed her breasts to their best advantage.
Love thirty.
Love forty.
In the end they faced each other, flushed and angry, then, suddenly, the squall was over and they started to laugh.
‘I’ll talk to my Chief in the morning,’ Naldo said. ‘Maybe he can give me some idea, and we can tell your family a definite date. I’ll talk with him tomorrow, I promise. Where in hell did your ring get to?’
Barbara grinned. ‘Oh, shut up, Nald. Undress me. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.’
Naldo decided he must ask his father about women sometime. James Railton had never broached the subject with his son.
*
In the Northolt house, Herbie Kruger had asked Caspar’s permission to take the gramophone into what had once been the dining room. Caspar had no objections, and Herbie was as happy as a child. Carefully padded with clothing, in his luggage, he had brought back a whole set of Mahler’s Third Symphony, which he had picked up in a Berlin shop. It was a work he had yet to hear.
Years later, when it was all over, Caspar could never explain how, when he thought of the Klaubert business he always seemed to hear great brass chords made slightly discordant, distorted and reedy instead of full, as if ushering in a new season.
Alone in the pink room, Caspar took up the heavy dossier and flicked through it. It was bulky with files, most of them original and culled from dozens of souces within the SIS Registry. There were signals, together with their decrypts; long summaries; repo
rts; analyses. These were interleaved with pages of more recent date upon which C had made annotations in his neat hand. He also made marginal notes, not so neat, on certain papers.
The first document was a signal from Munich on September 28, 1938. It had been sent via the diplomatic bag – nothing sensitive went out of Germany by telegram anymore.
It was marked CX – which meant For Chief of Secret Service Only – and signed Hornet. In the margin C had noted that Hornet was a young officer called Nigel Mannus, who had been sent to Munich in order to help cover for the local Head of Station while the diplomatic circus was in town.
Decrypted it read:
APPROACHED AT LEGATION TONIGHT BY SS OFFICER STOP I AM CIPHERING HAWK IF YOU CLEAR STOP WISHES TO MEET ME PRIVATELY ON MATTER OF STRICT SECRECY STOP CLAIMS HE HAS INTELLIGENCE WHICH COULD BE OF USE TO OUR SERVICE STOP BUT WILL ONLY ANSWER TO CSS DIRECT STOP NO OTHER OFFICER WILL DO STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP.
There was a decrypted reply with a notation from C which read, This, and the following signals, were seen by the CSS only. So Nota Bene: only CSS and Hornet were involved. The reply signal read:
TAKE GREATEST CARE IN HANDLING HAWK STOP USE ABSOLUTE SECURITY AND CAUTION STOP ADVISE HIS POSITION AND REASONS FOR WISHING TO ASSIST STOP CSS STOP.
On the following page was Hornet’s reply to the then C:
MET HAWK IN PUBLIC ONLY STOP TALKED FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES STOP HE IS ON RSH’S STAFF STOP CLAIMS TO BE DISENCHANTED WITH NAZI POLICY AND IDEALS STOP WISHES TO COME TO ENGLAND AND TAKE BRITISH NATIONALITY STOP ALSO CLAIMS HE HAS SEVERAL PROOFS DOCUMENTS AND PHOTOGRAPHS OF SPECIAL CAMPS AND PLANS FOR EXTERMINATION OF ALL GERMAN JEWS STOP WILL STILL ONLY HAND MATERIAL PERSONALLY TO CSS STOP.
Under the signal C had written RSH stands for Reichsführer Himmler. If only I had seen this, or if C had shown it to me. What suffering could have been averted?
The next page contained a third signal from Hornet:
CONVINCED HAWK IS SINCERE STOP HAS LEAVE IN EARLY OCTOBER STOP WISHES TO PROCEED LONDON TO MEET WITH CSS STOP.
