‘I have to agree,’ Harrison said. ‘They’ll go ahead as planned. Forewarned, one takes it, is forearmed. A satisfactory night’s work, no?’
‘It was unimportant. They would almost certainly have found out in any case. We have a considerable number of reliable contacts throughout the country. In the areas held by the Germans, Italians, etniks and Ustaša – and that’s most of the country – there are reliable solid citizens, or are so regarded by the Germans, Italians, etniks and Ustaša, who, while cheerfully collaborating with the enemy, send us regular and up-to-date reports of the latest enemy troop movements. In other words, they are Partisan spies. Their reports are far from complete but enough to give Tito and his staff a fair indication of the enemy’s intentions.’
‘I suppose that happens in every war,’ Harrison said, ‘But I didn’t know the Partisans had spies in the enemy’s camp.’
‘We have had from the very beginning. We couldn’t have survived otherwise. What took up most of our time last night was the distressing discovery – well, we first suspected it about ten weeks ago – that the enemy have spies in our camp. Even more distressing was the discovery that they had spies in the Partisan HQ. In retrospect, it was naïve of us, we should have suspected the possibility and taken precautions long ago. In fairness to us, we weren’t complacent – we were just under the fond misapprehension that every Partisan was a burning patriot. Some, alas, burn less brightly than others. This, and not acting as message boys for General von Löhr, is what has been occupying George, Alex and myself in Italy in the past two weeks. It was a matter of such vital importance that George was actually sufficiently motivated to drag himself away from his snug retreats in Biha and Mount Prenj. Those spies in our camp had become a major threat to our security: we were trying to uncover the Italian connection.
‘That there was, and is, an Italian connection, is beyond dispute. Not German, not etnik, not Ustaša – specifically Italian, for it has been the Italian Murge division, first-class mountain troops, that have been causing us all the trouble. Our Partisans are as good, probably even better mountain troops, but hundreds of them have been killed by the Murge division in the past few months. Never in pitched battle. Invariably in isolated, one-off, incidents. A patrol, a localized troop movement, a transfer of wounded to a supposedly safer area, a reconnaissance group behind enemy lines – it came to the stage where none of those was immune to a lightning strike by specialized Murge units who apparently knew, always, exactly where to strike, when to strike, how to strike – they even seemed to know the number and composition of the Partisan groups they would be attacking, even the approximate number of the groups themselves. Our small-scale guerrilla movements were becoming very hampered, almost paralysed: and a partisan’s army’s survival depends almost exclusively on mobility, flexibility and long-range reconnaissance.
‘The Murge, of course, were receiving precise advance information of our movements. The information had to be coming from a person or persons in the neighbourhood of our HQ. Those secret messages, messages which led hundreds of men to their deaths, were not of course written down, addressed to the enemy and dropped in the nearest letterbox: they were sent by radio.’ Petersen broke off as if to collect his thoughts, his eyes wandering, unseeingly, as it seemed, round the table. Lorraine, he could see, was unnaturally pale: Sarina had her hands clasped tightly together. Petersen appeared to notice nothing.
‘I’ll carry on for a moment,’ George said. ‘At this time, you must understand that Peter has been overcome by his habitual modesty. Peter couldn’t believe that the traitors could be any longserving Partisans. Neither could I. Peter suggested that we check the approximate dates of the first transmissions – the times of the first unexpected swoops by the Murge units – with the time of the arrival of the latest recruits to the Partisans. We did and found that this checked with the arrival of an unusually high number of ex-etniks regularly desert to us and it’s etniks – quite impossible to check out the credentials and good faith of ail of them or even a fraction of them.
‘Peter and some of his men checked on a small number of those and found two who had access to long-range transmitters hidden in a forest on a hill-side. They wouldn’t talk and we don’t torture. They were executed. Thereafter the number of unexpected attacks by the Murge fell off rapidly: but they still continued at sporadic intervals. Which, of course, could only mean that there were still some traitors around.’
George helped himself liberally to some beer. It was but breakfast time, but George claimed to be allergic to both tea and coffee.
‘So we went to Italy, the three of us. Why? Because we – are or were –etnik intelligence officers and naturally associated with our Italian counterparts. Why? Because we were convinced that the messages were being relayed through Italian Intelligence. Why? Because a fighting division has neither the facilities, the ability, the organization nor the cash to mount such an operation. But Italian Intelligence has all of these in abundance.’
‘Amidst the welter of “whys”, George,’ Harrison said, ‘why the cash?’
‘It’s as Peter said,’ George said sadly. ‘You haven’t got the Balkan mentality. Come to that, I doubt whether you have the universal mentality. The etnik agents, like agents and double-agents the world over, are not motivated simply by altruism, patriotism or political conviction. The little gears in their minds only mesh efficiently under the influence of the universal lubricant. Money. They are rather highly paid and, considered dispassionately, deserve to be: look what happened to those two unfortunates unmasked by Peter.’ Petersen rose, walked to the window and stood there, gazing down the gentle valley that sloped away from their chalet. He seemed to have lost interest in the conversation.
‘All in all,’ Harrison said, ‘a fair night’s work.’
‘That wasn’t quite all of it,’ George said. ‘We have located Cipriano.’
‘Cipriano!’
‘None other. Lorraine, my dear! You look so pale. Are you not well?’
‘I feel – I feel a little faint.’
‘Maraschino,’ George said unhesitatingly. ‘Sava!’ This to one of Crni’s soldiers who rose at once and crossed to the liquor cupboard. ‘Yes, indeed. The worthy Major himself.’
‘But how on earth –’
‘We have our little methods,’ George said complacently. ‘We have, as Peter told you, our reliable, solid citizens everywhere. Incidentally, you can now forget all that Peter told you – thank you, my boy, just give it to the lady – all he told you about Cipriano working hand-in-glove with the Partisans. I’m afraid he grossly maligned the poor man but at the moment he deemed it prudent to divert any suspicions that Majors Metrovi and Rankovi might have been harbouring from himself to an absent person. Cipriano was conveniently absent. Our Peter is a very convincing actor, no?’
‘He’s a very convincing liar,’ Sarina said.
‘Oh, tush! Hurt pride again. We’re just mad because he fooled you, too. Anyway, Cipriano’s in Imotski, doubtless closeted with the Murge brigade commander there and hatching fresh devilish schemes against our poor Partisans. I shouldn’t have to explain any of this. You will remember that Peter said in Mount Prenj that he wanted to get to the link-man – Cipriano – because he was aiding and abetting the Partisans. What he meant to say was he wanted to get at the link-man because he was a deadly enemy of the Partisans but he couldn’t very well say that, could he, in front of Metrovi and Rankovi? Come, come, my children, you disappoint me: you had all night long to work out something as simple and obvious as that.’
George yawned behind a massive hand. ‘Excuse me. Now that I’m breakfasted and am once more at peace with myself, I intend to retire and rest lightly for two or three hours. We will not be moving out until the afternoon at the earliest. We await an urgent communication from Biha but it will take some time to collect and collate the information we want. Meantime, how do you people propose to spend the morning?’ He raised his voice. ‘Peter. Those people are free
to come and go as they want, inside and out, aren’t they?’
‘Of course.’
Captain Crni smiled and said: ‘May I suggest that you put on your coats and I’ll show you around our little town. There’s not much to show so it would be a short walk and hardly exhausting. Apart from the fact that it’s a lovely morning I know where we can get the best coffee in Bosnia. Far better than that awful swill we’ve just had.’
Sarina said, ‘That way we can still be watched, can’t we?’
Captain Crni bowed gallantly. ‘It would always be a pleasure to watch you and Miss Chamberlain. If however, you wish to go alone and report to the nearest Italian command post that we are Partisans and have designs on a certain Italian intelligence major, then you are by all means free to do so. That, Miss von Karajan, is the extent to which we trust you.’
‘I am sorry.’ She reached out an impulsive hand and caught his forearm. ‘That was a terrible thing to say. Two or three days in this country and I find I can’t trust anyone, not even myself.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, you’re the only one who knows where the coffee shop is.’
They left – without Giacomo who had elected to remain behind – shortly afterwards. Petersen said wearily: ‘She doesn’t trust anyone. God knows I don’t blame her. George, I am a hypocritical liar. Even when I say nothing, I’m a hypocritical liar.’
‘I know what you mean, Peter. Sometimes a tiny voice reaches down to my conscience – God knows how it ever finds it – and says exactly the same thing. The clarion call to duty strikes a pretty cracked note at times. Sava?’
‘General?’
‘Go to the window in the front room and watch the road. If they return unexpectedly, call me. I’ll be upstairs. I’ll let you know when you can stop the watch. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.’
After lunch a very refreshed-looking Petersen – he’d had four hours’ sleep – crossed to where Lorraine sat with Sarina on a bench seat by a window and said: ‘Lorraine, please don’t start getting worried because there is no need to. George and I would like to talk to you.’
She bit her lip. ‘I knew you would. Can – can Sarina come?’
‘Certainly.’ He looked at Sarina. ‘Provided, of course, that you don’t say “Oh!” and “Ah!” and “monster” and clench your fists. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Petersen ushered them to an upstairs room where George was already seated, a large tankard on the table before him and a crate, presumably for emergency, on the floor beside him. Petersen said: ‘George?’
George shook his head positively. ‘Would you come between a man and his thirst.’
‘I would have thought you slaked that pretty thoroughly at lunch.’
‘This is a post-prandial beer,’ George said with dignity. ‘Pray proceed.’
‘This will be short and painless,’ Petersen said to Lorraine. ‘I’m not a dentist and you don’t have to tell lies. As you must have guessed, we know everything. I can promise you, and George will confirm, that neither retribution nor punishment waits for you. You’re a victim and not a villain and acted under extreme duress. Besides, you didn’t even know what you were doing. All transmissions were not only in code but in Yugoslav code and you don’t understand a word of Serbo-Croat. George’s word, of course, carries immense weight in the war councils, almost totally so in cases such as this, and they listen to me a bit, too. No harm will come to you or Carlos or Mario.’
She nodded, almost composedly. ‘You know about our son, of course?’
‘Yes. When was he kidnapped?’
‘Six months ago.’
‘You have no idea where he is being held?’
‘No. Well, vaguely.’ She was no longer composed. ‘In this country, I know. Major Cipriano wanted him out of Italy. I don’t know why.’
‘I can understand. There are certain things that even Cipriano can’t do in Italy. How do you know he’s in this country?’
‘They let Carlos see him twice. That was twice when I said I wasn’t going to work for them any more because I was sure he was dead. But I don’t know where he is.’
‘Yes. I see. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It doesn’t matter!’ She was no longer composed and her eyes were masked in tears.
George took his evil-smelling cigar from his mouth. ‘What Peter means is that Cipriano will tell him.’
‘Cipriano will tell –’ She broke off, nodded and shivered involuntarily.
‘We have your code books, Lorraine. We searched your room when you were out this morning.’
‘You searched her room!’ Sarina said indignantly. ‘What right –’ Petersen rose and opened the door. ‘Out.’
‘I’m sorry. I forgot. I –’
‘You promised.’
‘Don’t you ever give anyone a second chance?’
Petersen didn’t answer. He closed the door, sat down and said: ‘False bottoms to kitbags are really dreadfully passé these days. But, then, I don’t suppose either you or Cipriano ever dreamed that you would come under suspicion. No names in your book but we don’t need them. There are code numbers, call-up signs and call-up times. It will take us little enough time to trap them.’
‘And then?’
George removed his cigar again. ‘Don’t ask silly questions.’
‘Tell me, Lorraine. You had no idea why you had been sent to Mount Prenj? Oh, you knew what you were to do, but not why. Well, Cipriano knew that you knew Jamie Harrison and that he trusted you completely – after all, you were his confidential secretary – so that he would never suspect you of double-dealing: transferring messages from our diehard etnik friends in Biha to him in Rome or wherever, messages which he could re-transmit to the Murge regiment. But the real reason, of course, is that we had destroyed the only two long-range transmitters they had. With short-range transmitters their contacts with Rome could only be sporadic at best. But Mount Prenj is only two hundred kilometres from Biha. It would be an awfully short range transmitter that couldn’t reach there.’ Petersen paused and considered. ‘Well, that’s all. No, one more thing.’ He smiled. ‘Yes. One more thing. Purely personal. Where did you first meet Carlos?’
‘Isle of Wight, where I was born. He was sailing at Cowes.’
‘Of course, of course. He told me that he often went sailing there before the war. Well, I hope you’ll both go sailing there again after the war.’
‘Will – will Carlos be all right, Major Petersen?’
‘If you can refer to a Generalmajor as George you can refer to a Major as Peter. Why shouldn’t he be? He’s in the clear. Under both Italian military and civilian law he has committed no criminal offence, aided and abetted no-one. With any luck we might see him later on tomorrow.’
‘What! Carlos?’ Her face was transformed.
Petersen looked at Sarina. ‘Yes, you were right, no question.’ He didn’t say what she had been right about. ‘Certainly. Carlos. He hasn’t been up to any aiding or abetting yet, but tomorrow he will.’ She didn’t seem to hear him or, if she did, her mind was elsewhere. ‘He’s still in Ploe?’
‘Yes.’
‘He hasn’t gone back to Italy?’
‘Alas, no. Some disaffected citizen has put sugar in his diesel oil.’ She looked at him for a long moment then smiled slowly. ‘It wouldn’t have been one of those solid, reliable citizens you talk about, would it?’
He smiled back at her. ‘I am not responsible for the actions of solid, reliable citizens.’
At the foot of the stairs Sarina took Petersen’s arm and held him back. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much. That was very kind.’
He looked at her in amazement. ‘What else did you expect me to do?’
‘Nothing, I suppose. But it was wonderful. Especially about Carlos.’
‘Today I’m not an ogre? Not a monster?’
She smiled and shook her head.
‘And tomorrow? When I have to find out where the little boy is? Do you understand what I mean?
’
She stopped smiling.
Petersen shook his head sadly. ‘ “Souvent femme varie, bien fol est qui s’y fie”.’
‘What is that meant to mean?’
‘Picked it up from George. Something King Francis I scratched with a diamond on a pane of glass at Chambord. “Often does woman change, and very foolish is he who trusts her”.’
‘Pfui!’ she said. But she was smiling again.
Towards the middle of the afternoon Petersen and Crni walked into the lounge, carrying several machine-pistols and hand-guns.
‘Replacement equipment. Ivan here took ours away so it’s only fair that he should replace them. We’ll be leaving shortly. Ivan, Edvard and Sava are coming with us.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes, shall we say? I want to get through the nasty bit of the Neretva gorge in daylight but not to arrive at our destination until it’s dark, for the usual reasons.’
‘I’m not looking forward to that,’ Sarina said.
‘Have no fear. I’m not driving. Sava is. He’s a truck driver in civilian life.’
‘What destination?’ Harrison said.
‘Ah! I forgot. A new acquaintance for you, Jamie, but an old friend of ours. The proprietor of the Hotel Eden in Mostar, one Josip Pijade.’
‘A solid and reliable citizen,’ Lorraine said.
‘A very solid, very reliable citizen. You have a faraway look on your face, George. What are you thinking of?’
‘Venison.’
NINE
And venison it was. Josip and Marija had excelled themselves and achieved the seemingly impossible – the venison tasted even marginally better than the last time. George excelled himself in a corresponding fashion, but failed to achieve the impossible: halfway through his third massive helping of venison he had to admit defeat. Sleep that night, unlike the last occasion, was undisturbed by unwelcome visitors. Breakfast was a late and leisurely meal.
Partisans Page 20
