Traitors' Gate gs-7

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Major nodded. 'I'd say that your new master will produce a better rabbit than we would have got from old one leg Dumbo; but the two of you have certainly been given one hell of an assignment. This could be worse than Tobruk. The Order of Battle will include the best of everything the Army's got, and they'll be two thousand miles from home. There will be no getting the remnants off in small boats as we did at Dunkirk. Well, let us know how we can help, and keep your chin up.'

  Had Gregory been at this meeting he would have been equally worried about the outcome of the expedition to North Africa, but at least he would have been disabused of his idea that the British and Americans intended to do nothing in 1942 which might force the enemy to withdraw a certain number of divisions from Russia. Such knowledge, had he had it the evening before, would certainly have caused his conversation with Sir Pellinore to take an entirely different turn; so it is most unlikely that the project of his going to Budapest would ever have arisen.

  As it was, while the I.S.S.B. was discussing the first tentative arrangements for the security of Operation Torch, he was lying in his bath thinking of that lovely city, so justly termed 'The Queen of the Danube,' Or, to be more accurate, he was thinking of a wonderful three weeks that he had spent there three years before the war in the company of a very lovely young woman,

  In the summer of 1936, on behalf of Sir Pellinore, he had been engaged in investigating international smuggling operations which had assumed large and dangerous proportions; for, in addition to big consignments of contraband goods, a number of Communist agitators were being flown in by night to secret landing grounds in lonely parts of Kent. His painstaking enquiries on the French coast had got him nowhere until one midnight in the Casino at Deauville his curiosity had been aroused by the sight of a beautiful dark-haired girl and, quite incidentally, the fact that she was in the company of an elderly man whom he knew to be a crooked financier.

  She had proved to be a Hungarian named Sabine Szenty,' and it was through having got to know her later that night in unusually dramatic circumstances that he secured his first clue to the problem which had so far defeated him. Unwillingly to begin with, then in rebellion against her crooked chief, she had eventually helped him to unmask the smugglers' organization. It had very nearly cost both of them their lives and, even when the job was done, her own participation in their criminal activities left her liable to prosecution and a prison sentence. To save her from that he had performed a highly illegal act himself; but he had had no cause to regret it, for after their arrival in Budapest she had rewarded him in an entirely suitable manner.

  He wondered now what had happened to her, and if she was still living in the Hungarian capital. It was probable that by this time she had married; but she had never sought to conceal the fact that she was by nature an adventuress, and believed in taking all the good things of life that offered with both hands; so he thought it unlikely that she would as yet have settled down to respectable domesticity. She could still be only about twenty-eight and with beauty such as hers she would be able for years yet, should she wish, to change one rich husband for another.

  Sabine, he decided, compared favourably with any of the numerous women whom for a season he had loved and who had returned his love. Erika was, of course, the great exception, and he was not being consciously unfaithful to her when he thought of those laughing carefree sunny days and hectic nights that he had spent with Sabine beside the Danube, and wished that he had some magic formula for setting time back so that he might enjoy them all over again.

  Later in the day, he told Rudd that on Wednesday morning he would be going north on a week's leave and that shortly after his return he expected to be away from London for quite a time.

  Rudd pushed the greasy cap he always wore, both indoors and out, on to the back of his head, scratched in his yellowish hair above the right ear and said in a wheedling tone:

  'See 'ere Mr. Gregory, sir; that's Dutch for you goin' abroad again, an' you don't 'ave to tell me no different. Can't yer take me wiv yer, sime as you done now an' again in the old days? I'd pull me weight. You know that. An' the 'ome' Guard's become a farce now, wiv not a 'ope o' any of us old sweats wot's in it gettin' a crack at the Jerries.'

  'Sorry, old friend,' Gregory replied with real sympathy. 'I wish I could; but this time it's right out of the question. I won't forget you, though, when another chance does occur to use the sort of help you have always given me so willingly.'

  'Thanks, sir,' Rudd grinned, showing teeth that badly needed the attention of a dentist. 'Well, good luck then; an' should you be seein' little ole 'itler, give 'im an extra one from me right on the kisser.'

  Up in Wales, Gregory was favoured with July sunshine, but even in the private wing of the big house there was little real privacy, and it was difficult for Erika to free herself from the work of administration as long as she remained under the same roof as the hospital. Earlier in the year while he had been a permanent resident, he had not minded that, but now it irked him; so they decided to spend the weekend at Llandudno.

  The trip was not a success. Owing to petrol rationing they had to go by train and were then tied to the town. At the hotel in which they stayed the wartime food was abominable and even indifferent drink obtainable only at extortionate prices. To add insult to injury a bottle of champagne that Gregory bought from a wine merchant on the Saturday morning, for them to drink up in their bedroom that night, proved when opened as happens occasionally for no known reason with the best of brands to be badly corked.

  They were both glad to get back to Gwaine Meads; but there their only out-of-doors escape from patients and nurses was to take picnics in the woods, and the weather suddenly went bad on them. As Gregory was now looking forward with cheerful anticipation to his mission, all this increased his impatience to be on his way to Budapest. About that he endeavoured to conceal his feelings from Erika; but she knew him so well that she sensed and resented it, with the result that they had few really happy hours during their last days together.

  On Tuesday, August 4th, he took the last train back to London. First thing the following morning he rang up Sir Pellinore, who told him to pack a bag and come to Carlton House Terrace. On his arrival in the library there shortly after eleven o'clock, the elderly Baronet told him to open a quart' of champagne that was standing ready in an ice bucket. As soon as they had taken their first swig out of the silver tankards, Sir Pellinore said:

  'Your terms of reference are simply to spy out the land find out if the anti German feeling in Hungary is strong enough for us to make practical use of it. There would be no point in your trying to act as a go-between with any anti Nazi elements you may come across until the F.O. and the State Department have fully considered the whole question. But if the report you bring back is favourable, you may be sent out again to open secret negotiations.' Having taken another good swig at his champagne, Sir Pellinore went on: 'You'll be leavin' on Friday by the weekly diplomatic plane that serves our Embassy in Berne; so I thought you might as well spend your last two nights here. From Switzerland you'll proceed under your own steam by whatever route you think best. I've got devilish little information for you to go on, though. The fellers I've talked to all say their Hungarian files are hopelessly out of date.'

  'Our spies can't be up to much then,' Gregory remarked, lighting a Sullivan.

  'That's not the trouble. We haven't got any there.'

  'Why on earth not?'

  'One of the results of the MacDonald, Baldwin and Chamberlain Governments, all cheeseparing so idiotically on the Secret Service funds in the years before the war. What little money there was all had to go on the highest priorities Germany and Russia. Funds were so short that, as we had an alliance with the French, we left it to them to keep tabs on Nazi activities in North Africa; so when the French ratted on us we hadn't even got a skeleton setup there.'

  'Chamberlain's shortcomings are ancient history now, though; and the M.I. shows have been on a war footing for close on t
hree years.'

  'Oh, they haven't lacked money since September '39. I was only explaining why we had no organ grinders in Budapest. And we haven't been at war with Hungary that long, you know. We didn't declare war on Hungary, Finland and Romania until last December.'

  'Even so, I should have thought seven months was time enough to get something going.'

  Sir Pellinore shrugged his great shoulders. 'I doubt if we' should ever have declared war against these Nazi satellites at all unless Joe Stalin had pressed us to and trained spies can't be got just by putting an advertisement in The Times. We've still probably only about one to every dozen employed by Himmler. With so much ground to cover, it would be a waste to send good men to places where the odds are all against our ever undertaking military operations. Anyway, I've drawn a blank about what's going on there apart from a digest of the stuff that has appeared in the newspapers.'

  'How about an identity and a passport?'

  'That's all fixed up. I didn't do it through the old firm, though. I'm told that they perform miracles to keep us in the know about the enemy's Order of Battle, but in other ways it's far from being the show it was when the little Admiral ran it. There's a new firm that specializes in sabotage, but its people bring home a lot of stuff, and its Chief is much more of a live wire. Been parachuted into Hitler's Europe himself at least half a dozen times. You're to report to him at ten thirty tomorrow morning.'

  'Good. I must say I would have liked to have someone reliable whom I could contact, just to get the lie of the land; but if Hungary is now like darkest Africa to the professionals, I must go native and hope for the best.'

  'Oh, I can give you a few names to start the ball rollin'. Old friends of mine. Now that our countries are at war they may not be willing to give you their active help. But they'll still observe the decencies. If you say you're a friend of mine they wouldn't dream of turning you over to the police. There's Istvan Lujza. He was a Cabinet Minister in the last years of the old Emperor. And Prince Gyorgy Hunyadi. He owns the finest partridge shoot in Hungary; probably in the world. Then there's Mihaly Zapolya. Never forget one night when we got tight together and shot out half the lights on the Franz Joseph Embankment. What a lark! That's years ago, of course; but wars don't make any difference to friendship between people with whom you've done that sort of thing.'

  Next morning Gregory took a taxi to a big block of offices a quarter of a mile north of Oxford Street. It was a hive of activity and, judging from its entrance, passageways and lift, it appeared to be staffed almost entirely with pretty girls. Most of them were in the uniform of the F.A.N.Y. but quite a number wore smart civilian clothes. When they addressed each' other they spoke with the accent of Mayfair but, as they passed Gregory in short stages from the door up to the General's office, they were none the less brisk and efficient for that.

  The General proved to be a small, dark, wiry man. Instead of the slacks usually worn by officers in London, or the ugly battledress which had been brought in only with the object of making officers less conspicuous in the field, he was turned out with the impeccable correctness of a staff officer in the First World War. The sight of his beautifully cut riding breeches and highly polished field boots in combination with the parachute badge on his arm made Gregory's heart warm towards him, and within a few minutes they were talking together like old friends.

  When they got down to business, the General said: 'Sir Pellinore tells me that you speak both German and French well enough to pass as a native of either country. As you must know, owing to centuries of Austrian domination the Magyars have an hereditary hatred for everything German; so I think you would stand a much better chance of winning their confidence if you clocked in as a Frenchman. Diplomatic relations between France and Hungary have never been severed. With a Vichy passport you should be able to go in and out freely whenever you wish.'

  'Excellent,' Gregory nodded. 'I like that idea. There must be plenty of Frenchmen carrying Vichy passports who are de Gaullists at heart; so nobody will think it particularly odd if, when sounding them out, I express views uncomplimentary to the Nazis.'

  'That is just what I thought; and we have an identity for you which should fill the bill. It is that of a Free French Officer who was an Interpreter with the Commandos and was killed in the St. Nazaire raid. Your story will be that you were fed up with serving under General de Gaulle, so during the confusion of the fighting you took the opportunity to desert; and that, as you had no time for Petain either, instead of remaining in France you went to Switzerland. Why, after a few months, you should have decided to go to Hungary, I leave to you.'

  'It depends rather on this chap's circumstances, doesn't it?'

  'To some extent; but I don't think they will help you very much. His name was Etienne Tavenier. He retired from the Army with the rank of Major a few years before the war. Presumably he did so because at about that time he inherited from his father a pleasant property in Perigord. That suggests that he was fairly well off, so could have afforded to travel, and might some time have been to Budapest on a holiday. But they will give you such particulars as we have of him downstairs. Your passport is ready for you there too, and various other papers. Among them is a draft on a Swiss bank in Berne for £500. They will give you the lot in cash or open a credit for you as Commandant Tavenier in Budapest, just as you wish.'

  Gregory smiled. 'That seems quite a generous allowance, as I am going there only to try to find out the form; and that should not take me more than a couple of weeks.'

  'The amount is in accordance with Sir Pellinore's request,' the General smiled back. 'This being a private enterprise, he is footing the bill. If your report proves hopeful, no doubt you will be going out again to stir up some trouble. If not, and you have left some of the money in a Budapest bank, we can arrange for our Swiss friends to reclaim it. And now, I'm due at a conference; so I'll wish you luck and pass you on to the section that has been arranging about your papers.'

  The General's beautiful secretary took Gregory to a room on a lower floor, and said to a girl seated behind a desk there, 'Oh, Diana, here is your customer for Budapest.' Then with a ravishing smile she left them.

  Diana was another lovely small, thin faced, with the sort of golden hair that cannot be got out of a bottle, and a slightly arched nose. She looked only about twenty-two, so Gregory expected her to show him through to someone more senior; but she casually waved him to a chair, offered him a Lucky Strike, then took one herself and, after surveying him for a moment from beneath her long lashes, said with a smile:

  'It's a good thing you are only taking Tavenier's name and not attempting to pass as him. He was quite a lot older and going bald.'

  'Did you know him, then?' Gregory enquired.

  'No. But I got a description of him from C.C.O., H.Q., so that if you do run into trouble you could anyhow say that they are confusing you with a cousin of the same name, and be able to describe him correctly.'

  'That was thoughtful of you.'

  'Oh, it's just part of the Austin Reed Service.' Producing a folder from a drawer she tipped its contents out on to the desk and passed them to him one by one, methodically checking them off on a list as she did so.

  In addition to the Vichy passport which contained an up-to-date photograph of himself that he had had taken at Sir Pellinore's suggestion before going up to Wales and the draft on the Swiss bank, there were a partly used Vichy ration card, two faked bills and several letters to support his false identity. When she had done, she said:

  'As Tavenier lived over here from the time of his evacuation with other French troops from Dunkirk until the St. Nazaire raid last March, it would be quite in order for him to be wearing British underclothes; but you should remove any initials you may have on yours and, I suggest, buy yourself a French style suit and shoes when you get to Berne.'

  Such advice to Gregory was very much 'teaching one's grandmother to suck eggs;' but he thanked her gravely, and she went on:

  'Now this is off th
e record. I have one contact for you. But you must memorize his name and address; not write it down. It is Leon Levianski, wholesale furrier, 158 Kertesz Utcza, Pest.'

  'Thanks.' He repeated what she had said three times, then asked, 'How does this chap come into our picture?'

  'He doesn't. She lit another cigarette and looked down at her desk, her long lashes veiling her eyes. 'I happen to have an American boyfriend who is in O.S.S. Naturally we are terribly cagey with one another, but I told him the other night that we badly wanted a contact in Budapest and asked if he could help. He got me the name of this Jewish merchant. You see, it is still possible for the Hungarians to write to the U.S. via Scandinavia or Turkey, and ever since America came into the war this man has been writing a monthly letter to a cousin of his in New York. Instead of his letters just being waffles, they are factual reports of what goes on inside Hitler's Europe at least the old Austro-Hungarian part of it as far as this man can assess it on all he hears by way of the Jewish grapevine. After a while the cousin in New York thought they might interest the State Department; so now he sends them on regularly to Washington. Their writer might be able to help a bit. Anyhow, I think you would be quite safe in approaching him.'

  Gregory repeated the name and address again, and nodded. 'I'm very grateful to you.' Then he read through the particulars of Etienne Tavenier. They were distinctly scanty. The Frenchman had entered the 14th Regiment of Tirailleurs in 1912, and served as a subaltern in the First World War. Afterwards he had spent several years in North Africa, then in 1926 married Mademoiselle Phoebe Constant (father's occupation unknown), and transferred to the 110th Infantry. It was believed that there were no children of the marriage, and that the wife's death (about the time of Munich) had been due to ptomaine poisoning. A year or so earlier Tavenier had come into his inheritance, a small chateau at Razac, not far from Perigueux. In 1939 he had been recalled to the colours, and in May, 1940, his battalion had been a part of General Blanchard's army, which had made a gallant stand beside the British. After being taken off from Dunkirk he had opted to remain in Britain as a member of the Free French Forces.