Traitors' Gate gs-7

by Dennis Wheatley

  'It would; and even earlier in the year I doubt if it could have succeeded. The Americans pressed it on us, particularly General Marshall. They maintained that a full-scale invasion of the Continent was the only way to draw pressure off the Russians. Right up to July they fought tooth and nail for it. At one time it looked as if we'd have to give way to 'em at all events to the extent of seizing the Cherbourg peninsula and tryin' to hang on there through the winter. They more or less threatened that if we wouldn't play they'd go back on the agreed first principle for the grand strategy of the war the defeat of Hitler before Japan and send everything to the Pacific. That was the last thing we wanted. But our people didn't want a Continental landing either. They maintained that it would have been murder. I think they were right. The Yanks have plenty of guts, but are still children as far as modern war is concerned. We just couldn't make them understand the immense difficulties of landing great numbers of men and vast quantities of stores on enemy held beaches against heavy opposition. But, thank God, Winston managed to argue them out of it and get his own pet plan adopted. It is, with or without the consent of the French, to occupy North Africa.'

  Gregory looked a little dubious. 'I don't see how that is going to give very much help to the Russians.'

  'Not immediately, but it will if they can hold out till the spring. The occupation of Morocco and Algeria is only the first phase. When the Anglo-American expeditionary force has consolidated it will drive east into Tunisia. Simultaneously the Eighth Army will launch an offensive through Libya, to the west. When they've joined up Malta will be relieved and the Mediterranean once more be open to British shippin'. It's estimated that we'll gain a million tons of shippin' through no longer having to send our convoys round the Cape. Then the real squeeze on Hitler will begin. With the sea and air superiority in the Med regained, we'll be able to threaten the South of France, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, Italy, the Adriatic coast, and the Balkans all the way round to Turkey. He'll not dare to leave any part of that immensely long coast line unguarded. To garrison it adequately he'll be compelled to withdraw at least forty divisions and half his air force from Russia.'

  'I see. Yes; it certainly is a magnificent conception. But what are the odds on our pulling it off?'

  'Fifty fifty,' replied Sir Pellinore gravely. 'No more. It's an appalling gamble. If there is a leak and Hitler gets wind of our intentions he'll order his U-boat packs to intercept and make suicide attacks on our convoys on their way down. That could cost us thousands of our best troops before they even reached their first objectives. When they do land, if the French decide to resist, it'll be touch and go. Our forces will be a thousand miles from home, and with no air support except what the carriers and the one small air base at Gib. can give them. There can be no taking them off as there was at Dunkirk. If they fail to establish themselves ashore it will be a shambles.'

  'Then what it really boils down to is that everything depends on the enemy's being kept in the dark about our intentions. Or at all events, as the cat can't be kept in the bag once our convoys are sighted passing through the Straits of Gib., our getting ashore before the Axis has time to take counter measures for our reception.'

  'You've said it. Although after Gib. we shall naturally do our utmost to fool Hitler into believin' that we mean to land somewhere other than in French North Africa.'

  That night, before going to bed, Gregory followed up his telegram to Erika with a letter. But with Sir Pellinore's advice in mind he kept it short:, simply asserting that he loved her better than anyone in the world and begging her to let him come up to see her at Gwaine Meads.

  Next day he put on his uniform and went to see Colonel Jacob. Sir Pellinore had said that he should inform the Colonel about his trip to Hungary, and the Colonel showed great interest in all he had to say; but, without giving any reason for it, he told Gregory that he did not think Allied strategy for 1942-43 would permit of advantage being taken of his private negotiations with the Hungarian magnates.

  On the Monday Gregory returned to the War Rooms. His colleagues there had been told that for the past two months he had been seconded for special duty and they were much too discreet to ask him any questions. So discreet were they in fact that although they brought him up to date with the situation none of them actually mentioned Torch, which was the code name that had been given to the North African expedition. All of them now knew about it, but they were not officially supposed to be in the secret of future operations; so they referred to it among themselves only obscurely.

  However, in the course of the next few days, Sir Pellinore's assumption that Gregory would find himself in the picture was fully borne out. The movements of troops, air squadrons and shipping, which were all recorded in the War Room, told a story. Oblique references to this and that filled in gaps. Above all, the speculations on possible enemy reactions in certain circumstances, of highly placed visitors who had the entry to the War Room, left no room for doubt about the broad outline of the plan.

  Anxiously he waited for every post, hoping to hear from Erika, but in vain. As by Wednesday he had still received no reply to his letter, he wrote again, declaring that his heart was broken and that only she could mend it by allowing him to go up and see her.

  At last, on Saturday morning, Rudd brought him with his breakfast a letter addressed in her well loved writing. Eagerly he tore it open, only to suffer grievous disappointment. It ran:

  From what I learned when I last saw you, I cannot believe that you have a heart worth patching up. But mine is truly broken, and with good reason. I thought that we had both long since finished sowing our wild oats, and were old enough to be faithful to one another. Anyway, I love you far too much to face a future racked with the thought that you may be secretly indulging in affaires with other women. Since there can now be no future for us I do not intend to submit to the additional pain of hearing you make excuses for your 'honeymoon on the Danube.' That it took place you cannot deny, for if you could you would already have done so. Should you come to Gwaine Meads you will drive me from it; so please at least spare me from having to make a new life among strangers. I hope in time to recover from the awful shock that was sprung upon me, and to be able to think again of the long happiness we had together. In the meantime I can do no more than wish you well.

  Bitterly, he realized that he was in a cleft stick. His only chance of altering her decision lay in his seeing and talking to her, but if he attempted to she might do as she threatened and with Sir Pellinore's grim reference to 'an inquest' haunting his mind he dared not take that risk.

  His decision to avoid Sabine had debarred him from visiting Carlton House Terrace or resuming his customary Sunday night suppers there; so he rang Sir Pellinore up and asked him to lunch at his Club. Wednesday was the earliest day the Baronet could manage and after the meal Gregory showed him Erika's letter. The old man was much distressed and offered to act as intermediary, but added that he was so heavily involved in matters connected with the war that he could not possibly give twenty-four hours to spending a night up at Gwaine Meads during the next ten days; so for the time being he could do no more than write to her.

  Gregory gratefully accepted his offer, then enquired after the lovely cause of all the trouble. Sir Pellinore told him that Sabine was still at Carlton House Terrace, and as yet had taken no steps about finding a flat for herself; but she had got a job, in which she had started the previous Monday. Apparently she had run into a pre-war friend who had introduced her to the Chancellor at the Moldavian Embassy and, owing to her proficiency in languages, she had been taken on in the Chancellery there. As her alien status would have prevented her from working in any Government Department, and all commerce with Central Europe was at a standstill, this job in a neutral Embassy had seemed the very thing for her and she was delighted about it.

  The following Monday morning Sir Pellinore rang up Gregory at the War Room to tell him that he had had a reply from Erika. But it contained no comfort for her distracted lover.
She said that even if Sir Pellinore could manage a visit to Gwaine Meads during the course of the next fortnight she would not be able to bring herself to discuss the affair with him. Her mind was made up, she was doing her utmost to forget, and to reopen the matter could only cause her acute distress.

  It was later that same morning, the 12th of October, that. Gregory ran into his old friend of Worcester days, emerging from the Chiefs of Staff conference room at the far end of the basement.

  'Hello!' he said. 'Been called in for consultation by the mighty? You are going up in the world.'

  The airman grinned. 'No, they only meet down here now at night when there's an air raid on. They've lent us their room because my little party has a global conference of its own on today. There's something rather awe inspiring in the thought that the top boys who do our stuff overseas for us all flew in yesterday from places as far apart as Cairo, Washington, Delhi and Cape Town, to meet us round the table. But it was essential that we should get all the loose ends tied up.'

  By now, although no definite reference was made to Torch outside the offices of the Planners, it was generally recognized that everyone in the basement knew about it; so Gregory raised an eyebrow and replied, 'You've left things pretty late, haven't you

  * Note: The Author is most averse to inventing fictitious States in his books; but the necessity for doing so in this instance will become clear as the story unfolds.

  I should have thought you planning boys would have handed your stuff to the staff of the Force Commander long before this, and been working things out for landings in Norway or Burma next summer.'

  His friend shrugged. 'The STRATS and the FOPS are; and at the same time are arguing the respective merits of our going into Denmark, Holland, Cherbourg, Sardinia, Sumatra, the Kra Isthmus and lots of other places. But the little party to which I belong is operational as well; so we are in it up to the neck till the last minute. From the wars of the Ancients onwards, every major operation has had to have its Cover Plan, and it's our responsibility to pull the wool over the eyes of the enemy. I don't mind telling you, it's quite a headache. We could easily make a mess of things, and if we do we'll have a hell of a lot to answer for.'

  'I see. Then I don't envy that nice boss of yours. How d'you feel about your prospects?'

  'It's difficult to say, because this is our first big show. I think they're pretty good. Of course, we are copying the Germans in putting out all sorts of false rumours, and everyone who's not in the show will be waving red cloaks like mad to draw the Nazi bull off in the wrong direction. But it's impossible to say if they'll fall for that. If they don't, it may lead to about the biggest disaster with which the British Army has ever met.'

  Gregory nodded sympathetically. 'It must be worrying you out of your wits. Come along to the mess and have a drink. I'm sure you need one.'

  Three days later he saw Sabine; but not to speak to. He had run into an old friend, a journalist who had become a war correspondent, and as neither had anything on that night they agreed to dine together at the Cafe Royal. As they sat down in the restaurant he caught sight of Sabine only a few tables away. Her escort was a tall rather flamboyant looking dark man, with a high bald forehead, flashing eyes and a bushy black moustache. On seeing Gregory she smiled and waved to him, and he waved back,

  'Who is your lovely friend?' enquired the journalist.

  Gregory told him, and added, 'It's really your job to know by sight everyone who matters. Does that cover the fellow she is with?'

  'Oh, yes. He is Colonel Vladan Kasdar, the Moldavian Military Attaché. Not a bad chap as they go; but I wish to goodness all these neutral military attaches could be made to take a running jump and drown themselves in the Thames.'

  'Why do you wish that?' Gregory asked with a laugh.

  'Because they are so damn dangerous. I'm on pretty good terms with one or two people in M.I.5, and they tell me that they have the Nazi spy system taped. If one is parachuted in or lands from a U-boat, they can nab him within twenty-four hours. So all the leaks that take place are through the neutral Embassies and Legations. Of course it's their job to collect as much information as they can for their own Governments and most of the Swiss, Swedes, Turks and the rest are our very good friends. But there are black sheep in every flock, and the Nazis pay big money for the real goods.'

  'I see; and they get the stuff out in the Embassy bags.'

  'That's it. The bags enjoy diplomatic privilege and are still immune from censorship; so it's easy enough for chaps like Kasdar to slip a private note in for someone who is working with them in their own capital, and within a few hours its contents have been passed on to Berlin.'

  Gregory looked thoughtful, then he said, 'I wonder our Government doesn't put an embargo on the bags any how for a week or so before big operations are to take place.'

  'There would be one hell of a fuss if they did,' replied the journalist, 'but, all the same, I wish they would. And I have a personal interest in the matter at the moment. In your job you must know as well as I do that there's a big show pending. The northern ports are positively bursting with troops and shipping. Naturally people like myself are not told where they are off to or when; but it can't be long now because I've been told to stand by to go with them. And I don't mind taking normal risks, but I'm damned if I want to drown just because some Ruritanian type, like Kasdar, is anxious to earn a bit of extra cash to lavish on luscious little dishes of the kind he has with him now.'

  The following day Gregory was not due to go on duty until the afternoon and, after breakfast, when he was straightening up the contents of a chest of drawers, he came upon the three big tins of foie gras that Levianski had got for him in Budapest. He had intended one for Sir Pellinore, one for Erika and himself, and one for the girl in S.O.E. Since his return, during most of his off duty hours, his mind had been too distraught with unhappy brooding to do anything about them; but it occurred to him now that a good way to fill in the morning would be to deliver the one for… yes, Diana was her name.

  After a short wait he was shown into her office and presented his gift. She was naturally delighted, and said what a treat it would be for her stepfather, whose passion for foie gras had inspired her to suggest that Gregory should pose as a truffle merchant in Budapest. She then asked him how he had got on there.

  He told her how the identity of Commandant Tavenier had unforeseeably landed him in the soup, and that he owed his escape to her private enterprise in having provided him with a safe contact in Levianski. He added that he had come, home with what he believed to be a first class coup; but unfortunately he had had all his trouble for nothing, as the Government found themselves unable to take advantage of it,

  'That is hard luck!' She looked down for a moment and her long lashes veiled her eyes as she added, 'I suppose they have their hands pretty full at the moment.'

  'That's about it!' he agreed, 'and I expect you have too; so I mustn't keep you.' Then, as he stood up, he said on a sudden impulse. I suppose you wouldn't care to dine with me one night?'

  The expression on her small aristocratic face remained noncommittal and she replied quietly: 'That depends. Quite a lot of our men who have returned from doing jobs abroad ask me out to dinner. Many of them have been through a most appalling time, and they know that it will be only a week or two before they have to go off and risk their lives again. Some of them think that entitles them to expect me, or other girls in the office, to… er… play parlour games with them after dinner. I wish I could, because I feel terribly sorry for them. But…'

  With a wry smile, Gregory checked her in my case you've no need to worry about that. I'm head over heels in love with someone already; but I've made a ghastly mess of things so I'm feeling desperately unhappy. I'm afraid it's rather a backhanded compliment to anyone so young and lovely as yourself; but I was just hoping that you might be kind enough to come out with me for a chat, and so take my mind off my worries for an evening.'

  Her face immediately radiated swe
etness and compassion. 'But of course I will! How beastly for you. When shall it be? I'm afraid I can't make it tonight, but tomorrow if you like.'

  'Thanks,' he smiled. 'I think your heart must be the same true gold as your hair. It's very gracious of you. Anyway, war or no war, at least I can promise you a good meal, with no strings attached.' They arranged that he should call for her at her office at six o'clock, and he left her rather wondering at himself, but glad that he had followed his impulse.

  He took her to the Hungaria, knowing that, however scarce steaks, ducks, and Dover soles might be, his old friend Vecchi could always be relied on to provide them with a good main course, instead of the awful made-up dishes which were all that restaurants could now offer to the majority of their customers.

  As they drank their cocktails he told her how untouched by the war Budapest still remained and what a good time he had had there until he had had to go to earth in a hurry. She remarked how much her mother and stepfather had enjoyed their visits there before the war; and from that, to their mutual surprise, it emerged that her stepfather was the airman on the Joint Planning Staff with whom Gregory had been in H.M.S. Worcester. That provided them with plenty to talk about through dinner; which was a good thing in view of the unwritten law that people employed in secret war organizations should never discuss war activities in public places.

  After dinner they danced twice, then fell a little silent. During a pause longer than usual Diana powdered her aquiline nose which with her oval face and good forehead made her look like a small edition of Queen Marie Antoinette snapped her compact shut, and said:

  'Now, tell me about this mess that you've got into with your girlfriend.'

  He shook his head. 'I didn't take you out to bore you with my troubles.'

  She had been chain-smoking American cigarettes, and lit another. 'Don't if you would rather not. But for some reason people who are older than I am often seem to find it helps to talk over their problems with me. I suppose that's really only because they have got it off their chests; but, anyway, I'm a good listener.'