Eagle Has Flown, The

by Higgins, Jack

  ‘And I like her, Michael old friend, and that’s where it will end. Now, what do we need?’

  ‘The tide is low, but it’s still going to be wet. I’ll dig out some overalls and boots,’ Ryan told him and went out.

  The small motor boat moved in towards the strand, its engine a muted throbbing. The prow carved its way into mud and sand and Ryan cut the engine. ‘Right, Mary. Keep an eye on things. We shouldn’t be long.’

  He and Devlin in their dark overalls and boots went over the side and faded into the darkness. Ryan carried a bag of tools and Devlin a large torch of the type used by workmen. There was three feet of water in the tunnel.

  Ryan said, ‘So we’ll have to wade.’

  As they moved into the water the smell was pungent. Devlin said, ‘Christ, you can tell it’s a sewer.’

  ‘So try not to fall down and if you do, keep your mouth closed,’ Ryan said. ‘The terrible place for diseases, sewers.’

  Devlin led the way, the tunnel stretching ahead of them in the rays of the lamp. The brickwork was obviously very old, corroded and rotting. There was a sudden splash and two rats leapt from a ledge and swam away.

  ‘Filthy creatures,’ Ryan said in disgust.

  ‘It can’t be far,’ Devlin said. ‘A hundred yards. Not much more surely.’

  Suddenly, there it was, an iron grill perhaps four feet by three, just above the surface of the water. They looked through into the crypt and Devlin played the light across the interior. There were a couple of tombs almost completely covered with water and stone steps in the far corner going up to a door.

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ Ryan said. ‘The grill’s done nothing to help their drainage system.’

  ‘It was put in nearly forty years ago,’ Devlin said. ‘Maybe it worked then.’

  Ryan got a crowbar from his bag of tools. Devlin held the bag for him while the other man pushed into the mortar in the brickwork beside the grill. He jumped back in alarm as the wall buckled and five or six bricks tumbled into the water. ‘The whole place is ready to come down. We can have this grill out in a fast ten minutes, Liam.’

  ‘No, not now. I need to know what the situation is upstairs. We’ve found out all we need for the moment, which is that the grill can be pulled out any time we want. Now let’s get out of here.’

  At the same moment in Romney Marsh, the wind from the sea rattled the French windows of the drawing room as Shaw closed the curtains. The furniture was no longer what it had been, the carpets faded, but there was a log fire burning in the hearth, Nell lying in front of it. The door opened and Lavinia came in. She was wearing slacks and carried a tray. ‘I’ve made coffee, darling.’

  ‘Coffee?’ he roared. ‘To hell with the coffee. I found a bottle of champagne in the cellar. Bollinger. That’s what we need tonight.’

  He took it from a bucket on the table, opened it with a flourish and poured some into two glasses.

  ‘This man, Conlon,’ she said. ‘What did you say he was like?’

  ‘I’ve told you about five times, old girl.’

  ‘Oh, Max, isn’t it exciting? To you, my darling.’

  ‘And to you, old girl,’ he said, toasting her in return.

  In Berlin, it was very quiet in Schellenberg’s office as he sat working through some papers in the light of a desk lamp. The door opened and Ilse looked in. ‘Coffee, General?’

  ‘Are you still here? I thought you’d gone home.’

  ‘I’m going to spend the night in the emergency accommodation. Asa’s stayed on too. He’s in the canteen.’

  ‘We might as well join him.’ Schellenberg stood up and buttoned his tunic.

  ‘Are you worried, General, about Devlin?’

  ‘My dear Ilse. Liam Devlin is a man of infinite resource and guile. Given those attributes you could say I’ve nothing to worry about.’ He opened the door and smiled. ‘Which is why I’m frightened to death instead.’

  From his window Steiner could see across to the river. He peered through a chink in his blackout curtain and closed it again. ‘A large ship going downriver. Amazing how active things are out there even at night.’

  Father Martin, sitting by the small table, nodded. ‘As the song says, Old Father Thames just goes rolling along.’

  ‘During the day I sometimes sit at the window and watch for a couple of hours at a time.’

  ‘I understand, my son. It must be difficult for you.’ The priest sighed and got to his feet. ‘I must go. I have a midnight Mass.’

  ‘Good heavens, Father, do you ever stop?’

  ‘There’s a war on, my son.’ Father Martin knocked on the door.

  The MP on duty unlocked it and the old priest went along the corridor to the outer door. Lieutenant Benson was sitting at the desk in his room and glanced up. ‘Everything all right, Father?’

  ‘As right as it will ever be,’ Martin said and passed through.

  As he went down the stairway to the foyer, Sister Maria Palmer came out of her office. ‘Still here, Father? Don’t you ever go home?’

  ‘So much to do, Sister.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘It’s been a long war.’ He smiled. ‘Good night and God bless you.’

  The night porter came out of his cubby-hole, helped him on with his raincoat and gave him his umbrella, then unbolted the door. The old man paused, looking out at the rain, then put up his umbrella and walked away wearily.

  Munro was still in his office, standing at a map table, charts of the English Channel and the Normandy approaches spread before him, when Carter limped in.

  ‘The invasion, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Jack. Normandy. They’ve made their decision. Let’s hope the Führer still believes it will be the Pas de Calais.’

  ‘I understand his personal astrologer’s convinced him of it,’ Carter said.

  Munro laughed. ‘The ancient Egyptians would only appoint generals who’d been born under the sign of Leo.’

  ‘I never knew that, sir.’

  ‘Yes, well you learn something new every day. No going home tonight, Jack. Eisenhower wants a blanket report on the strength of the French Resistance units in this general area and he wants it in the morning. We’ll have to snatch a few hours here.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘Vargas gave me a call.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Another message from his cousin in Berlin. Could he send as much information as possible about St Mary’s Priory.’

  ‘All right, Jack, cook something up in the next couple of days, staying as close to the truth as possible and pass it on to Vargas. We’ve got more important things to take care of at the moment.’

  ‘Fine, sir. I’ll organize some tea and sandwiches.’

  ‘Do that, Jack, it’s going to be a long night.’

  Carter went out and Munro returned to his maps.

  10

  The following morning Father Martin knelt at the altar rail and prayed, eyes closed. He was tired, that was the trouble, had felt so tired for such a long time and he prayed for strength to the God he had loved unfalteringly all his life and for the ability to stand upright.

  ‘I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel, who even at night directs my heart. I keep the Lord ever in my sight.’

  He had spoken the words aloud and faltered, unable to think of the rest. A strong voice said: ‘Since he is at my right hand I shall stand firm.’ Father Martin half-turned and found Devlin standing there in uniform, the trenchcoat over one arm. ‘Major?’ The old man tried to get off his knees and Devlin put a hand under his elbow.

  ‘Or Father. The uniform is only for the duration. Conlon – Harry Conlon.’

  ‘And I’m Frank Martin, priest-in-charge. Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘Nothing special. I’m on extended leave. I was wounded in Sicily,’ Devlin told him. ‘Spending a few days with friends not too far from here. I saw St Pat’s and thought I’d l
ook in.’

  ‘Well then, let me offer you a cup of tea,’ the old man said.

  Devlin sat in the small crowded sacristy while Martin boiled water in an electric kettle and made the tea.

  ‘So you’ve been in it from the beginning?’

  Devlin nodded. ‘Yes, November thirty-nine I got my call.’

  ‘I see they gave you an MC.’

  ‘The Sicilian landings, that was,’ Devlin told him.

  ‘Was it bad?’ Father Martin poured the tea and offered an open tin of condensed milk.

  ‘Bad enough.’ The old man sipped his tea and Devlin lit a cigarette. ‘Just as bad for you, though. The Blitz, I mean. You’re rather close to the London Docks.’

  ‘Yes, it was hard.’ Martin nodded. ‘And it doesn’t get any easier. I’m on my own here these days.’

  He suddenly looked very frail and Devlin felt a pang of conscience and yet he had to take this as far as it would go, he knew that. ‘I called in at the local pub, The Bargee I think it was called, for some cigarettes. I was talking to a girl there who mentioned you warmly.’

  ‘Ah, that would be Maggie Brown.’

  ‘Told me you were father confessor at the hospice near here? St Mary’s Priory?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Must give you a lot of extra work, Father.’

  ‘It does indeed, but it must be done. We all have to do our bit.’ The old man looked at his watch. ‘In fact I’ll have to be off there in a few minutes. Rounds to do.’

  ‘Do you have many patients there?’

  ‘It varies. Fifteen, sometimes twenty. Many are terminal. Some are special problems. Servicemen who’ve had breakdowns. Pilots occasionally. You know how it is.’

  ‘I do indeed,’ Devlin said. ‘I was interested when I walked by earlier to see a couple of military policemen going in. It struck me as odd. I mean, military policemen in a hospice.’

  ‘Ah, well, there’s a reason for that. Occasionally they keep the odd German prisoner of war on the top floor. I don’t know the background, but they’re usually special cases.’

  ‘Oh, I see the reason for the MPs then. There’s someone there now?’

  ‘Yes, a Luftwaffe colonel. A nice man. I’ve even managed to persuade him to come to Mass for the first time in years.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Well, I must make a move.’ The old man reached for his raincoat and Devlin helped him on with it. As they went out into the church he said, ‘I’ve been thinking, Father. Here’s me with time on my hands and you carrying all this burden alone. Maybe I could give you a hand? Hear a few confessions for you at least.’

  ‘Why, that’s extraordinarily kind of you,’ Father Martin said.

  Liam Devlin had seldom felt lower in his life, but he carried on. ‘And I’d love to see something of your work at the Priory.’

  ‘Then so you shall,’ the old man said and led the way down the steps.

  The Priory chapel was as cold as could be. They moved down to the altar and Devlin said, ‘It seems very damp. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Yes, the crypt has been flooded for years. Sometimes quite badly. No money available to put it right.’

  Devlin could see the stout oak door banded with iron in the shadows in the far corner, ‘Is that the way in then?’

  ‘Yes, but no one goes down there any more.’

  ‘I once saw a church in France with the same trouble. Could I take a look?’

  ‘If you like.’

  The door was bolted. He eased it back and ventured halfway down the steps. When he flicked on his lighter he saw the dark water around the tombs and lapping at the grill. He retraced his steps and closed the door.

  ‘Dear, yes, there’s not much to be done for it,’ he called.

  ‘Yes. Well, make sure you bolt it again,’ the old man called back. ‘We don’t want anyone going down there. They could do themselves an injury.’

  Devlin rammed the bolt home, the solid sound echoing through the chapel, then quietly eased it back. Shrouded in shadows, the door was in the corner; it would be remarkable if anyone noticed. He rejoined Father Martin and they moved up the aisle to the outer door. As they opened it, Sister Maria Palmer came out of her office.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Father Martin said. ‘I looked in when we arrived, but you weren’t there. I’ve been showing Father Conlon – ’ He laughed, correcting himself. ‘I’ll start again. I’ve been showing Major Conlon the chapel. He’s going to accompany me on my rounds.’

  ‘Father suits me just fine.’ Devlin shook her hand. ‘A pleasure, Sister.’

  ‘Major Conlon was wounded in Sicily.’

  ‘I see. Have they given you a London posting?’ she asked.

  ‘No – I’m still on sick leave. In the neighbourhood for a few days. Just passing through. I met Father Martin at his church.’

  ‘He’s been kind enough to offer to help me out at the church. Hear a few confessions and so on,’ Martin said.

  ‘Good, you need a rest. We’ll do the rounds together.’ As they started up the stairs she said, ‘By the way, Lieutenant Benson’s gone on a three-day pass. That young sergeant’s in charge. What’s his name? Morgan, isn’t it?’

  ‘The Welsh boy?’ Martin said. ‘I called in on Steiner last night. Did you?’

  ‘No, we had an emergency admission after you’d gone, Father. I didn’t have time. I’ll see him now though. I’m hoping the penicillin’s finally cleared the last traces of his chest infection.’

  She went up the stairs in front of them briskly, skirts swirling, and Devlin and Martin followed.

  They worked their way from room to room, staying to talk here and there to various patients and it was half an hour before they reached the top floor. The MP on duty at the table outside the door jumped up and saluted automatically when he saw Devlin. The door was opened by another MP and they passed through.

  The young sergeant sitting in Benson’s room stood up and came out. ‘Sister – Father Martin.’

  ‘Good morning, Sergeant Morgan,’ Sister Maria Palmer said. ‘We’d like to see Colonel Steiner.’

  Morgan took in Devlin’s uniform and the dog collar. ‘I see,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘Major Conlon’s having a look round with us,’ she informed him.

  Devlin took out his wallet and produced the fake War Office pass Schellenberg’s people had provided, the one that guaranteed unlimited access. He passed it across.

  ‘I think you’ll find that takes care of it, Sergeant.’

  Morgan examined it. ‘I’ll just get the details for the admittance sheet, sir.’ He did so and handed it back. ‘If you’d follow me.’

  He led the way along to the end of the corridor, nodded and the MP on duty unlocked the door. Sister Maria Palmer led the way in followed by Father Martin, Devlin bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them.

  Steiner, sitting by the window, stood up and Sister Maria Palmer said, ‘And how are you today, Colonel?’

  ‘Fine, Sister.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t see you last night. I had an emergency, but Father Martin tells me he called in.’

  ‘As usual.’ Steiner nodded.

  The old priest said, ‘This is Major Conlon, by the way. As you can see, an Army chaplain. He’s on sick leave. Like yourself, recently wounded.’

  Devlin smiled amiably and put out his hand. ‘A great pleasure, Colonel.’

  Kurt Steiner, making one of the most supreme efforts of his life, managed to keep his face straight. ‘Major Conlon.’ Devlin gripped the German’s hand hard and Steiner said, ‘Anywhere interesting? Where you picked up your wound, I mean?’

  ‘Sicily,’ Devlin said.

  ‘A hard campaign.’

  ‘Ah, well, I wouldn’t really know. I got mine the first day.’ He walked to the window and looked out down to the road beside the Thames. ‘A fine view you’ve got here. You can see right down to those steps and that little beach, the boats passing. Something to look at.
’

  ‘It helps pass the time.’

  ‘So, we must go now,’ Sister Maria Palmer said and knocked at the door.

  Father Martin put a hand on Steiner’s shoulder. ‘Don’t forget I’ll be in the chapel tonight at eight to hear confessions. All sinners welcome.’

  Devlin said, ‘Now then, Father, didn’t you say I’d take some of the load off your shoulders? It’s me who’ll be sitting in the box tonight.’ He turned to Steiner. ‘But you’re still welcome, Colonel.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Father Martin said.

  As the door opened, Sister Maria Palmer cut in. ‘An excellent idea.’

  They moved along the corridor and Morgan opened the outer door for them. Father Martin said, ‘Just one thing. I usually start at seven. The MPs bring Steiner down at eight because everyone’s gone by then. They prefer it that way.’

  ‘So you see him last?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘No problem,’ Devlin said.

  They reached the foyer and the porter handed them their raincoats. Sister Maria Palmer said, ‘We’ll see you tonight then, Major.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Devlin said and went down the steps with the old priest.

  ‘God save us, talk about Daniel in the lion’s den,’ Ryan said. ‘You’ve the cheek of Old Nick himself.’

  ‘Yes, well it worked,’ Devlin said. ‘But I wouldn’t like to hang out there too much. Asking for trouble that.’

  ‘But you will go back this evening?’

  ‘I have to. My one chance of speaking properly to Steiner.’

  Mary, sitting at one end of the table hugging herself, said, ‘But Mr Devlin, to sit there in the box and hear people’s confessions and some of them nuns – that’s a mortal sin.’

  ‘I’ve no choice, Mary. It must be done. It doesn’t sit well with me to make a fool of that fine old man, but there it is.’

  ‘Well, I still think it’s a terrible thing to be doing.’ She left the room, came back a moment later in her raincoat and went outside.

  ‘The temper on her sometimes,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Never mind that now, we’ve things to discuss. My meeting tonight with Carver. Black Lion Dock. Could we get there in your boat?’