by V M Knox
‘I was surprised to receive your message, Clement. I gather something has happened sufficient for you both to break cover?’
Clement told Johnny about the events of the previous two days.
‘Are you sure it is the same person transmitting?’ Johnny asked Sarah.
‘No question about it.’
‘And the strength of the signal?’
‘Strong, Captain Winthorpe. Possibly ten miles, but not much more.’
The sound of approaching aeroplanes halted their conversation. Johnny looked out over the waters as the planes circled above them then disappeared south and west. ‘Hurricanes,’ Johnny said. ‘Are the signals stronger here or on the mainland, Mrs Crawford?’
‘The mainland.’
Johnny led Clement a short distance away. ‘We will send the latest transmission directly to our friends at Bletchley Park. I suspect it will be of greater use to them than it is to us.’ Johnny looked out over the black waters. ‘If this Malcolm McCrea is our enemy agent, he will know you left Gills Bay with the fisherman. Is Mr Harris still here?’
‘I suggested he should stay away from Gills Bay for a week or two.’
‘Good idea.’
‘If you don’t need me anymore, I’d like to sit inside in the warmth,’ Sarah called to them.
Johnny walked back to her. ‘Tell me something, Mrs Crawford. When Tom Harris told you about the ship marked NN04, did he know about your Special Duties role?’
‘No. Tom still doesn’t. No one knows.’ She looked at Clement. There was a long pause. ‘My husband knew.’
Clement saw her look down, the pockets bulging from her clenched fists.
Johnny’s eyes flared. ‘Your indiscretion has cost your husband his life. I hope you know this! And you would have been next if this traitor had learned that you are the operative, not your late husband. It appears to me that you have much to thank Major Wisdom for, Mrs Crawford.’ Johnny paused, his thinly suppressed anger only just under control. ‘There is little to be gained in telling anyone else about it now. Your husband is deceased, so it will go no further. But I must tell you that I could not turn a blind eye a second time.’
Clement could see the relief on her face.
‘Thank you.’ Sarah didn’t wait for further comment. Turning, she hobbled back to Shona Fraser’s kitchen door.
‘Do you trust her, Clement?’
‘I don’t think she is our enemy, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Total stupidity. But it does beg another question. Did Tom Harris tell others about NN04? Enemy ships operating alone, especially in the North Sea, are usually weather reporting vessels, and that would mean it has a radio transmitter and Naval Enigma Coding machine on board. Capturing one of those could turn the tide for us in the North Atlantic. The problem will be finding this ship again. The North Sea is a vast expanse of water and there are just too many fjords in occupied Norway for them to hide in. But I will inform The Admiralty. Who knows, we may just happen upon it, like Tom Harris.’ Johnny stared at him. ‘Speak to this fisherman and find out who else he told in Canisbay. Then send all that you have learned to Nora Ballantyne.’
‘And then?’
‘Go home, Clement.’
‘What?’
‘I am leaving Orkney in a matter of days for the Faroe Islands then Norway. Not sure when I’ll be back. A few days, God willing. But I’m afraid, Clement, you are not sufficiently trained for what is now required.’
‘There is no time for a Special Operations Agent, Johnny. And I am trained.’
‘Clement, you have never done this sort of work. There is a huge difference between theory and practice. For what is now required you would need to be fit, young and, quite frankly, have a death wish. Not someone of your years and limited abilities.’
‘I may not be young, Johnny, but I’m all you have.’
Johnny shook his head. ‘It is out of the question, Clement. Of course, your arrival, the death of Mr Crawford and the disappearance of Mrs Crawford, could well be enough to frighten our man into leaving, so he may not be there any more for us to find.’
Johnny’s words lingered. ‘It’s a pick-up signal, Johnny. It has to be. It’s too short to be anything else. You’re right about recent events. Perhaps he believes he’s in danger of being exposed. If that’s the case, we don’t have much time.’ Clement waited. ‘Like I said, Johnny, I’m all you have.’
The silence lasted a further five seconds before Clement saw the hesitation cross Johnny’s face.
Johnny stared directly at him. ‘As soon as you have spoken with your fisherman, leave without delay. And Clement?’
He turned to face Johnny.
‘Take care. Bring him in, if you can. He could be useful to us.’ Johnny paused. ‘I know I’ve said this before but make no mistake, this time you really are alone.’
Chapter 11
Clement stood on the quay and watched Johnny leave until the launch was nothing more than a speck. His gaze fixed on the seas beyond Hoxa Head. The wind had strengthened, the water now dark grey and white crests had formed. He stared up at the cloudy sky and spoke to the freezing air. ‘Have you completely lost your faculties?’ Johnny’s parting words echoed in his mind. He felt a sigh rise and allowed it to float away from his lips. Even though he knew he was alone, he felt the weight of his decision and the old self-doubts bubbled to the surface. ‘“We are in God’s hand, brother, not in theirs,”‘ he told himself, voicing his favourite line from Shakespeare’s Henry V.
A cold shiver ran down his back. Did he really have a death wish? He stared at the black waters hitting the stone footings of the quay beside him. Deep. Isolated. He’d said before he didn’t care if he lived or died. He wasn’t sure it was true. ‘Well, I suspect you’re going to find out, Clement Wisdom,’ he said. Hunching his shoulders to the bracing wind, he walked back towards the only public house on the quay hoping to convince one of the fishermen there to leave St Margaret’s Hope. Opening the door, he stepped inside The Bellevue Inn.
It was crowded and the air was heavy with pipe smoke. He ordered a drink and went to sit with a group of men in the corner, but the answer was always the same, no one was prepared to make the crossing. Citing the enemy, the weather, or maybe just because they were tired, Clement didn’t know the true reason, and he couldn’t blame them either. Leaving the main bar, he walked to the inn’s front door; the heat, noise and smoke in the confined space dulling his senses.
He stepped outside and wandered away from the buildings, walking west and following the curve of the bay hoping the biting wind would clear his thoughts. Somehow he had to get one of them to take him back to the mainland. He foraged in his pockets and scraped together five pounds. A reasonable amount under normal circumstances, but few would be tempted to risk their life for such a sum. Staring out across the bay, he huddled into his greatcoat. Perhaps his body was becoming accustomed to the icy blasts, for he found the solitude of the waterfront much more to his liking than the stifling hot air of the inn.
He heard the footsteps and turned. Tom Harris was walking towards him, Flip at his heels.
‘I hear you want to go back now?’
‘Yes. Tom, I need to ask you a question.’
Tom Harris reached into his pocket, retrieved a pipe and began to pack the bulb with fresh tobacco. ‘Well?’
‘Who else did you tell about the sighting of the ship NN04?’
Tom’s eyes widened, the pipe suspended in his grasp. ‘I may have mentioned it at The Bell.’
A long sigh escaped Clement’s mouth. ‘How many?’
‘The usuals.’
‘Names?’
‘The McCrea boys, and their father, I think. Robert Wallace, Sean and Danny, Jean, of course. And Ian McAllister could have been there. I just don’t remember.’
Clement stared at the expansive mass of water before him, his hands in his pockets. The fact was, it no longer mattered who had b
een there; the whole vicinity would have known within the hour.
Tom shook his head. ‘Sorry, Vicar. I suppose I spend too much time alone at sea. When I’m on shore I talk a bit. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.’
‘I should. But in light of what happened, it does raise another question, Tom. Exactly who was the intended victim of last night’s shooting?’
‘You think it was me?’
‘It’s possible. But it is more likely to have been Sarah or me. Just as many people who knew about NN04 also knew that you would be making the crossing to St Margaret’s Hope, and even though initially I booked the passage for Sarah, they would have thought it was for me. Your sighting of that trawler must have caused someone alarm.’ Clement watched the fisherman. He hadn’t shared what troubled him most about Tom’s indiscretion; that someone in Canisbay not only knew the number, they also knew the significance of the ship.’
Clement continued to stare at the snow-covered hills that surrounded St Margaret’s Hope, Tom beside him, Flip at their feet. In the ensuing silence Clement watched the smoke from Tom’s pipe blow away in the wind.
Tom took the pipe from his mouth. ‘I’ll take you. I owe you and Sarah that.’
Clement felt deep relief. ‘Thank you. Could you take me to Thurso instead?’
‘Thurso?’
‘Is there a problem?’
Tom took a long puff from his pipe. ‘The estuary at Thurso is narrow and hazardous, especially if the wind is from the nor’-west. But I owe you, so if that is where you want to go, then so be it.’
‘When can we leave?’
Tom looked at his watch. ‘Early hours of tomorrow. Be at my boat just after midnight. We’ll get into Thurso, God willing, with the high in-coming tide just before three o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘What about the damage to your boat?’
‘Superficial, so Eric says. It can wait.’
They walked back to the square in front of The Bellevue without speaking. Tom returned to the public house. As the door swung open, Clement heard the swell of voices carry on the air. The door closed. Silence returned.
An icy draft blew across the harbour front. With his passage secured, he now needed a plan and that required a quiet place to think. But first, he wanted to inform Sarah of his decision.
Clement knocked at the door to Fraser’s house. Shona Fraser opened it. Sarah was still sitting at the table in the kitchen.
‘Won’t you come in?’ Shona asked.
‘Thank you, but no. I have no wish to impose. Could I have a word, Sarah?’
Sarah nodded. She stood and reached for her coat and cap. Supporting her arm, Clement helped her to walk outside a little way away from the kitchen door.
‘How’s the ankle?’
‘Fine.’
He knew it was a lie. ‘I’m going back.’
‘I thought you would.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘How could I refuse?’
‘As I understand it, with long range radio transmitters, the aerial has to be attached to the transmitter. Is that correct?’
Sarah nodded.
‘And you have been picking up the enemy traffic from the barn?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘He is local. Has to be. Scotland is too cold in winter for him to travel far to transmit. What is it, Clement?’
‘There are no large trees and no other tall structures anywhere about Canisbay or Huna, except the kirk. Have you ever been into the bell tower?’
‘Once. But I didn’t see an aerial.’
‘What about above it, in the rafters?’
Sarah fell silent.
‘Do you always wear that red tam o’shanter when out of doors?’
‘I suppose I do.’
‘It could be a good idea if you pack it away. Borrow one from Mrs Fraser. Just until after the war.’
Sarah pulled the cap from her head and buried it deep into her coat pocket. ‘How long have you been doing this sort of work?’
‘Not long.’ What Clement felt like saying was, not long enough. ‘Do you know everyone around Canisbay and Huna?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yesterday, a few minutes after I came to your shop at ten o’clock, your husband was connecting a telephone call. Any idea who that caller was?’
Sarah stared down at her bandaged ankle. ‘Anyone in the telephone box outside, I suppose.’
Clement shook his head. ‘I saw the telephone booth from your lorry as we drove away only minutes after your husband connected the line. It was empty.’
‘Really?’ Sarah paused. ‘Then it can only have been someone at The Bell. Or the Frew sisters. But that would be unusual. Is it important?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Sarah turned, extending her hand towards him. ‘Take care, Clement. If that’s all, I’ll go back inside. And thank you.’
He smiled, shook her hand in farewell, then watched Sarah Crawford limp away.
Returning to the public house, he arranged a room on the first floor and organised for the landlady to put some hot water and a razor in the room. With Tom not leaving till after midnight, Clement had ample time to think of a plan and to wash and shave. He also wanted to spend some time in prayer. As he passed the large fireplace in the main bar, he dropped the enciphered note into the flames; the random letters etched in his mind. Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, he saw Tom Harris glance in his direction, but he knew it was unlikely the fisherman would discuss him with anyone now.
His room was on the first floor at the front. Opening the door, he stared at the single bed. A many coloured, hand-knitted woollen blanket sat folded at the foot of the bed. He closed the door behind him. He hadn’t expected a room in a public house to have such personal touches. It reminded him of the single bed in Reverend St Clair’s guest room, but here the blanket was hand-knitted from the remnants of many jerseys. In his mind he heard the click of Mary’s knitting needles. For one moment he permitted himself the time to dwell on Mary. His thoughts lingered over everything about her; her hair, the colour of her eyes, the touch of her skin, her slender ankles, her clothes, even her apron that hung on the scullery door to their garden and the way her hands peeled beans and carrots. He closed his eyes. The irreversible hollowness was torture.
Lifting his gaze, Clement caught sight of his face in the small mirror on the wash stand. A visage he hardly recognised stared back. He thought he looked older, but perhaps it was the stubble or the bitter cold. Removing his shirt and clerical collar, he filled the bowl on the wash stand and shaved his beard. Patting his face dry, he turned the mirror to face the wall. He didn’t want to see his reflection and the sadness that inhabited his eyes.
He wasn’t sure who he was any more. He was a man of God, but he didn’t feel it. He was an officer in the King’s Special Duties Branch, but that role was unfamiliar. Buttoning his vest, he tossed the towel over the wash stand and lay back on the bed, but even though his muscles were at rest, his mind churned. He couldn’t think about himself anymore. He’d made his decisions. He pushed his doubts away and forced himself to formulate a plan. Staring at the ceiling, he began to piece together what he knew. It wasn’t much. Johnny had been right. He felt completely out of his depth.
He tried to visualise the coastline around Canisbay. He hadn’t seen that much of it, but he knew there were cliffs beneath the kirk that extended as far as John O’ Groats to the east. Gills Bay was well protected, the mainland at its back and Stroma Island lay just off the shoreline. Tom had said that the tide raced through Pentland Firth; “a graveyard for shipping”. Not the place for a U-boat rendezvous, if, that is, Clement was correct about a pick-up. And, also thanks to Tom, Clement now knew that Thurso estuary was hazardous in certain weather. He closed his eyes remembering the maps he studied. There was only one place. Dunnet Bay.
Despite never having actually seen it, he knew it was the only inlet of a
ny size along that part of the coast and where the coastline was flat. A sandy beach ran almost the full length of the bay. Moreover, at the eastern end of the beach, the large promontory of Dunnet Head provided protection from wind and waves in the right conditions. It would be an audacious place for the Germans to rendezvous, given the proximity of the Y-station and all the military presence in the area. Perhaps that was why. Whilst the surrounding installations made it unlikely as a place for an enemy force to invade, it was ideal for a single craft to beach undetected. And it would be totally unexpected. The U-boat didn’t even need to enter the bay. It could surface offshore, launch a dinghy that could row onto the beach, make the rendezvous and row back in the lee of Dunnet Head where it would be shielded from prying eyes and adverse weather.
Clement opened his eyes feeling like he had just placed the last piece in a large jigsaw puzzle. But his theory pre-supposed that the radio transmission had been about a pick-up and, further, that it would occur in Dunnet Bay. He began to think about the people who knew about the ship NN04; Jean Buchanan, Robert Wallace, Sean and Danny, the Irishmen, as well as the McCrea boys and their father, a man Clement had not met. Yet these were only those who frequented The Bell. What about the other inhabitants of Canisbay who remained in their homes? He remembered Sarah telling him of the Grants and the Hendersons, farming families who lived further to the south and west, people he knew nothing about.
Clement sat up in the bed. Only the people who had been in The Bell knew he had arranged passage with Tom Harris. He stared at his jacket hanging on the back of the door, his thoughts racing. His enemy had either been in the public house at the time or was well known to one of the men who had been there. Clement lay back down. Malcolm McCrea was someone he wanted to speak to on his return. Instinct, however, told him that neither McCrea fitted the profile. No enemy plant worth his salt would rant in a public place. ‘So who?’ he said aloud. Whoever this killer was, the man was strong, young enough, secretive, mobile and either in or known to someone who was in The Bell the night Clement arranged the passage with Tom.
