The Man Who Played Trains: The gripping new thriller from the author of Playpits Park

by Richard Whittle

  ‘I really know nothing about him.’

  ‘Apart from what you hear in rumours.’

  ‘Are they all untrue?’

  ‘Quite the contrary. The Reichsmarschall is out of favour. He failed to bomb England to its knees and now he fails again at the Russian Front. He is unable to give adequate air support or to supply our troops.’

  ‘It would be better you did not say these things.’

  ‘Are you saying I cannot trust you, Theodor? Switch on your lights.’

  ‘Where is the switch?’

  Walter reaches forwards and the lights come on. The headlights are masked; most of the light from the car’s low wattage bulbs is blocked by steel strips, and what little gets through is aimed downwards. Driving with the headlights seems worse than driving without them.

  Theo concentrates on the road. When they pass the stone gatehouses and the farm he realises he is on the road they came in on. It isn’t long before the despatch rider that came to the house comes up behind them and then overtakes them, travelling fast, a rear-light glow that fades quickly.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Theo asks.

  ‘You do not need to know.’

  For all Theo knows they are returning to Berlin. During the drive he entertains fantasies about making a break for it. There would be no point travelling south, it is too late for that, it would have to be Bremen and back to his boat. He thinks up a story to tell his commandant, how he was robbed of his uniform, his papers and belongings, and how the men at an airbase lent him clothes. Or should he tell the truth, tell how he was kidnapped? Chances are that with the wrong papers he wouldn’t get past the dockyard guards.

  Walter has been dozing. He jerks awake, squints through the windscreen and shouts.

  ‘Turn, turn now! Ah… that was the turning. Don’t try to reverse, you can’t see a thing. Keep driving. In a kilometre or so you can turn around.’

  Five more minutes and they are on the right road. Up ahead is a line of vehicles parked close to what looks to Theo like a high wall. It takes Theo a while to realise that what he thought was a wall is a long train of boxcars on a railway siding. Airmen are loading them, struggling with boxes. He asks Walter where he should go but he gets no response. Walter is watching through the windscreen, concentrating on men unloading a crate from the back of a lorry. One of them stumbles; the others can’t hold the crate on their own and for a second or two it teeters, then it falls. As it strikes the ground Walter is out of the car and running, shouting abuse.

  Theo watches. Walter is at the truck, beating one hand on the dropped crate and waving the other in the air. Leaving Walter to rant, Theo walks beside the train towards the sound of blown steam. The boxcars jerk, their buffers clank. A locomotive is up front, being coupled to the train.

  When Theo finally reaches the engine he stands in the shadows and watches its crew, one with a hand-lamp, the other with an oil can. The driver is in the cab of his engine, cleaning and checking. Lit by the glow of his firebox he is tapping gauges and adjusting brass taps. Theo recalls the times he watched such things, side by side in silence with Walter, making notes in their books – the loco’s number, its wheel configurations and running gear, the place, the date and the time. The number of wagons or coaches.

  And its type, course.

  ‘P38,’ he mumbles. ‘Four-six-zero.’

  ‘It is a fine locomotive, is it not?’

  The voice startles him, makes him jump – an action never seen by his crewmen. The hidden voice talks on. It is deep and gruff.

  ‘Unfortunately it is grossly underpowered.’

  Theo spins on his heel. He is no more than arm’s length from a man concealed partly by darkness, a man unusually large and who wears a long overcoat. Theo is aware the man can’t see him properly either, he is struggling to see Theo’s face.

  ‘The trains are usually pulled by one of our Kreigslok locomotives, occasionally by two of them… do I know you?’

  Theo, remembering Walter’s threats, hesitates. Surely, talking to the rail superintendent can do no harm?

  ‘No, I am sure I do not know you,’ the man says. ‘You have recently transferred? From where?’

  ‘My name is Vogel. I am with Major Wolff. I have – ’

  Theo checks himself. Telling a stranger such things is madness.

  ‘Ah yes. Of course. You arrived yesterday. You were with the Air Ministry in Berlin, is that not correct?’

  So much for Walter’s secrecy. The whole world seems to know.

  ‘It is not right to speak of these things.’

  ‘Very well. But it is clear to me you know about locomotives. Surely to talk about such things can do no harm?’

  Theo’s instinct is to say nothing, but surely the man is right. Talking about a railway locomotive can do no harm.

  ‘I watched them when I was a boy.’

  He is about to say more – that the P38 is indeed underpowered – but he is interrupted by shouts from far off. Walter is calling him. ‘I apologise,’ Theo says, stepping away. ‘I must go.’

  He hurries away. The transfer of crates has finished. The troops are slamming boxcar doors and lifting the tailgates of their trucks.

  ‘Who was that?’ Walter asks. ‘I saw you talking. I told you to speak to no-one.’

  ‘I said nothing, he did the talking. It was the station superintendent. He wanted to talk about trains.’

  For the next two days Walter spends very little time with Theo. He explains he is working in the great hall of Göring’s mansion. On the third day he comes early for Theo, telling him Göring is no longer at Carinhall and, at last, the two of them can work together.

  Before Theo enters the vast timbered space of the great hall Walter hands him a pad and a pencil. He warns him to say nothing and to plead ignorance if questioned. Four airmen approach them along a corridor, two pulling a trolley, the others supporting two large crates it is carrying. Walter stops them. He checks the markings on the side of the boxes with those on his list.

  ‘One crate at a time, Corporal,’ he says. ‘How many times must I tell you?’

  The man nods and salutes. As Walter walks away the men lift one of the crates and set it down in the corridor. Walter stops, turns, and struts back to them.

  ‘Don’t leave it here, Corporal. Return it to the hall. How can the Reichsmarschall’s treasures be catalogued if you leave them scattered around the place? Do you not know the value of that piece? Do you actually know what you are handling here?’

  Theo stands back, watching and listening. To him, the trolley could easily have held twice as many crates. If it had been him, supervising the loading of stores and munitions he would have remonstrated with the men for not carrying enough. He makes accidental eye contact with the corporal, and feeling uneasy he glances down at his pad. As a U-boat commander, Theo excels. As an actor, he fails miserably. He turns and sets off after Walter.

  ‘What is in the crate, the one they removed?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  The immensity of the great hall reminds Theo of the submarine pens at Saint-Nazaire in France, though there are no other similarities because the Saint-Nazaire bunkers are square-sided and constructed of concrete whereas Göring’s hall is palatial. Massive timbers span the roof. From them hang circular chandeliers the size of cartwheels, studded with electric bulbs that light the room like small suns; carpets hang on the walls between high arched windows and heavy oak beams. Tapestries, Theo realises. Like in museums.

  One of the walls is bare. The tapestries, ornaments, paintings and statues that once adorned them have been packed away, taken to the railway and loaded into boxcars. The solid furnishings – tables, chairs and sideboards – have been moved, stacked at one end of the hall in a pyramid of stained and polished timber. Paintings in gilt frames have been propped against a wall like a huge deck of cards. Walter sees them and hurries towards them. Theo tags along, stepping over a roll of carpet at least as long as two torpedoes. Walter
starts raving.

  ‘Good god, those incompetents! Look at this! It is just as well the Reichsmarschall is not here!’

  ‘Heads would roll?’

  Walter glares at him. Theo raises his eyebrows. They are the only ones left in the room. Who does Walter think he is impressing?

  ‘I have a job to do, Theodor. You might well have been a hero in your own little world but all that is behind you. It is better if you to keep your thoughts to yourself.’

  ‘Are you responsible for all this? For moving Göring’s stuff?’

  ‘While you are here you would be wise to use his title. And no, it is not my responsibility to relocate the Reichsmarschall’s treasures. I am an observer.’

  Theo considers this. Walter’s presence here is a sham. There is something underhand going on and he, Theo, has become a key part of it. Perhaps Göring’s great hall is the place to tackle him again. He looks around. They are still alone.

  ‘What are you up to, Walter? What have you got me into?’

  Walter is unsure how to respond. Theo waits for the usual outburst and threats. Though they are alone he speaks quietly.

  ‘I cannot tell you.’

  ‘You cannot tell me now, or cannot tell me ever? What is going to happen to me, Walter? Will someone put a bullet in my head?’

  ‘It is not like that.’

  ‘Then tell me what it is like. I can hardly betray you. I’m in Göring’s house, I’m carrying a blank pad, I’m pretending to assist you – ’

  ‘You are assisting me.’

  ‘– pretending to assist you in something I know nothing about.’

  ‘Nothing you say matters. This war will soon be over. The British and Americans are close to Strasbourg and the Soviets are already in East Prussia. We must do what we can.’

  ‘Are they really so close?’

  ‘This Reich is finished, Theodor. It is only a matter of time. The Reichsmarschall is transporting these items to safety. I told you that.’

  ‘So even in these times there are trains for the Reichsmarschall?’

  Theo has been kept from his son by works of art. In today’s Germany, sculptures and paintings take precedence over his countrymen’s lives.

  ‘The Reichsmarschall has always had trains for his own exclusive use. To my knowledge he has at least three.’

  He is about to say more when a man appears at the far end of the hall. He runs halfway to Walter and calls out.

  ‘Major Wolff, there is a telephone call…’

  Walter moves quickly. Theo follows, along a corridor to a small room with two desks. A woman is typing. The man is already there, holding the phone at arm’s length, his free hand covering the mouthpiece.

  ‘It is Herr Kropp, Herr Major.’

  Walter snatches the phone, puts it to one ear, changes his mind and moves it to the other. He places the pad he is carrying on the desk and reaches for a pencil.

  ‘Robert, Good Morning! It is a pleasure to hear from you. What can I do for you?’

  Theo watches as Walter’s frown deepens. The more he listens the more worried he seems. He is tapping the pencil on the pad.

  ‘The Reichsmarschall? Are you sure of that? I was told… yes, of course, I did not mean – ’

  The woman is no longer typing. The room is silent. Walter holds a hand to his free ear to block out noise that isn’t there.

  ‘I didn’t know he was still here. I was told he was away, preparing for his birthday celebrations. Are you sure that is who he asked for? Yes, yes of course, Robert, he is here, I shall do it immediately.’

  Walter slams the phone back on its rest, grabs Theo by the arm and hauls him into the corridor.

  ‘Tell me,’ he says, his words hissed through his teeth. ‘The man you were speaking to last night, what did he look like?’

  ‘It was dark, I didn’t see. A big man, hair slicked back. He wore a heavy overcoat.’

  ‘You said he was the station superintendent. Why did you think that? I have met the station superintendent. He is thin and has only one leg. Also, he also wears a uniform, as do all railway employees.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. The station superintendent at Braunschweig wore an overcoat and a felt hat.’

  Walter scowls. ‘Tell me exactly what you said to him.’

  ‘He mentioned the locomotive. He asked me if I was new here. Then he said I came from Berlin. He knew that, he didn’t have to ask.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Only that I used to have an interest in trains.’

  ‘Did you mention us? Where we used to go, you and I?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Answer me! Did you say we knew one another?’

  ‘He knew I was with you. I think I had been mumbling to myself that the railway engine was a P38. He was in the shadows, I didn’t see him properly. He said those engines were underpowered, and that the trains were usually pulled by a Kreigslok.’

  ‘What the hell is a Kreigslok?’

  ‘Our new wartime locomotives. I thought – ’

  ‘You seem to have excelled yourself, Theodor,’ Walter hisses quietly, his eyes glancing back into the room and then fixing on Theo’s. ‘Your friendly Station Superintendent just happened to be our Reichsmarschall. He wants to see us.’

  Walter wipes his brow with his sleeve. Though it isn’t at all cold he is sweating. Theo frowns.

  ‘You said he had left here.’

  ‘I was wrong. You say one word out of place to him and we are dead men. You have studied your dossier, you know what to say if you are asked. You are an administrator, not a flier. Because of your mechanical skills you gained rapid promotion but your job has always been mundane. Your job is to check requisitions for military supplies. Do understand me?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you are telling me this. We have been through this before.’

  Instead of taking a direct route through the house Walter takes Theo out to the courtyard. They seem to be walking in circles. Walter has lost his composure and is scurrying, beckoning with his hand and urging Theo to keep up.

  Fixed to the wall above the great door to the main house is the largest pair of antlers Theo has ever seen. For an unguarded moment they bring to mind picture-book reindeers. He tells himself he has not actually been abducted to Santa Land, it just feels like it.

  A man stands in the doorway, between the two bronze stags Theo saw last night. He is uniformed and slim, so definitely not Göring. As they get closer he takes a few steps forwards, nods to Walter and speaks directly to Theo.

  ‘Herr Hauptmann, I am Robert Kropp, I am the Reichsmarschall’s valet – though I’m sure the major has told you already. I am to conduct you to the Reichsmarschall, he is expecting you. Come quickly, we must not keep him waiting.’

  Walter steps forwards but is blocked, unexpectedly, by Kropp’s raised hand. With a flourish Kropp turns and sweeps his arm down, deftly beckoning Theo inside while blocking Walter with his shoulder. Though no words are spoken the message is clear. The Reichsmarschall wants Hauptmann Vogel.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Midge Rollo to learn the Spargo woman’s routine. He even followed her into King’s Buildings and checked the name on her door: Dr Jessica Spargo. Also, he worked out the man with the Volvo, the old guy he sometimes saw with her, was her father.

  Dr Jessica – Midge liked the name, it made what he was doing more personal – worked a fairly predictable week. Her father did not. Midge had followed him for a while. He lived in a smart bit of town called The Grange. Big detached houses and big cars.

  There was another man who visited Dr Jessica fairly regularly, a boyfriend, Midge guessed, a man in his late twenties who travelled by bus – though every so often he turned up at her flat in a wee yellow car with a black folding top. It was Friday, so no doubt he would be at the flat now, waiting for Dr Jessica to return home from work.

  Midge was in his car, parked outside her work, facing the way
he always faced while he waited for her. Sometimes the waiting was like watching paint dry. Other times she surprised him by leaving early. She left on time today but still she surprised him – she turned left instead of her usual right.

  Midge panicked. In the daily report he left on the answering machine at the number Mr Luis had given him he was always honest. If he tailed Dr Jessica and lost her he would say so. To his embarrassment he had lost her once already, and that was a misfortune – an appropriate word. To lose her twice would be carelessness, he had read that somewhere.

  He started his car and pulled away from the kerb. Misjudging the U-turn he managed to jam his car across the road at the same time as an ambulance approached in a blaze of blue lights. It managed to avoid Midge by little more than a hand’s width and by the time his car had turned, Jez’s bike had vanished.

  Spargo, separating pages in his basement, heard the buzz of Jez’s bike as she bounced in off the road. Leaving the basement he trotted up the slope beside the house and met her half way. She was removing her helmet and tossing back her hair.

  ‘I went into the old place,’ he said as a greeting. ‘The mine house, I mean. I found a box.’

  She walked past him and didn’t reply. In the light from the basement fluorescents he caught a glimpse of disapproval. It reminded him of Theresa.

  ‘That place is a death trap,’ she mumbled. ‘Didn’t the chimney stack collapse? Doesn’t the sign say it’s a dangerous structure?’

  ‘I was careful. I knew what I was doing. I remembered something my father used to say, that if a thing was ready to go in the roof – ’

  ‘It was ready for the tip,’ Jez said, hurrying him on. ‘Yes Dad, I know that. I’ve heard that a thou – ’

  ‘So why did he have a shed full of junk on the mine?’

  ‘I didn’t know he had. Perhaps the attic was full. Perhaps all those years he had a secret stash of junk in the roof.’