‘You have to know what to listen for. People give away things without even realising it.’
‘Talking of which, I saw Gleave and Scoult last week – they’ve observed a build-up of ordnance around the Kent coast. Know anything about it?’
She pulled a sceptical expression. ‘All I know is that your scouts are amateurs. If they were to tell me the invasion is being launched from Kent I would assume they had been duped into believing it.’
‘Their intelligence has been very persuasive,’ he said mildly.
‘I would check that personally before you think of filing it to Berlin.’ She said this last in an undertone, though their table was set apart from the rest. Secrecy is second nature to her, he thought; she’d sooner kill someone – or kill herself – than get caught. He considered her imperious expression, the dark, illusionless eyes surveying the room, then switching coldly back on him.
‘Why are you smiling – what’s so funny?’ she said sharply.
He couldn’t help himself. ‘Nothing. Well … would it be fair to say that, despite all our dealings these last years, you’ve never much liked me?’
She frowned at the sudden personal tone. ‘I’ve never much liked anyone. As a matter of fact I don’t altogether despise you.’
‘How flattering. And yet I’ve been hearing ominous reports that you’re disaffected with our arrangement. Apparently you think I’m no longer “up to it”.’
‘Where did you get this – from that pair of fools?’
‘Word goes around. Now what you think of me personally is beside the point: I don’t mind being disliked. But when I hear of my professional capability being questioned, then it becomes a different matter. A serious matter.’
A scornful incredulity lit up her eyes. ‘What is this?’
‘I think we both know what this is. The tide of the war is about to turn. The next months will be the making or the breaking of the Reich. The Abwehr has put its agents on top alert – every scrap of intelligence about the Second Front is vital to them. As their only conduit in London I am charged with keeping Berlin up to date. It is not the time to start undermining me or my agents – do you understand?’
‘Undermine you – how?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘By putting your own ambition before the job. A job for which you are very well rewarded, incidentally –’ She tried to interrupt him, but he spoke over her. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Marita. You have no authority whatsoever to take over this operation. If I get wind of any mutiny I’ll know where it’s coming from. Your payments will instantly cease, and your position as an agent will be terminated.’
‘Well, aren’t you the big man?’ she sneered. ‘We wouldn’t need to have this conversation if I could be assured you were doing your job properly. Instead, for three years you’ve talked and talked and produced nothing – not a single initiative – that might help overthrow this government. I’m “well rewarded”, as you say, because I’ve brought you the best and most reliable intelligence of any agent in this country. Yet what use has it been? What good have you done the Reich in all that time?’
‘It may surprise you to know that Berlin has always been most grateful. I’ve given them information they couldn’t have come by any other way. It is unfortunate that the results of our work may not be credited for years – may never be. Espionage is a long game. You of all people should know that.’
‘Ha. You expect unconditional trust from others, and yet you offer none in return. I would dearly love to know how much of the intelligence we bring you gets to the top. This concentration of ordnance in the south, for instance. How can you be sure they’re going to launch from Kent? Wouldn’t it be more like MI5 to use that as a decoy and direct the assault elsewhere?’
Hoste waited a beat before answering. She was shrewd, he had to admit; she was always shrewd. ‘Or it could be a double bluff. Make a feint to go one way, then just as the enemy become convinced you’ve got a different plan you switch back to the original. Kent looks the more promising option.’
‘Another classic method of the enemy: sow confusion.’
He gave a conceding half-smile. ‘I accept that it’s all a gamble. But the important question you have to ask yourself is this – in time of need, will I be of more use to Berlin as a rogue agent or as part of a team?’ She stared hard at him. This was a moment to test her loyalty: she knew it as well as he did. ‘Put it another way. Do you still work for the Fatherland? Because if you do, I want your pledge of support.’
She fell into a sullen silence, pondering. Marita didn’t take well to being pushed, but she was pragmatic about the need for alliances. Slowly, with a curl to her lip, she said, ‘You have it – for now. Do not make me regret it.’
He betrayed no hint of his relief. The crisis had been averted, and Marita was back on board, for the moment. She was pulling on her gloves, and glanced at him.
‘One other thing,’ she said, reverting to a more businesslike tone. ‘The money. I’ve been on the same for three years. Would it be beyond our paymasters to give me a raise?’
‘I’m sure they can manage something,’ said Hoste, realising it was a small price to pay for what he had just got away with. She had risen from the table, and, leaving some coins on the plate, he rose to accompany her.
The cafe was alive with bustle. They were making their way through the tables – she was a few steps in advance – when from nowhere he heard his name being called. Only it wasn’t his name any more.
‘Eaves!’
He flinched, and there, unimaginably, was Bowman, his old manager at the bank on Euston Road. He looked a little jowlier, his features blurred with age. He had stood up, squinting, his expression clearing to certainty. He had recognised his former employee, though they hadn’t set eyes on one another for years. Hoste, momentarily rooted to the spot, caught his breath. His brain was spinning furiously: how to get out of this? There was no possibility of pretending he hadn’t heard. If he didn’t come up with something fast he was done for. He returned a look of recognition and, as if in a dream, stepped towards Bowman’s table, hoping that Marita hadn’t noticed.
‘I wasn’t sure at first if it was you,’ said Bowman, offering his hand. ‘Must be – what – ten years?’
‘Close to,’ he said, fixing a grin. Bowman’s companions at the table were looking at them both, bemused. Hoste sensed Marita arrive at his side. ‘This is my associate, Miss Berens,’ he said, careful to use her public alias. ‘I used to be a clerk at Mr Bowman’s bank, years ago.’
Marita nodded, politely interested. Bowman’s reaction to her dark, striking looks was more pronounced, but he tore his eyes away to ask his old employee a question. ‘So what have you been up to since? Or shouldn’t I ask?!’ He gave a theatrical wink and a laugh that caused Hoste to swallow.
‘You really shouldn’t ask, Mr Bowman. But I do recall your being a good sport about it at the time.’ The two sides of his life were heading for each other, like cars without lights on a blacked-out road. Keep it vague, and get out of here. He glanced at his wristwatch, making a face to indicate he was pushed for time.
‘I wasn’t given much choice,’ replied Bowman, with a rueful smirk. ‘All very cloak and dagger, as I remember. Never lost an employee to that lot before or since, I might add. Edward Eaves … Your name was mentioned –’
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bowman, but much as I’d like to reminisce I’m terribly late for an appointment. Would you excuse me?’
Bowman looked nonplussed, but he gathered himself for a valediction. ‘Of course. Keep fighting the good fight.’
Hoste turned to Marita, whose gaze was now on fire with curiosity. He made a signal with his eyes that they should exit, and with some reluctance she followed him out of the cafe. They walked along the street for some moments until she angled her head at him.
‘You never told me you worked at a bank. And when were you known as “Edward Eaves”?’
‘Back in the thirties. The police w
ere on my case, so I had to drop the name and get another. Like you did.’
‘He seemed eager to talk. You rather cut him off.’
‘Did I?’
She stopped suddenly on the pavement. ‘Yes, you did. I’ve never seen you so twitchy before.’
He shrugged, meeting her gimlet-eyed gaze. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t lie to me. That man back there – he said he’d never lost an employee to “that lot”. Who was he talking about?’
‘He meant the Midland. The rival bank to his own. They offered me a job behind his back, and he was sore about it.’
‘You were a clerk. Why would he get sore about that?’
He clicked his tongue in impatience. ‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps he thought it reflected badly on him. It was a long time ago.’
She fell silent, and they continued along the street. He could almost hear her mind turning over: he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He could curse the terrible luck of it, to have run into him in that cafe at that moment, with Marita of all people … But at least he hadn’t specified who “that lot” was.
‘Another strange thing for him to say,’ she mused.
‘What?’
‘Your old boss. As we left he said “Keep fighting the good fight”. Why would he say that?’
‘We’re at war, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ he said in a tone of weary tolerance. ‘People say that sort of thing to one another all the time.’
‘Nobody’s ever said it to me,’ she replied shortly. ‘He could have just said goodbye – why that?’
Now Hoste came to a halt. ‘I don’t know why, and I don’t care. He’s a bank manager. Why don’t you ask him if you’re so interested?’ He looked again at his watch. A bus had just pulled up at a stop, and he saw his moment. ‘I’d better get this. Goodbye. I’ll let you know about that pay rise.’ He felt the abruptness of their parting, but it was imperative to get away. He stood on the passenger platform as the bus moved off. She stared after him, mute, expressionless, before walking on.
He took the stairs to the top deck and found a seat. He felt himself trembling. He scanned the street behind, checking Marita wasn’t doubling back to the Kardomah. He had managed not to panic in front of her, that was something. But had he convinced her? He had feigned nonchalance, then impatience, in trying to cover for himself. He had fooled her for this long; maybe his luck would hold, and she’d forget the whole incident. But he knew that wouldn’t be Marita’s way.
As the bus chugged by Charing Cross Station he quickly descended the stairs and jumped off. He made for a telephone box in the forecourt and rang Tessa’s number at work. She picked up on the fourth ring.
‘Tessa, listen to me. I’m in trouble.’ He described the accidental encounter with Bowman at the cafe.
‘Keep calm. You’re not burned yet. What exactly does Marita know?’
‘My name. The bank. Nothing else for certain. But she’s on to me, I can tell. If she manages to track down Bowman the jig is up. She’ll get it out of him in no time.’
‘I’ll get Bowman called in immediately. We can block that. You’re sure that she heard your name?’
‘Positive. The bloody fool said it twice.’
‘That’s a pity.’ There was a pause before she spoke again. ‘We’ll just have to come up with something to allay her suspicions. Let’s meet tomorrow morning and work it out. In the meantime, try not to panic.’
In distraction he went out on ARP duty, fire-watching, though the raids had thinned out again. He replayed the scene in his head, wondering how he might have been smarter. Should he have ignored Bowman altogether, or pretended not to hear? He had been so taken by surprise there hadn’t been time to measure a response. Had his companion been someone other than Marita he would have tried to head them off, said he would catch them up, dealt with Bowman on his own. But Marita was not easily thrown off. In pursuit she was as keen as a terrier after a rat. He returned to the flat in the derelict small hours, still wondering, worrying.
The next morning he was drinking tea in Tessa’s office at the Section when the new liaison officer breezed in. Richard Lang was tall, sallow-skinned, straight-backed; his tightly clipped moustache seemed to go with his field-phone brusqueness.
‘Heard you’ve run into trouble. Hammond, what’s the latest on the bank manager?’
She glanced across at Hoste before answering. ‘We’ve called him in. He’ll be apprised of Hoste’s situation regarding Marita. If she does track him down to the bank we’ve put safeguards in place.’
‘Good. So that’s one danger neutralised.’ He looked to Hoste. ‘Think we can contain this?’
‘If it were anyone else, yes. But Marita’s not like anyone else. Once she spots a weakness she’ll go for the kill.’
‘The female of the species …’ Lang said, not noticing Tessa’s arched brows. ‘Well, we must try to stem the wound. If Marita rumbles it as a sham the entire network might fall – Berlin could get wind that we’ve been running God knows how many agents. Disastrous timing for the invasion.’
‘What would you propose?’ asked Tessa.
Lang tweaked his moustache thoughtfully. ‘There’s one way of taking her out of the picture. Arrest her – she’s a menace to national security.’
Hoste shook his head. ‘Too risky. If she’s arrested now she’ll know for certain I betrayed her. Then word will get out that Berlin’s spymaster in London is a fake, and every home-grown Nazi will vanish into the woodwork.’
‘So you’re saying it’s as dangerous to arrest her as it is to leave her alone?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Tessa. ‘We need to keep Hoste in the field, to reassure Marita and the rest that the Gestapo still has a foothold. His integrity remains the key. If one pearl is false, the whole string is false.’
‘Can’t say I like it,’ said Lang. ‘With Operation Fortitude we’ve launched a hugely elaborate deception on the enemy, in advance of the assault. If we can keep their troops and tanks bottled up in the Pas-de-Calais it would give us time to establish a bridgehead in Normandy. One break in the line and the plan could be up in flames. Are you sure you want to let this woman go?’
Tessa didn’t flinch. ‘Quite certain. I take full responsibility.’
Lang considered this in silence, then said, ‘Very well. Keep me informed.’
When he had gone they talked it over again. They called in Castle to see if he could find a solution, but he tended to agree with Lang: wouldn’t it be safer to take Marita out of the equation before she could stumble on Fortitude?
‘That would be putting our hand in the hornets’ nest,’ said Tessa. ‘What’s required is something to expel any doubts on Marita’s part that Hoste is the Gestapo’s man.’
Castle took out his pipe, and lit it. ‘What about forging a letter of personal commendation from the Reich Chancellery? You know, “Keep up the good work”, or something.’
Hoste laughed miserably. ‘She’d see through it in an instant.’
‘I gather she accepted her Iron Cross with alacrity.’
‘But she’s no fool. The timing alone would look too convenient – just at the moment she begins to suspect me a letter of endorsement arrives from Berlin.’
‘What about your other agents – Gleave, for instance? Could he not be induced to vouch for you?’
Hoste made a demurring expression. ‘She doesn’t trust him; she doesn’t trust any of them. To her they’re all amateurs, or worse.’
A gloomy silence ensued, until Tessa said, almost to herself, ‘There must be someone she trusts.’
18
Amy stepped off the tram at the Embankment and crossed the road. She had set out early, though she was not the first to arrive. On the bench, calmly facing the river, sat Tessa Hammond. They were meeting here because Amy had refused her invitation to come to the office; she still had unpleasant memories of the last time. The morning was warm, but the sky had a vast leaden lid clapped over it.
&n
bsp; ‘Hullo, Miss Strallen,’ said Tessa as Amy approached. ‘It’s been a while.’
Amy nodded, and sat down without a word. She pulled off her gloves and gazed out at the Thames, a liquid sludge-grey to reflect the sky.
‘How’s the marriage bureau?’ Tessa began. ‘You’re still there?’
‘It’s fine. Shall we just get on with this? I know you haven’t asked me here to discuss my career.’
Tessa tilted her chin in acquiescence. ‘Just to remind you. You’re still bound under the Secrets Act – everything said between us is in strictest confidence.’ She waited for another indifferent nod from Amy before she continued. ‘We’re facing a potential security breach which, if we don’t act quickly, could be calamitous. It involves Jack Hoste. We think – we have reason to believe – that his cover is about to be blown. By Marita Pardoe.’
‘I see.’
‘Did Marita tell you what happened?’
‘How do you know Marita and I are still –’ She stopped herself; of course they knew; it was their job to know. ‘No, she didn’t tell me. She doesn’t talk about her work, and I don’t ask.’
Tessa nodded. ‘But you’re still close, I believe. You see one another for dinner.’
‘Every so often. She’s been quite busy of late. What do you want from me?’
A pause followed as Tessa took out a packet of Weights and offered one to Amy. They lit up. ‘There’s an Allied plan afoot. I can’t tell you much. At the moment it’s so hush-hush there are government ministers who don’t yet know. Suffice it to say an invasion is in the offing. Naturally, the exact location of the assault remains a secret, and no – I can’t tell you where it is. But I will tell you that German intelligence has been tricked into thinking it knows.’
‘How?’
‘Because it believes that the British spy network they operate is reliable. It’s not. In fact every single agent they run is one of ours. It’s the greatest double-cross in the history of espionage. At a domestic level this is what Jack Hoste has been doing. As long as all the intelligence passes through him, we have the fifth column under our control. But a few days ago he was burned – the word we use when a cover’s blown. He happened to run into his former boss who knew that he’d been hired by MI5. By sheer bad luck Marita was with him, and though the conversation wasn’t conclusive it was enough to make her suspicious. Since then we’ve heard that she has been in contact with Abwehr agents – mainly in France and Lisbon. It’s touch and go whether she’s been voicing her concerns to them. But if Hoste has been compromised, it could be disastrous – a domino effect across the whole network.’
Our Friends in Berlin Page 20
