Traitors' Gate

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Impossible! Hell’s Bells, you can’t be serious! They wouldn’t tell me that; why should they? You’d be playin’ with dynamite. No, no; you’d never pull it off! This is the maddest scheme I’ve ever heard of. They’d never stand for it! But just think of the risk! It’ll be the finish of you. Finish of me too, like as not. The very thought of the gamble we’d be takin’ makes me shudder.’ Yet gradually his objections became less vehement, and at length he said:

  ‘God alone knows what will come of this. Still; suppose I must do as you wish. That wench is mighty lucky to have a man of your calibre feel under an obligation to her. Odds still are though that she’ll spend the next seven years in prison. If she does it’ll be because you’ve failed. Can’t say I’d lose much sleep over that as far as she’s concerned; but if you really make a mess of things they might hang you.’

  ‘If I do they may hang her too—or shoot her; which comes to the same thing. The French shot Mata Hari in the last war, and the Germans Nurse Cavell. This time the Boche are just butchering out of hand any of our women agents whom they catch connected with the resistance; and your friend at M.I.5 seems to think the Home Office are taking the view that we are overdue in staging a few reprisals.’

  ‘The devil they are!’ Sir Pellinore halted in his tracks. ‘If that’s the case your urge to play knight errant is much more justifiable. But the way you propose to set about it sends cold shivers down my spine. ‘I’ll do what you want, but I greatly fear we’ll both have cause to rue it.’

  They talked on for another hour. With great reluctance Sir Pellinore gave Gregory some of the secret information for which he asked, and promised to do his best to get for him the still more secret particulars, knowledge of which was essential to the success of his plan.

  A little before eleven Gregory walked across the Park to do his tour of duty in the War Room. The officers on the staff there were under no obligation to maintain secrecy about where they were employed and habitually used the official paper for their correspondence; so during the night, on a sheet of the blue vellum headed ‘Offices of the War Cabinet’, he wrote a note to Colonel Kasdar. It ran:

  I have visited the Baroness Tuzolto in prison and she gave me a message for you. In the circumstances I feel that it would be inadvisable for me to call at your Embassy or for us to be seen together in any public place. I should therefore be glad if you would call upon me this evening any time between six o’clock and midnight at my private address—272 Gloucester Road, S.W.7.

  In the morning, on his way home, he dropped the letter in at the Moldavian Embassy.

  That evening he described to Rudd the man he was expecting and told him that if anyone else called he was ‘not at home’. Then he shook a cocktail, which he hoped his visitor would arrive to share with him, and sat down to wait with far from easy feelings. It was, he knew, quite on the cards that, fearing a trap, the Moldavian Military Attaché might not come; and, if he did, great subtlety and tact would be required to win him over. Sir Pellinore had been difficult enough; Colonel Kasdar might well prove more so, and if he could not be induced to play, the plan that Gregory had evolved would prove unworkable.

  Half-past six came, seven, half-past and eight. Gloomily Gregory sat down to a cold meal that could easily be pushed aside. In twenty minutes he had finished it. Nine o’clock struck, and he began to fear that Kadar did not mean to come; but at a quarter-past, footsteps sounded outside on the landing and Rudd showed in the tall, dark Colonel.

  Gregory greeted him cordially, mixed him a whisky and soda and said, ‘I expect the Baroness will have told you that it was I who brought her from Budapest to England.’

  ‘Yes, so,’ the Moldavian replied. ‘Der Café Royal we dine at, ja. There she haf you point out to me.’

  ‘Fine. Your having the low-down about me already should ease the wheels between us quite a lot.’

  ‘Excuse, please, my English am not var good.’

  ‘If you would prefer, we will talk in French or German,’ Gregory suggested. ‘I am quite fluent in both.’

  The Colonel’s swarthy face lit up with a smile. ‘Let us use German, then,’ he said in that language. ‘For us Moldavians it is our second tongue.’

  ‘By all means,’ Gregory smiled back. ‘What I was saying was, that since the Baroness has told you that we serve the same interests, that will make it much easier for us to understand one another without beating about the bush.’

  ‘She did not say that.’ A swift glint of suspicion showed in the Moldavian’s yellow-flecked eyes. ‘She led me to suppose that when she met you in Budapest you were there on a secret mission for the British.’

  ‘That is true. But didn’t she also tell you that my sympathies are Fascist, and …’ Gregory added the lie unblushingly ‘… that before the war I had many friends among the high-up Nazis?’

  ‘She told me only that you are strongly anti-Communist, and remarked what a pity it was that in this war you, and many Englishmen like you, are on the wrong side.’

  ‘Then she at least made it clear to you that we hold views in common.’

  ‘I am a neutral,’ the Colonel replied warily. ‘I have given you no reason to suppose that I am a pro-Nazi.’ Then he glanced nervously round the room.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Gregory’s retort was swift. ‘I know you to be. The Baroness has named you as her contact with the Nazis. And you have no need to be afraid there is a microphone in the room. You can search for it if you like.’

  The Moldavian did not accept the offer, but said in a low voice, ‘So the little Sabine said that, did she? I feared that might be the case when I got your letter. If then, as you say, you are a friend, is it that you have sent for me to tip me off that the Foreign Office will be asking my Government to recall me?’

  ‘No. She told only me. No one else knows; so you are in no danger of being had up on the mat by your Ambassador for unneutral activities. In fact, I am going to make certain that no suspicion attaches to you by reporting that Sabine said it was to your Second Secretary, Mr. Nichoŭlic, that she turned in her stuff.’

  ‘Wing-Commander, you place me in your debt. But I am at a loss to understand …’

  ‘Have I not said that I, also, am an admirer of the Nazis. I had the honour to enjoy the friendship of Reichsmarschall Goering.’

  ‘Indeed! I, too, know him; but only slightly. I was once asked to shoot at Karinhall, when I was Assistant Military Attaché in Berlin.’

  Gregory jumped at the chance to consolidate his position. He had once spent a night at Karinhall and, while refraining from disclosing the very exceptional circumstances of his visit, he at once began to dilate on the beauties of Goering’s imposing home. When they had discussed it and its owner for some minutes, Kasdar said:

  ‘In your letter to me, Wing Commander, you said that you had a message for me from Sabine.’

  ‘Yes; here it is.’ Gregory took the note from his pocket and passed it over. When the Moldavian had read it he stroked his fine black moustache thoughtfully and remarked:

  ‘The conversation we have already had naturally inclines me to feel at ease with you, and I am glad to have the Baroness’s confirmation that I may be so. However, the very fact that she did write it and that you asked me to come here indicates that you have something more to say to me.’

  Gregory nodded. ‘You are right about that. And I will be frank. I am not proposing to mask your activities by throwing suspicion on Nichoŭlic solely because I would rather see Russia defeated than Germany. It is because I am contemplating an undertaking in which I need help; and the sort of help I require can be given to me only by someone like yourself, who is actually in touch with the Germans.’

  ‘What is this undertaking?’ asked the Colonel cautiously.

  ‘It is to rescue Sabine from her prison.’

  The bulky Moldavian sat up in his chair with a jerk. ‘But is that possible? It must be far from easy to get an ordinary prisoner out of a modern prison, and I imagine she is
particularly carefully guarded.’

  ‘She is not in a modern prison. She is in the Tower of London. Mind you, it may prove every bit as difficult to get her out of there. I am by no means sure that I can yet; but I mean to try. I have managed to escape myself from several prisons and prison camps; so I know quite a lot about that sort of thing, and this time I have the advantage of being outside the fence. You see, I am assisting in her interrogation that enables me to see her at any time I like and, without being suspected, concert arrangements with her or, if desirable, take in to her some form of disguise.’

  Kasdar drew heavily on his cigarette. ‘As it was you who brought her into England, I was much surprised to learn that they had allowed you to see her. It was clever of you to get yourself called in on her interrogation. But I fear I cannot aid you in helping her to escape. Much as I should like to do so, I am not prepared to take that risk. If I were caught it could be ruled that I had exceeded the limits of diplomatic privilege. Then I would find myself in a British prison.’

  ‘I am not asking your help to get her out of the Tower,’ Gregory said quickly. ‘It is getting her to some place of safety afterwards that would prove too much for me alone. There would be no sense in rescuing her if she was likely to be caught again within twenty-four hours; and she almost certainly would be if she remained in London.’

  ‘That is true. What are your proposals to meet this situation?’

  ‘I have none; because I don’t know how the German system works for smuggling people in and out of this country. But I take it you do, or could find out.’

  Instead of replying, the Moldavian asked a question. ‘Tell me, Wing Commander, what lies behind all this? The risk to yourself is immense. If you are caught you will be cashiered and receive a prison sentence long enough to ruin your whole life. I cannot believe that you would lay yourself open to such a terrible penalty solely because you are a friend of Reichsmarschall Goering and would prefer a Fascist dominated Europe to a Communist one.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Gregory had been ready for this. ‘That is one reason; but I have two others which weigh much more with me. The second is that I am in love with Sabine. Circumstances dictated that once having got her to London I should refrain from going about with her for a while. But—perhaps she told you this—in Budapest we became lovers, and all through our long journey to London we lived as man and wife.’

  ‘Yes; she told me that.’

  ‘You will understand, then, that the thought of her in prison is torture to me. Desperation at the knowledge that she will be left there for years to rot, unless I can restore her to freedom, drives me to this act. Even if I cannot reap the reward for saving her, I owe it to her for the happiness she has given me.’

  He paused a moment, then went on, ‘My third reason is an entirely selfish one. I am convinced that Herr Hitler will win this war. I hope it will end in the utter destruction of the Russians and a compromise between Britain and Germany. But it may not. Churchill is incredibly pig-headed. He is the sort of man who will refuse to recognise when we are beaten. To bring an end to hostilities Herr Hitler may be compelled to land troops here and subdue Britain by force of arms. That would mean years of great misery for the population. All my life I have lived well. I hate poverty, indifferent food and discomfort. I was well thought of by the Nazis before the war. If I can put myself definitely on the right side by doing them some signal service—such as restoring Ribbentrop’s beautiful mistress to him—I should be made a member of the Parti, and rewarded with some responsible position under the occupation Government. They might even make me a Gauleiter, or something of that sort. You see, I am being completely frank with you.’

  ‘Admirable, admirable,’ purred the tall Moldavian. ‘You and I are birds of a feather, Wing Commander; sensible people who know which side our bread is buttered.’

  After his great effort Gregory gave a silent sigh of relief. He felt confident now that he had really won his visitor’s confidence, and got him exactly where he wanted him. Next moment he suffered bitter disillusion.

  Finishing his whisky. Kasdar said, ‘I envy you the joy you had of the little Baroness. I had aspirations in that direction myself. But I lack your altruism in being prepared to run risks for her only to hand her over to Herr Ribbentrop. As for your ambitions, I find them most laudable; but they are no affair of mine. She has had the bad luck to get caught, and as far as I am concerned that is the end of the matter. The cooperation which you ask might well bring about the ruin of my career; and nothing would induce me to play ducks and drakes with that. I repeat—nothing.’

  24

  Playing With Dynamite

  The Moldavian stood up to leave. Gregory stood up too, but instead of turning towards the door he picked up the whisky bottle and said in a casual voice:

  ‘You might as well have the other half before you go.’

  Without waiting for a reply he began to pour out. While he did so his brain was working with the speed of a dynamo. If he could not, here and now, secure the Colonel’s promise to help him he might not get another chance. Knowing what he intended to attempt Kasdar might consider it dangerous to have anything further to do with him.

  He could, of course, try blackmail—threaten to have Sabine tell the truth about the Colonel’s having been her contact instead of saying that it was Nichoŭlic—but he had a feeling that would not come off. Gregory was a shrewd judge of character. In his secret work he had to be, for there were times when a mistake in assessing trustworthiness could have cost him his life. In the past half-hour he had summed up Kasdar and would have reported on him as:—

  ‘A typical Balkan soldier of good family. Not very clever, but brave, proud, ambitious, honest according to his lights, and likely to be very touchy about anything reflecting on a somewhat outmoded code of honour that was held by his class.’

  His acting, although a neutral, as a Nazi Agent could no more be held against him than it could against Gregory that he, in the previous year, had gone as a spy to Russia, although that country was Britain’s ally. The great majority of upper and middle class Central Europeans, having for the past twenty years lived under the menace of their countries being overrun by the Soviets, had seen their only protection in entering the Fascist and Nazi camps; so it was natural that most of the Moldavians were hoping that Germany would win the war. It was that, no doubt, rather than payment for information received, which had led Kasdar to help the Nazis. In fact, if he were well-off—and most military attachés were chosen from among the richer officers of their armies—he might strongly resent an offer of money from either side. The odds were still greater that he would resent an attempt to blackmail him. It was liable to arouse in him all the primitive instincts of his type—anger, courage and defiance. The only hope was to handle him with velvet gloves and to titillate his ambition.

  As he sat down again, Gregory said with a smile, ‘ “Nothing” is an all-embracing word. I hardly think you would stick to it if, in exchange for your co-operation, I were in a position to make you President of Moldavia or, say, Chief of the Moldavian General Staff.’

  Kasdar gave a deep laugh. ‘But, my friend, you are not.’

  ‘True. Yet you give as your reason for refusing your help fear of ruining your career. Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might be able to assist you in it?’

  ‘I do not see how.’

  ‘Just now, when I spoke of my wish to gain for myself a privileged position, should the Germans ever occupy this country, you remarked that we were birds of a feather. If you really meant that you must have been thinking on the same lines. Moldavia, we both know, is at Herr Hitler’s mercy. He has allowed it to remain isolated and neutral only because it suits him to do so; just as is the case with Switzerland. When the war is over and he re-makes Europe he will either absorb Moldavia, or at least see that it is run by a puppet government under Nazi direction. When that day comes, it will be the officers who have shown their Nazi sympathies during the war who will be cer
tain of rapid promotion, and the better they have served Germany the higher the posts to which they will be appointed.’

  ‘Naturally. And I admit that it is with just such a future in mind that I serve the Germans.’

  ‘Well, I could enable you to serve them better. As you know, I work in the Offices of the War Cabinet.’

  Kasdar’s eyes opened wide and he suddenly sat forward. ‘You … you mean that you would supply me with valuable information.’

  Gregory nodded. ‘By doing so I should be securing my future as well as helping yours. But I shall be taking a far greater risk than you will; so I want part payment in advance. You may think it quixotic of me to wish to save Sabine for Herr Ribbentrop, but I love her, and there it is. My price is that if I can get her out of the Tower you should get her safely out of the country.’

  ‘That is easier said than done.’

  ‘I feel confident you could arrange it. To fly her out would, I imagine, be impossible. But she could be picked up by a U-boat from some lonely spot on the coast.’

  ‘I cannot see the Germans risking one of their U-boats for such a purpose—unless, that is, we could first get her to Eire. I gather that they look in fairly frequently at secret rendezvous along the southwest coast. As Eire is neutral, simply to get her there would be enough. It could then be left to the German Embassy in Dublin to make further arrangements for her.’

  ‘Yes, she would be safe from recapture in Eire, but how would you get her there? Remember, she would not have a passport.’

  ‘I could get a Moldavian passport faked up for her.’

  ‘No good.’ Gregory shook his head ‘If I get her out of the Tower it will be known by eight o’clock that following morning. M.I.5’s security network is extremely efficient. Within half an hour officials at every port in Britain will be on the look-out for her. There aren’t a great number of Moldavians here, and as she is known to have been turning her stuff in to the Moldavian Embassy, anyone attempting to leave on a Moldavian passport is certain to be subjected to special scrutiny. No disguise, however excellent, could possibly stand up to it. They would get her for certain.’