The Deep Secret

by David Robinson

  Now, with the dawn of 1944 just a few days away, he was pleased to report to his CO that he had found such a man.

  “Chap called Burke, sir,” Stokes reported. “Corporal Graham Burke.”

  Quarmby waved Stokes to the armchairs in front of the fire and, dropping another log into the flames, they basked in the warmth. A glance through the windows saw flurries of light snow, adding to the carpet already covering the parade ground.

  “Tell me about him,” the colonel invited.

  “Bit of an oddbod, sir, but very reliable,” Stokes said taking the vacant chair after Quarmby had seated himself. “He was one of the youngest variety acts in the Bristol area before the war, sir. Father encouraged him onto the stage when he was a boy. Started with magic tricks, moved on to escapology after reading about Harry Houdini’s stunts. To his credit, he was one of the first in the queue at the recruiting office in September ’39. His commanding officer described him as something of a loner, but there’s no question of his courage. He was with the Somersets at Dunkirk. One of the rearguards on the retreat to the beach. Only nineteen years old at the time, too. Kept his mates entertained on the beach with party tricks, little escape acts, while they were waiting for evacuation. Story is, one of the men would bind his wrists behind his back, and he would free himself inside a minute. Didn’t matter how tight they tied the ropes, Burke would get out of it, and always in under sixty seconds.”

  “And he knows about this hypnotism stuff?”

  “Yes, sir. According to Burke himself, he read a novel by George du Maurier. Trilby. It’s all about Svengali, and that got him interested in hypnotism.”

  “Read it, old boy,” Quarmby said. “Lot of nonsense if you want my opinion, but then, what does an old fool like me know? Back to Burke. How good is he as a hypnotist?”

  “His CO wasn’t sure, sir, but the rumour factory at his last base says he put on some really comic shows in the mess hall and his billet.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Can we trust him?”

  “Positive vetting, sir, shows him clean as a whistle and British to the core. Hates the Hun. Constantly asking for a posting to front line, active units.” Stoke hesitated before asking, “If I may, sir, what do we think about Reiniger?”

  “His information has proven top class, Captain. Every one of the thirty names he gave us checks out as a Jerry spy. Naturally, SIS had some of them covered already, but others were a complete surprise. As things stand, we’ve rounded up and executed some. The others are still out there, still sure of their standing.” He smiled grimly. “If everything goes according to plan, Adolf will be expecting Overlord at the Pas de Calais.” Quarmby clapped his hands in a businesslike manner. “All right. Get onto the War Office. Let’s have Burke here for the New Year, eh?”

  ***

  Stokes marched into the commandant’s office, accompanied by Corporal Graham Burke, and both snapped to attention, and saluted their CO.

  “This is Corporal Burke, sir. Third Battalion Somerset Rifles.”

  Quarmby stood up and circled his desk. “You’ve seen some action, I believe, Corporal?”

  “Not enough, sir. Always keen to give the Bosch a good hiding, sir.”

  “Quite, quite. Don’t know whether we can oblige, but the option is always open. Do you know who we are?”

  “No, sir. Brought before my CO yesterday, he gave me the rail warrant to come here, sir, told me I was to report to Captain Stokes. That’s all I know, sir.”

  “Better that you don’t know, to be frank. Let’s just say that we’re actively involved in rooting out Nazi spies, and furthering information to our armed forces that they may be able to use. You get my drift?”

  Burke frowned. “I think so, sir.”

  “We operate, Corporal, in absolute secrecy. As far as anyone is concerned, this hall is a top security, military prison. When you visit the pub in the village, as I’m sure you will, that is as much as you will say to anyone. Understood?” Quarmby waited for the corporal to agree. “Now, I’m told that you are an expert in the matter of hypnotism.”

  “Sort of, sir. Before the war, I was putting together a variety act. Bit of escapology, bit of conjuring, and some hypnotism. I know how it’s done, sir.”

  “Top man,” said the colonel and returned to his seat. “Well, now, Corporal, we have a chap here who is also an expert in hypnotism. He’s also a German. Defected to us some time ago.”

  Burke almost swore but controlled the impulse. “Lumme.”

  “Exactly,” said Quarmby. “Now he says he wants to help our war effort, and he gave us some information which proved surprisingly accurate. So far, so good. But he claims that he can hypnotise someone to get information from them. Our psychos say that is impossible because you can’t make a hypnotised person do something he wouldn’t do if he was wide awake. How would you react to that?”

  “Not really my place to argue, sir. I’m not as clever as the boffins, but I’d agree with them. Everyone says it can’t be done.”

  “Well, there you are, then. Now here’s what I’d like you to do, Corporal.” Colonel Quarmby turned to check the calendar. “It’s January third. I want a definite answer by, shall we say April third. That gives you about thirteen weeks. Think you can do it?”

  Burke stroked his chin. “I’ll certainly try, sir.”

  “Good man. Right, get yourself off to the quartermaster for your bedding and billet, then get yourself down to the mess for a meal. You’ll report to Captain Stokes first thing tomorrow, after morning parade.”

  Burke snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir.”

  ***

  Woken from his bed, Julius found himself handcuffed and marched along the ground floor of Folshingham Hall, into a barren room where a lone NCO sat at a small table. There were other furnishings but no chair for Julius.

  It was a novelty. Many times in the weeks that he had been here, they had taken him from his cold, barren room, but always it had been to see Captain Stokes. He had spoken with no one else since his arrival.

  “Morning, Heinie. I’m Corporal Graham Burke, but you can call me sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Burke nodded to the two private soldiers who released Julius and stood back.

  “The two geezers behind you will be watching me, not you. One word out of place, I give them the nod and they kick the fucking shit out of you. Understand?”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Burke stood and marched slowly around Julius. “You’re a Kraut, and I don’t like fucking Krauts. You shot up half my mates at Dunkirk.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but I was not at Dunkirk.”

  Burke nodded to the two sentries and they launched themselves on Julius, burying him in a flurry of blows until he sank to the floor.

  “Stand up,” Burke ordered.

  Julius tried, but his knee gave way.

  “Get him on his fucking feet,” Burke ordered.

  The squaddies hauled him up until he could stand.

  “If I say you shot up my mates at Dunkirk, then you shot up my mates at Dunkirk. Geddit?”

  “Yes… yes, sir. Please accept my apologies for that tragedy.”

  “You learn quickly, Heinie. Don’t like British boots trampling you, do you?”

  Julius tasted blood on his lip but dare not wipe it off. “No, sir, I do not.”

  Burke continued to circle him. “My orders are to get every bit of information out of you, and it don’t matter if I have to beat it out of you. No one gives a toss. They don’t care if I leave every bone in your body broken, as long as I get what I can out of you. D’you see?”

  A tear formed in Julius’s eye. “Yes, sir. I see.”

  “What you crying for, Heinie? Missing Berlin, are you?”

  “N- no, sir. I am in pain.”

  “You’ll be in a fucking sight more pain by the time I’ve done with you.”

  Julius could contain himself no longer. He sank back to his knees, weeping. “I cannot do th
is. My master told me you would be tough with me, but he did not say it would be so brutal.”

  Burke snapped his fingers and the sentries once more launched themselves upon the broken man, until Julius begged for them to stop.

  They backed off, breathing heavily. Burke looked down on the battered German with contemptuous satisfaction. Julius glared back.

  “You,” he hissed, “you are as bad as the oafs in my country. All you want to do is fight and fight and fight, and you will not be happy until there is no one left to fight with.”

  “No frigging Germans, you mean.”

  “What does it matter whether I am German or Italian or Japanese or Russian? You will still fight because it is all you want.” He puffed out his chest and winced in pain. “Go on. Beat me to death now. I am chained, unarmed. I cannot fight back. Get it over with.”

  Burke glowered. “You don’t know just how much I want to do that, you fucking bastard. I would love to tear your Bosch head off and play fucking football with it on the parade ground. But I’m not allowed. Not yet. I have to get the information from you, first.”

  “Nothing,” Julius swore. “You will get nothing from me. I can resist. My master taught me how to resist, and I will resist. Not you, not any of your people, will break me. The Deep Secret will die with me.”

  Burke had been about to order the attackers back in, but he paused. “Deep Secret? What Deep Secret.”

  Julius tried to smile, but his burst lip hurt, and he merely winced again. “Ah. Now I have your attention. You would like The Deep Secret, wouldn’t you? But it works two ways. If I can stop you feeling pain, if I can make you forget, then I can also work it upon myself. Load up your bullets, get out your hangman’s rope or your executioner’s axe. I will go to my death rather than give up The Deep Secret.”

  “Now listen…”

  “No,” Julius interrupted. “I have listened enough. I am not responsible for the atrocities my people commit in the name of Adolf Hitler. But I am not a dog to be beaten and whipped at your whim. I am a master hypnotist, guardian of The Deep Secret, but you will not get it from me until you treat me like a human being.”

  ***

  “Wrong approach, I think, Corporal,” said Captain Stokes.

  Standing to attention before his commander, Burke apologised. “Yes, sir, very sorry, sir.”

  “No, no, that’s all right. It’s always as well to try roughing them up at first. If nothing else, it generates fear. If you then come in with the soft approach, it will still be there, in his mind, that you can turn nasty.”

  “Yes, sir. So you want me to go a bit easier on him?”

  Stokes sucked in his breath. “I’m going to tell you certain things, now, Corporal, that I’m not sure you’re cleared to know, so you keep your bloody mouth shut. We’re a nation at war, and for that reason there are things going on in the background neither of us can know about. Bear in mind, Burke, that if you breathe a single word it will be considered treason, and that’s a hanging offence. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Stokes marshalled his thoughts. “We need to know what this Bosch bugger knows, and decide whether or not he can help us. Now, privately, between you and me, he’s told us a great deal already, which we’re putting to good use. We need to be sure that he is genuine. It could be that he gave us this information purely to inculcate a false sense of security.” The captain spread his hands. “He was not high up in the Abwehr, the German Intelligence Service, but he is known to our agents over there. He worked with a certain Lieutenant Franz Walter. They kept themselves to themselves, Reiniger and Walter. They didn’t mix with the troops, they didn’t socialise with others members of the Abwehr, or even the civvy population. Our information is that Walter was sent to Italy last week to interrogate prisoners of war, and he took the opportunity to nip over the border into Switzerland. Message from the Abwehr to the German High Command indicates that Walter was intercepted and shot, but we can’t guarantee that. He may still be alive, he may still be working for the Germans, and if so, it’s possible that he, too, could turn up here in England. Now the whisper is that this pair were the most feared and successful interrogators in the Abwehr, and they did not resort to torture. We don’t know how they did it, but our confidence in these reports is high. If Reiniger really is what he says he is, an interrogator with the power to make men give up their secrets, he could, conceivably, persuade men to lay down their weapons. If he’s capable of that, we need to know how he does it.”

  Much of the captain’s lecture went over Burke’s head, but he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

  20

  Croft had never made any secret of the fact that he did not like Dr James Trench, and the head of Scarbeck General’s mental health unit had always responded with mutual antipathy.

  Less impressed by Matthews’s credentials than Oliver Wendell had been, he leapt to the defence of his staff. “They were simple errors, Croft. There’s nothing sinister going on, no subplot at work, no private agenda, just mistakes. The call came early in the morning, and the young nurse who answered it had been working all night. Moreover, as you’re aware, when our records are checked, they’ll show that we objected to Ms Sinclair’s discharge, but she wasn’t a danger, either to herself or anyone else, so she was perfectly allowed to sign herself out. And you’ll find that her brother was in total agreement with her. He preferred to get her out of here and away from your clutches.”

  Stung into retaliation, Croft snapped, “Despite the fact that I had already moved to the Canary Islands? I always said you’re a menace to anyone with a mental health issue, Trench. And I don’t care what kind of shift your nurse had worked; she gave away information on the whereabouts of a victim of serious crime. Don’t you have procedures to prevent that?”

  “She thought it was you.”

  Croft ignored the excuse. “And another thing; why weren’t the police informed of Trish’s discharge?”

  “They’re not her next of kin and neither are you. We were under no obligation to keep anyone informed of her progress or her movements. We dealt with her family.” Trench bit the final word off.

  “Well, for your information—”

  Millie cut in on Croft. “Gentlemen, please. This in-fighting gets us nowhere.” She allowed a moment for calm. “Felix, the doctor is right and you know it. You’ve admitted yourself, many a time, that you had no rights regarding Trish, even though you were funding her care. And, Dr Trench, Mr Croft has a point. Your department is guilty of serious errors in the care of a victim of crime, moreover, one who could have been considered a witness were she ever able to recover her memory. Considering the shocking outcome, you may face a criminal investigation.”

  Trench ran a hand trough his red hair. “The internal inquiry has already begun, and the nurse has been suspended, pending disciplinary hearings.”

  “While you sit here, still in charge?”

  “For Christ’s sake knock it off, Felix,” Millie snapped before Trench could respond. “Dr Trench, as far as you’re aware, no stranger ever put in an appearance anywhere near the hospital?”

  “Phone calls only. And even then it was only the one, and it purported to be from Croft.” Trench did not look at the hypnotist as he spoke. “We know it was wrong, we know it shouldn’t have happened, and the hospital management have already issued a formal apology.”

  Croft stood up, ready to leave. “When this is over, Trench, I will fund any legal action Trish’s relatives may want to take against you and the hospital.”

  He marched out, leaving Millie to deliver a bleak smile of apology to the doctor.

  Hurrying to catch up with Croft, she said, “There’s no point taking it out on him.”

  “I don’t like him. I never did. He’s a prick. A medically trained prick who runs on rails. His idea of helping his patients is to pump them full of chemicals, and he won’t brook any argument that conflicts with his professional opinion.”

&nb
sp; “Right, right, right.” Millie indicated that it was time to back off and change the subject. “What next?”

  Croft tossed a few ideas around his head. “I think we’ve filled in the gaps, what say we go back to the police station, see if they have any news, and from there, I know you don’t like it, but I need to go back to Oaklands.”

  Millie groaned. “Why?”

  “To tackle Zepelli’s manuscript. The original. I need peace, quiet and some willing assistance – you – and I can’t get that at the police station.”

  She nodded. “Whatever you want.”

  ***

  Shannon had bags under his eyes when they sat with him in his tiny office. In front of him on the desk, aside from an empty beaker, was a stack of reports.

  “Ever since the CC went on TV, Burke has been seen everywhere from Brighton to Fort William.” He waved the sheaf of reports in front of them. “We’re dismissing all reports that don’t fit in with our absolute knowledge of his last known whereabouts.”

  “Absolute knowledge?” Millie asked, and her superior nodded.

  “There are dabs at the auto-spares shop in Northwich, and at the nearby farm. Those at the shop were taken from the cash register, which we’re certain he emptied. They match those at the Nantwich farm, and some we found at the Sinclair home. We’re searching records, but whoever he is, he’s been clean for a long time, so we’ve had no joy yet, and I don’t expect any.”

  “Clean as a whistle. The same as Burke when he was The Handshaker,” Croft muttered. “So, you’re taking a line from Northwich and Nantwich and working south?”

  Again Shannon agreed. “And with good reason. About an hour ago the West Midlands boys found a couple of bodies in Wolverhampton. A theatrical supplies warehouse. Man and woman alone. She was raped and both were shot in the head. Bullet is confirmed as .22 calibre. We’re waiting for the preliminaries on any semen, and fingerprint reports.” Shannon threw up his hands. “Why a bloody theatrical supplier? Once we get an ID on him, does he think we won’t see through his disguise?”