by V M Knox
‘Of course, just give the number to the constable, he’ll connect the call.’ Morris showed Clement into the meeting room then left him alone. Clement walked over to the telephone and gave the operator the emergency number for late-night calls to SIS.
‘Captain Winthorpe, please.’
After some minutes Johnny answered.
‘Johnny, I need the telephone number for Latchmere House. It’s urgent.’
‘What’s going on, Clement?’
‘I need to speak with Colonel Stephens. I’ll call you later, Johnny.’
Clement scribbled the number on a notebook then asked the constable to connect him. ‘Colonel Stephens, please. It’s urgent. Major Wisdom speaking.’
‘You do know what time it is?’ the operator at Latchmere said.
‘I do and this is urgent.’
‘Very well, but he won’t be pleased.’
Clement waited, the exhaustion flooding through his aching body. His eye was so sore now he could hardly think. But this call could not wait.
‘Stephens here. This better be an emergency, Major.’
‘It is. Do you know a German named Haushofer?’
Clement heard the intake of breath. When the colonel did speak, his voice was subdued. ‘I know the name. Go on.’
‘I understand he was arrested recently. By the Gestapo. Is he one of yours?’
‘You’re well informed, Major. But not that well informed. The answer is no. Albrecht Haushofer is an advisor to the Nazi Party and a personal friend of Rudolf Hess. His arrest was the day after Hess arrived in Britain. Hitler, it appears, is distancing himself from the Deputy Führer and his associates. It may be a political move on Hitler’s part, so it may be temporary. We just don’t know yet.’
‘Would you have a picture of Haushofer?’
‘We’ll have one somewhere.’
‘Show it to Jakobs and ask him if this was the Abwehr man with him on the aeroplane? If Jakobs proves truculent, remind him that it was this man who injured his foot on leaving the aeroplane and that I believe it was done deliberately.’
‘I’ll get back to you when I have something. And by the way, Snow says he had no knowledge of another jumper that night.’
Clement sat in the chair facing the telephone. He didn’t expect to hear from Stephens for a day or so. He closed his eyes. He wondered about Snow and whether the double agent really had known about the Abwehr man. It no longer mattered. Clement did, however, wonder if Hitler had known of Hess’s mission? Was it even the Führer’s initiative? Either way, Rudolf Hess was in Latchmere House and Hitler had turned his back on his Deputy Führer and his supporters. Did that mean whatever Hector Armstrong was planning wouldn’t now go ahead? Armstrong had said nothing would stop it, not even C. Was it possible that Hitler didn’t know about Armstrong and his group? So what part did this Haushofer play? Clement rested his head in his palm. He needed sleep and medical attention.
Reg came into the meeting room and sat beside him. ‘You look exhausted, Clement. You have to get out of those wet clothes and you need rest. Can’t function for too long without it.’
Clement smiled. ‘Thank you, Reg. I feel badly that I haven’t asked you about Geraldine.’
‘I had a letter recently. Post takes a long time to come from Australia. You may remember, Clement, I sent her there when our house in East Sussex was compulsorily acquired. She’s with our son Charles.’
‘He worked on a sheep station there, as I recall. How’s she managing?’
‘Not too well. In fact, Charles left the property in outback New South Wales because she found it all too different. Too remote. They live in Sydney now in a suburb called Gladesville. Charles works in a small munitions factory and they live in a house on the Parramatta River. She seems to like it there. Closer to shops and other women. I’d like to see it myself one day. You look tired, Clement. I’ll stop my prattling.’
‘I’m exhausted, if truth be told, Reg. I’m pleased Geraldine is happier there and I like hearing about normal things. I have so few of them in my life now.’
Morris entered the room. ‘I’ve arranged for the police doctor to come first thing. You are welcome to stay with me again, Clement, but I feel for your safety; it may be best if you were to sleep in one of the cells downstairs. Sergeant Kendall is arranging some dry clothes for you.’
Clement was too weary to protest.
‘And we’re locking you in. Just a precaution.’
‘Reg, can you do something for me?’
‘Just name it, Clement?’
‘Watch Hitcham Hall. Who comes, who goes.’
‘Where will you be?’ Reg asked.
‘I need some answers to a question that has been plaguing me for some time. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He glanced at Morris. ‘And I hope I will learn the identity of the man in the mortuary.’ Clement checked his watch. ‘I’ll be away a few days. If I haven’t returned in the meantime, I’ll join you outside Hitcham Hall in four days.’
‘Friday then. When?’
‘Midnight.’
‘Right.’
‘In the meantime, if you have anything to report, telephone Nora Ballantyne.’
‘Is there anyone in particular you want to know about, Clement?’
‘There’s a man with them. He’s in charge; at least for now. He’s well educated; high forehead, thinning grey hair and the arrogance of the privileged. And I’d like to know if the boy is there.’
‘This grey-haired man, is he German or English?’
‘I don’t know for certain, most likely English. But he is the key to everything.’
Chapter 19
Despite the relative safety of the police cell, and his total exhaustion, Clement had not slept well. The past, his past, had kept him awake. That Armstrong had known his cover name for his mission to Caithness haunted him. No one outside the SIS had known this. Or so Clement had thought. In the seven hours he’d hoped to sleep before the doctor’s arrival at nine, Clement relived every detail of his last mission. He thought of everything he knew about the man convicted of espionage and since executed. That man had had a Hitler Youth tattoo and had once lived in Glasgow. He’d been involved in the murder of another man in Glasgow whose body had been found in Sighthill Cemetery. Clement recalled the murdered man’s name from his report following the Caithness mission: John William Nicholson. While the traitor Clement had exposed in Caithness had not been convicted of killing Nicholson, Clement had always believed he was in some way complicit in the man’s death. As far as Clement knew, that crime remained unsolved and with the coming of war, it was a case unlikely to ever be re-opened; especially now that the prime suspect was dead. But something nagged him about it. Was it personal for Clement? Or was there a connection between an executed traitor, the murder of John William Nicholson, Hector Armstrong and a murdered man found in the Cambridgeshire fenland?
The knock on his cell door roused him. Sergeant Kendall entered carrying a tray. Clement couldn’t believe it when he saw the eggs.
‘How on earth?’ Clement said, wondering how Kendall had enough coupons for him to have two eggs.
‘Mrs Kendall keeps a few chickens. We won’t miss them and it will do you good, sir.’
Clement sat on the cell bunk and ate the delicious breakfast but his mind was on the identity of three men: the grey-haired man at Hitcham Hall, the unknown man in the lorry, who was possibly Michael’s uncle, and the man in Morris’s mortuary. He hoped that Glasgow would hold the key to the identity of at least one of these men. While he didn’t know what the group were about to do, he knew he was getting closer. All around him people were preparing for something. Something that included not only manual labourers but also well-educated and successful Englishmen and high-ranking Germans. Whatever their intentions, Clement knew it was treason. And treason, especially in wartime, was a hanging offence. The cell door opened and Kendall came in with another man.
‘This is Doctor Bell, Major,’ Kendall said.
>
The doctor put his bag on a table and commenced cleaning the cut over Clement’s eye. Thirty minutes later, Clement had three stitches and was wearing an eye patch.
‘Superintendent Morris has asked you to join him upstairs, sir, when you’ve finished with Doctor Bell,’ Kendall said. ‘After I’ve seen the Doctor out, I’ll bring you a bowl of warm water and a towel.’ Kendall leaned towards Clement and in a quiet voice added, ‘And I’ve some soap too. Mrs Kendall has cleaned and dried your clothes as best she can.’
‘That is most kind of you, Sergeant, and your wife. Please thank her for me. You’ve been so very kind.’
Doctor Bell packed up his instruments. ‘I’ll take the stitches out in five days.’
‘Thank you,’ Clement said, but he thought it unlikely. Kendall escorted the doctor out and closed the cell door. Changing into his dry clothes, Clement folded the prison garments and left them on the cell bunk. Taking the stairs to Morris’s office, he knocked at the door, then entered.
‘I hope you got a few hours’ sleep, Clement,’ Morris said, standing. ‘How’s the eye?’
‘I’ll be alright. Sergeant Kendall has been looking after me like a prince. Would you mind if I were to use the telephone again, Arthur?’
‘You know where it is. But before you do, I have a message for you. You are to call a Colonel Stephens. I understand you know his number.’
Clement nodded and using the internal door let himself into the meeting room. He lifted the receiver.
The telephone rang twice before Clement heard the colonel’s gruff voice.
‘Went as white as a sheet when I showed Jakobs the photo,’ Stephens told Clement. ‘And when I said you believed he had been deliberately injured, he became quite helpful. So I think we can say that your Abwehr man was indeed Haushofer. Question is, Major, if he landed in Britain in late January, how is it he’s in a Gestapo Prison in Germany?’ Stephens paused but Clement didn’t respond. ‘One other thing, Major, that may be of interest to you. Tate has received a very large amount of money from a surprising source. A Japanese man, on behalf of the Abwehr, has delivered over twenty thousand pounds to Tate with the instructions that the funds are to be made available for Sir Hector Armstrong. Of course, he won’t be getting it but interesting nonetheless.’
Thanking Stephens, Clement replaced the receiver and sat in the chair by the telephone. Twenty thousand pounds was an enormous sum of money. He stared at the dark blue carpet, his mind sifting thoughts; known facts, suppositions, speculations but they always led him to the same conclusion. While he had no idea how Haushofer had left Britain, he believed he now knew what the group were planning. His hand reached for the telephone receiver.
‘Captain Winthorpe, please.’ Clement waited. C had told him to keep Nora Ballantyne informed but what he needed to tell Johnny warranted a higher security clearance than Nora, and perhaps even himself, held.
‘How’s the investigation coming, Clement?’ Johnny asked. He listened as Clement told him about Albrecht Haushofer.’
‘Good Lord! Twenty thousand pounds!’
‘And, it was Haushofer in the aeroplane with Jakobs. So how is it he’s now in Germany?’
Clement waited but Johnny didn’t respond.
‘And what’s more important, Johnny; why did Rudolf Hess fly into Scotland?’
‘It remains a quandary.’
Clement thought for a moment before speaking. ‘I think they are planning a coup d’état. If they can’t invade us by force from without, they’ll attempt to take control of the government from within with the assistance of some highly influential Englishmen. This group is more than just a few people, Johnny. It’s large, extensive and well-established. And, I believe it is about far more than a negotiated peace deal with Hitler. That may be the cover they are telling others, but this is more insidious; they intend for the Nazi’s to take control of Britain. To them it doesn’t matter that Hess is in Latchmere House. As soon as they control Westminster, Hess will be released. He’s just biding his time. And there are layers to this organisation, Johnny, like a private army. Some are from the working classes; manual labourers, blue collar workers and the like but others are from a small but esteemed group of our own people. Important people, people of affluence and privilege. Then there’s the enemy. I don’t believe Haushofer and Hess are the only Germans involved. There will be others. And who are they waiting for before they attempt this coup? My question is, Johnny; are foolish but well-meaning people being manipulated by thugs and murderers? Or are they knowingly committing treason and willingly assisting in insurrection?’
‘But for this to be successful, there must be thousands involved.’
‘Yes, and it may even include schoolchildren.’
‘What?’
‘Hitler Youth, Johnny. I know from the former headmaster’s speeches at St Edward’s that boys from Germany came on exchange programmes to Britain. Were they used by their masters to collect information to be passed on to men like Bainbridge for transmission to Germany? The one thing in our favour, Johnny, is that once the ring leaders are exposed and removed, the masses will, hopefully, lose interest. But they must be removed before the coup takes place or it really will be unstoppable.’
‘I’ll telephone C. He must be informed.’
‘I have to go to Glasgow, Johnny. If I’m wrong and the murder of the man found dead in Cambridgeshire is nothing more than a straightforward police investigation, then Morris can deal with that. But if I’m right, then this dead man was involved in something much bigger, and we need to move quickly.’
‘Why Glasgow?’
Clement swallowed. He wasn’t completely sure that his trip to Glasgow wasn’t, in some part, personally motivated. His nemesis from Caithness had laughed at him, calling him Hopeless. That had stung. Regardless, there was a genuine Glasgow connection in the death of John William Nicholson. ‘It may not only be Glasgow, Johnny. There could be hundreds of cells of insurrectionists in every large town in the country but I already know that there are people in Glasgow, or from Glasgow, who have a connection to this organisation and the recent past. My recent past. I’ve been watched, Johnny. SIS should be looking into where they place operatives. I would never have suspected Bainbridge because SIS found me that position. I have to ask, is there a mole in SIS? Or was Bainbridge targeted because of me and turned?’
‘Let’s hope the latter, Clement. Either way, we’ll be reassessing all our safe houses and contacts now. I’ll clear it with C. You go to Glasgow. How long do you intend to be there?’
‘I’ll come to London tonight and stay with the Guards at St James’s then leave for Glasgow first thing tomorrow. I told Sergeant Naylor I’d meet him midnight Friday at the latest.’
‘One more thing, Clement. If these people have been watching you for months, they may still be, so be careful.’
Chapter 20
Monday 9th June 1941
It was late afternoon when Clement arrived in Glasgow. The trip north had been slow and arduous. Delays of all kinds had meant a full day of changing trains and crowded stations. Bomb damage and track repair was a never-ending problem especially in the Midlands and albeit that it was given top priority, travel was slow.
Striding along the platform, Clement glanced at the clock at the far end. Just after six. What should have taken around six hours had been extended to ten. Clement weaved his way between the departing passengers, always checking the people around him in case anyone was watching him. Reaching into his pocket he found his ticket and passed it to the ticket collector at the end of the platform. Once clear of the barrier, he waited by a newsstand until all the passengers from his train had dispersed. Buying a newspaper, he clutched his battered suitcase then approached a station attendant.
‘Do you know of a reasonable guest house in this vicinity?’ Clement asked.
The man’s eye roved over his crushed and stained clothes. ‘There’s one over the way, there. Not posh, but I’m guessing it will suit
you.’
‘Thank you.’ Clement strode through the terminus, his gaze constantly searching the crowds around him.
Outside it was still light. Clement checked his watch. In the northern city, sunset was not due for another few hours. Further along the street, he saw a long queue waiting by a bus stop. Despite being June, it was cool. People huddled like birds against a chill wind. Suitcases were everywhere, clogging the footpaths. Clement stood watching them as light rain began to fall. Umbrellas were raised by the patiently waiting passengers. Clement pulled up his collar and crossed the street.
The buildings opposite, while stylish in architecture, had seen better days. Four storeys in height, there were two gaps in the old stone façade courtesy of the Luftwaffe’s devastating raids last March. Piles of rubble still lay heaped over the sites and random stacks of timber lay in jagged piles beside the footpaths. Of the remaining buildings, all the windows were boarded up and those that weren’t had the distinctive criss-cross taping. He knew the Germans had targeted the shipbuilding industries along the River Clyde but the carnage in one of the main streets of Glasgow was an ever-present reminder that life may be short and the enemy never far away. Opposite, he saw a dimly back-lit, glass-panelled sign, The Caledonian Palace Hotel and Boarding House.
Crossing the street, he climbed five worn stone steps and opened the door to the inappropriately named guest house.
‘How many nights?’ a gravel-voiced woman said, her gaze on his eye patch.
‘Just the one. And a room at the front, please,’ Clement said.
‘You a heavy sleeper?’ she asked.
‘Always have been,’ he lied.
Noise no longer mattered to him. Besides, even if his time in the Scottish city extended beyond one night, until the conspirators were caught, he could only ever be one night in any one place.
‘I’ll need your ration card, if you’re having breakfast,’ the woman said.
