The Island of Peril (Department Z)

by John Creasey

  His eyes burned at the memory. ‘And yet,’ he went on, softly, ‘I would do it again, messieurs. How else should I have acted? Some of the prisoners were informers—spies—we all knew. And what mattered most was that the day would come—I always believed it would come—when I would be free. On that day, I had to know all that I could discover. Nothing must prevent me. . . .’

  ‘You were right, my friend,’ de Boncour assured him. He was resting on a settee with his heavily-bandaged feet stretched out on the cushions.

  ‘So, you think,’ Craigie summed up, ‘that it is quite invulnerable?’

  ‘But for a miracle, m’sieu; yes.’

  ‘Miracles,’ Loftus grinned unexpectedly, ‘are our stock-in-trade. Don’t worry about that, Labiche—we’ll get there. Will you make out a full written report, embodying everything you can remember about the island and its defences?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Labiche. ‘And I will produce a map.’

  ‘Right—do that first; we’ll have it copied. And you and I,’ Loftus added with a smile which held no humour at all, ‘will prepare for the attack—eh, Gordon?’

  Craigie nodded, very slowly. To Loftus, he seemed to have aged in the past hour.

  ‘We’ll see Hershall,’ he said.

  ‘Before that,’ Loftus suggested, ‘we’ll have the crowd collected, because we’ll need as many of them as we can get.’

  ‘What have you in mind?’ asked Craigie.

  ‘I don’t quite know—we’ll compare notes later. Supposing you go ahead to Hershall—have you told him you’ll be on the way?’

  ‘He’s expecting me,’ said Craigie.

  The ‘raiders past’ signal had not yet gone, but there were no sounds of bombs dropping nearby, although in the distance they could see the tracer-bullets of the fighters and hear the rumble of A.A. fire. Craigie left for Downing Street and Loftus talked for five minutes to the Errols, who immediately went through to the bedroom to telephone all those of the Department who were not working that night. Craigie had an escort of two cars, for although it seemed likely that Richoffen had escaped, there remained the possibility of trouble.

  Loftus finished giving his instructions, and was about to go after Craigie when Yvonne appeared from the next flat.

  ‘Well,’ she queried, ‘what has happened, Bill?’

  Loftus shrugged:

  ‘We’ve learned what we wanted to learn, and none of it made pleasant hearing. But there’s much work on foot, Yvonne.’

  ‘For me?’

  Loftus smiled dryly.

  ‘You did your part in making Labiche talk. You managed what was nearly a miracle, ma chere, and the rest isn’t woman’s work.’

  Yvonne’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Why not, Bill? Why must I always be kept away from the work that really matters?’

  Loftus said: ‘That’s nonsense, and you know it. I——’

  He broke off as his doorbell suddenly rang. He had forgotten that he had sent for Gay Parnell, but he was not sorry to see her. He remembered the way she had appealed to him outside Number 18, Grove Crescent. But Gay Parnell, he opined, was far deeper than she liked to pretend.

  There were other factors.

  Labiche had said that knowledge of euthan had come from Golightly. If he himself had not passed on the information, the likeliest other source was the Parnells: the girl could have been a party to it, just as much as the brother.

  The two policemen with her were armed with rifles and bayonets. They made an absurd trio, for her head came well below their shoulders: she was even smaller than he remembered. His expression as he eyed her was cold and forbidding, but in fact he felt slightly ridiculous: it was rather like hectoring a helpless child.

  She looked up at him with hurt, reproachful eyes.

  ‘If you’ll wait outside,’ Loftus told the guard, ‘I’ll send for you in a few minutes.’

  They went out, and Loftus and Yvonne both surveyed her in silence for a moment. But her eyes did not leave his, and after a pause he said:

  ‘Well—perhaps you can explain?’

  ‘I can.’ Her voice was steady.

  ‘Go on,’ he invited, harshly.

  She hesitated. Then:

  ‘I had word from Roy, and he gave me that address and told me to visit him tonight. He said he would be alone between twelve and three, and that I was to say nothing to anyone else.’

  ‘How did you get word?’

  ‘By telephone.’

  ‘What were my men doing?’

  ‘I told them it was from a girl-friend.’

  ‘And they kindly allowed you to leave and come here?’

  ‘I got away,’ said Gay dully. ‘I managed to slip out of the bathroom window and climb down to the garage. The—the Professor helped me. He—occupied their attention.’

  ‘I see,’ said Loftus, heavily. ‘That was very obliging of the Professor. And so you drove straight through to London, meeting no difficulties on the way, although there’s a curfew which applies to all aliens as well as many natives.’

  ‘I had the necessary papers!’ she retorted, flushing.

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘I——’ She drew a deep breath, then said sharply: ‘I managed to get them—they were forged and good enough for what I wanted! You didn’t ask me to tell you my history for the past year. You asked me to explain why I was in London tonight—and outside that house.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Loftus, ‘I did. And if I had time I would go into that past history, but there’s far too much to do. You’ll be interested to know,’ he added slowly, ‘that Richards—or Richoffen——’

  She showed no reaction—not even puzzlement—at the coupling of the names, which was as good as admitting that she knew Richards by his German title. It stiffened his suspicions of her, but he went on without comment: ‘—escaped from London and is probably now on his way out of England. Your brother was undoubtedly with him.’ Deliberately offensive, he said: ‘Your brother had contrived to sell much vital informaton to his dear friends, and——’

  ‘That’s a lie!’she flashed.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, you fool!’ she cried. ‘If I thought Roy had sold anything or given anything away, I’d kill him myself! He hasn’t. They knew he had knowledge, that’s why they kidnapped him. Bill—can’t you see that?’ She stepped towards him, her hands Clenched, and her eyes seemed to hold pain and fear but not for herself. ‘Roy’s kidnapped, he’s in danger——’

  ‘So are several million men, women and children.’ Coldly, he demanded: ‘Are you going to tell me the truth?’

  ‘I have done.’

  ‘I mean all of the truth.’

  She stared for a second, then turned her head away. Loftus called out:

  ‘Come in, you two!’

  The constables entered, and Gay gazed up at him with all the appeal in the world.

  ‘No,’ she begged. ‘No! If you’re going after Richards please let me come! You must let me come!’

  ‘And where do you think your friend Richards—if you like to call him Richards—has gone?’

  She said:

  ‘To Berlin, of course! But——’

  She stopped. But she had made the admission he had been hoping to force: she knew Richards for a German.

  ‘I see,’ he said softly, and his eyes were like cold steel. ‘Richoffen has gone to Berlin, of course? He paused. ‘I’m not going to Berlin,’ he went on, slowly, ‘I’m going somewhere else, which is far more dangerous—and you’re coming with me. We can talk on the way.’

  ‘I——’

  ‘Bill!’ Yvonne, a silent spectator until then, was suddenly at his side, and her eyes were sparkling.

  ‘Yes?’ Loftus sounded weary.

  ‘If you can take her——!’

  ‘I can’t take you,’ he said abruptly. ‘Yvonne, I’ll have to complain to de Boncour if you insist on being a nuisance.’

  He turned his back on her, as if he did not want to
see the expression on her face. Mike Errol, just coming in from the bedroom, saw it and grimaced as Yvonne turned slowly and went out of the room towards the flat next door.

  Loftus asked:

  ‘Have you finished that telephoning, Mike?’

  ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said Mike.

  ‘We have,’ Mark corrected.

  ‘Well, here’s your next job.’ Loftus talked rapidly for some seconds, while Gay Parnell and the two policemen stood by, hearing what he was saying yet unable to understand it.

  ————

  There were six men in the large room at Number 10 Downing Street, with Hershall standing with his back to the empty fireplace, the First Lord of the Admiralty seated opposite him, the Air Minister—a younger man than any of the others—propped against a table, and Air Marshal Sir Philip Dewcannon standing somewhat rigidly by the side of Loftus, who was perched on the arm of a chair. Loftus rarely stood when it was possible to lean or sit.

  Craigie was the sixth.

  He had given his report, and Loftus had offered his suggestions. Now, Hershall was talking, speaking as if to a much larger audience; quiet, confident, decisive. His pale face had a faint tinge of colour: a glow caused by the excitement which often came to him when other men would have been afraid.

  ‘And so, gentlemen,’ he was saying, ‘the attempt must be made—by land, sea and air. Sorry! By sea and by air, will suffice.’ An impish smile twisted his lips, which was a remarkable thing—but then he was a remarkable man. ‘We are decided on that?’

  The First Lord and the Air Minister grunted joint assent.

  ‘There’s no time for a full Cabinet Meeting,’ added Hershall, ‘and of course I take full responsibility. You can get all the necessary volunteers, Dewcannon?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Air Marshal.

  ‘Good—you’d better get started. We’ve no time for the actual attack tonight, of course—what time is it?’ He glanced at his watch: ‘Half-past four.’ Shrugging his bull-like shoulders, he went on: ‘We can get all the preparations made, though. I think, Blander’—this to the First Lord—‘I’d better come down with you to fix things for the sea attack. D’you mind?’

  Blander, tall and grave-faced, said:

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hershall briskly. ‘Right. Now you, Loftus, propose to take your men as a form of advance guard, do you?’

  Loftus nodded.

  ‘Richoffen will have got word to them that I’ve made enough discoveries to get on their tail,’ he said. ‘They know the Department likes to work on its own, and if they know we’re on the way—and they’ll learn that, believe me—it might stop them from being awake to the chances of air attack. It’ll draw quite a bit of their fire, anyhow.’

  ‘H’mm!’ Hershall stuck an unlighted cheroot between his lips. ‘What else?’

  Loftus grinned.

  ‘There’ll be thirty of us,’ he said. ‘We’ll carry quite a lot of explosive, and we should be able to do some damage to the mine-fields and gun-emplacements. And elsewhere, with luck.’

  ‘H’mm.’ Hershall surveyed him intently for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he shot out his hand: ‘Good luck, Loftus. Whatever happens, you won’t be forgotten!’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said William Loftus. And as he left the house he knew what Hershall and the others were thinking—and was forced to agree with them.

  They did not expect him to return. . . .

  ————

  An hour later, the advance guard of the attacking force against Gruntz Island was ready. Very soon after, four ’planes were droning their way across the skies.

  In the first one were Loftus, Labiche, Carruthers, Thornton, three others of the Department Z men—and Gay Parnell.

  19

  The Island of Peril

  Flying direct to Gruntz would have taken little more than an hour, but for safety’s sake they flew north over Scotland before turning south-east and making for that rocky island where the Nazis had been preparing the last desperate stage of their battle for world domination.

  They knew the island, and they knew what to fear from it.

  But there were other factors, and Loftus wondered whether he would live to know the whole truth! It was unlikely, he had to admit. Instructions had gone out, of course, for the detention of Professor Golightly: but he still could not make up his mind about that eccentric Falstaff.

  The equipment the small air-fleet carried included not only concentrated high-explosives such as nitro-glycerine, but the most up-to-date anti-gas weapons and rubberised suits which—remembering Labiche’s report—he hoped would let them live long enough to do considerable damage.

  If they landed on the island.

  As they neared it, lever-manipulated signs replaced those on the wings and fuselage of all four ’planes, so that now the Nazi emblem showed. Loftus hoped no British warship would sight them. . . .

  Labiche was next to Loftus, with Gay Parnell on his other side.

  ‘Well, my friend,’ said Loftus dryly, ‘you haven’t thought of any additions or improvements to those maps?’

  ‘There are none.’ Labiche’s voice was quietly definite.

  He had not hesitated to join the party. Indeed, he had taken his inclusion for granted, and Loftus knew that in this man there burned all the spirit of the true, free France. He had certainly used his eight months on Gruntz to great purpose: his map of the island was remarkably detailed and incorporated everything he imagined could be of the slightest use or value. Every man on that death or glory expedition had a copy, and most were now studying and memorising them.

  They were easy enough to follow. The underground plans showed five main laboratories and ten main storage tunnels. Fifteen points, then, which Craigie’s men would want to find in a hurry.

  They were thirty miles from their objective when Loftus turned to Gay Parnell, acknowledging her presence for the first time.

  ‘There’s no harm, now,’ he said equably, ‘in your knowing where we’re going. Golightly’s laboratory is pretty deadly, isn’t it?’

  She looked startled.

  ‘Well, yes. I——’

  ‘Hitler’s laboratory is a thousand times worse,’ he told her. ‘And we’ll be there in half-an-hour. We probably shan’t get out again, even if we land safely. Consequently, it might be a good idea for you to tell me anything you know that might help.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘Are you telling the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’ Loftus sounded off-hand: ‘Believe otherwise, if you like.’ Then he belied his seeming unconcern by recounting for two minutes, non-stop, the things that Labiche had escaped to report.

  ‘Stop it, for God’s sake!’ she broke in, before he had finished. ‘Stop it!’

  For a moment, she stared out of the window, struggling for self-control. Below them, the North Sea was just visible; unruly but not rough, and the first grey streaks showed in the eastern sky. Turning back to Loftus, she protested:

  ‘And you’re going to that place—knowing what you do?’

  ‘Because we know what we do,’ he corrected.

  ‘It’s—incredible!’ She turned, craning her neck to look back from the window as if checking that the three following ’planes were still there. Then falteringly, she went on: ‘And I had been treating it all—oh, like some sort of game!’

  Loftus said, with surprising gentleness:

  ‘There’s no need to be bitter—it often happens that way: truth is always stranger than fiction. But what sort of game?’

  ‘Well,’ she began, and grimaced in self-disgust at her own naiveté. ‘It must sound terribly stupid! But—well, I knew Roy was working on something important. And he was threatened once or twice, as I told you. Some crank, we thought—someone anti-American. We made a joke of it, although I wasn’t too happy about it, really. Then he got mixed up with this woman Duveen, and the threats stopped. I—well, I built up a picture of her as the big, blonde, beautiful spy.
Roy took it all as a joke, at first. Then he changed—started getting all irritable and sensitive about it. I figured this woman was really having some influence on him, and we—we quarrelled, pretty badly.’

  The droning of the engines came dully into the cabin; in a few minutes they would have to don their anti-gas suits. The grey waters beneath them seemed to stretch illimitably.

  ‘And?’ Loftus prompted.

  ‘Well, I didn’t know much about what Golightly was doing, but I knew he was worried when someone tried to break into the laboratory. He told us he believed it to be a man named Richoffen—he had known him in the last war, when Richoffen was only a boy. He—Richoffen—had been a prisoner of war.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Loftus.

  ‘Roy pulled himself together, then,’ she went on. ‘He realised the Duveen woman might actually be a spy. It seemed crazy—but when we arranged for the Professor to see Richards, he recognised him at once.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Only a few hours before—before Roy last went to the house.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There isn’t much more to say.’ There was a catch in her voice: ‘I was afraid Roy had been kidnapped. The Professor agreed, but we decided to do nothing until we heard more about it. We thought there’d be some word—some sort of terms. We—we were afraid of something happening to Roy. I—well, I put on that act—I’m sorry! And the Professor acted crazily, too. Even when we were sure of you, we were still frightened for Roy. And then tonight—last night,’ she brushed a hand across her eyes, ‘we had a telephone message from the woman. That’s where I got the address from, and why I had to slip out of the house. I had to see her; she threatened Roy’s life unless I went.’

  ‘Why did she want you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said lifelessly. ‘I’ve no reason to lie, now. I only wish to God I’d told you everything from the start.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Loftus told her. ‘You haven’t done much damage, except to yourself. Well, Richoffen may have come here with Roy. We’ll try to find him.’