by Jana Petken
“Rommel is never finished. He’s a Houdini,” Obelisk said. “He always manages to turn a retreat into a new offensive.”
Heller nodded. “True, but on this occasion, I have to agree with Dieter that he will not breakout again.”
“He did rebuff the American 1st Army at the Kasserine Pass,” Theo joined the conversation.
Heller picked up a file. “Yes. We’ve received these casualty numbers and reports for the damage he inflicted on one of the American armoured divisions, and they’re more severe than we first thought.”
“Precisely my point. Rommel does the unexpected,” Obelisk insisted.
Heller nodded his agreement. “We must come up with a decent intelligence strategy that will hinder any plans he might have for another push forward. This is a priority.”
Max, thinking about the presence of American top brass in Cairo the previous week, said, “As always, the Yanks came in gung-ho, thinking they had all the answers against the Desert Fox, who’s been there for years and knows the terrain. They weren’t as cocksure of themselves when their top brass returned to Cairo red in the face.”
Heller paused to address Obelisk and Max. “Max is right. The 1st Army were as raw as hell. They couldn’t handle the landscape and the damage it did to their tanks and vehicles. Had it not been for the experienced British troops who counterattacked, Rommel might have exploited his earlier gains. Max, what do you hear over there? What’s the mood of the Egyptian government?”
For an hour, Max informed the others about the current situation in Egypt: the latest chatter regarding King Farouk and his government, information on the Muslim Brotherhood’s activities, obtained via Gaidar, and the recent discovery and subsequent arrest of two women caught spying for the Germans.
For the first time since the meeting began, Max felt uneasy talking about his job in Egypt in front of Judith. It was one thing for him to cavort with people for information but quite another to court attractive young women to learn their darkest secrets.
“The women are Italian sisters who once worked for the Italian Legation. I met them at the Nightingale Club and got close to them … in the platonic sense, of course.”
Dieter’s somewhat rare sense of humour displayed itself. “Judith trusts you, Max. Don’t you, dear?”
“Carry on,” Heller said, not the least bit impressed with Max’s personal relationship interrupting the meeting.
Obelisk asked, “Are you talking about the Bianchi sisters? Good lookers?”
“Yes. That’s them,” Max answered, throwing Obelisk a filthy look. “After meeting with them a few times they became rather talkative. They swooned over my German accent, hated the British, lamented the internment of Egypt’s Italian male population, and tried to find out from me if I knew of any Italians still at liberty in Alexandria or Cairo.”
Heller raised his hand to silence Max, then he spoke directly to Obelisk. “I already know about this case. One of my officers arrested the women. According to Max, Cairo’s British socialites are still gossiping about the affair. I want you to find out through your many friends over there if the Italians were working with anyone else. My interrogators have hit a brick wall with the women … they’ve stopped chattering.” Heller nodded to Max to continue.
“Armed with my suspicions, Gaidar Shalhoub conducted a dawn raid on the women’s house and came face to face with an old woman lying in bed in the first room he came to. She screamed, then had a convulsive fit. Gaidar doused the old woman with a bucket of cold water to bring her around, then the two sisters rushed into the bedroom and went for Gaidar and the two military policemen with him. They were screaming their heads off, apparently, and accusing Gaidar of killing their mother. Poor Gaidar had two nasty fingernail scratches on his face the last time I saw him.”
Dieter and Kelsey chuckled. Even Heller found the imagery amusing, allowing himself a rare smile.
During the pause, Max smiled at Judith, who beamed at him in return.
“Anyway, the old mother didn’t die, but Gaidar’s search of the property did find some interesting information. There were two lists of names … one with Italians in Egypt loyal to the Axis countries and another with those who opposed Mussolini and Hitler. He also found a code book, but no radio transmitter. My concern is that Axis supporters still at large are beginning to panic and will try any way they can to get information to Rommel. If that happens, it could put Obelisk’s operation on the ropes.”
Heller added, “We know from our conversations with the Germans that Obelisk is still the German spymaster in Egypt. The Abwehr have no idea he has been out of action all this time, thanks to our team here, but if they begin to receive contradictory intelligence from loyal agents placed in the region or fanatical supporters clinging to hope, our misinformation programme could crash. It is imperative we don’t let this happen.”
Judith finally spoke, “Excuse me, Mr Heller. If there are women in Cairo trying to communicate with Rommel, albeit they failed on this occasion, where does Obelisk even start to uncover more German or Italian spies?”
“Good question, and one I can’t answer, Judith.”
“I can. Ask Max. He managed to get into bed with them … not physically speaking, of course,” Obelisk said, and received another filthy look from Max.
“There is no easy way to uncover a spy,” Heller continued, his eyes warning Obelisk to shut up. The Italian’s cheap shots had not gone unnoticed, and he made certain Obelisk knew that. “I asked Max to highlight that one incident – that minor success with the two Italian sisters – because it demonstrates the gravity of the situation over there. We have cemented Obelisk’s credibility in German eyes, but we can’t assume they’ll continue to believe him when there are more desperate attempts to save Rommel’s desert campaign by people who know we’re winning the North Africa war.”
Dieter carried on, “No side is infallible when it comes to the intelligence war, but I think it’s fair to say that we have the upper hand. We have better cryptographers, and we use the information gained from Enigma selectively so we can benefit from the source without giving away that we have it. I feel that instead of worrying about what German spies will do, we make damn sure we do our jobs to the best of our abilities.”
“History is on our side,” Heller mused. “When Rommel went on the offensive last summer, he put out false radio signals and deceived us about the location of a convoy of tanks. That trickery allowed him to gain the element of surprise, and the tactic hurt our troops, struggling to hold their ground. I hope, and I believe we have learnt a lesson from that subterfuge. The Abwehr, on the other hand, still believe in Obelisk and his lies, so I agree with Dieter; we must continue to capitalise on his good name until the end.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After a private meeting with Obelisk, who was returning to Cairo that night, Max joined Dieter and Judith for lunch at the local pub.
Laura was waiting in the ladies’ domain, the pub’s snug, and ran into Max’s arms in a flood of tears. “Oh, my darling boy, you’re home safe and sound. I feel as though you’ve been gone for years.”
“Most soldiers are, Laura,” Dieter reminded her.
“Oh, hush, Dieter.” She kissed Max again. “I have my boy back. Look at him, tanned and … yes, I think you’ve filled out, Son.”
Embarrassed, Max pushed his mother gently away and flicked his eyes to Frank and Hannah, who were standing behind his mother, both wearing broad smiles. He kissed Hannah, then hugged Frank, the last person he’d thought he would see today.
“Well, this is a surprise. When did you get back, Frank?”
“A week ago.”
“We’re going back to Scotland. Isn’t that marvellous, Max?” Hannah said, clinging to Frank.
“That’s good news, you two,” Max said, trying to curb his envy. If only he and Judith could go to some remote place for a while.
“I know you can’t say what you’ve been doing or where you’ve been, but I’ve got so much to tell you, s
tarting with Paul’s situation,” Laura said.
“I know about Paul, Mother,” Max said in a much softer voice.
Laura continued to blether as she shimmied her way along the window banquette behind Judith and Hannah. “I wish we could get word from Wilmot. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Oh, I do wish someone in Germany could send us news of him. Dieter, do you think the Red Cross has delivered the gift parcels we sent him?”
Dieter, with a rare look of disapproval at his wife, sat opposite her and hissed, “Don’t mention Germany, Laura. I’ve warned you about that before.”
Laura gestured with her head to an old couple sitting at a table by the window. “Oh, stop it. There’s no one here but Mr and Mrs Barclay from the paper shop, and they can’t hear us from way over there. Honestly, can’t we have one conversation where we’re not minding our volume and p’s and q’s?”
Max reached over the table and squeezed Judith’s hand. He was desperate to go for a walk with her alone, kiss her in their derelict barn, and hold her in his arms in a way he couldn’t do in public. But he was also excited to see Frank home. It would be the perfect family reunion were Paul and Wilmot here. His eyes widened with a thought. “Where’s Jack?” he asked Hannah.
“Mrs Allerton next door is babysitting.”
“He’s no longer a baby. He’s a little boy now and becoming quite the handful. Strong as an ox, Max,” Frank said with a proud voice.
“Hannah was shocked to see Frank turn up last week,” Laura said, “but I wasn’t. I told her a fortnight ago that he’d be coming home. We’ve almost won the Middle East, I said, and the army will have no need to keep him out there. And here he is, our Frank.”
Laura then gripped Max’s hand. “Oh, Max, you’ve no idea how happy I am to see you. Judith didn’t sleep a wink last night. Isn’t that right, Judith? Tell me, Son, what did you think when you heard the news about Paul…?”
“Let’s order our food before we overload Max with information and questions, shall we, dear?” Dieter suggested to a weepy Laura when the waitress appeared.
“We’ve got minced meat pies and mash, or cheese sandwiches with pickled onions. I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got until we get our next order of ration coupons,” the young woman said.
“We should all have the minced meat pies. Then tonight we can have a light supper,” Laura advised the family.
“I’m sorry. We’ve only got three minced meat pies left,” the girl muttered.
“Could you not have said that right at the beginning?” Laura snapped.
Dieter patted Laura’s hand. “Darling, you must calm down. It’s not the young lady’s fault.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Laura apologised to the waitress. “Please bring the minced meat pies for the men. Us women will have the cheese platters.”
Hannah ordered a cup of tea. The three men ordered pints of beer. Judith, who was not going back to work that day, asked for a small glass of sherry, and Laura, after raising a disapproving eyebrow, followed Judith’s lead.
When the waitress left and his mother was quiet, Max found his opportunity to ask the question he’d dreamt about asking for months. “I have a question for Judith, and I’d like you all to hear it,” he said, stopping any new conversation short.
Dieter raised his eyebrows. “A question? Hmm, interesting.”
Max opened his leather briefcase, pulled out the manila envelope and then infused the moment with drama. “Do you know what this is, Judith?”
Judith giggled. “No, but you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
“Jonathan arranged a special licence for us. We can get married tomorrow at Bletchley Park. That’s … if you still want to be my wife?” Max grinned as her eyes grew teary. “Is that a yes?”
Judith, Laura, and Hannah squealed in unison; drawing more stares from the Barclays at the window table as well from as the men in the main bar who were no more than translucent silhouettes on the other side of the snug’s glass partition.
“We’re getting married tomorrow?” Judith asked, her voice breathless with excitement. “Oh, my goodness, will Papa and I get time off work for the wedding? Mama, what shall I wear? Where are we getting married, Max?”
“We’ll find something lovely for you to wear, dear,” Laura jumped in before Max had a chance to answer any of Judith’s questions. “I have my sewing machine at hand, and a few nice dresses we can tinker with. You’ll look beautiful, whatever you put on.” Then her mood darkened. “Max, you should have given us more time to prepare. Wait until I see that Jonathan Heller! He should have told us. Judith is the bride, after all. And what are we supposed to give people to eat and drink?”
“Mother, one step at a time,” Max said as patiently as he could. Maybe I should have asked Judith after lunch when we were alone? “Don’t blame Jonathan. I specifically asked him not to say anything in case I didn’t get home in time. Besides, I wanted this to be a surprise.”
“Max is right, dear, you mustn’t say anything to Mr Heller,” Dieter also warned Laura. “He had a hellish job getting the date to coincide with Max’s leave…”
“You knew about this?” Laura snapped at her husband.
Max jumped in. “I don’t have leave, as such. I’m returning to London day after tomorrow.”
“No! So soon?” Judith cried.
Max cursed himself for letting the happy moment slip away. Again, he should have told Judith this rotten news without an overactive audience. “I’m sorry. I’ve been posted again…”
“What sort of job is this, Max? Two days? That’s all they give you after you’ve been away for months?” Laura was furious.
“Laura, Max is fortunate to be home at all,” Frank said.
“We can’t take anything for granted, darling,” Dieter said, his tone warning her to calm down.
Max squeezed Judith’s hand while giving her an apologetic smile. “You understand, don’t you, dearest?”
“I do … of course, I understand. I’m just … well, I can’t say I’m happy about it. On the other hand, I’m going to become your wife tomorrow! I couldn’t wish for anything more than that.”
Judith whispered to Laura in German, “I think Mr Heller did marvellously, considering I don’t even have a birth certificate.”
Max, not hearing what she said, told the family, “The army chaplain at Bletchley Park has agreed to conduct the ceremony.”
Still not happy, Laura asked, “And what time will that be?”
“We’re slotted in for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I thought we could come back here to the pub for a few drinks and cake … sandwiches maybe,” Max suggested, as Laura’s frown deepened. “You mustn’t go overboard, mother, so don’t go inviting everyone in the street. When Paul and Wilmot come home, and we’re all back together as a family, we can have a proper wedding reception.”
“Oh, this is impossible. How am I supposed to alter a dress for Judith this afternoon?” Laura grumbled.
“Stop it, please. It’s perfect,” Judith said, looking irritated. “I don’t care what I wear. I’ll stick a flower in my hair, and if I may, I will wear one of your nice coats, Hannah?”
“Of course,” Hannah said, throwing her mother a look that said, Be quiet. “In fact, you can have my wedding dress if you don’t mind wearing it second-hand.” Hannah’s eyes brightened with tears as she looked at Frank. “When we got married, I wished the family could be there to see me in my outfit. Now they will see it, and I couldn’t be happier. You wouldn’t mind that would you, darling?”
“Not at all,” Frank said, lifting Hannah’s hand and kissing it.
“I will be honoured, Hannah. Thank you,” Judith said, giving Hannah a peck on the cheek. She looked at Laura and gave her a radiant smile. “It doesn’t matter what we eat or drink, or don’t have, for that matter. I’m happy Max thought of all these arrangements when he must have had a million other things to worry about. I’m going to be his wife tomorrow, and that’s the most important thing,�
�� She then whispered across the table to Max, “Ich liebe dich – I love you, Max.”
Max felt sorry for Laura, who still looked peeved at not being allowed to make all the arrangements. “I wish Paul could be with us tomorrow, but in a strange way, he will be. I have another surprise for you, Mother,” he said, retrieving an envelope from his pocket. He was taking a risk, springing an unopened letter on his parents when he had no idea what his brother had written. He imagined his father would find it distressing since Paul thought him dead. And he had no idea what his mother would do if it contained bad news.
Max laid the envelope on the table whilst looking behind himself. The Barclays, who had been sitting at the window table had left, and there was hardly any noise coming from the bar area behind the partition. Still, Paul’s letter was private; certainly not for public consumption. “This letter is from Paul,” Max told his father as he pushed the letter along the table. “Don’t read it aloud. I don’t know what’s in there.”
Laura tore it from Dieter’s hand. “Bring your chair closer to me. We’ll read it together.”
Max, desperate to get the letter himself, stared at his mother and willed her to hurry up and start reading.
Laura squealed again as she pulled out an envelope from inside the larger one; this one also bearing Paul’s writing but saying: From Wilmot. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she handed it to Max. “This is better than all the Christmases and birthdays I’ve ever had, put together. At last. My boys … my two boys! Read it, Max.”
“For God’s sake, Laura, will you just read? I’ve got to the bottom of the first page, waiting for you,” Dieter said, his irritation growing again.
Max skimmed the pages, drinking in Wilmot’s bold writing, but feeling disappointed that many lines and words had been redacted, leaving what seemed like an anonymous person talking about personal feelings. Even so, the words he could read were more than enough to raise goosebumps on his arms.
He imagined Wilmot writing it, where he’d been, how he’d looked and felt at the time. His young, wild, mischievous brother was not known for displays of affection, but in this letter, he’d clearly wanted to convey his love for his family.
