Maunsell grinned like a schoolboy. ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘A fortnight ago, the island was staring down the barrel.’
‘Our spies must be cross,’ said Vaughan.
‘I should say so.’
‘I don’t think we need to worry too much about that any more,’ said Maunsell. ‘Obviously we want to catch them, but as long as they’re not passing on vital information, they’re not doing any harm.’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Vaughan. ‘Have there been any more signals?’
Maunsell shook his head. ‘One just over a week ago – a signal, then a reply, then another signal and reply, all in the space of twenty minutes or so, but nothing since.’
‘That’s good. And Mustafa?’
‘Lying low is my guess. Sammy and Bones are still very much on the case, though. As I said to you before, Alex, these things can take time. We’ve done bloody well to get where we’ve got with it.’ He beamed. ‘However, there has been a development, which is why I asked you over this evening. The others don’t know yet, either.’ He pressed the buzzer on his desk. ‘Daphne,’ he said, ‘could you round up KJ, George and Paddy for me? Thanks awfully.’ He looked up at Vaughan. ‘They’ll be along in a minute. Tell me, how’s planning going?’
Vaughan sighed. ‘Not good, I’m afraid. Anyone who’s got any experience with these operations is against using such large, disparate forces. David Stirling’s against it, so is Guy Prendergast.’
‘I’ve always wondered whether Stirling’s a bit of loose cannon,’ said Maunsell, ‘but Prendergast is as sound as they come. He’s been a friend for years.’
‘It’s not just them. I’m with them completely and so are the SAS and LRDG chaps in Cairo at the moment. But Brigadier Davy’s set on it and so is Colonel Haselden. They feel that unless we attack strongly we’ll never have the weight of fire to destroy the harbour installations. They’re arguing that if one or other of the forces involved doesn’t succeed, it’s not the end of the world, so long as we go in hard and cause as much havoc as possible.’
‘In other words, chuck a load of mud at the wall and hope some sticks.’
‘Exactly. But what they’re failing to understand is that there’s little chance of any mud sticking at all, because it’ll be almost impossible to maintain any kind of surprise once we get even remotely close.’
‘Indeed. And we also have to hope our dormant spies don’t get wind of it and tip off the enemy.’
‘Well, yes, there is that too, although hopefully it’s now sufficiently dormant not to add to our woes.’ Vaughan rubbed his chin. ‘I just hope my crew get back safely and that I’ll then have the chance to implement what we discussed.’
Maunsell raised his glass. ‘I’ll drink to that, Alex. I know Bowlby is of much the same opinion as you about this raid. He’s been trying to put some pressure on the COS to put the kybosh on the whole thing.’
‘We don’t need to kybosh it entirely. We just need to scale it down and lessen the objectives.’
‘In any case,’ said Maunsell, ‘you and I need to get together with Bowlby sooner rather than later.’
There was a knock at the door and Maddox entered, followed by Jones and Kirk. They sat in their usual chairs in front of Maunsell’s desk.
‘I would have kept this until morning prayers, but I wanted Alex in on it,’ he said, once he had poured everyone a drink. He cleared his throat, then said, ‘The boffins at GC and CS have had something of a breakthrough. They’ve picked up some signals sent by Rommel’s head of intelligence at Panzer Army Africa Headquarters in Mersa Matruh – a Major von Mellenthin. However, what is of interest to us is an intercepted signal relating to Operation Cobra. GC and CS became suspicious when the message started referring to agents and using what were blatantly codenames. They forwarded this to MEIC, who recognized the terminology immediately from Axis spy circuits operating in Turkey and elsewhere. Cuthbert Bowlby immediately passed it on to me.’
‘That’s terrific,’ said Vaughan.
‘Have you got any details?’ asked Maddox.
Maunsell nodded, and lit his pipe, his face briefly disappearing behind swirls of curling smoke. ‘Yes. It seems Cobra is a four-man team, headed by a fellow codenamed Orca. The signal made reference to one of the team, Aladdin, having been “eradicated”.’
‘Moussa,’ said Vaughan.
‘One can only presume so,’ said Maunsell.
‘And the other two?’ asked Maddox.
‘Codenames Artus and Marlin.’
Kirk smiled ruefully. ‘How could I ever have doubted it?’
‘And Marlin is the radio operator.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Maddox.
‘Yes. The message is a warning that Cobra is in danger of being compromised and may have to be closed down.’
‘It said that?’ Kirk looked surprised. ‘Well, well. I don’t suppose there’s much more to worry about on that score, then.’
‘We mustn’t take our eye off the ball, though,’ said Maunsell, then added, ‘And, sadly, there’s been no reply as yet. Still, it’s a great leap forward. We now have confirmation of the circuit’s existence, a name, agent codenames, and we now know that we’ve been on the right trail. Well done, all of you, but to Paddy and Alex, particular credit is due, not to mention the part played by Jack Tanner, wherever he might be.’
‘Out in the desert, waiting for Rommel to attack,’ said Vaughan.
‘As are we all.’ Maunsell smiled, then raised his glass.
Vaughan left them soon after, stepping out into the warm evening air. He decided to walk to Tanja’s flat rather than take a taxi or gharry, and headed past GHQ, the smell of jasmine heavy on the air, then across Sharia El Fasqiya. The ahwa was busy, elderly men spilling out on to the pavement, but the tailor’s place was empty, a large padlock on the door.
He had done much to quell his doubts about Tanja. What a long time a week could be! He smiled to himself, thinking of how he had gone back to the narrow street where he had followed her. He’d felt quite nervous going into the store, convinced he would find endless boxes of Turkish Delight, but they’d had none – just as she had told him. He had even had a check done on her at SIME. It had come back clear: a Polish refugee, she had reached Egypt via Palestine in May 1941 – just as she had told him.
He had still not mentioned to Maunsell or Maddox what he had seen: the breathless expression, the glimpse of Mustafa soon after. The possible connection. He had not questioned the owner of the shop, or shown him photographs, but even in a week he had begun to see that his grounds for suspicion were unfounded. It had been a coincidence. Tanja was not a spy. He had been guilty of paranoia, his mind clouded by having allowed himself to become too consumed by the case.
And so he had left it, concentrating on his new job instead, and as the days passed, his doubts about her had melted away. He had been busy, and forming C Detachment had taken up a great deal of his time. During the past week he had been to Alexandria and had met with the commanders of the two MTB flotillas there. The 10th Flotilla had been earmarked for the Tobruk operation, but Vaughan had struck a rapport with the commander of the under-strength 15th, Lieutenant Commander Jim Allenby, a young but experienced naval officer who had impressed Vaughan with his knowledge of the North African coastline. The flotilla was due to be merged with the 10th, and Allenby was anxious to find a role for himself since command would go with the 10th. Vaughan had accompanied him on a two-day patrol up the coast, during which the two men forged a strong working relationship. Vaughan had returned to Cairo, his enthusiasm rekindled.
Then there had been the process of recruitment. Eight men – that was all he needed. A small, tight squad and nothing more. Men with experience, and, crucially, different skills. He would have to wait for Tanner and Sykes, but the other five he needed to recruit right away. Conversations with various people, David Stirling and Guy Prendergast among them, had given him a start. The first to join C Detachment had been Johnny Farrer,
a Scotsman Vaughan had known from his time in Middle East Commando, and who, like him, had got stuck at GHQ. Farrer was also a German and Italian speaker, and a man Vaughan liked and trusted.
Next he had visited the large training camp of Geneifa in the Canal Zone, and there he had found the other four: a South African called Pete de Villiers, a former estate manager in the Transvaal and a German speaker; a New Zealander called Sam McInnes; and two Englishmen, Sergeants Len Ferguson and Tom Walsh, both of whom had seen action in India before the war as well as in North Africa. Currently instructors at Geneifa, they were bored and frustrated with training recruits, and had been among the large number of volunteers who had stepped forward. Ferguson and Walsh had stood out from the rest. They both had the right levels of experience but other skills as well: Walsh was an unarmed combat instructor, while Ferguson was a signals expert with the technical knowledge Vaughan reckoned they would need.
He had had neither the time nor the inclination to think too much more about enemy spy circuits, or the whereabouts of Eslem Mustafa – that was for Maunsell and Maddox, Sansom and Astley and their men. Moreover, while he had been away, he realized how consumed he had become by the world of espionage and counter-intelligence; it was a small world, inhabited by few people. Seeing the vast naval operation at Alexandria, the huge training camp at Geneifa, and the countless bombers flying out over the sea or up the desert, had made him realize that, while the work done by SIME was vital, it was just one cog in a vast military machine. Now that he was preoccupied with his own mission, the importance of smashing the enemy circuit – Operation Cobra – had seemed to recede. As had his concerns over Tanja and his responsibility to Maunsell and the team at SIME. Getting away from claustrophobic Cairo was what he had needed; a little perspective went a long way. When he had thought of her, he had remembered her smile, her arms around his neck, making love to her, the curve of her body as she lay next to him. He was not prepared to throw all that away on a suspicion that seemed increasingly ridiculous with every day that passed.
He was looking forward to seeing her now. God only knew what lay in store over the next few weeks and, in any case, it seemed that Operation Cobra was dead and buried. Kirk had been right. In a couple of days’ time, Vaughan’s embryonic force would meet at Kabrit, where Stirling had arranged for them to train at the SAS camp, then go on to Alexandria for sea-training with Allenby. For now, though, a night with Tanja. That was something to be relished.
Away in the desert, along the southern end of the Alamein Line, A Company were patrolling in no man’s land in front of the British minefields. Tanner had taken out two trucks and, having roamed around noisily for the best part of an hour, had decided to bring them in to the edge of the Munassib, out of sight, and watch for a while. The moon was high – and almost full – casting an immense glow over the desert. To the south the Himeimat Feature was silhouetted against the sky, and in their trucks they could see each other quite clearly.
‘Quiet as the grave,’ whispered Sykes.
‘It is, Stan,’ agreed Tanner. ‘I don’t understand it. I’d have thought they’d have blokes out clearing minefields by now.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Maybe we’ve had it wrong all along.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Beats me.’
‘Sir,’ said Brown, beside him. ‘All right if I go for a crap, sir?’
‘Bloody hell, Browner. Yes, all right. Off you go, but be quick about it.’
Brown clambered out, scurried up the escarpment and disappeared from view.
‘Where the bloody hell has he gone?’ muttered Tanner. ‘Hardly any need to be shy around here.’
‘It’s quite a bright moon, though, sir,’ said Sykes. ‘Perhaps he’s worried someone might see that white backside.’
The minutes passed, the desert silent. No guns fired, no aircraft flew overhead. The only sound was of the engines ticking as they cooled. Then, suddenly, there was Brown, scrambling down the slope towards them. ‘Sir!’ he said, reaching the edge of the truck. ‘Jerry sappers, sir. They’re lifting mines. I could hear them.’
‘What? Over there?’ said Tanner, indicating behind them.
‘There’s quite a clear run just back there,’ said Brown.
‘Right,’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s have ’em.’
‘Did you do your business, Browner?’ asked Sykes.
‘I was halfway through when I heard them. When I’d done I crawled on a bit and then I could see them. There’s half a dozen at least.’
‘Good work, Browner,’ said Tanner, grabbing the flare pistol from beneath the seat. He went over to the other truck. ‘You stay here and keep watching to the south. We’ll be back in a minute.’
With Smailes carrying the Bren, they went up the escarpment and slowly crept forward until they could hear a soft clink, clink a short way ahead. The ground levelled, then Tanner could see that it dropped away in another fifteen-foot cliff. Beyond that there was a valley a couple of hundred yards wide, before the land rose again. Just forty yards below them a mine-clearing party was crouched on the ground, lifting mines with bayonets.
‘What’s the plan?’ asked Sykes.
‘Tell them to put their hands up and then we take them prisoner.’ He turned to Smailes. ‘Get that Bren ready, Smiler.’
Smailes nodded, shifted on his belly alongside them, then quietly pulled back the bolt.
Tanner squatted on his haunches, his MP40 ready and cocked. ‘Oi, Jerries!’ he shouted. ‘Hände hoch!’
The enemy sappers stopped and turned, but rather than put their hands in the air, one opened fire with a sub-machine gun.
‘Jesus!’ cursed Tanner, ducking as bullets zinged into the sandy rock in front of them. A split second later, Smailes opened fire, followed by an immediate fusillade of rifles from the others.
Tanner lifted his head. The enemy firing had stopped, and he saw all six men clearly prostrate and motionless. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered. ‘Why did they have to go and do that?’
From the Rifle Brigade positions somewhere up ahead, a flare was now fired into the sky, lighting up the desert even more, but it had come too late.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ said Tanner.
‘What about their vehicle?’ said Sykes. ‘Worth a look? If we can turn ours round here, we could follow their tracks.’
Tanner thought a moment. ‘All right, Stan. I’ll tell Sergeant Braithwaite to get back and report what’s happened, and we’ll go and look for it.’
They found it more easily than Tanner had imagined. They soon found a route through the Munassib and into the deir, and half a mile beyond that they saw it, tucked into the escarpment. It was a four-wheel drive truck. ‘A Phänomen Granit,’ Brown told them, ‘ton and a half, fifty horse-power.’ He jumped out and wandered around it. ‘Fitted with desert tyres too. Nice piece of kit, that.’
‘Good,’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s take it, then. We can find out what’s in it when it gets light.’
‘Know how to drive it, sir?’ asked Brown.
‘I’m sure I can work it out, Browner. They’re like ours, aren’t they? Once you’ve driven one, you’ve driven them all.’ He felt in his pack for the set of reamers he kept there, then got into the driving seat. The ignition was on the dashboard. He thrust in one of the reamers and immediately a red light came on below what had to be the ignition button. He pressed it and the engine whirred into life. He glanced across at Brown, waved, and lurched forward.
A quarter of an hour later, they were back at Company Headquarters and Tanner was making a cursory inspection of their new acquisition.
‘What do you think, Jack?’ Peploe asked him. ‘Anything worth notifying Battalion about now?’
‘A few maps, but that’s about it, I’m afraid.’
‘Shame.’
‘I think we saw all we needed to, though, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘It’s a full moon tomorrow, and we’ve just caught some Jerry sappers red-handed lifting some of our mines.’
‘Tomorrow night, then?’
‘I’d put good money on it.’
‘In that case, we’d better get some rest while we can. You get your head down, Jack. I’ll go and see Battalion.’
‘Thanks,’ said Tanner. He felt exhausted. The adrenalin of earlier had worn off quickly. Having told the others to do likewise, he put on his greatcoat, wrapped himself in his ground sheet and lay down between the Bedford and the Phänomen Granit. For about three minutes, he thought about the battle to come, then his mind closed and he was fast asleep.
Tanner’s prediction had been right. As the moon rose the following night, the battle would begin.
15
Sunday, 30 August, 11 a.m. Alex was working and, as there was a backlog of parcels, Tanja had been happy to go to the office to help Sophie and Ewa. She was grateful for the distraction and a bit of conversation.
‘Oh,’ said Sophie, as she sorted the mail that had just arrived. ‘A letter for you, Tanja.’ She held it up. ‘Who do you know in Tehran?’
Tanja took it, then stared at the handwriting with disbelieving eyes. Slowly, she sat down.
‘Are you all right?’ Sophie asked her.
Tanja opened the envelope and took out the thin, pale blue sheets of paper and began to read, one hand clasping her desk.
7 August, 1942
To Our Dearest Tanja,
We so hope and pray that this reaches you and that you are well and safe. My beloved girl, can it really be possible that you are alive and living in Cairo? It seems, after all this time, too much to hope for and yet it must be, because a friend of Stanislaw’s received a parcel from you, signed by you from the Polish Red Cross. He knew we were in Tehran and so came to see us all the way from Iraq – imagine that! He handed us your letter personally, and we were holding the letter you had written. Your handwriting, your name at the end. I am afraid your poor mother fainted, but darling Tanja, this is such happy, wonderful news.
We had never given up hope. It is a terrible, terrible thing to lose a child, but at least we knew what had happened to Stanislaw, and have been able to grieve. With you, my darling Tanja, we feared the worst but dared not give up hope, and now it seems you are alive after all. It is a miracle and has given us so much strength.
Hellfire (2011) Page 24
