by Leo Marks
Neither had I till a few hours ago.
[K]
K-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und
2727
Kalkulationen-falsch-bitte-nochmals überprüfen
2736
Kampf-hat-sich-entspannt-zwischen-dem-Feind-
2745
Kam-sur-Stelle-wie-abgemacht-fand-aber
2754
Kann-Auftrag-nicht-ausführen-Umstände-walten-gegen
2763
Kann aushalten-bis
2772
4 (ziffer)
2781
Kann bestimmt-den-Auftrag-nächstes-mal-ausführen
2790
Kann gewiss-Widerstandsgruppe-n-organisieren
2800
Kann keine-inneren-Kontakte-bekommen
2819
5 (ziffer)
2828
Kann nicht-mehr-lange-aushalten
2837
Kann nicht Operation-durchführen-bis-Material-zu-Verfügung
2846
Kann nicht weitgehend-veröffentlichen-wegen-politischer-Verwicklungsmöglichkeiten
2855
Kann Operation-sofort-durchführen-wenn-Material
2864
8 (ziffer)
2873
Kann mich-in-kurzer-Zeit-bis-nach-Gebeit beginne zu buchstabieren
2882
900 und (ziffer)
2891
Kann vielleicht-nicht-bis-später-kommen
2901
Karte-stimmt-im-grossen-ganzen
2910
Kartenziffern-zerstummelt-bitte-weiderholen-und
2929
Keine-Angriffversuche-unternehmen-bis-Einzelheiten-zur-Hand
2938
Keine Behalter-werden-vermisst-mit-Ausnahme-von
2947
Keine Ergebuisse-hervorgebracht-wir-hoffen-aber
2956
Kennwort-er-durch-feindliche-Tätigkeiten-kompromittiert
2965
Kerngruppe-befriedigend-aufgebaut-im-Gebiete-beginne zu buchstabieren
2974
Kommt-oft-im-Gebiet-vor-wegen
2938
Können-hier-gefalscht-werden-durch
2992
Könnte-der-Nachlässigkeit-zugeschrieben-werden
3003
Kontakte-noch-nicht-gegluckt-und-werde
3012
Kompromittiert-durch-Tätigkeiten-von-Gestapospitzeln
3021
Kontrolle-lasst-nach-wegen
3030
14 (ziffer)
3049
Konzentriert-bitte-vereinbart-wenn-so
3058
Korrektion-wie-folgt
3067
Kraftwagenpark-in-dieser-Gegend-ist-verwendbar
3076
Krels-und-weisses-Kreuz-am-Kusten
3085
Kummern-uns-nicht-um-die-Erhaltung-von
3094
He examined the code groups for at least fünf Minuten, then looked up at me and nodded his head like Commander Two Ns.
I then asked him to look at the code groups again and see if he noticed anything special about them.
He examined the ones printed under F, which I knew by now was his favourite letter, then shook his head irritably. ‘Come on, come on! What am I missing?’
I explained that the sum of the first two figures was always the same as the sum of the last two:
[F]
F-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und
1551
Fabrik (en)-liefern
1560
Falschen-Annäherungsweg-gebraucht-kehre-nach-Stutzpunkt-zurück
1579
‘Look at 1551, sir [F-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und] … 1 and 5 come to 6, and so do 5 and 1. Now look at 1560 … 1 and 5 come to 6, so do 6 and 0. Now try 1579 … 1 and 5 come to 6, and 7 and 9 come to 6.’
‘They came to 16 in my day.’
‘You don’t carry the tens, sir.’
‘All very interesting – but what’s it in aid of?’
‘Reducing Morse mutilation, sir.’
I explained that if one figure in four were mutilated the agent could work out which it was, and invited him to try it for himself, but he preferred to take my word for it. I added that we used a similar system for the Jedburgh, SAS and FFI code books, and that the Boche must have captured some and would expect us to use nothing less for the Fatherland.
‘Had any other ideas for Periwig?’
I told him that I thought iodoforms would be useful.
‘Iodowhat?’
He listened carefully while I explained their function, and then asked who prepared them.
‘The country sections, sir.’
‘I’ll want you to sit in on Periwig’s.’
He then produced a handsome fountain pen from his pocket, covered a sheet of foolscap as quickly as Father writing out a bill and caught me watching him. ‘No one can read my writing the right way up! It’s safer than a code.’
I hadn’t been trying to read his writing because I’d been too busy admiring his fountain pen, though I could have told him that he’d misspelt ‘iodoforms’.
He crushed a yawn as if it were a minor rebellion, glanced at his watch and seemed surprised at how long we’d been Periwigging. He then picked up the code book with surprising delicacy. ‘Any objections if I take this home with me!?’
‘None, sir. If the enemy stole it from you it would help Periwig.’
He put the silk into his briefcase, muttered, ‘Saucy little sod,’ and issued his parting instructions over his shoulder – ‘Get a good night’s sleep. It could be your last for some time. I’ll be here at 0700 hours to discuss something else.’ He closed the door more quietly than usual.
I spent most of the night wondering what the something else was.
At 0600 hours he came straight to the coffeeless point.
‘You’ve been told damn all about one aspect of Periwig because it isn’t part of your need-to-know. But you’re a bright little bugger and may have some ideas on it so I’m going all the way with you. Don’t make me regret it.’
He then confided that there was a German officer in a prisoner-of-war camp who could be a great help to Periwig. His name was Schiller, and he was a double agent. ‘He’s worked for both sides and done a good job for each. But he doesn’t know what we’ve got in mind for him, and bloody well mustn’t. Is that understood?’
A bewildered ‘bright little bugger’ nodded his head.
‘Ever met a double?’
‘Not as far as I know, sir.’
‘Well, you’re bloody soon going to. I can promise you that.’
He poured himself some coffee and for the first time put no milk in it. ‘I’m going to tell you a few things about him.’ He then proceeded to give me the kind of guarded briefing which the military seemed to reserve for civilians.
Schiller had started off by working for the Germans, who’d landed him in Cornwall to report on our D-Day preparations, but we’d captured him and he’d agreed to work for us. He sent a dozen messages back to Germany (he was a first-class WT operator), but realised they’d grow suspicious if he carried on too long, and broke off contact. We then put him in a POW camp, but he soon got bored with it and two weeks ago volunteered to return to Germany to continue working for us.
‘And so he’s bloody well going to, but not in the way he thinks.’
He paused for only the second time since I’d known him, then seemed to remember that he was ‘going all the way’.
‘Jumping’s a hazardous business, and Schiller might meet with a fatal accident before he’s even touched ground. In this unfortunate event the Huns would find your code book on his body … Now, then! … What else should they find on him that would lend verisimilitude – your word, I believe – to Operation Periwig?’
I looked at him in silence. He’d gone far enough to make me realise that I was being asked to contribute to a fatal accident which my idea had probably triggered.
‘If you’ve got any qua
lms about this, he’s betrayed as many British agents as he has German – probably more. What else should be found on him?’
I asked which British organisations Schiller had worked for.
‘What the hell’s that to do with it?’
‘It would be a help if I knew what codes they’d given him.’
‘He worked for C.’
‘In that case he understands double-transposition.’
‘Yes, yes – answer my question for Christ’s sake. What else should be found on him?’
I suggested that he should be dropped with a supply of Periwig code books and one-time pads to be given to other agents and that they should include instructions printed in German. He should also take in our latest WT sets and some specially prepared signal plans.
‘Nick’s already taken care of it.’
He brushed a crumb from his tunic as if it were a signals officer and I felt the singe of his number-one glare. ‘You’re going to have to go to that camp and brief Schiller yourself, and you must bloody well do it with complete conviction. Anything less and he’ll see right through you. Think you’re up to it?’
I nodded.
‘Then stand by tomorrow. It’ll take you an hour to get there and you’ll be provided with an escort, which is more than I am. Departure time later.’
He hurried away to start his day’s work.
My escort was a cherubic young captain named Wilson, and we confined our conversation in the car to banalities in case our FANY driver were Himmler in drag, but he finally volunteered that we were on the outskirts of Basingstoke. A few minutes later we reached some tall iron gates and two large military policemen approached the car. Captain Wilson produced his pass, and I noticed that one of the policemen recognised him at once. Seconds later the gates swung back.
It was the first time I’d visited a prisoner-of-war camp other than Baker Street. It was also the first time I’d seen so many Germans gathered together except in newsreels or in Fritz Lang’s films. They were imprisoned behind wire-netted compounds, some standing, some sprawling, some kicking footballs.
We drove slowly down a long path between the compounds, and I felt our progress being monitored every inch of the way. Although it was impossible to tell which of them were soldiers and which wild animals, I asked the driver to pull up, leapt out of the car and strode towards one of the compounds. I’d spotted a powerfully built six-footer brandishing his fist in the face of a fellow prisoner who wasn’t much bigger than me. I stared at him in silence as if trying to recall where I’d seen him before and continued to stare at him until I caught a look of fear in his eyes.
I then made some rapid notes (‘Hope the bastard wants to pee as badly as I do’), took a final look at him and Templared back to my anxious escort.
‘Mr Marks, what in God’s name were you up to?’
‘I’ve always wanted to scare the shit out of a German soldier.’
Our stately progress continued until we reached a courtyard without a German in sight, and we drew up outside a small office block.
Two more military policemen approached the car. Again my escort produced his pass, and again one of them recognised him.
Five minutes later we were only a flight of stairs away from ‘Operation Fatal Accident’. As we reached the top of the stairs, my escort confided that he knew Schiller and that General Templar had told him to introduce us and then leave us alone.
I wondered what other instructions Templar had given him.
I caught my first glimpse of Schiller as he rose from behind a table and greeted Wilson as if they were old friends meeting for a drink. He had Tommy’s stocky build but was at least ten years younger, and I searched in vain for his ‘double chin’ (I needed every joke I could think of).
Wilson introduced me as the coding officer, but didn’t refer to me by name, and said he’d wait next door, but there was absolutely no hurry as he had plenty of work to catch up on. He then left us alone in a small interview room which had bars across its solitary window and the indefinable smell of protracted interrogations.
Schiller remained standing until I was seated, then resumed his place behind the table and patiently waited for the proceedings to begin.
I immediately set about killing him by code.
Whoever had briefed him previously had done a good job. He knew how to use a code book and studied the Periwig vocabulary with interest. ‘So much on one piece of Seide – silk – is excellent,’ he said.
So was his English, and I had no difficulty in explaining the special feature of the code groups. He listened in silence until I’d finished, then nodded approvingly.
I then produced a one-time pad and showed him how to use it, though it soon became apparent that he could have shown me. I stressed the importance of cutting away the code groups after every message and asked him to see for himself how easy it was. I then handed him a pair of scissors and watched him cut his own throat.
It was WOK time next and it seemed to come as a welcome surprise to him. ‘Makes it very much easy,’ he said.
I stressed that WOK keys must also be destroyed message by message and again asked him to try it for himself.
At this point a large corporal appeared carrying tea and buns. Schiller waited till I’d helped myself, but instead of sampling his ‘elevenses’ he picked up the scissors and finished cutting away the silk. I had some difficulty in swallowing as I watched him, and he seemed to sense it, because he looked at me sharply.
I asked him to listen very carefully to what I now had to tell him, and he sat forward but continued to study me thoughtfully. I explained the advantages of one-time pads over WOKs and of both over poemcodes, which must be used only in emergencies. Did he know how the system worked?
He asked if it was the same as using phrases from a novel (a favourite C system), and I confirmed that it was except for the indicator groups, which I’d show him later. Was there any particular poem that he’d like to use?
He said that there was, and I told him to write it out for me. He did so in block capitals, and I then asked him to speak it aloud so that I could compare it with what he’d written.
Like so many agents asked to repeat poems, he spoke it in block capitals. The words meant little to me except that they weren’t the ‘Horst Wessel’, and I again warned him that he must use them only in emergencies.
‘The most important thing of all is your security checks …’ I spent ten minutes explaining them to him, but for the first time didn’t have it all my own way.
He wanted to change his indicator groups by 8 and 5, and when I asked why he said that 8 May was his birthday and the 5th his mother’s and he wouldn’t forget either of them, but I pointed out that many agents used this idea and that the Germans were on to it, and he at once agreed to the figures I’d suggested.
I then produced three coded messages and asked him to decipher them. He began working as if his life depended on it.
I hoped that someone would engrave 8 May on his headstone, though I doubted if he’d have one. He was having a hard time with the task I’d set him as I’d mutilated the code groups to make decipherment more difficult, but he remembered what I’d shown him and persevered until he proudly produced the correct clear-text.
The LOP, WOK and poem-code messages gave him no trouble, but at the end of them he sat back exhausted and poured himself some tea.
I then instructed him to encode three messages (one in each system), and to make sure that he inserted his security checks. Forty minutes later he’d finished all three and took a deep breath.
I checked each message carefully and pointed out a small mistake.
He swore in German and apologised in English, an appropriate arrangement.
We’d already spent more than two hours together, and I enquired if he had any questions.
‘Not about codes. But, sir … do you know when I am intentioned to go in?’
Sir explained that this wasn’t his department, and Schiller appeared to a
ccept it. I added that I was leaving now but if he had any questions after I’d gone I’d gladly come to see him again.
He looked at me with a smile not unlike Tommy’s. ‘You have taken much trouble with me – very much trouble. And I am just as much grateful.’
I’d intended at this point to wish him ‘Hals and Beinbruch’, which I thought was the equivalent of ‘merde alors’, but I’d discovered that its literal meaning was, ‘Good luck – break a leg.’ So I held out my hand, and wished him ‘Viel Gluck’ instead.
To my astonishment, I found that I meant it.
Templar was waiting for me in my office.
‘Well? What did you make of him?’
‘I’m sure he’ll do a good job for both sides, sir.’
‘Wilson tells me you did a bloody good one yourself. He was listening in.’
I remembered Schiller’s last question to me. ‘He’s anxious to know when he’s going to be sent in.’
‘Have your bumph ready in two days at the latest. He’ll be back in his homeland by the end of the week.’
I despatched the ‘bumph’ to X section and waited for Templar’s next visit, but he suddenly stopped calling on me.
I then learned from Heffer that he was leaving SOE. According to the Guru, Montgomery had something else in mind for him and he’d soon be taking off. ‘Don’t try to make sense of it, this is SOE,’ he said, and returned to his newspaper.
A week later I still hadn’t heard from Templar and was wondering whether to call and say goodbye or to wait for the official announcement, when in he walked.
I couldn’t believe what I saw: he was carrying a small posy of flowers, which he presented to me with great delicacy, and I wondered what the hell he thought I was.
