‘He trusts me.’ Erwin was beaming. ‘Which means he trusts you also.’
The fact that the plan now had an operational code name intrigued Stefan. Why Finisterre? Erwin said the code name had only just been changed.
‘Beforehand it was called Operation Benjamin,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Schellenberg had the ear of the Führer. He was young and he was clever and some of the old fighters, the Brownshirts, resented him. Hitler called him his Benjamin. Maybe that’s why.’
‘You said had the ear of the Führer.’
‘I did.’
‘No longer?’
Erwin didn’t answer. He was sitting on the bed, his briefcase beside him. He explained to Stefan that tomorrow he would be given a change of clothing, stuff he could have acquired from Eva. Once he was in the hands of the British, down in Lisbon, he’d tell them he’d just spent two weeks at her house in the village under the care of the local doctor. The wound in his leg had healed and thankfully his tibia had turned out to be intact. He’d say he’d thought long and hard about the war, about what lay ahead, about the future of what remained of his precious country, and had decided that his duty lay in trying to contribute to peace as soon as possible. He was also in grave danger of being traced by the Germans and shot as a deserter.
‘That’s all true,’ Stefan said.
‘Of course. So you don’t have to invent anything. Just tell them the way it’s been.’
‘Except here. With you.’
‘Of course. We never happened. You were never arrested. You made your own way to Lisbon.’
‘How? They’re going to want to know.’
‘I suggest you came by boat.’
‘Boat?’
‘Fishing boat.’ Erwin opened his briefcase and slipped out a couple of photos. They showed a sturdy wooden smack on a mooring in a tiny harbour. A cloud of seagulls was massing over a figure working on the deck. The name of the boat, the Santa Maria, was clearly legible on the bow.
‘This is the village where I stayed?’ Stefan was staring at the photo.
‘Yes. O Barquero. The fisherman’s name is Santos. He owns the boat with his brother Federico.’
Another photo showed a man of uncertain age, weather-beaten, grizzled, bent over a pile of nets.
‘Who took these photos?’
‘Otto. When he was in the village organising the funeral.’
‘You knew then? You knew I’d survived?’
‘We’d heard rumours. We suspected it was possible.’
‘So you were already planning all this? Operation Finisterre?’
‘Yes.’
Stefan was looking at the photo of the boat again, trying to imagine what kind of speed it would make.
‘Lisbon’s way down south,’ he said. ‘You’re talking at least two days.’
‘We think three.’
‘And how am I supposed to pay for it? The skipper will need money, a lot of money.’
‘You gave him some of those gold coins.’
‘You know about the coins?’ Stefan had abandoned the photos.
‘Yes.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Ignacio. The carpenter. That’s how we knew where you were. Who was looking after you. What had happened. The man’s in love with Eva. He went to the Guardia.’
‘And they told you?’
‘Yes.’
Stefan nodded. Betrayed, he thought, by the oaf who made that hideous splint. He remembered the way the man had treated Eva, his brusqueness, his sense of ownership, of entitlement. I should have realised, Stefan told himself. I should have taken more notice.
Erwin told him to keep the photos until tomorrow, to memorise every detail of the fishing boat, to weave a story around the passage south, to come up with an account that would survive hours of probing.
‘By the English, you mean?’
‘Yes. Tomorrow, we’ll get you down to Lisbon. That may take a while. Once you’re there, you make your way to the British Embassy. We’ll tell you how to find it. You’ll be walking in from the street. You give them your name and your rank. Within an hour or so, if they’re any good, they’ll realise exactly what kind of fish they’ve landed. Not just a U-boat commander but someone who survived the wreck up north, someone charged with special responsibilities. Lisbon is full of spies. It’s a kasbah, a souk. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. What happened to your boat will be all over town. And now the sole survivor walks into the arms of the enemy. Sensational news. And big, big smiles at the British Embassy.’
‘And Sol?’ Stefan asked again. ‘Do I tell them about Sol?’
‘No. That comes afterwards. Your credentials alone will get you an interview. There are counter-intelligence people like me attached to the embassy. You’ll be debriefed. They’re buyers in the market. They’ll check out the goods. They’ll want operational data. Communication codes. Details about the Elektro boat.’
‘So what do I say? How much do I tell them?’
‘Tell them it’s Scheisse. Tell them why it doesn’t work. Tell them they’ve nothing to worry about.’
‘And the codes? The four-rotor system?’
‘Already changed.’
Erwin paused. This was an area they’d never discussed and he sensed the depth of Stefan’s reluctance to divulge anything remotely useful. Kapitän Portsich had spent his entire career in the service scrupulously guarding every last detail of the way he and his men fought their war. Now this.
‘The war’s lost,’ Erwin said. ‘That’s where this story begins and ends. You can tell them anything. It won’t make any difference. Just as long as they pass you up the line.’
‘To England?’
‘Indeed. There are regular commercial flights three times a week. The spies use them all the time.’
‘And what then?’
‘Then you’ll be in the lap of the professionals. They’ll need to go over all the technical stuff with experts in the field. You should have no problem with that because it’s authentic. Then they’re going to want to know about your motivation. You’re one of the top Kapitäns in the field. You’re much decorated. So why are you doing this? Why are you handing over all this information?’
‘Because technically I’m a deserter. Because I’ve had enough of the war. Because I want out.’
‘Exactly. But something else, too.’
‘Eva?’
‘Exactly. You want to be with her. But you don’t want to live under the threat of being caught as a deserter. Which means bringing her to England.’
‘They’d do that?’
‘Only if you make it a condition of telling them about everything else.’
‘And if they say yes, should I trust them?’
‘Probably not. But it certainly strengthens your motivation, and that’s important.’
Stefan turned to the window, eyeing the street below. Would Eva really leave her father? Would she want to come to England? His last glimpse of her face in the kitchen as he was hustled towards the door told him she would but he didn’t know for sure and, worse still, there was no way he could find out.
Erwin seemed to sense his indecision. His voice had softened.
‘We’re in contact with Eva,’ he said.
‘How? Why?’
‘We arranged for her to be taken into custody the night you were arrested. Her father, too. She’s safe. They both are. And well looked after. She sends you kisses, incidentally.’
Stefan didn’t know what to say. The implications were all too clear. He turned on Erwin. After everything they’d built together over the last twenty-four hours, beneath all the gossip about their days in Hamburg, this man was just like the rest of them. Ambitious. Ruthless. Hard as iron.
‘You’ve taken her hostage,’ he said. ‘In case I have second thoughts.’
‘On the contrary, Stefan, we’ve temporarily removed her from the scene. The last thing you need are witnesses to what happened the night y
ou were arrested. The English will know where your boat went down. What happens to this story of yours if they check on Eva?’
‘So how have you explained her absence?’
‘We haven’t. It remains a mystery. People in the village know that all of you have disappeared. They don’t know why and they don’t know how.’
‘And the fisherman? Santos?’
‘He’s disappeared, too. Along with his boat. The same night you were arrested.’
‘What happened? Where is he now?’
‘Those are questions you don’t need to ask.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘I’ve no idea. Probably not. People die in wars all the time. It’s a fact of life. That’s what happens.’
Stefan held his gaze. He was beginning to dislike this man and Erwin knew it.
‘Let’s concentrate on Sol,’ Erwin said. ‘You’re in England. You have some kind of deal to get Eva out of Spain. You’ve told them everything you know about operational matters. They’re pleased with you because they’ve checked this stuff out and maybe they’ve been to O Barquero and they know that everything tallies with your account. That’s when they start to trust you. That’s when you mention Sol Fiedler. This will be the first time his name comes up. You have to remember this, Stefan. Counter-intelligence people are like dogs. They’re trained to sniff out double agents, people – fugitives, refugees, deserters – pretending to be what they’re not. They’ll think you may be one of those. So before you mention Sol Fiedler, they need to be reasonably sure you’re genuine.’
‘Reasonably sure?’
‘I’m afraid so. That’s the best you can expect. Our world has no time for absolutes. One part of you always reserves judgement. It might be a tiny part, just that one last corner of your soul, but it’s always there. Total belief? In our business there’s no such thing.’
That one last corner of your soul.
Stefan stared at his hands. It made perfect sense. Go to the English. Convince them you’re sincere. Share everything you know with them. And then, almost as an afterthought, tell them that Hitler is months away from blowing up half the world. Stefan looked up, voicing the thought.
‘You don’t know about the bomb.’ Erwin was alarmed. ‘You got that from me.’
‘Of course. But tell me I’m wrong.’
‘You’re not.’
‘Then it has to work, doesn’t it? This thing we’re doing? This warning I’m helping to pass on?’
Erwin nodded, said nothing. Then he leaned forward, his face suddenly inches from Stefan.
‘Just feed in the information about Sol. That’s all you have to do. Everything else is taken care of because the rest will be down to them. That’s the way things work in our world. A detail here. Another detail there. An incident somewhere else. You have no idea how complex these things are. We’re just a tiny part of it, believe me.’
‘You mean me. You mean I’m just a tiny part of it.’
‘If that’s the way you prefer to see it.’
‘But it’s true isn’t it? You’ve offered me a role. I’ve taken it. But the bigger picture? Where this whole thing might be heading?’
Stefan let the question hang between them. Erwin was on his feet. Enough, he seemed to be saying. He looked down at Stefan.
‘At sea you had total command,’ he said. ‘Those days have gone. All you do is tell them about Sol. That’s all we want you to do. It’s not a big thing. Just tell them about Sol. Nothing else.’
‘And this bomb of ours?’
‘That’s not your business. In real life, there’s no way you’d ever get to find out about it. If you tell them about our bomb, the game’s over.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’ll know you’re a plant.’
*
They came for Gómez after the light had gone out. One of the two warders was Montoro, a nice touch. Gómez, who had no idea what was going on, half turned to Ramón in the darkness.
‘Adiós?’ It was a question.
‘I hope so.’
Gómez felt for his hand, shook it.
‘Muchas gracias,’ he muttered. Ramón gave his hand a squeeze, said nothing.
They escorted Gómez back along the corridor, up the steps at the end. On the first floor was a line of doors. Montoro spoke no English. He stopped outside the last of the doors. A flurry of hand gestures indicated that someone was inside, waiting. Then he pushed the door open and stood to one side.
Expecting Diego, Gómez found himself looking at Yolanda. She was sitting at a table, flicking through Gómez’s passport. She got to her feet, the concern obvious on her face.
‘You OK? They beat you any?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah.’
Gómez heard the door shut behind him. Yolanda held her arms wide. Gómez didn’t move.
‘I stink,’ he said.
‘I know.’
She put her arms round him, held him for a long moment. Smelling someone as sweet as this was way beyond anything he’d expected.
‘How come you’re here?’
‘Diego phoned me. Explained what had happened. You killed somebody? Did I hear that right?’
‘You did.’
‘That’s foolish. Even the Mexicans notice.’
‘He was a cop.’
‘That’s worse. You’re lucky to be alive.’
He shrugged, then explained the way it had happened. In his view, most Medical Examiners would find a fracture in the guy’s skull from where he’d cracked his head on the sidewalk but that would need a proper autopsy.
‘Meaning?’
‘They skip that stage. I’m there. I’m involved. A guy dies. They’ve got a cell waiting. Why make it complicated? Who’s interested in justice?’
‘You sound bitter.’
‘I’m glad to see you, is all. Where do we go from here?’
‘Back to the States.’
‘Are you serious?’ Gómez was staring at her. This just gets better, he thought.
She kissed him on the lips and then nodded at the door. She had a car waiting out front. Best not to test Mexican hospitality any further. She gave Gómez his passport and they went downstairs together. The guy at the desk, rolling himself a cigarette, didn’t even spare them a glance. Only when they were safe in the car, driving north towards Tijuana, did Yolanda break the silence.
‘You hungry?’
‘Starving.’ Gómez jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘A man could lose serious weight back there.’
They were out of Ensenada now. There was a roadside diner up ahead, just a shack beside the blacktop. Yolanda pulled over. It was late, gone midnight, and the place was empty except for a couple of solitary truckers, each at his own table. Yolanda ordered tacos and rice for Gómez, an enchilada for herself.
Gómez eyed her over the steaming plate. ‘So how did you manage it? How did you get me out of there?’
‘Diego phoned me yesterday, like I explained. Said you’d been caught up in an incident. No details. I phoned Agard.’
‘Why?’
‘That boy has connections. As you probably know. Good connections. At the very top.’
‘We’re talking First Lady?’
‘I guess we are. Either way I get a call this afternoon, a voice I’ve never heard in my life, tells me to get to Ensenada, even gives me directions to the penitentiary. Happens I don’t need them but it’s a nice touch. I ask why I’m headed there and he tells me everything’s been straightened out. I laugh and I ask how and the phone goes dead. Me? I do as I’m told.’ She nodded at the plate. ‘Taco any good?’
‘Better than good.’ Gómez was trying to figure things out. ‘You’re telling me I owe Beaman?’
‘I guess you do. Mrs Roosevelt has the pull but Agard pressed the buttons. Turns out you’re the one needs protection.’
‘Very funny. And now?’
‘Now I guess I get you home. Except one thing.�
�� She was carrying a black leather bag. She opened it and peered in. Then she handed Gómez a brown envelope. No name. No address. Nothing.
‘What’s this?’
‘Diego met me at the penitentiary. He asked me to give it to you. I have no idea what’s inside but it came with a message. He doesn’t want you to contact him again. Ever. I guess he’s pissed about the cop you killed.’
Gómez nodded, then opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. It contained an address. 23 Calle Maravillas. Ciudad Juarez.
‘He said nothing else?’
‘Nothing. I got the feeling he thought you’d know where all this fits.’
‘All this? He’s just given me an address.’ He checked again.
‘Some place you know?’ Yolanda asked.
‘Never heard of it.’
‘And Ciudad Juarez?’ She was looking at the address. ‘Big city up by the border opposite El Paso?’
‘Sure.’ The auto scam, Gómez thought. Diego has made his phone calls, rousted a contact or two, and come up with this one solid lead. Quite where it might take Gómez was anyone’s guess but one thing was for sure. No more Diego.
Gómez finished the tacos and wiped the plate clean. He wanted to know whether he and Yolanda were expected at the border crossing into California, the Route 1 entry that would take them back to San Diego.
‘I’ve no idea but something tells me you’re not welcome here. We keep heading north, we’re back in the States in a couple of hours.’
Gómez nodded. Nothing sounded sweeter.
‘How about we head east,’ he said, ‘and hit Ciudad Juarez?’
Part Four
18
Two days later, Stefan was on the outskirts of Lisbon. The journey south over nightmare roads had felt never-ending. A Spanish driver from the legation staff had done his best in the big Mercedes but some of the potholes, thought Stefan, could have swallowed a truck.
Finisterre Page 26
