Simon blinked in the strong light. ‘Would you mind pointing that somewhere else?’ He nodded towards the powerful lamp. ‘I think you’ll find your chances of my cooperation greatly improved if you treat me a little better.’ He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Another drink would be appreciated, as well as some decent food.’
‘All in due course - as long as you’re willing to talk. The truth, and not any cock and bull stories or old wives’ tales.’
Simon cleared his throat again. ‘That’s not a problem. If you’d asked me when you brought me here, it would have saved all this tedious mucking about.’
‘Possibly, but we felt you needed a bit of softening up first, just to get you in the mood.’ The man laughed. ‘You see, Mr O’Malley, we hold all the aces. Or should I call you Herr Simon?’ There was a few moments silence as he allowed Simon to come to terms with the implication of this revelation. ‘We know quite a lot about you, Max. Not all, admittedly, but enough. Enough to put you in front of a firing squad, or put a rope around your neck.’
The revelation did not disturb him too much. These men were not stupid. Sooner or later they would be able to put two and two together and come to a conclusion. And as long as Patricia’s identity was kept secret, he did not particularly care what else they knew. ‘In that case, I’d like to speak to your boss. Mr Menzies, isn’t it? If you want all the details behind this operation, then tell him I will cooperate fully. Everything I know, and that’s not some sort of idle promise. Just stop this stupidity. Some good food, a decent night’s sleep, and a long chat with Menzies. Tell him it will definitely be to his advantage.’
Much to his surprise, his request was granted. His interrogator left him alone, no doubt conferring with his superiors. Fifteen minutes later he was taken to another room, a tiny windowless affair with a single bed and washing facilities. He was almost too tired to eat, but the aroma of freshly prepared food was very hard to resist. By the time he had finished he was far too weary to even consider a wash and shave. As soon as the last mouthful went down, he slid under the covers, and was sound asleep just after his head hit the pillow.
He awoke an indeterminate time later, his head fuzzy from an overdue and deep sleep. He levered himself upright and swung his legs onto the carpeted floor. His mouth tasted funny, an odd, metallic taste that he had never experienced before. Had they slipped something into his food or drink? Did it really matter if they had? Otherwise he felt reasonable. All the aches and pains from his previous incarceration were gone, even the shoulder and back discomfort. He tried standing up. His legs felt a little wobbly, but strong enough to support him as he walked over to the washbasin. There was no mirror. The cold water was invigorating as he washed his face and rinsed out his dry mouth.
He was just about to examine his surroundings when a key clicked in the door and two hefty hard-faced men entered. One of them threw some clothes and wash gear on the bed while the other covered him, a sardonic smile on his face.
‘Food in fifteen minutes. Get washed and dressed, ducky, and don’t piss us about.’ He was true to his word. A hot meal was brought in, the food even better than the last time. He wolfed it down while his guards watched. As soon as he had finished he was handcuffed, his arms behind his back, and escorted outside. The trio proceeded along a landing and then turned left, entering into a long, sparsely furnished room where three men were waiting. They sat at a table directly to his front. One of them was Menzies. He gestured to a chair.
‘Thank you.’ He addressed the guards. ‘Uncuff him, wait outside, and make sure we’re not disturbed.’ He turned back to Simon, all brusqueness and efficiency. ‘Sit down. Please note that all the windows are barred and locked. Even if you did manage to get out you wouldn’t get far. There are armed guards and Alsatians outside. You’ll find your stay comfortable and reasonably pleasant, as long as you obey the rules.’
‘Better than the way you treated me since my capture? That was hardly what I’d call welcoming.’ Simon snorted.
‘I agree, but that was necessary, if only to give you a taste of what could really happen should you prove uncooperative. As a captured enemy agent you have a stark choice - help us, or suffer the consequences. I need hardly tell you that being caught out of uniform in an enemy country almost invariably means the death penalty. However, if you’re here to be useful, as you say, then you’ll have no cause for complaint. But I make no promises. My superiors will decide the final decision about your future. You know who I am. I’ve come quite a long way to hear your story, and I hope my journey has been worthwhile. Now it’s up to you- we need to know everything about this mission of yours, from start to finish. Some of the details we already know, others we can check on. It would be very much in your interests that you do not lie to us. Proceed.’
‘Before I start, tell me just how you found out my real identity?’ The answer might prove useful in determining just how much the opposition knew about him, and in particular whether Patricia was in danger.
‘That’s easy enough. An old acquaintance of yours gave us a lot of help. You remember Mr Needham, the tailor in Jermyn Street?’ Menzies chuckled grimly. ‘He recognized your photo. We managed to take your picture on your little walk across London. Eventually, after a lot of prodding and pushing from us, and him checking his records, he remembered your name. With that we managed to trace quite a lot of your pre-war stay in England - school, education, working for that bank, and so on. You were known to us, of course. All mixed nationals have a file on them, especially as you spent three years at Oxford.’ The university had proven to be a fertile recruiting ground for MI6. ‘You probably finished there just before we started actively recruiting. Satisfied?’ Simon nodded. ‘Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.’
The full story took most of what remained of the day to recount. Simon was constantly interrupted, questioned and cross-examined on innumerable points of interest. After a time it became clear to him that one of his interrogators had an army background. He was particularly interested in life on the Eastern Front, and bombarded him with numerous questions- anything ranging from morale through to unit tactics and strengths, and his experiences against the Russians. Simon realised that some of this information might be of use in future fighting in the West against comrades and friends, a prospect that filled him with unease.
However, there was little he could do about it, and he consoled himself with the fact that they must know most of this already, from other sources and not necessarily just from himself.
The story moved on to the accidental discovery of Auschwitz. After he recounted the details, the silence was profound, each man lost in their own thoughts.
‘My God,’ Menzies breathed. ‘I’d heard about the existence of concentration camps, but this?’ His face portrayed the shock and disgust that he felt. ‘We knew that the Jews were having a torrid time of it under Hitler, but this is gross…unbelievable. Do you have any proof?’
‘No. All I can tell you is what I’ve seen. I was ordered to swear my men to silence. I doubt many people in Germany know what’s really going on. It’s a well-kept secret.’
Simon continued. He described his meeting with Schellenberg in Berlin, and the origin of the mission. At this point Menzies became hyper alert, questioning every little detail, even some of them that Simon considered trivial and irrelevant. He was particularly interested in Canaris, his motives, and the current situation inside the heart of the Nazi government. Simon did his best to comply. The questioning was relentless, searching, detailed and intensive. He got the distinct impression from Menzies that much of these questions were designed to establish bona fides, to prove that Simon was telling the truth. It was clear to him that Menzies knew quite a lot about the wily old admiral. Perhaps he had even met him personally.
‘Tell me about Schellenberg,’ Menzies had demanded during a pause in the interrogation. ‘What do you think his real motives are? Can he be trusted?’
‘There’s only one person who really
knows, and that’s Schellenberg himself. Even Canaris is not entirely convinced of his loyalties one way or another, although they have formed a loose alliance. As for me, I can’t be certain - I don’t know him that well. He’s cautious, and he keeps his cards close to his chest. However, I’m sure he realises that Germany is staring defeat in the face. It might be that he wants to do something about it, to get the war over with as soon as possible, even if Germany loses.’
He recounted the story of the meeting with Canaris and his father, the details of their reconciliation, and then his training and insertion into England. Simon was asked to sketch the Arado.
‘I will be getting a specialist in from the RAF to come and talk to you in the next few days. I’m sure he’ll be very interested in whatever information you can provide. Naturally, I take it you’ll cooperate fully.’ Menzies concluded.
‘I’m not a pilot.’
‘That will be taken into account. Continue.’
The story moved on to England. Each step of Simon’s insertion and subsequent journey to London was examined in minute detail, and in particular his escape and stay at Holly Park Terrace. But when it came to the second safe house, Simon flatly refused to divulge any details.
‘It’s not important to you that you know where I stayed or who I was with. You’ll get absolutely nothing from me on this, even if you put me up in front of a firing squad. If you believe anything that I have told you so far, then believe this - whomever I stayed with, those people are loyal to England, despite the fact that they harboured a supposed German agent. They had no idea who I really was. You don’t need to know any more than that.’
Menzies looked at him for a long time. He could tell that on this one, at the very least, Simon was telling the truth. This was undoubtedly a raw nerve, something that he would not be moved on. Was the man acting honorably, protecting those he judged were either innocent or had no part to play?
He glowered at Simon. ‘I would normally say that your reluctance to tell us more on this matter could be very costly in your chances of coming out of this affair alive,’ he said heavily, ‘but that is something that can wait until later, when we get around to deciding your fate. But carry on - I need to know your side of what happened in Hyde Park.’
The interrogation resumed, with only a brief break for refreshments. Simon recounted the rest of that day’s events leading up to the finale at Epsley House. When he had finished, he sank back into the chair and closed his eyes. He had protected those that needed his help. And he hoped that those colleagues and friends in Germany would one day be able to forgive him for what he had done.
Menzies called for an adjournment, and Simon was escorted back to his room. An hour later the meeting was reconvened. The light through the widows was rapidly fading- he guessed it must be mid-evening by now. The session began with more questions. Some of the points raised earlier in the day were re- examined, particularly in relation to the invasion plans. Menzies went over them again and again until he was satisfied, as far as he could be, with the answers.
‘So you think Canaris knows where the invasion will take place?’
‘Yes, I think so. He hinted at it. But he never told me any more than that - he was never specific. I didn’t need to know that knowledge.’
‘How do you think he obtained that information?’
‘Again, I can’t be sure. Maybe the Spanish supplied him with it.’
‘What about Epsley - did he tell you anything?’
‘No, there wasn’t enough time. Almost as soon as I persuaded him to turn around and go back to his car, we realised that your men were in pursuit. And after we drove out of the park, he was far too ill to talk. I was hoping to find out more when he recovered, but there wasn’t enough time.’
‘And Schellenberg?’
‘I don’t think he’s able to make up his mind. As far as I know, Canaris has not told him his own thoughts about where the invasion will occur. I don’t think he’s ready to give Schellenberg that amount of trust, if ever. And I doubt Schellenberg would act without some form of conclusive documentation to make Hitler change his mind. Epsley never gave me anything, nor was there any information on him. Was it in the newspaper?’
‘Hmm.’ Menzies smiled knowingly. ‘That’s irrelevant now. I’m more interested in what you would have done if Epsley had given you information on the real invasion site. What would your masters have wanted? The information transmitted back to Germany immediately, and physical evidence to corroborate it on your return?’
‘Yes. The transmitter was exactly for that purpose. I was given a numerical code corresponding to the different possible invasion sites. If Epsley provided sufficient proof as to which area was selected, then in theory I would transmit it back in the form of whichever number was appropriate, and then arrange for me to be picked up by U-Boat, carrying a hard copy.’
‘You say ‘in theory’. What would you have done?’
‘Sent a different code back to Germany, and destroyed the physical information. On my return I would simply tell Schellenberg that Epsley’s information was a verbal message, with no documentation available to back it up.’
‘And your masters?’
‘Canaris was quite clear. My task was to stop permanently the source of the information. He wants to get rid of Hitler’
‘I see. How would you have felt about killing a man in cold blood?’
Simon shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not comfortable with that. Who in their right mind would be?’ He remembered Brandt’s body in the cellars at Prinz Albrecht Strasse. ‘But sometimes you’ve got to do what’s best in the long term. Epsley could not be allowed to continue passing information over - Canaris was emphatic about that. As for Schellenberg, I’m not sure what he would do - give the information to Hitler, or use it for his own ends. He’s too close, too hard to read. So I couldn’t take a chance. The information Schellenberg received would have to be bogus.’
‘Yes, very plausible, very convenient,’ mused Menzies. He paused for a minute, then continued in a curt, sarcastic tone. ‘But this could all be a ploy to get you off the hook and curry favour with us, save you from a grisly death as a spy. How do we know how much of all this is the truth?’
‘There have been no lies, no deceptions. Everything I know you now have. You have my word on this.’
Menzies snorted. ‘If only life was so straightforward. Need I remind you that there’s one thing you’ve declined to tell us - the location of your British accomplices. However, as you say, that is no longer important. And we’ll find out how honest you’ve been, tomorrow.’
Simon was escorted back to his room. There was something in the way Menzies had spoken, especially in his reference to the following day that filled him with a degree of foreboding. Sleep eluded him for an hour or two. What would tomorrow bring? There was nothing he could do about it. Eventually, he managed to drift off.
After breakfast he was taken to a different room. A machine was placed on a table next to him, and a technician fussed while various leads and attachments were connected to various parts of his body. Menzies hovered in the background.
‘There’s nothing to be alarmed about,’ he said smoothly. ‘This machine is called a Polygraph, something we’ve borrowed from our American friends. We’re going to ask you some more questions, similar to what happened yesterday. At the same time we will record your responses and a few other things. There’s nothing to worry about - there’s no pain or unpleasantness involved. I trust you slept well last night?’ He smirked.
Simon nodded. He did not altogether like the look of the machine, nor the leads that connected to his head, chest and arms. The device was plugged into an electricity socket switch at the wall. Was this some kind of torture device? He would soon find out.
A cuff was placed around his arm, and another technician wearing stethoscopes took his blood pressure. Then the interrogation began again. Another of his interrogators began to read out a list of seemingly innocuous questions
. Simon watched the needles on the machine register what he thought was his pulse and breathing rates, and other things he could not identify. Then the questioner changed tack.
‘Where is the invasion area? Is it the Pas de Calais?’ And so it began, a seemingly endless round of questioning that continued over the next three hours, almost without a pause. By the time they had finished it was nearly lunchtime, and he was led to his room again. Later that afternoon he was ushered back into Menzies’ presence. This time the interview was conducted in more comfortable surroundings, an old library cum study. Another smaller man was sitting next to him in working uniform, a contrast to Menzies’ grey pinstripe suit. This time two guards waited inside the room. The MI6 Chief appeared to be quite pleased with himself.
‘It seems you were telling the truth after all. We’ve checked some of the things you’ve told us. Other things we knew about already. As for the rest, some of the details you told us regarding various matters in Germany are currently difficult to establish. That’s why we used the machine this morning. As you may have guessed, it records your body’s responses to questioning. If a lie is told, your body responds differently to when you’re telling the truth - hence the reason for all those leads wired up to you, and those seemingly innocent questions that didn’t seem to have any point.
‘I’m pleased to say that, as far as we can tell, you were not lying. That in itself is most gratifying. However, there is still a problem.’ His voice hardened as he sat up, as if pronouncing judgement in a court of law. ‘You are an enemy soldier, caught inside His Majesty’s Territories and without uniform. You are aware of the consequences. By this action you have abrogated any rights to leniency whatsoever. My superiors have reached a decision - you will now be taken outside to meet your fate. All I have to do is pick up this telephone and give the word. Before I do, do you have anything to say in your defence? A last request before sentence is carried out?’ His hand hovered over the telephone at his side.
London Calling Page 28
