by Vic Robbie
‘Freddie?’
She nodded and smiled.
‘One day, my friend took me to a doctor in some horrible back street. I’d no idea. In my ignorance, I thought it was a check-up until I realised they performed abortions at this clinic. I escaped. I ran as hard and as fast as I could. When I made it back to my room, I stayed there for several days not talking to anyone least of all my so-called friend. The first morning I felt able to go out again I was walking along the street and a car drew up alongside me. The passenger door swung open blocking my path and a man I recognised from the party offered me a lift.’
She shook her head, remembering. ‘They kidnapped me,’ she shouted in disbelief.
‘They took me to a castle just outside Munich. The embassy told the rest of the staff I’d returned to Paris, and London and my contact were delighted. What I didn’t know was my contact had orchestrated the whole evening and the embassy staff had been ordered to leave me alone with the Nazis. They gave me a new contact, who worked as a gardener at the castle, and I had to leave any information under a rock in the gardens for him. Although Freddie’s father repulsed me, they wanted me to continue to sleep with him in the hope he would let things slip in our pillow talk.’
‘Were you harmed?’
‘Not in the way you are thinking. As long as I did as I was told, I was okay. I didn’t want for anything. I had servants to look after me. When Freddie came, there were two doctors and a team of nurses attending the birth. I had everything except my freedom. The father even gave me the red diamond ring I gave to Sebastian.’
‘He must have been important.’
She didn’t answer just looked at him in a strange way.
‘After a while, his visits became fewer and fewer and I wasn’t able to glean as much information as before.’
‘But still you couldn’t leave?’
‘No, there were soldiers everywhere, some nice, others evil and it soon became apparent I’d never be allowed to leave. Then I heard a young Gestapo officer had been too diligent in his work and after arresting my contact in Berlin found out about me. Poor bastard! London knew I had to get away or be killed. And I couldn’t bear to think what they’d do to Freddie.’
‘You managed to escape?’
‘London organised everything with help from my contact at the castle. As I said, not every German supports the Nazis and a local branch of the resistance did the groundwork to get us out.’
Alena lit another cigarette and sighed as if she’d told him everything, but Ben was convinced she was holding something back – the secret, the reason for British Intelligence’s interest in her.
‘It’s heart-warming they would go to all this trouble to save just one agent,’ he said.
Alena scowled at his cynicism and briefly looked as if she’d already said too much. ‘I have something they want.’
He stared at her trying to fathom out what it could be, but he knew she wasn’t going to elaborate.
‘Wars are not just fought with bullets and bombs, the psychology of it can be of greater importance,’ she said. ‘For example, in Germany there is a very brave woman agent. She has set up a mythical ‘League of Lonely War Women’ or VEK in German. The idea is to demoralise German troops who are fed information suggesting any soldier on leave can go to a house displaying the VEK symbol and get a girlfriend. And already there are many soldiers deserting to make sure it’s not their wife or girlfriend.
‘It’s called black propaganda, and it works.’
67
BEN hadn’t been able to sleep all night. the room seemed empty without Freddie and he kept turning over and over in his mind how the meeting with Weber would turn out. Just when he thought he’d worked out a strategy, he scrutinised it again and saw gaping holes in his reasoning. Whatever they were doing, they were playing with Freddie’s life and he would gladly have offered himself in exchange for the boy but knew Weber didn’t want that.
Weber rang at nine o’clock and his voice was clipped, authoritative. He said they were to meet him at the lock-up where they were garaging the Bentley and he expected to see Alena, Ben and the ‘Englishman’. No one else. He would be watching and if they attempted to change the plan or numbers they would never see the boy again.
The German held all the cards. They had no option other than to follow his orders. He was relieved he hadn’t mentioned the platinum and hoped it might play a role in convincing the German to consider a trade for Alena and Freddie’s lives. It was their only hope, short of killing Weber, and he knew the German would have the backup to ensure it couldn’t happen.
The garage was just as they’d left it and the carts in the corner were piled high with wooden crates. Alena paced around as if she were measuring its confines like a tiger in a cage marking its territory and she rubbed her arms and smoked one cigarette after another. Brown seemed more on edge than before and kept checking and re-checking his pistol. The longer they waited, the more the tension between them was ramped up and several times Ben started to say something but stopped, realising there was nothing useful he could add to the situation.
Right on time, the double doors’ hinges creaked ominously and they froze as they swung open.
No one appeared.
He wondered if it was just the wind and relaxed although Brown reached for the pistol in his pocket and started to move towards the door. Alena’s hands went to her head, uncertain whether she could face what might be about to happen. The sun streamed through the open doorway and they had to shield their eyes from the glare. A tall man emerged holding the hand of a small boy and they were silhouetted in the door frame so it was impossible to distinguish their features.
Weber took several seconds to focus his eyes to the dark of the garage. Before he could speak, Freddie shrieked ‘Maman, maman’ and made to run towards her, but Weber dragged him back lifting him off his feet.
‘Oh, my baby,’ she screamed. ‘Please don’t hurt him.’ And Ben had to wrap his arms around her to hold her back.
Weber walked towards them still keeping a safe distance and his eyes darted around the garage taking in everything. Behind him, there was a metallic click of a gun being primed and the civilian sidled into the garage pointing a sub-machine gun at them and closing the doors behind him.
‘Put your gun on the ground,’ the civilian instructed Brown, ‘and kick it towards me. Slow, now.’
With a snort of disgust, Brown did as he was ordered.
‘You do the same,’ the civilian turned his attention to Ben.
‘I doubt if he’d have one,’ said Weber, ‘he wouldn’t know what to do with it.’
The civilian frisked him anyway.
Weber walked around the garage inspecting it, still clutching Freddie’s hand and the boy sobbed taking in big gulps of air not understanding why he couldn’t go to his mother. Going over to the car, Weber patted it with the flat of his hand all the time muttering ‘Ingenious, very clever.’
Weber swivelled, his eyes narrowing and, ignoring both Brown and Ben, he addressed Alena. ‘So we meet at last.’ He gave a poor version of a bow. ‘We’ve been looking for you since you escaped from Munich. You might like to know all your collaborators were arrested and executed.’
Alena sucked in her breath and was stunned into silence before finding her voice. ‘Please, please let my son go. He can’t harm you.’
Weber shook his head. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘I don’t – don’t understand why you need him.’
‘My orders are to return you and the boy to Germany. You, more than anyone, should know what these people are like. If I fail in this, my family...’ He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
Alena nodded in understanding. ‘Let him go, take me instead.’
Swearing under his breath, Weber switched his gaze to Ben. ‘You see a young mother pleading for her child’s life. You probably think it’s touching. She’s not what she seems. She’s like a Preying Mantis; they always kill their male
s. Only while you’re useful are you safe from her. She’s dangerous and a threat to our country’s war effort. By taking her back to Germany, her work will come to an end.’
Alena stole a furtive look at Ben and Brown as if now she might reveal her secret, but she swallowed the words. ‘Why don’t you just pull the trigger and get it over with?’ she shouted.
‘You’d prefer that, perhaps. Quick and final. The decision is not mine. It’s up to my masters and I’m sure they will have many questions to ask you.’
‘Can’t we do a trade here?’ Ben stepped forward and the henchman waved his gun forcing him back.
‘Go on,’ said Weber, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
‘We were carrying bullion –’
Weber hesitated. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘It was hidden in the car.’
‘Oh, you mean the platinum,’ Weber drawled.
His heart sank. ‘How –’
‘Philippe told me everything before he died.’
‘You bastard, you killed him.’
Weber looked disappointed. ‘On the contrary, he took his own life. I did him a service.’
A great weariness and helplessness swept through him and he felt unsteady on his legs. ‘Let Alena and the boy go and I’ll give you the platinum, which is worth more than you could ever dream of.’ He nodded in the direction of the carts and noticed the civilian’s jaw drop as if he were already counting the millions.
Weber laughed. He hadn’t called up more men because he didn’t want anyone else knowing about the bullion. He had plans for that and he would deal with the civilian later.
‘Is it yours to give away? I’d intended to take the platinum anyway after we killed you.’
The civilian smiled happily, greed shining out of his face.
The German walked over to the carts still pulling Freddie’s hand. He lifted a couple of empty crates off the top, then some more and even more before turning on them.
‘There’s nothing here,’ he said in a fury dissipating to a bitter smile. ‘It also seems you’ve just lost what you thought was your ace card.’
Ben felt the ground beneath him disappearing and heard Brown suck in air through his teeth.
‘The cupboard is bare, my American friend,’ said Weber.
‘Of course it is,’ he said regaining his composure. ‘You don’t think I’d leave the platinum there for you to take. Let the boy go now and I’ll lead you to it.’
Weber scrutinised him, irritated by this extra complication, and the civilian looked to him for guidance and shifted his feet with impatience.
Suddenly, Weber roared in pain. He’d relaxed his grip on Freddie and the little boy took his opportunity, biting the German’s fingers causing blood to spurt from his hand.
The silver Smith & Wesson materialised in Alena’s hand and barked twice. The shots seemed as one, hitting the henchman in the shoulder spinning him around and catching him in the back of his neck.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ shouted Weber above the boy’s crying. Between the shots, he’d pulled out a knife and flicked open the blade holding it hard against the boy’s throat causing a faint line of red to spread downwards staining his shirt.
‘Don’t move. I’ll use this if I have to. Nothing has changed. I’ll just return with more men and come after you. Little Freddie and I are now going to walk towards the door and it would be better for him if you stay still.’
‘No, no, NO,’ she screamed so loud the walls of the garage almost seemed to shake. ‘He’s going nowhere.’ And she pointed the handgun straight at them.
‘Won’t do you any good at all,’ said Weber smirking. ‘I’ll cut his throat before the bullet hits me. Do you want to take the risk?’
She didn’t waver and just kept pointing the pistol, and it dawned on Ben she was intent on doing what she’d threatened when they first met.
‘No, Alena, no please don’t,’ he shouted at her.
Weber’s eyes moved between them in bewilderment.
‘Don’t do it, Alena,’ he repeated. ‘We can still sort this out.’
‘This is the only way.’ Her eyes didn’t leave the target. ‘It’s all that’s left for us now. We can’t go back – it would be worse than death. For Freddie to go back would mean a lifetime of pain. I told you if the Nazis ever caught up with us I’d shoot Freddie and then kill myself.’
Now Brown shouted ‘No’ and Weber’s eyes opened wide in realisation and he began to fear for his own family.
‘Goodbye, my darling, we’re going to a better place,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Please forgive me.’
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
68
HIGH above the atlantic, flying officer tom Hawkins looked down on the ocean as inviting and as dangerous as a woman from the wrong side of the tracks. This was his playground where he hunted German U-boats and went to the rescue of sailors torpedoed by submarines. He and his co-pilot, Sergeant Jack Drayton, were experienced in missions like today’s, which they dismissed as taxi runs, flying over to Estoril to pick up people who were probably agents. Often, the so-called secret agents were disappointing and even more ordinary than ordinary folk. The only thing lightening his mood was the thought of the hot date awaiting him as soon as he returned to Poole.
The Catalina flying boat of Coastal Command flew out of RAF Hamworthy on the south coast, but Poole was never mentioned. It was always said the flying boats flew from London, which was all part of the disinformation of war. The Catalina was ideal for long-range operations with its twin Pratt and Whitney engines capable of 2,500 miles without refuelling. Although cumbersome and no match for a fighter in a dogfight, it was a potent weapon in the war against U-boats. At first, their task had been easier. A submarine on detecting them would dive beneath the surface and they would swoop down to release their depth charges, which yielded good results. Then the German submarine commanders got smart and started hunting in wolf packs, becoming bolder in handling aerial attacks. They’d developed a powerful array of large bore anti-aircraft guns so they stayed on the surface and the attacker had to face a withering barrage of fire. To be sure of hitting the U-boats with their bombs, the planes sometimes had to get down as low as 50 feet almost flying down the throats of the submarines. Often they traded a plane for a U-boat.
Hawkins and Drayton weren’t complaining. They loved the hunt although not as much as the rescue missions, when they plucked crews of sunken boats from the sea, and on one occasion saved sailors of a U-boat. Their Cat had been specially adapted for rescue missions. Usually, the way into the aircraft was through the gun blisters in the waist of the plane. But it was not ideal when taking on board seamen who were suffering from hypothermia after floating in the ice-cold water. So their Cat had been modified for the task and a door had been inserted into the side of the fuselage. While fighter pilots had their kills stencilled on the fuselages of their planes, Hawkins had the numbers of the sailors they’d saved instead.
Fully operational, the Catalina carried a crew of seven, however with personnel in short supply and needed elsewhere more often than not there were just the two of them aboard on runs like these. A Cat usually carried a flight engineer, who sat out of the cockpit in his position within the pylon joining the wing and the hull. In this plane, the flight engineer’s controls had been moved to the flight deck for pilot operation. It meant there was no one to man the Vickers .303 machine-gun in the bow and the Browning Model 1919 in the waist and when necessary Drayton played three roles – co-pilot, radio operator and gunner.
He didn’t mind the flight to the Portuguese coast. It was a break although the suggestion it was a bit of a jolly made him feel guilty. Estoril was a popular destination because it sometimes gave them the chance to stretch their legs in the sunshine, which was a welcome diversion from the austerity of wartime England. On this occasion, their orders were to get in, pick up three people plus some crates and get out as quick as possible. It was stressed the pick-ups and th
eir cargo could be of interest to the Germans in the area and it was vital they get away without problems.
It amused him. Although Germany and Britain were at war, they seemed to be able to co-exist in Portugal as if it were all a game. They could fly in and pick up agents while a German-owned hotel on the sea front flew a swastika and from its roof flashed messages from powerful lights to the U-boats waiting far out at sea. And all this was allowed to happen as long as it didn’t upset the Portuguese.
As usual, Hawkins hadn’t been told who the people were or what was in the crates. It was top secret and it made little difference to him. It all contributed to the war effort and he was just happy to play his part.
The flight to Portugal had been uneventful. It was sunny and the brightness had a hardness to it, which meant they could see for miles, an advantage and a disadvantage. It allowed them to spot an enemy plane in plenty of time to try to take evasive action and, of course, the Cat could also be seen. Maintaining radio silence as they flew south over Estoril and seeing in the distance the sprawling city of Lisbon, they checked the landing area below. Unlike runways, it didn’t take much, the odd sailing skiff, to abort a landing. It was one of those days when the water was so calm it looked like a polished floor. It would make landing smoother although when the water was flat there was always the problem of judging the plane’s height above the surface. Once below fifty feet instruments were not of any help.
He loved this plane and interacted with it, feeling and hearing every squeak and rattle of its fuselage and listening to every change of engine note as if it were alive and talking to him. He held her at a steady seventy knots, descending at around 200 feet per minute, and even on a calm sea the landing was noisy with a rat-a-tat-tat like hitting gravel. And, as the plane slowed in the water, they were engulfed by a bow wave.
He’d been told to make contact with a British agent, Rafe Cooper, who would bring the cargo and help load it. Yet when they landed, there was no sign of a welcoming party and after they’d taxied to tie up at their buoy it was a case of just waiting.
