by Jack Treby
I nodded tightly and tried to keep my bladder under control. I could not believe I had agreed to do this.
‘You’re out of your mind!’ I had exclaimed to Charles Lazenby the previous evening, when he had first suggested the idea. ‘You’re not getting me up on one of those things. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.’
Lazenby stared back across the dinner table. ‘Look, old chap. If there was any other option...’
I pushed back my plate. I had half a mind to walk out of the café and abandon the fellow to his delusions. ‘There must be something else we can do.’ I had no intention of boarding the Richthofen. The damn thing was a death trap. ‘Can’t you wire the office in New York? Get someone to meet Mr Kendall when he gets off at the other end?’
Lazenby shook his head. ‘The Richthofen isn’t going to New York. Not directly. Its first port of call is Rio de Janeiro.’
‘Well get someone to meet him there then,’ I snapped, grabbing the tumbler in front of me and draining the last of my whisky. ‘The Prince of Wales is in Brazil at the moment, isn’t he? Some kind of trade mission?’ The Times was proving ever useful.
Lazenby frowned. ‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘He must have a few Secret Service bods with him. You could give them the nod and they could pick Mr Kendall up when he arrives in Rio.’
Lazenby scratched his moustache. ‘I don’t want to rely on Special Branch. In any case, the Prince will be on his way home tomorrow.’ He seemed to know more about that than I did. ‘And keeping tabs on anyone in Rio is tricky at the best of times. No, I’m sorry, but it would be far safer to slip someone on board the Richthofen.’
I slammed down my tumbler in disgust. ‘All right, then why don’t you do it yourself?’ I exclaimed, glaring at a passing waiter. ‘Then you can make sure the job is done properly. Or you could send one of your many underlings.’
Lazenby poured himself another glass of wine. My anger had not ruffled him in the slightest. ‘None of my men can be spared. Not if the republicans really have won these elections.’ He placed the bottle back down on the table and calmly lifted the glass. ‘They’ll be needed to keep an eye on things in the capital over the next few days. In any case, there wouldn’t be time to get them here.’
‘I see. So you and your men refuse to get involved but you’re happy to drag an MI5 operative all the way from Gibraltar to fill in for you. It won’t inconvenience him at all!’
‘Well, you were planning to cross the Atlantic anyway, for this new job of yours,’ Lazenby pointed out, tartly.
‘Not by airship!’ I cried, waving my hand for emphasis and nearly knocking my dinner plate off the table. ‘And not until the end of the month. I’m not even entirely sure I want to go.’ The events of the last few hours had rather put me off the idea, if this was what it was like working for the SIS. ‘I wasn’t planning to book the tickets until next week.’ Tickets. I gazed down at the remnants of fish and pasta in front of me and felt a sudden glimmer of a hope. You couldn’t hop on an ocean liner at a moment’s notice and I doubted you could hop on a Zeppelin either. ‘There won’t be time to book me a ticket,’ I declared smugly, pushing my knife and fork together on the plate. ‘Not at this stage. If they even have a ticket office in Seville, it won’t be open on a Sunday evening.’
Lazenby was unconcerned. ‘That’s already been taken care of.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a paper wallet, which he handed nonchalantly across. ‘And since you crossed the border from Gibraltar this morning, I presume you already have your passport with you?’
I glared at the fellow angrily, grabbing the wallet. ‘You planned this,’ I breathed. ‘You planned this all along.’ How else could he have arranged a ticket for me like this? He had spent half the day following Walter Kendall around and the rest of it talking to me outside the Gran Café. There had been no time for him to go shopping.
Lazenby did not deny it. ‘It always pays to have a contingency plan,’ he said, taking another sip of wine. ‘I’d heard from London that you were heading off to the Americas and I knew there was a chance I might have to put someone on board that Zeppelin.’
‘So you thought you’d press gang me into doing it? Well, thank you very much indeed. I’m flattered you have such confidence in me, Mr Lazenby. But I can tell you right now that I have no intention...’ I stopped, looking down at the open wallet in my hand. There were two tickets tucked inside. The second was made out in the name of my valet, Maurice Sauveterre. I glanced up, perplexed. ‘Why have you bought two tickets?’
The other man raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you would probably want your valet to go with you.’ I blinked. So he had known about Maurice from the start as well. ‘As you say, it makes a good cover.’
‘But do they have steerage on an airship?’
‘No. It’s all first class accommodation.’ He placed his glass back down on the table. ‘You’ll be sharing a cabin, of course.’
‘A cabin? With my valet? Have you taken leave of your senses?’ The man was insane. ‘He hasn’t even agreed to go with me. And as to the cost...’ The price of each ticket was written out on the front: three hundred and seventy five American dollars. That worked out at about seventy five pounds each, in real money. It was an absolute fortune. ‘That’s more than I pay Maurice in a whole year.’
‘The bureau will cover the cost. And having your man there will make you much less conspicuous. It was either that or sharing a cabin with some Irish chap.’
I grimaced as the image of Mr McGilton flashed up in my mind. I could certainly never share a cabin with him, not without giving the fellow one hell of a shock come bedtime. Lazenby could not know it, but my valet was the only man I could share a room with. I slumped back into my chair. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, Mr Lazenby.’ I glowered at him. ‘You know, there’s a word for people like you. And it’s not a very nice word.’
Lazenby sighed. ‘Look, Bland, I know this is putting a lot on you,’ he said, in a conciliatory tone. ‘I’m sorry if I haven’t been entirely straight. But I thought you were more likely to agree if you were here in situ, so to speak, rather than in Gibraltar.’
‘In other words, the less time I had to think about it, the more likely I was to agree?’
‘Something like that.’ Lazenby glanced down at my empty glass. ‘Would you like another whisky?’
‘I should say.’ I needed something to counteract the taste of the fish. He clicked his fingers and gestured for the waiter to bring me a refill. ‘But an airship...good grief.’ I shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘I went up in an aeroplane once, just after the war. A Sopwith Gnu.’ The memory of it brought me out in a cold sweat even now. It had been one of the worst experiences of my life. ‘Most of my lunch ended up on the pilot. And after what happened to the R101...’
‘I’m not going to pretend there’s not an element of risk,’ my companion acknowledged. ‘And not just with regard to the airship. But look, accidents happen every day. With every form of transport. There was that derailment in Leighton Buzzard just before Easter. Six people killed. But did that stop me hopping on a train to Seville yesterday evening? Of course not. And did you think twice about renting a motorcar because of all the accidents on the road?’
The motor car. ‘That’s another thing!’ I exclaimed, angrily. ‘What about the car I rented? I put down a ten pound deposit. I can’t afford to lose that. And who’s going to drive it back to Gibraltar?’ That wasn’t the only consideration. ‘What about all my clothes? I only brought a couple of suits with me.’ The more I thought about it, the more complications there seemed to be. ‘And all my possessions back at the flat.’ I had already paid the rent for my apartment until the end of April. ‘I can’t leave everything behind.’ Admittedly, there were a few shady characters I would happily see the back of – I owed one Italian gentleman quite a hefty sum after a particularly disastrous game of poker the previous weekend – but that was beside the point.
‘I’ll f
ind someone to take care of your motorcar,’ Lazenby assured me. ‘And I’m sure we can get someone else to pack up your things for you. Man alive, its not as if you’ve been living in Gibraltar that long. And ten pounds will more than cover the shipping costs for any luggage. We can send all that on to you in a week or two. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage until then.’
The waiter arrived with my whisky and soda. He placed the glass down on the table and removed the empty tumbler.
‘How long is this voyage anyway, if I did go? How long would we be up in the air?’
Lazenby sat back in his chair. ‘It depends on the weather, but as I understand it, three days to Brazil and three and a half to New Haven.’
‘I won’t get a wink of sleep,’ I grumbled. I had never yet managed to fall asleep on a train, let alone an aircraft.
‘I’ll lend you some sleeping pills. And, in any case, you’ll be in New York in less than a week.’
‘Three weeks earlier than I need to be.’
‘Yes, but having proved your mettle to the senior service.’ He met my eye then. ‘So you’ll do it?’
I wasn’t committing to anything. I lifted my glass and took a large gulp. The drink was not helping to soften the blow. There was far too much soda in it. ‘If I were to go, how would I go about grabbing these negatives of yours?’
‘That shouldn’t prove too difficult. Kendall will be off his guard once you’ve left Seville. He may leave them in his room or in his luggage. If he keeps them with him, you might have to try picking his pockets. But you’ll have plenty of time to devise a strategy.’
‘But what if he’s suspicious of me? A last minute booking, bound to attract attention. And what if Gerhard Schulz told him he was being followed around by some middle aged Englishman? You said they spoke on the telephone.’
‘Well, according to the concierge. But I’m sure you were very careful. I doubt Schulz will have noticed. And now he has his money, he’ll have no further interest in Mr Kendall. Besides, no secret service organisation would pay for a valet to accompany his master on an expensive Zeppelin flight. Not in these times of austerity. He’s unlikely to give you a second glance.’
‘It does sound improbable,’ I admitted. ‘Seventy five pounds a ticket! Good grief. Has London agreed to that?’
Lazenby smiled thinly. ‘Let me worry about the expenses. All I can do is stress the importance of this mission. It’s vital that these documents are destroyed before Kendall gets to New York.’
‘But you’re not going to tell me what’s in them?’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’
I laughed bitterly. ‘But it’s so important that you’d happily send a washed up MI5 officer rather than one of your own men?’
Lazenby shook his head. ‘It’s important enough for me to send someone who was personally recommended by the head of the Security Service. There’s no one else who can do this, Bland. It’s for King and Country. It’s what you signed up for.’
I downed the last of the whisky and abandoned the empty glass. He had me. I couldn’t very well accept a job with the senior service one day and then refuse to help them the next. And with my limited finances, having the cost of the transatlantic journey covered by Whitehall – in advance – was a positive boon.
‘I suppose I don’t have to look out of the windows,’ I muttered.
‘Of course not. And they serve very good food on board, so I hear. All included in the price.’
I glanced down at the remnants of the fish, which the waiter had not yet cleared away. Anything had to be better than that slop. I let out a deep sigh. The things one does for one’s country. I folded up the wallet and inserted it into my jacket pocket. ‘Very well.’
‘You’ll do it?’
‘I’ll do it. But I’ll have to speak to Maurice first.’
It was always possible that my valet would refuse to go and that would put the kibosh on the whole idea. But sadly, when I approached him later that evening, Maurice seemed perfectly happy with the arrangements. Anything was preferable to an ocean liner, in his book. He even volunteered to telephone an acquaintance he knew in Gibraltar, to make sure our luggage was properly packed up.
So that was that. I was going on the Richthofen and my man Maurice was coming with me.
I spoke to Lazenby one last time on Monday morning, concluding a couple of bits of business and handing over the keys to the Hispano Suiza. Then, after a stiff drink over breakfast to steady my nerves, I hailed a taxi and Maurice and I trundled out to Hernan Cebolla for our second encounter with the LZ128.
The drive took longer than I had expected. The streets were jam packed with Spaniards. Nothing official had been announced as yet, but everyone knew the republicans had scored a decisive victory in the elections. The taxi drivers were blowing their horns gleefully and, for a brief few minutes, I even indulged in the fantasy of us getting caught in traffic and arriving too late for the flight. But our driver had a republican poster slapped on the side of his automobile and the crowds parted amiably in front of him, so my hope was quickly dashed.
I had expected the Zeppelin to be forgotten, amid the euphoria, but the airstrip was just as crammed with people this morning as it had been the previous afternoon. The man from the newsreel company was still here, covering the impromptu carnival. I wondered if he had even gone home. Actually, I wondered if anyone in Seville had gone home. Most of the city seemed to be standing out in the field, many of them carrying republican banners and wearing their button hole ribbons with pride. The food stalls were doing a roaring trade.
The courtesy bus from the Hotel Alfonso had arrived a few minutes ahead of us, but we were not the last in line to board the airship. Thomas McGilton, the Irishman, regarded me with some amusement. ‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here,’ he teased, handing his passport to the waiting steward.
His surprise was understandable, given the conversation we had had the previous day. I had stated categorically that I would never travel on a German airship and now here I was, about to do that very thing. ‘I didn’t expect to be here myself,’ I admitted gruffly. It was galling, having to explain myself to a smirking middle class Irishman, but I couldn’t afford to arouse any suspicions. I didn’t want him blabbing about me to the other passengers, especially not to Mr Kendall. ‘In point of fact, I booked the tickets a while back,’ I lied. ‘But I had second thoughts when I saw the damned thing floating above the cathedral yesterday afternoon. Oh, excuse me, miss,’ I said, noticing the young woman standing behind Mr McGilton. She had also handed her passport and ticket to the steward. She did not seem offended by my language.
‘I understand completely,’ the Irishman said. ‘There’s no shame in a few last minute nerves.’ My eyes were still fixed on the woman. She was dressed in a smart spring dress with a short navy coat and high waisted belt. Her face was angular and heavily rouged, not pretty but arresting. She looked to be in her mid twenties and had lively, intelligent eyes peering out from the shadow of a wide brimmed bonnet. McGilton took note of my interest. ‘Oh. May I present Miss Lucy Tanner?’ He gestured fondly to the dark haired woman. ‘My intended.’
‘Good lord!’
‘Lucy, this is Mr...Bland was it?’
‘Reginald Bland.’
Miss Tanner extended a hand. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Bland.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ McGilton enquired, as I continued to stare at his fiancée.
‘I believe Mr Bland is in a state of shock,’ Miss Tanner observed, in the same mocking tone as her fiancé.
‘You’re travelling together?’ I enquired. That was rather daring of them, I thought. An unmarried couple crossing the Atlantic without a chaperone.
‘Indeed we are,’ McGilton replied.
‘But I assure you, there will be no impropriety.’ Miss Tanner beamed. ‘We will not be sharing a cabin.’
‘No, of course not. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to cast any aspersions on your character.’
<
br /> Her eyes gleamed mischievously beneath the bonnet. ‘Well, that’s all right then.’
In truth, it was not the impropriety that had caused me to stare. There was something strangely familiar about this girl. I was sure I had seen her somewhere before. ‘And are you to be married in America?’ I asked politely.
It was McGilton who replied. ‘No, we’re not getting married until July. We’re travelling to America first so I can meet Lucy’s mother and father.’
‘How delightful for you.’ I didn’t envy him that one little bit. The first meeting of one’s in-laws is a hideous ritual that most people have to endure at some point in their lives.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ the Irishman declared, with a creditable stab at enthusiasm.
‘We both are,’ Miss Tanner agreed, clutching her fiancé’s arm.
I was still struggling to place the woman’s face. ‘I believe we may have bumped into each other somewhere before,’ I said, with a frown. And then, all at once, it came to me. This Miss Tanner was the girl I had seen descending the stairs of the Torre del Oro. ‘At that tower thing on the river front.’
Her face lit up. ‘Yes, that’s right. I was doing a bit of sight-seeing.’ But without her fiancé for some reason. ‘Were you up there too?’
‘Struggling with the stairs, I’m afraid.’
‘Yes, there were an awful lot of them. But what a super view at the top! It was too exciting!’
‘Well, quite.’ Although the young woman had seemed in rather a hurry to descend, as I recalled.
‘If you’d like to come this way, ladies and gentlemen.’ The steward had completed the formalities with the passports and now gestured towards the gangway leading up into the aircraft.
