by Stan Mason
‘You think the information on the film you took is false,’ began Flanders, holding up the first enlarged photographs in front of his eyes as he glanced at the details. ‘It all looks pretty good to me!’
‘No, Ted,’ I told him tiredly, emitting a long woeful yawn. ‘It was all too easy... too much of a charade. I’m in a room with vital information which the other man had in his case. There’s just the two of us. Then, suddenly he goes down with a chronic attack of food poisoning, and I’m left alone with all that valuable data.’
‘What kind of lock did the case have?’
‘It had a combination lock with four wheels on each side. I took a chance that the date was Die Stunde... one, six, one, two. It seemed a likely code and it worked perfectly. Too well!’
‘Clever boy!’ he congratulated, nodding his recognition of my astuteness at a time when I was clearly under pressure. ‘How could they possibly know you’d find the right combination?’
‘They didn’t. But something was wrong. As soon as I mentioned Die Stunde, the other man tensed up. I think my rank, as a mere recruit, was far too much down the line for me to know anything about it... unless I’d been making enquiries. They gave me plenty of time to open the case. If I didn’t nothing was lost. If I did... and made enquiries... they would know immediately I was an imposter. If so, they would eliminate me because I know too much.’
‘It’s all assumption, Jimmy boy! All assumption!’
I stared at him wearily. ‘In the newspaper business, Ted, experience teaches that you have to fight like a dog for this kind of stuff. No one throws it into your lap for nothing. Yet it went as smooth as greased lightning. I thought at the time I was risking my life. They may have had me under surveillance for all I know. Anyhow, whatever you do, don’t make enquiries about those accounts until I’ve seen the Prime Minister!’
He stared directly into my eyes. ‘I’m afraid it’s out of my hands, laddie!’ responded the editor firmly. ‘I had a word with our lord and master who decided, in his wisdom, to press on. Enquiries have already been made on the international network. If your hunch is right, a lot of people will be racing for cover... and the first one may be you!’
Although I was holding the cup of coffee in my hand, I slammed it down on his desk, spilling the liquid everywhere, but mostly over his trousers. ‘Damn you, Ted Flanders!’ I shouted angrily. ‘This is my assignment and I strongly resent people taking control at a critical stage without my permission! Do you realise what you’ve done? You’ve let all those people escape the net and lost us every advantage we had! Of all the stupid things to do!’ He stood up wiping the coffee off his trousers and I stormed out of his office in disgust leaving him to mop up the mess.
It was difficult to believe the man could be so ham-fisted on such a delicate matter. He had tried to pull the wool over my eyes with his comment: “I’ve had a word with our lord and master who decided, in his wisdom, to press on!’ Bullshit! It was his way of laying the blame at someone else’s door. In all probability he had taken the decision himself to act upon it without asking for authority from anyone in the newspaper hierarchy. Well the damage had been done now; there was nothing I could do to repair it. For once, I hoped I was wrong, in which case Ted would have gained us some lead time. Alternatively, he had started the clock on a time-bomb which was likely to explode in our faces.
On my way to the House of Commons, I thought about the options carefully. Assuming I was right... that the documents I had photographed were false... it was necessary to focus attention on Sir Peter Cavenham. If he was Der Bankvorsteher, he was the key to the whole problem. The authorities ought to search his home and office for clues to identify the location of Nazi funds as quickly as possible. When I arrived, Maitland showed me to the same room as before and made pleasant comments as I waited for the Prime Minister. After a few minutes, the door opened and, to my surprise, Sir Peter Cavenham entered. I tried to show no emotion at his presence as he sat opposite me and we stared at each other calmly.
‘The Prime Minister is delayed at present,’ he informed me benignly. ‘He sent me along in his place. What do you wish to convey to him at this time?’
I weighed up the situation carefully before replying, pretending I was one of the major players in a big poker-game. The odds were that the Prime Minister hadn’t sent him at all. He simply wanted to find out whether his cover had been blown... to decide whether or not to flee the coop. ‘I’m Herr Erdbeer,’ I said quietly, looking about the room as if to check we were alone. ‘It’s my honour to meet Der Bankvorsteher at last!’ He stared at me coldly for a while without speaking and I could almost see the cogs of his brain working at tremendous speed. ‘The photograph album of your father and yourself... the one stolen by the newspaper reporter... is being held by the police. Do you want me to retrieve it for you?’
‘You took copies of the documents at Kirk’s house yesterday!’ he accused. ‘Your editor decided to start checking the details this morning. It triggered off an alarm signal in every area of banking and finance involving the organisation. The funds are being switched to alternative sources worldwide as we speak. You will not alter the final Anschluss!’
‘I have no doubts about that,’ I replied casually, cursing Flanders for his blunder. ‘But tell me, why didn’t you inform your sources I was a newspaper reporter making enquiries into International Three Thousand? Why didn’t you alert them.’
‘There’s a lot you have to learn in this business, Mr. Savage,’ he went on. ‘An awful lot. The winners are those in control of the information. I must say you threw everyone off the scent by pretending to be the son of an SS Colonel, calling yourself Herr Erdbeer. However, that’s all in the past.’
‘What business do you have with me now?’ I asked in trepidation.
Without warning, he drew a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at his head. ‘I understand you have certain information on microfilm. A list of names of some of my compatriots who have settled in a number of different countries. You came here to give it to the Prime Minister. Instead, it would be appreciated if you would hand the microfilm to me. If the United Nations War Crimes Commission refuses to reveal the data, I don’t think the British authorities should possess such secret details.’
‘And if I refuse to hand them over?’
He laughed loudly. ‘Do you think you could stand in our way? We have a plan for the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Reich over the next thousand years. You are merely a straw in the wind!’
‘You know where you went wrong,’ I ventured, playing for time. ‘You recruited too fast. The organisation should have developed its hierarchy and some of its operations more fully before it stepped up its recruitment campaign. But then you Krauts always get it wrong, don’t you!’
‘The microfilm!’ he ordered, angered at my words. ‘You have ten seconds before I pull the trigger!’
It was the longest ten seconds of my life but I didn’t move an inch. There were some people afterwards who, when they heard the story, hailed me as a hero for standing my ground against the enemy, but the truth was that I stared down the nozzle of the pistol and froze. I couldn’t lift a finger to save my life. At the end of ten seconds, his finger squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out. I sat still for a few moments wondering why I was still breathing, without feeling any pain, and then I saw Cavenham laying on the floor with blood seeping out of a wound at the side of his head. Gates pushed open the door widely, holding a revolver in his hand, and he stared at the inert body.
‘That’s another life you owe me,’ he muttered, which I took to be a humorous remark although I didn’t appreciate it at the time.
Maitland appeared at the door and took me by the arm, almost lifting me to my feet. ‘The Prime Minister will see you now,’ he told me, disregarding the body. I felt as though all the blood had been drained from my system. Both he and Gates assisted me to the terra
ce overlooking the Thames where I watched the river flow swiftly by. Gates decided to postpone his immediate plans and he sat with me for a while, realising I was in a state of shock.
‘Are you O.K. now?’ he asked sincerely, after a short period of time had elapsed.
I looked at him but all I could see was a vision of the nozzle of the pistol which had been pointed directly at my head. Then it vanished and I began to return to normality. ‘Yes, I’m feeling a bit better now,’ I replied, still shaking slightly. ‘I wish you hadn’t killed him... he was a very important man in International Three Thousand.’
‘We knew him to be the Der Bankvorsteher but, like the old saying goes, the Krauts aren’t stupid enough to put all their eggs in one basket. After a while, we discovered that no single individual holds the title. There are something like twenty of them, each one managing a fair parcel of the Nazi funds. So, if one is captured or dies, the system lives on. Sir Peter Cavenham was one of those bankers. Another one was here recently... an American who lives in Denver, Colorado. I think you might have met him at Kirk’s house.’
‘Yes, I did. He went under the pseudonym of “Hans”, but he still had false information in his case.
‘That was merely to test you out. If you’d played ball, they would have set you a number of further tests. Once passing those, Herr Erdbeer would have been appointed another Bankvorsteher. You see, they want to spread it around so that no single banker can filter off the funds for himself. It appears that each Bankvorsteher has the telephone numbers of two others... to contact in case of emergency. In that way, no conspiracies can be hatched. When the balloon went up this morning, after your editor started to make enquiries, a chain reaction began, culminating into a sharp diversion of funds into different areas and accounts. Just to be on the safe side.’
‘But the information they gave me was false!’
‘Perhaps not all of it. Certainly there were a number of movements in the money markets indicating changes of large sums for investment.’
Does that mean you can locate where the funds are invested?’ I asked hopefully, although I knew exactly what he would reply.
‘I don’t think so. We can only make assumptions. Most of the accounts will be in the names of nominee companies. It’s a lifetime’s work unless one is on the inside with the information to hand. There’s no means by which to sequestrate the funds worldwide.’
At that point he left me and I sat watching the river running by, with the sun playing on the ripples as the current swept past. I wondered how State Security would explain away the death of Sir Peter Cavenham. He had a wife and two children: what would happen to them? Perhaps they intended to continue with the cause. Many thoughts plagued my troubled mind for the next five minutes, then the Prime Minister arrived and sat at the table.
‘Isn’t it a beautiful day, Mr. Savage!’ he greeted amiably. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you again. I understand you have some valuable information following your trip to Germany.’
I handed him the white envelope containing the microfilm I had received from Gunter Hausmann. He passed it to an aide who was hovering nearby and turned to face me with interest. ‘All right, Mr. Savage, what have you to tell me?’
‘Well, Prime Minister...’ I began, deciding to unfold the whole story from start to finish. After all, this time we were having tea on the terrace of the House of Commons and he was a captive audience. I wasn’t certain whether he was any wiser at the end of it all. His committee had been annihilated. Sir Peter Cavenham was dead... his body still warm in the other room. Miss Grayson had committed suicide. Lieutenant-Colonel Topham had been assassinated. The only one left was Henry Jacobs. I had no idea what his fate might be.
‘If you’re free, I have an exciting day outlined for you,’ the Prime Minister told me eventually.
‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘There’s nothing for you to do,’ he answered quietly. ‘I simply want you to observe. After all your efforts, I think you should be privileged to be present at the final reckoning.
I shrugged and nodded at the same time. ‘Yes,’ I told him, ‘I’d like that.’ I had no idea what he was talking about but it sounded like a good idea to stay with him for a while under the protection of his security men. He seemed certain it would be the final reckoning but I had my doubts and, as a poker player, I knew I was right. He was a politician having reached the exalted rank of Prime Minister, but I, from the experience of a life-time, mistrusted all politicians!
Chapter Seventeen
After we had finished tea on the terrace of the House of Commons, the Prime Minister left for an urgent meeting. I wondered what motivation he could have for rushing to different meetings at a moment’s notice at his age, to face difficult problems of State day after day. The answer seemed to lie in the fact that the pursuit of power tended to corrupt reason and, once on the treadmill, it was difficult to review the direction of life except in retrospect. We all suffered from the same dilemma in a way. For myself, it was a life-long intention to read the classics like Mill on the Floss, Dickens, Tom Jones, Far from the Madding Crowd, and many others, but I knew in my heart I would never get down to the task. Life was too short; discipline was too weak! Well, it was the Prime Minister’s concern how he wanted to conduct his life. If the man wished to dedicate himself to the nation by devoting all his time and energy to the effort, it was his privilege to do so. It left me with the feeling that none of us were masters of our own destiny. In effect, we all had some role to play in our span of life on earth. No doubt, if it came to the pinch, he would question my reason for having become a newspaper reporter. For what it was worth, I could challenge myself on that decision.
I continued to watch the Thames flow by in solitude, allowing the anxiety to seep gradually from my mind, sensing the current of the river was carrying away all the tension. How soothing it was to let one’s problems float gently into the distance with the tide. If only it could happen that way all the time! Eventually, my attention was arrested by a young man in the uniform of an army officer who marched swiftly to my table and stopped. He smiled at me under a thick moustache before sticking out his hand which I shook.
‘I’m Captain Watson,’ he announced loudly. ‘Would you mind coming with me, sir? The Prime Minister has asked for you to be present.’
I got to my feet and followed him as he marched off at regulation pace. ‘Where does he want me to be present?’ I gasped, trying to keep up with him.
The Captain continued without speaking until we arrived at a set of lift doors. ‘In the Operations Room, sir. You may recall that Sir Winston Churchill had a similar room elsewhere in which he co-ordinated activities during World War Two. It enabled him to focus his attention on operations and make decisions quickly and effectively. Well, we have such a room downstairs, although we rarely use it. This is quite a momentous occasion. In my opinion, sir, you’re rather lucky to be part of it!’
As far as I was concerned, he was talking gibberish. However, I had no option but to wait for the lift to arrive and descend in it with him. He led me out across the flagstone floors of the basement and took me to a door which he opened. Indeed, it was an Operations Room, fitted out to display an enormous table on which had been laid a giant board outlining all the countries of Europe in bright colours. A number of men and women in military uniforms stood around holding croupier’s rods, capable of pushing small black arrows mounted on blocks of wood... each one representing the location of activity in the European theatre of war. On one side of the room sat five men and women in service uniforms, each with two telephones in from of them. They were assisted by small computers with monitors by which they could keep track of developments. At the far end of the room, a wooden dais had been elevated at a vantage point where the Prime Minister sat in a comfortable chair and watched with interest. Captain Watson led me to the chair next t
o him and I sat down to witness the proceedings.
‘At first light this morning,’ the Captain informed me, ‘we attacked a fortress on the Zugspitze in the Bavarian Alps. The German and Austrian governments co-operated with us on the mission allowing SAS commandos to land their aircraft and helicopters and storm it successfully. The man known as Strogoff was captured and we have advised the Russian authorities who are making speedy arrangements for his repatriation. His welcome will be chilly in more ways than one I should imagine. We managed to prevent him from destroying a large amount of information held on microfilm... some of it being the false information on three countries you passed to him... but he managed to obtain microfilm of Nazis in five other European countries. You had the lists for France, Czechosolovakia and Greece. The others are Belgium, Luxemburg, Denmark, Norway and the Netherlands. It looks like we can start operations initially in eight countries.’
I felt a great deal of relief that Strogoff was no longer a threat. The man had no conscience and he was quite capable of carrying out the most devious destructive plans. However, through circumstances beyond his control, he became caught in a giant spider’s web and suffered being taken back forcibly to his own country as an escaped prisoner. Of all people, Ted Flanders would be most delighted to hear the news! At least he would be able to sleep easily in his bed at night... even if it constituted an executive chair in his smoke-filled office!
The Prime Minister turned to me in the intermediate silence to enlarge on the possible developments of the day. I listened to him with interest. ‘In view of the serious threat from International Three Thousand, which has been exposed to other European countries today, albeit some of them were already keeping track of their development, we have asked for their support and co-operation whether they’re members of the United Nations War Crimes Commission or not. I believe there’s a distinct possibility they will all become involved.’
