by Seb Spence
Chapter 3.
1.
Friday, 6th September, 1940: Windermere House, Hampstead
It had just gone eight o’clock in the evening, which meant that Colonel Minton had now been on duty for over twelve hours, most of that time being spent in his office. He decided to call it a day and had just begun to lock away some confidential documents in his safe when there was a knock at the door and one of his interrogators, Captain Goddard, entered.
“This has just come in on the teleprinter, sir,” he announced, handing Minton a slip of paper. “It’s from GC&CS.” Minton read the terse communication:
DECRYPT OF INCOMING ABWEHR MESSAGE RECEIVED 17.03 HRS 6 SEPT. 1940. BRIG. VAUGHAN WILL PHONE TO ADVISE. MESSAGE READS:
‘IMPERATIVE YOU HAVE ITEM IN GRINDLEY ST BOX FOR PICK UP BY CO ON 7TH. RENDEZVOUS WITH BOAT IS ON 8TH IF WEATHER FOR THE NIGHT IS SUITABLE’.
“It looks as if an Abwehr operative is being asked to leave something in a dead-letter box for collection. What do you think, Goddard?”
“I’d agree, sir. Possibly someone in the armed forces is making the pick-up – CO could be ‘Commanding Officer’”
“Perhaps,” Minton mused, leaning back in his chair and staring down absently at the slip of paper in his hands. “But then again,” he continued after a while, raising his gaze to look at Goddard, “‘Co’ is the chemical symbol for the element cobalt.”
This observation seemed to electrify Goddard. “You mean it could be Cobalt who’s doing the collection?”
As if in response, the scrambler phone on Minton’s desk began to ring. He answered it immediately and discovered, as he had supposed, that it was Brigadier Vaughan.
“Vaughan here. I expect you have the teleprinter message from GC&CS by now. I think this is the break we’ve been waiting for, Minton. The background to this message is that for some time now we’ve been aware that an attaché at the Spanish Embassy in London – a man called Ortega – is in radio contact with the Germans and is passing them information. We haven’t brought him in yet because of his diplomatic status. The Foreign Office are nervous about relations with the Spanish Government – they don’t want to provoke them into entering the war on Hitler’s side.
“The decrypt is of an incoming message that was sent on Ortega’s frequency from the Abwehr station in Hamburg. It was transmitted three hours ago at around 5pm but has taken some time to decode. In fact, we were lucky to decode it at all. The only reason we were able to, was that the sender mentions “weather for the night” – a lot of coded German radio traffic includes weather reports and “wetter fuer die nacht” is a standard ‘crib’ that CG&GS use.
“Anyway,” he continued, “we believe the ‘CO’ referred to in the message is ‘Cobalt’. It looks as if the Abwehr controllers are asking Ortega to make a drop-off for Cobalt to collect. The only Grindley Street in London is in Lambeth – we have a Special Branch surveillance team heading there as I speak. It’s possible we may miss Ortega – he’s had a three hour head start and may have made the drop-off already – but we’ll be in place for the pick up on the 7th, which is tomorrow. With luck, we’ll catch both of them red-handed.
Once they’re in the bag, I want them taken directly to your people at IC3. You’ll have to handle Ortega carefully, of course, because of his diplomatic credentials, but you might be able to get something useful out of him before we have to hand him back to the Spanish authorities. I told you business would pick up, eh Minton?”
“I think I’d like to get over to Grindley Street myself and witness this,” Minton responded. “Seeing how the pair react to being arrested will tell us something about the personalities we’re dealing with. It will be useful background knowledge when it comes to the interrogations.”
“By all means, Minton. Contact Special Branch and let them know to expect you. They’ll tell you exactly where the surveillance teams are located. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, once Cobalt – and hopefully Ortega as well – is locked up in your cells.”
Minton replaced the receiver and with a look of satisfaction addressed Goddard: “That was Vaughan – he, too, thinks this message relates to ‘Cobalt’ and has set up a surveillance operation at Grindley Street. I’m going to head over there now. It seems our Abwehr friends have made a careless mistake, and we’re about to make them pay for it.”
#
Grindley Street, SW8, ran approximately north-south. The six members of the Special Branch surveillance team arrived there in two cars, which they parked discreetly, one round the corner at the north end of the street, and the other out of sight in a goods yard off Grindley Street itself. The team split into three pairs. One took up position in a first floor room in a disused factory block about half-way down the street, on the east side. A second was located in a warehouse situated on a corner at the south end of the street. The last was in a ground-floor room of a building opposite the north end and had a clear view right down the street.
Colonel Minton arrived in his own car just after 9pm. He parked it in the goods yard and joined the two officers in the disused factory. It was a good spot – the building abutted the pavement, which meant they had an unobstructed view in both directions along the street. The two Special Branch men had come equipped with field glasses and a camera with a telephoto lens, and each of the teams had a portable wireless transceiver so that they could contact one another if necessary. Everything was in place; it seemed to Minton that the trap was set and it was now just a matter of waiting for their prey to appear. He settled down to what might be a long night.
2.
Saturday, 7th September,1940: South London
Lucy was keen that everything should go perfectly on this day. She did not want to start it by being late, so she was ready and waiting at the end of her road a few minutes before nine. Elliott drew up in the Hillman promptly at 9am, as arranged, but he was alone this time. He took her to the ‘studio’ at Brown’s Warehouse, where Miss Wilks again assisted her into costume: the blue dress, shoes, clean stockings and new, though equally expensive looking, black silk underwear. As she made final adjustments to Lucy’s outfit, Miss Wilks said she would not be accompanying her to the shoot on this occasion as she had work to do at the studio.
Once satisfied that her charge looked the part, Miss Wilks called in Elliott, who was waiting outside in the corridor. He entered, looked Lucy up and down approvingly and handed her the straw bag with its props inside. “Everyone else has already left for Grindley Street,” he announced. “They had to go on ahead to set up the equipment, so we’ll be driving there by ourselves, Lucy. We had best set off now – we don’t want to keep Mr DaSilva waiting unnecessarily.”
Lucy was pleased there were just the two of them in the car. She felt relaxed and cheerful. Unlike yesterday, when they travelled in silence, today Elliott was in a talkative mood. He told her about film studios he had visited in Europe and recounted experiences from his one trip to Hollywood. She listened attentively and was impressed by how well travelled he was. She herself had never been far from Lewisham, except for the occasional visit to her now deceased uncle in Derby. The conversation made the twenty minute drive to Lambeth pass by quickly and it seemed to Lucy they were there almost as soon as they had left the studio.
This time, Elliott did not park in the warehouse-lined road that went across the south end of Grindley Street. Instead, he stopped in a nearby cul-de-sac, at the end of which was a narrow alleyway that led down between two of the warehouse buildings to the road itself. “If you go down that alley, you’ll come out at the spot where we parked the car yesterday,” he explained. “All you need to do is turn left at the end of the alley and then right into Grindley Street. Mr DaSilva thought it would be better if you had a longer ‘run in’ today – it will give you a little more time to compose yourself before appearing in front of the camera.”
“He needn’t worry about me. Everything’s going to be fine today. See,” she said, raising the straw bag up off her lap and shaking i
t, “I’ve got all my props; I’m not forgetting this time.”
“Yes, I have a feeling we’ll get this scene in the can today, Lucy,” he replied warmly. “Come on, let’s get started.” He got out and went round to open her door.
Once out of the car, she noticed that he had left the engine running and was about to ask why, but he anticipated her: “I’ll drive round now and meet you in Grindley Street when the scene’s over. So there’s no turning back – as soon as you head off down the alley, you’re on your own.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her, smiling. “Rest assured Lucy, I have every faith in you.” He stared at her silently for a few seconds and then lowered his arms. “OK, it’s time,” he continued. “Remember, you are an agent of the Reich. We’re counting on you.”
“Don’t worry Mr Elliott, it’s going to be perfect,” she said, smiling eagerly back at him. He took the small green pillbox from his pocket and handed her one of the capsules it contained. She put it in her mouth.
“Off you go, then, Lucy. Your audience awaits you.”
Lucy set off down the alley and in less than a minute she was turning the corner into Grindley Street. It was a warm, sunny day and, bathed in the sunlight, the utilitarian buildings down either side seemed less depressing than on the previous day. Lucy was surprised at how calm she felt but then realised it was because she knew exactly what to expect this time; she knew the pitfalls and how to avoid them. She stepped confidently down the street and smiled to herself – she would show that Mr DaSilva who could act!
#
During the night, Minton and the two Special Branch officers with him had taken it in turns to watch the street. It had been a relatively uneventful night, not only in Grindley Street, but in the city at large: as far as they could judge, there had been no major attacks on London. Just after midnight the drone of bombers could be heard overhead but they must have been flying to targets beyond the city, for no bombs fell. The crack of anti-aircraft guns had also been audible on a few occasions during the night, but that was all. Despite the noise from these disturbances, Minton had managed to grab a few hours sleep in between his stints on watch: he was now used to the nighttime sounds of London at war and they no longer troubled him.
So far, they had nothing to show for their night’s work. Ortega had not appeared, which probably meant they had missed him. The derelict industrial wasteland that was Grindley Street must have been one of the quietest thoroughfares in the city, which was no doubt why it had been chosen as the site of a dead-letter box, Minton surmised. Only half a dozen people had passed down the street in all the time they had been watching: yesterday evening, a drunk and a naval rating; early this morning, three women in overalls and headscarves tied in turbans, presumably workers from one of the factories in the area; and finally, about half an hour ago, a rag and bone man, leading his horse and cart. The only other living creature they had seen in the street was a large grey cat that had sunned itself for a while on a windowsill and then had moved off.
It had just gone 10am and Minton was about to pour himself a mug of tea from the flask he had brought when a figure came round the corner at the south end of the street. Immediately he brought up his field glasses. It was a young, brown-haired woman, in her twenties he guessed, wearing a dark blue summery dress. She looked quite attractive and walked confidently down the pavement with an air of purpose. She seemed out of place in these surroundings.
It had never really occurred to Minton that Cobalt might be a woman. In his opinion, women made poor agents: they tended to become emotionally involved with the people they interacted with, and this clouded their judgement. The most effective agents, he believed, were invariably men. He had always regarded Cobalt as a thoroughly proficient operator, one of their best agents – disciplined and professional. After all, unlike the Abwehr’s other dismal attempts to infiltrate agents, Cobalt had evaded capture for several months. It came as a surprise to him, therefore, that Cobalt might be female.
Despite his presuppositions, he had a hunch that the woman now walking along the street was the person they were waiting for. The two Special Branch men with Minton also seemed to sense that this was their prey. The one in charge of the camera had started to photograph the girl as she approached.
Minton watched her cross over the road and walk down by the Allsop’s Works building on the opposite side. He noticed she had a slight smile on her lips. Suddenly, she stopped next to the brick wall that bounded the goods yard diagonally across from them, looked up and down the street and then deftly removed a loose brick with one hand and took something from the cavity with her other. In a swift movement she popped the item into the straw bag slung from her shoulder, then replaced the brick and proceeded down the street. It was all over in a matter of seconds.
As she continued walking along, she seemed to be furtively examining the windows of the buildings, as if she were trying to detect someone who might be observing her. Minton lowered his field glasses and was about to suggest to the Special Branch men that they move in to arrest her, but they were ahead of him – one was already at the wireless transceiver contacting the other two groups. “OK, this is it – pull her in,” he ordered.
#
Lucy felt exhilarated, partly because everything was going so well, but also because she was on edge, not knowing where the other actors would appear from to arrest her. She also wondered where DaSilva had his camera hidden. She guessed it must be in one of the windows of the buildings on the opposite side of the street and tried to look discreetly to see if she could see which one – after all, she needed to be sure she was looking towards the camera when she swallowed her capsule.
Suddenly, a large black car screeched round the corner at the north end of the street and headed towards her, driving on the wrong side of the road. “I bet this is them,” she thought. “Very impressive! They’re really pulling out all the stops today.” The car pulled up alongside her at the kerb and two men wearing dark grey suits and fedoras got out rapidly and approached her.
“We are officers of the Metropolitan Special Branch,” one of them declared. “You are under arrest on suspicion of breaching the Treachery Act.”
As they moved forward to apprehend her, she noticed that, beyond them, three other men – one in army uniform – had come out of a building on the opposite side, further down, and were striding across the street towards her. She also became aware of rapid footfalls in the distance behind her and turned to see two other men running towards her from the south end of the street. “Well,” she thought, “they really are going to town. I’d better give them their money’s worth.”
The two men from the car grabbed her arms and started to propel her towards the rear door. Lucy began to thrash about. However, after a brief but furious struggle she suddenly stopped resisting and threw back her head. The two arresting officers noticed her jaw was moving, as if she were chewing something; this was immediately followed by a grimace on her upturned face. At this point she went limp and slumped forward.
“Christ!” one of the Special Branch men exclaimed. “She’s swallowed a suicide pill.” As they laid her down on the pavement, Colonel Minton and the other Special Branch officers reached them.
“What’s happened?” Minton enquired anxiously.
“I think she’s taken a cyanide capsule,” the other arresting officer responded.
#
There was another pair of field glasses trained on Grindley Street that morning: Hugo DaSilva had also been observing the events unfolding there. He had arrived at 6.30pm the previous evening and had taken up station on the top floor of a vacant warehouse building at the south end of the street. He had watched the Special Branch men arrive and occupy their various positions, one pair locating themselves not far from him, in a warehouse on the opposite side of the street. Their proximity, however, did not worry him: they would be concentrating on the street, not on the buildings, and provided he kept himself well concealed, they were unlikely to
spot him.
After watching them for a while, he had lain aside his binoculars and settled down to a good night’s rest, knowing that nothing would be happening before 10am the following morning, when Elliott would be dropping Lucy off out of sight in the nearby cul-de-sac. If everything went according to plan, DaSilva had reflected, she would then perform her scene, although, unknown to her, this final ‘take’ was to have a different ending, for on parting, Elliott would be giving her a real cyanide capsule instead of one of the fake, vinegar-filled ones that had been used in the rehearsals.
Just before 10am, DaSilva had taken up position again at his vantage point. To his surprise, Lucy had appeared on cue (he had expected her to be late). He smiled to himself as he watched her go through her performance: it was like having a box at the theatre, he thought. But in this case he already knew how the play was going to end.
He observed her struggling with the two men who had driven up to arrest her, and then he watched with satisfaction as she collapsed in their grasp. “So, the silly little cow finally got it right,” he remarked to himself. As the Special Branch men gathered round her motionless body on the pavement, he felt it would have made quite a dramatic ending to a play – at this point the curtain would come down, he fancied. “Well, gentlemen,” he said under his breath, “I think the show’s over.” He packed up his field glasses and left the warehouse via the back entrance through which he had broken in the previous evening. Scaling the brick wall that ran along one side of the warehouse yard, he dropped down into the cul-de-sac where Elliott was waiting in the Hillman. “Wrap it up and print it!” he exclaimed with a laugh as he got in. Elliott set off immediately and soon they were well away from the vicinity of Grindley Street.
