The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society

by Jason Blacker

  “Gentlemen,” said Allen, “Hanz Himmler is a Sturmbannführer, a Major. But not just with the Schutzstaffel, but actually with the more feared Sicherheitsdienst.”

  “And the difference is?” asked Pearce.

  “The Schutzstaffel can be thought of as the umbrella group. They are the paramilitary group associated with the protection of the Nazi party. The Sicherheitsdienst is the intelligence agency. They are similar to both our MI5 and MI6 but more brutal and with more authority. Sicherheitsdienst actually translates to Security Service and Schutzstaffel to Protection Squadron.”

  Allen looked around at the astonished faces. He was pleased with himself.

  “Capturing this man would be a great feather in our cap,” agreed Pearce.

  “It would likely be our most preeminent capture to date,” said Allen.

  “But how would it help. This is war, we aren’t in the business of exchanging prisoners. At least not yet,” said Lavatish.

  “That is true,” said Pearce.

  “Furthermore,” said Albutt, “the intelligence that could be gleaned from this man could arguably shorten the war by months. And who knows, Heinrich Himmler has Hitler’s ear. That might make him amenable to negotiations.”

  Brimley nodded.

  “But more importantly, at first, if he does have documents he shouldn’t have we’ll secure our own intelligence,” said Brimley.

  “That goes without saying,” said Albutt. “In fact, that’s the foundation for capturing Hanz Himmler.”

  Pearce picked up the photographs and passed them around.

  “This is good work,” he said to Allen, who was puffed up like a peacock. “Let’s get on this right away. I want photostat copies made of this photograph,” he said, pointing to the best one. “At least a few dozen. We need to get them out to all our constables in London and then down to the coast. I want everyone from Poole to Margate to get copies.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  To Capturing Evil

  FRANCES walked into the library where her family were enjoying after dinner drinks. Declan and Alfie sat in tall comfortable chairs. Alfie had a tumbler of brandy in his hand and next to Declan’s chair was a tumbler full of soda water. Declan neither ate meat nor drank liquor. In fact he was a teetotaler and vegetarian. He didn’t use tobacco either. None of the Branhams did. Alfie on the other hand was enjoying a cigar that Lady Marmalade kept on hand for guests.

  Amelia sat on a long settee with a low back. She took up the front half, sitting upright on it. On the side table next to her was a tulip shaped white wine glass with sherry in it.

  “Who was that?” asked Declan, after Frances had a chance to sit down. Alfred handed her a freshly poured glass of sherry. Served just like Amelia’s.

  “That was Detective Inspector Devlin Pearce,” she said.

  “He’s been busy today,” said Declan.

  Frances and Declan had filled in Amelia and Alfie about the busy day they’d had up at Bletchley Park and then Rugby School, over dinner.

  “What did he want?” asked Amelia.

  “He wanted to let us know all about the good news they received from Lester Allen from MI5.”

  “Do tell,” said Amelia.

  “Lester Allen came up from London this afternoon. We just missed him and Chief Inspector Chester Milling as you know. The dagger that Chester brought down with him was confirmed to be that of a Schutzstaffel officer. It had their official motto on it. Chester also gave a more detailed description of this German spy who had gone by the name of Edsel Schmidt. Constable Ernest Swales, the poor man who had been stabbed protecting me from this spy, said the spy also had a scar above his right eyebrow…”

  “How is the constable doing?” asked Declan taking a sip of soda water.

  “It looks like he’ll come through. He’s still serious but in stable condition.”

  Declan nodded.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said. “We should send something.”

  “We will,” agreed Frances. “With that information that Chester had given, Lester from MI5 was certain he knew who everyone was talking about. He showed some pictures around and it was confirmed. Devlin will be here tomorrow with a copy of the photograph so that you might confirm identification, Alfred.”

  Frances looked up at Alfred who stood like a sentry by a sideboard containing the liquor and glasses.

  “Certainly, my Lady,” he said.

  “Who is this ruffian that almost murdered a constable and tried to shoot our Alfred?” asked Amelia.

  Frances smiled at them and then paused to take a drink of sherry.

  “He’ll be quite the prize when we catch him,” she said. She paused for effect.

  “Well then?” asked Declan.

  “The man’s name is Hanz Himmler…”

  “Any relation?” asked Declan.

  “That’s what I was about to tell you. He’s the younger brother of Heinrich Himmler who as the Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel is the second most powerful man in Germany. Capturing his brother would put pressure on Hitler I’m certain. It could even end this war much sooner.”

  “They’ve got a long coast to cover if they’re going to try and capture him before he escapes,” said Declan.

  “I should think there’s over three hundred miles of coast from Plymouth to Margate,” said Alfie.

  Frances sipped on her sherry.

  “Pearce thinks that Poole to Margate should cover it,” she said.

  “That’s still got to be a long way,” said Amelia.

  “I drove the bottom end of our fine country some years before the war,” said Alfie. “I’d still wager that Poole to Margate has got to be close to two hundred miles.”

  “Well then,” said Declan, “they only need a couple of hundred bobbies to watch that section if we give them a mile each.”

  Declan smiled. He was being facetious.

  “The police are more efficient than that,” said Frances. “I imagine they’ll focus on the towns primarily and the harbors from where Hanz might try and make his escape. Don’t forget the lighthouses too and the patrol boats that are up and down that part of the coast looking for U-Boats. They’ll be helpful as well. I believe we can do it.”

  “Hopefully the police will do a better job of it than MI5 and 6,” said Declan.

  “Yes, I really hope so,” said Amelia.

  “I have faith in Pearce. Perhaps the problem with Walter’s operation was that he didn’t have the support of all of MI5. It might have been different then.”

  “You should still speak to them about their combative attitudes towards one another.”

  Frances nodded and sipped more sherry.

  “And Pearce is certain that Hanz is trying for the coast to escape back to his fatherland?” asked Declan.

  Frances nodded.

  “He seems quite sure,” she said.

  “And do you?” he asked.

  “I think it’s the most probable choice Hanz will make. I know you might be worried about me, but I’m not. There’ll be three men in the house tonight,” said Frances smiling. “But more than that, I think that Hanz’s attack on me was more an attempt to prevent me from letting him finish up his work.”

  “And that work being murdering two other people?” asked Amelia.

  “I think so. That’s the only reason I can think of. I’m not personally any threat to him. The ones who could have blown his cover would be Stanley Dowd and Pelagia Paterson and he got to them after his attempt on us at Avalon. And if you follow that trajectory, then he’s clearly moving south.”

  “Well, I for one will be happier when this beastly man is caught,” said Amelia.

  Frances smiled at her daughter.

  “I don’t think it will be long. Though I am thankful that brave Pelagia and Minnie were giving him fake documents. In the worst case, if he gets to his fatherland at least he won’t have anything of importance.”

  “Did you tell Devlin that bit?” asked Declan.

&nb
sp; “I did, and he sounded quite relieved by it in fact.”

  “Well,” said Declan, raising his glass, “here’s to a bright tomorrow where evil is captured and put away for good.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Alfie, and they raised their glasses in support.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Who Disturbs my Slumber

  HANZ Himmler was never one to shy away from his responsibilities. In fact, he very seldom left a job incomplete. And living in the shadow of his older brother, Heinrich, he was constantly seeking approval. Heinrich was the star. The one who had risen to become the most powerful man in the Vaterland second only to Herr Hitler.

  Some said that Hanz had risen in the ranks to Sturmbannführer because of Heinrich, but that rankled Hanz. It might have been true that his promotions through the Sicherheitsdienst had been quicker than most, but Hanz liked to think it was due to his tenacity and his hard work.

  Certainly, having the Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel as his older brother was helpful. But Hanz knew for a fact that his brother only condoned promotions based upon merit. So it didn’t matter that Heinrich might have encouraged his brother to join the Sicherheitsdienst, which he did, it was up to his brother, Hanz, to prove his worth. If Heinrich had really been trying to help, then Hanz should have been an Oberführer already, instead of just a lowly Sturmbannführer.

  Hanz certainly felt that his abilities warranted such a leadership role. After all, Heinrich was Oberführer of the Schutzstaffel when he was only twenty-seven years old. That was ten years younger than Hanz was now. No, Hanz was certain that if he completed this infiltration into the inner workings of Bletchley Park, which he thought he’d done, then Heinrich would have to promote him to Oberführer at the very least.

  But there was one loose end he wanted to tie up, and that was murdering Lady Marmalade. Certainly his position was secure with what he had already completed. He had a suitcase full of secret documents from Bletchley Park that his brother would marvel at, but to kill the preeminent Marchioness in all of England was a blow to Britain’s sense of superiority that Hanz just couldn’t let alone.

  After that he’d make his way up to Lowestoft where a fishing boat would take him to De Panne, Belgium. Hanz was certain that the police would be looking for him on the south coast. Probably at least from Plymouth to Margate. Lowestoft had been heavily bombed and it’s harbor practically unusable for the Royal Navy. Only smaller commercial and private boats were able to launch from there. It was his safest exit from Britain. Far enough that Scotland Yard would hardly expect him to make his way back up there from London, but at around 160 kilometers, close enough to make the trip relatively easy.

  But that was later. First, he had to complete his last murder. The murder of Lady Marmalade. The street was quiet at three in the morning as he crept up to the majestic home overlooking Hyde Park. A home unscathed by the blitzkrieg and subsequent bombings. A tall, wrought iron fence protected the perimeter but the gate was unlocked. On a portion of the brick wall on either side of the gate was a plaque that advertised this was “Marmalade Park”.

  The British were an opulent race, thought Hanz. He was glad to be a German. Especially a German under Hitler. A man who understood the needs of the common people. Hitler wouldn’t stand for this sort of ostentatiousness. Hanz was certain that murdering Lady Marmalade would not only be a great blow to Britain’s war effort, but it would be a gift to the British people. After all, it wouldn’t be long until all of Britain was under the loving guidance of his beloved Führer.

  Nobody was out on the streets at this time of morning. And Hanz wasn’t worried about any bombing raids. The Führer has thought it best to leave them aside at the moment in order to concentrate on other aspects of the war. The mansion that was “Marmalade Park” was in complete darkness. Not only because of the conserving measures of the war but because everyone was asleep. People usually were after three in the morning. Even the night owls were usually turning in by then.

  The one small problem with Hanz’s plan to murder Lady Marmalade was that he didn’t know which of the rooms would be hers. He knew it would be on the upper floors and quite possibly the top floor overlooking Hyde Park. But which side he did not know.

  The gate was well oiled and quiet as he opened and closed it behind him. He expected nothing less from such opulence. He also expected the main door to the house to be unlocked. Such were the carefree ways of Britain’s upper classes in Hanz’s mind. And indeed, the front door was unlocked and hardly creaked as he opened it and closed it behind himself.

  His plan was to find Lady Marmalade’s room and creep up to her. As she lay sleeping he would take out his dagger and stab her quickly and quietly through the heart. It would be so quick as to allow for no noise escaping her mouth. He cursed himself again for losing his favorite dagger, but a good soldier always carried a spare.

  He was only here to kill Lady Marmalade, but he was more than prepared to kill anyone else who happened to get in his way. In that scenario, noise was likely no longer an issue, and so for that purpose his loyal Vis 9mm Pistole would be used. He wore it under his jacket in a shoulder holster. Its weight and bulk imbued him with confidence. His SS Ehrendolch, or dagger, a word he preferred to use on occasion, was strapped to his belt.

  For this particular mission, Hanz had requested and received permission to obtain two smaller daggers. Their blades were half the length of his official SS Ehrendolch he had left behind in Germany. He considered it too bulky for the purpose of travel. It was also excessively large for the purpose at hand.

  Hanz climbed the tall staircase to the second floor. It creaked, but he took his time, and waited patiently every so often, so as to give the impression that the house itself was creaking rather than someone climbing the stairs. There were a variety of rooms on the second floor, all of which were empty. He climbed to the third and top floor of Marmalade Park. This floor only carried bedrooms and lavatories.

  Although Hanz was of a single mind he did notice the lavish decorations and fixtures the likes of which he had seldom seen. All the doors to the rooms were closed. He would have to guess. He went to the room at the far corner, turning left as he made it up the stairs to the landing. It looked as if this room might take up that quarter of the upper floor. It looked to be the biggest of the rooms on the floor.

  He turned the brass handle slowly and carefully. The handle made a slight sound but nothing that worried Hanz. He opened the door and it creaked. It sounded as loud as a violin, but that was only Hanz’s overly sensitive senses at the ready. He paused and opened it a little further. It kept on creaking. This would take him some time. But he did not mind, for he had only time, and he salivated at the prize on the other side of the door.

  He only needed a sliver of the door to open for him to fit through. Still, he took his time and when he had that space he walked in. The room was in complete darkness but the curtains were not fully drawn and a small puddle of the moon’s milky light leaked in. It allowed him to see the outline of the bed. He stepped towards it. His toe caught on a slight fold in the carpet. He stumbled and grunted softly. He felt himself falling, crashing down towards the floor. He cursed himself. Perhaps he should have brought a small Taschenlampe, or torch, as the English called it.

  His arms were still free and he reached for the bedpost. His right hand found it and it stopped him from crashing on the floor. But the momentum rocked the bed. Hanz held his breath. It had sounded like a stampede of elephants had entered the room as he tumbled, but that might only have been his heightened hearing. He listened for a snore or the slow breathing of someone deep in sleep.

  “Who’s there?” came a frightened voice. It was cracked and fractured, clogged from sleep. Hanz squatted down quickly, grimacing in pain. If he said nothing, if he stayed as still as death perhaps the person would go back to sleep thinking it just a bad dream.

  “Who’s there?” exclaimed the voice, this time finding the vocal chords well tuned. He knew the voice this time
. It was Lady Marmalade’s. He had found the right room, but he needed to act quickly. He would wait just a second more before deciding on what to do. His right hand reached under his arm for the Pistole. He grinned. Perhaps he was about to murder the whole family. That was not how he had planned this, but perhaps it was right.

  Lady Marmalade grasped wildly for the lamp light. She almost knocked it over in her fear, but she found the small button under the shade and turned it on. Yellow light flung itself into the room slinging arrows into her eyes. But through her adrenaline it hardly mattered at all. She recognized the darkly clothed figure crouching at the foot of her bed.

  “Delcan!” she screamed. “Help me, Declan… Alfred!”

  Hanz stood up with the pain shooting up his leg and lower back. It was probably the limp that had caused him to stumble. He would have to have this fresh wound taken care of when he was back home in the Vaterland. He reached for his Pistole. He knew he had to work quickly now. He would have to shoot his way out of this mess. But he was prepared. That was why he had his gun with him. He had a full magazine. That meant eight rounds were available to him. If he was careful and aimed well, he would only require one round per person. He didn’t know who was here. He knew Lady Marmalade was widowed, but she had a butler and a housemaid at the very least.

  He was acquainted with the butler. It was he who had given him his second wound in the buttocks. She had shouted out her son’s name. Perhaps he was here too. He would have to keep his ears pricked. He shifted his balance for comfort. He could see Lady Marmalade clutching at her blankets in fear. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at her. He noticed his hand was shaking. It was from the pain along his back. He steadied himself, ready to shoot when he thought he heard the creaking of floors. He glanced quickly to his right. It was hard to see into the darkened hallway.

  Frances looked around, desperately, for anything that might offer protection. Ginny had left the window pole opener in her room. She had reprimanded her for it before. Tonight it was a godsend. It was leaning up against the corner of the wall on the opposite side of her bedside table. Frances rolled towards the end of the bed. Hanz was looking down the hallway, away from her. She got out of bed almost as quiet as a mouse. She grabbed at the wooden pole and took two steps towards the end of the bed.