A Gathering of Saints

by A Gathering of Saints (retail) (epub)

  A number of other men followed Kennedy out onto the terrace, most of them drifting towards a buffet table that had been set up close to the doors leading to the opposite wing of the house. Including Kennedy, nine men were now on the terrace; there were no servants.

  ‘Lord Halifax,’ said Bingham, picking out the bald, formally dressed British foreign secretary. ‘The chubby one with him is R. A. Butler, his undersecretary. His friends, such as they are, call him Rab.’ The silent film spooled on, the projector clattering behind them as the film on the screen moved slowly back and forth over the assembled group on the terrace. ‘I’ll be damned,’ said Bingham.

  ‘That’s Lord Wellington standing by the table. The weasel-faced one with the moustache is Carmel Office, Bullitt’s assistant in Paris. Amazing!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Knight.

  ‘I don’t recognise any of the others,’ Bingham murmured.

  ‘The heavyset man beside the Duke of Wellington is James Mooney,’ Knight explained. ‘Vice president of your General Motors. Wellington sits on the board of Vauxhall, one of their British subsidiaries.’ Knight coughed politely. ‘Mooney is also in charge of the General Motors interests in Germany, specifically the Opel Werks.’ He paused again then went on. ‘The rosy-cheeked man with the white hair speaking to Kennedy is James P. McKittrick, also a fellow countryman of yours.’

  ‘I’ve seen him at a few embassy parties.’ Bingham nodded. ‘Here and in Washington. A banker isn’t he?’

  ‘Quite so. At the moment Mr McKittrick, among other things, is chairman of the Bank for International Settlements in Switzerland.’

  ‘I thought BIS was run by the Nazis,’ said Bingham.

  ‘It is,’ said Knight calmly. ‘The shorter man in the shooting jacket on the ambassador’s left is Paul Koch de Goory-end, also a banker, also with connections to BIS, and a personal adviser to Menzies.’

  ‘Stewart Menzies, your SIS head, MI6?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Another sigh.

  ‘What about the one in the tweeds?’ asked Katherine. The man was standing alone close to the doors on the left, his face partially in shadow.

  ‘Charles Bedeaux. Another American, although he rarely goes there anymore.’

  ‘Time and motion studies.’ Bingham nodded. ‘Calls himself an efficiency expert. He’s on Hoover’s list. Friend of Goering’s.’

  ‘And also of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor,’ said Knight. ‘He is, in fact, at this meeting representing their interests, as is Mr Office. He has, um, rather a close relationship with the Duchess as we understand it.’

  A tenth man stepped out into the sunlight and paused, bending slightly to speak with Bedeaux. He was in his fifties, balding and wearing a baggy, three-piece suit with a watch chain across his thickening stomach. Katherine recognised the figure immediately.

  ‘Anderson, the home secretary!’

  ‘Quite correct,’ said Knight coldly. ‘The man in charge of Scotland Yard and Civil Defence among other things.’

  They continued to watch as the men on the screen moved around the terrace, choosing food and drink from the buffet table on the right.

  ‘Quite the little party,’ said Bingham eventually. ‘Two cabinet ministers, the U.S. ambassador, some international bankers and a smattering of Nazi sympathisers.’ He lit a cigarette, lighter blazing in the gloom. ‘Too bad we can’t hear what they’re saying.’

  ‘We can. You can listen to the recordings later if you wish.’

  ‘You eavesdropped as well?’

  ‘We had some prior notice of the meeting. Walker was in Scotland shooting grouse. Tucked a few listening devices here and there among the potted plants. Surprisingly easy.’ Knight smiled. ‘The same sort of procedure you had in place when Mr Kennedy was ambassador.’

  ‘You bugged Joe Kennedy’s telephone?’ asked Katherine, turning to Bingham. He ignored her and turned to Knight.

  ‘So you know what the meeting was about?’

  ‘Yes I’m afraid I do.’

  ‘You mentioned the word treason,’ said Katherine bluntly. ‘Then you show us newsreels of our ambassador consorting with some pro-Germans and a pair of Churchill’s ministers. Presumably this is all leading somewhere.’

  The film came to an end, the celluloid tail snapping off the reel and flapping angrily for a few seconds. Knight switched off the projector, turned on the lights and sat down with Katherine and Bingham, turning one of the folding chairs to face them.

  ‘Both Anderson and Halifax are remnants of Chamberlain’s government,’ said Knight. ‘Of the two, Halifax was the most certain that peace with Hitler could be negotiated. He still feels that way. When Churchill took over as PM, he became a leader without a party. Halifax was the King’s choice as well as Chamberlain’s. If Churchill hadn’t kept His Lordship on as foreign secretary, he would have had a political mutiny on his hands. He wouldn’t have been able to function. Blackmail of a sort, or expediency, take your choice.’

  ‘Is that what the meeting was about?’ asked Katherine. ‘In part. McKittrick from BIS and this Koch de Gooryend fellow had been putting pressure on Kennedy. McKittrick had also been feeding the ambassador some highly sensitive information regarding stock prices.’

  ‘British stocks?’ asked Bingham.

  ‘Yes.’ Knight nodded. ‘Among others.’

  ‘That’s illegal,’ said Bingham. ‘Foreign diplomats aren’t allowed to trade in the country they’re posted to.’

  ‘Nevertheless, that is what he was doing. From what I gather, Mr Kennedy has become quite wealthy trading on Europe’s present misfortunes.’

  ‘The ambassador has been involved in some questionable business dealings before this,’ put in Katherine. ‘You don’t have to convince us of that.’

  ‘You said that Kennedy was only part of it,’ Bingham interjected.

  ‘A small part,’ Knight answered, nodding. ‘As I mentioned, Anderson, Halifax and Butler were very much for appeasement. Anderson and Halifax because they are essentially weak men, Butler because he has the mind of a Machiavelli and an eye to the main chance. The man is an immoral swine.’ Katherine couldn’t help smiling; it was the first sign of emotion she’d seen from the uniformed man.

  ‘Go on,’ Bingham prompted.

  ‘Immediately following Churchill’s appointment in May, there was a serious attempt to come to a negotiated peace. Overtly the offer was made through Swedish diplomatic channels. In fact the offer came from Hess and Goering. The conditions included a large loan, which was to be made to BIS, and a transfer of gold bullion. Ambassador Kennedy was involved but backed out at the last minute. Churchill refused to have anything to do with it. Needless to say neither Halifax nor Anderson were, or are, aware of the situation regarding Ultra.’

  ‘If Churchill had gone for a negotiated peace, his career as prime minister would have fizzled out like a wet firecracker,’ said Bingham. ‘Chamberlain would have been back in a minute.’

  ‘Halifax more likely; he was the chosen successor after Chamberlain’s cancer was diagnosed. Whatever the case, the prime minister’s position is still insecure, especially after the debacle in Dunkirk and the bombings here.’

  ‘And now Coventry,’ said Katherine.

  ‘And now Coventry,’ Knight agreed.

  ‘You’re saying that Halifax and the others are going to take another stab at it?’ asked Bingham, nodding his chin towards the film screen.

  ‘Beyond that, I’m afraid. It goes much farther than Halifax. When Anderson invoked the 18B Internment regulation, he neglected to intern quite a number of questionable people, including several members of Parliament for a start. And various pro-Nazi business interests – powerful ones.’

  ‘Vauxhall?’ Bingham suggested. ‘Hiram Walker?’

  ‘Yes. You could add a number of others.’ Knight shook his head wearily. ‘It really is quite awful, you know. There’s even some evidence that Montagu Norman at the Bank of England is involved and McGowan.’

  ‘Who is
McGowan?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘Sir Harold McGowan. Chairman of Imperial Chemical Industries. Neville Chamberlain was a major shareholder.’

  ‘A tangled web,’ said Bingham.

  Knight nodded. ‘Very. ICI had a dozen agreements with German companies before the war, mostly with I. G. Farben. They’re still in place, handled by McKittrick at BIS and one of the Nazi board members, Hermann Schmitz, who also happens to be on the board of I. G. Farben.’

  ‘So all these men at the meeting are part of some plot to make peace with Hitler?’ asked Katherine. ‘Can they really do it? Get around Churchill, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, almost certainly,’ said Knight. ‘With the help of people like McKittrick and Mooney. You’d be surprised at how much sympathy these people have. To them the real enemy is Stalin, not Hitler. As far as they’re concerned, even wholesale murder by the Nazis is better than communism. Unless Churchill manages to get Roosevelt into the war, England is doomed. Take away Ultra and the advantage it gives us and you simply speed up the process. According to our sources, Hitler has only postponed the invasion until spring. He’ll bleed us, bomb us and starve us to death.

  ‘Capitulation or disintegration, that’s how Kennedy described it. They’ll make their separate peace and force Churchill out. If they don’t manage it, you’ll see Hitler crossing the Channel on the May tides, that’s the implied threat that runs under all of this; if that comes to pass, Halifax will probably greet him on bended knee.’ Knight scowled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave Butler the bloody Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves for his efforts.’ Katherine glanced at Bingham; it was all he’d said to her before and much more.

  ‘And Bedeaux?’ she asked, slightly bewildered. ‘The Duke and Duchess? Where do they fit into this?’

  Knight shrugged. ‘King Across the Water and all that,’ he said. ‘Halifax stood against the Simpson marriage. From what we can tell he’s done a complete about-face on that score. If the Germans do invade—’

  ‘Edward takes the throne again. A puppet for Hitler,’ said Bingham. ‘Christ, it’s diabolical.’

  ‘It would probably be somewhat more sophisticated than that,’ said Knight. ‘The country couldn’t stand another abdication. More likely that Halifax would force the king to step down. Elizabeth would be crowned queen with the Duke of Windsor as prince regent until she came of age. It would work constitutionally – Bedeaux goes on about it at length during the meeting.’

  ‘So what we’re really looking at here is a palace coup,’ said Katherine. ‘Banks and industry throwing their lot behind Hitler.’

  ‘In simple terms, yes. You Yanks stay out of the war, cut off any support to England and we become a Nazi fiefdom. Scotland Yard becomes Gestapo headquarters and Buckingham Palace is turned into a hunting lodge for Goering.’ Knight made a derisive, snorting noise. ‘Goebbels as editor of the London Times.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Bingham whispered.

  ‘It’s all insane of course,’ Knight commented blandly. ‘None of these men knows the first thing about war and less about Hitler. If he invades, England will be thrown back into the Dark Ages, or worse. And he won’t stop in England long; America will be next. You don’t appease a rabid dog, you shoot it. They don’t seem to understand that.’ He paused. ‘Mad or not, the effect would be catastrophic.’

  ‘Who’ll give our little group of traitors the Ultra secret?’ asked Bingham. ‘Koch de Gooryend?’

  ‘Even Menzies isn’t that much of a fool. He won’t have told him. But Koch de Gooryend is bright. All the recent interest in Liddell’s investigations will have made him suspicious. There’s some talk of it on the wire recordings we made.’

  Knight looked at Katherine. ‘He knows about Miss Copeland, for instance. Her escapade in Coventry with Inspector Black will simply make things worse.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s already evidence of that. There was a direct order from the Home Office yesterday, from Anderson himself, ordering Liddell to stop the investigation forthwith. Black is being forced to resign. Liddell has problems of his own; his credibility has been seriously prejudiced I’m afraid. Among other things his ex-wife is the daughter of one of the conspirators.’

  ‘For a bunch of lunatics they seem to have covered all the bases,’ said Katherine. ‘And with this kind of evidence I don’t know why you haven’t arrested them all.’

  Knight sighed. ‘Sadly, things aren’t quite that simple. There are… political considerations.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure that there’s very much we can do to help,’ Bingham commented. ‘Not without jeopardising our own position.’

  ‘You can protect Ultra, at least for the moment. Buy us some time.’

  ‘How are we supposed to do that?’ asked Katherine.

  ‘You can find this murderer Black was looking for and the agent Liddell refers to as The Doctor.’

  ‘The Doctor?’ asked Katherine.

  ‘A German agent operating out of London,’ explained Bingham. ‘We’ve known about him since the Tyler Kent thing. At first we thought it might even be Kennedy himself but the two men who were killed at the zoo put the kibosh on that theory.’

  ‘I didn’t know about any of this,’ said Katherine, looking at Bingham coldly.

  The first secretary shrugged. ‘You didn’t have to know.’ He glanced across to Knight. ‘If you want our help, there will have to be some kind of arrangement. Quid pro quo, remember?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘The wire recordings. I’ll need to have full transcripts.’

  ‘Easier to have copies made of the recordings themselves. The fewer people who know about this the better.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Bingham grimly. ‘The president can listen to Kennedy’s own voice. Hear it from the traitorous bastard’s own mouth.’

  ‘You want Roosevelt to know about this?’

  ‘All of it. It’s the only way. If the Nazis can be kept in the dark about Ultra until Beaverbrook gets your war production back on its feet, then there’s a chance. If they change the codes, the British war effort will collapse. Simple as that. But the president will have to know. He’s already concerned.’ He shrugged. ‘Not to mention the political bonus for him. Kennedy is already on his way out the door. This will keep him there. The same with Mooney and McKittrick. Threaten them with God knows what. The others are your concern though. No promises, but give me the recordings and I’ll see what I can do.’

  Knight thought for a long moment, then nodded. He stood up. ‘Fair enough,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ll have copies by tomorrow.’

  Five minutes later Katherine Copeland and Lawrence Bingham were standing on the windy pavement in front of 23 Tedworth Square. It was only mid-aftemoon but already the sky overhead was darkening to tarnished silver. In France and Belgium the Luftwaffe would be preparing for yet another raid on London. Katherine looked upward nervously. They went on and on, as though intent on destroying the city, stone by stone. No matter what the headlines touted, it was having much the same effect on the people; suddenly the plot being concocted by the men she’d just seen on the film didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.

  ‘Can I give you a ride anywhere?’ asked Bingham. ‘My car’s just around the corner.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Katherine, turning up her collar. ‘I think I’ll walk. The doctors said I should exercise my ankle.’ She looked at Bingham. ‘How much of that did you believe?’

  ‘Most of it. I think our friend Knight is skating on pretty thin ice. By telling us about Ultra he committed an act of treason himself. Even so, I don’t think he told us the whole story.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ She frowned. ‘He’s using us.’

  ‘And we’re using him. For the moment.’

  ‘Quid pro quo.’

  ‘That’s how wars are fought these days, Kat,’ said Bingham, smiling thinly. ‘Boardrooms not battlefields. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?’

  * * *

  Naked, filthy, cold, Th
e Number lay curled on the small landing, the locked door only inches from the pink-white soles of his bare feet. He had soiled himself more than once since coming to the landing and the door but he made no attempt to clean up after himself since he knew very well that it was part of the penalty he would have to pay.

  From time to time he would look up, see the door and cower down again, small sounds escaping from his dry, cracked lips. He’d had neither food nor water for almost five days now and he was beginning to hallucinate. The sounds had come first – the telltale creaking from behind the door, the whispered voices of his sacrifices, some old and faint like the first, whose remains were now buried, strewn across the Heath, but others were louder, especially the soft, wet mewlings of the Luffington woman; the dry whistling of air as the loop went round her neck, choking her life away. Or the single rising gasp of the last one, as the razor vanes sliced through his heart. His own terrible failure, his weakness, perhaps even the forfeiture of his power.

  He prayed for that power’s return, his cracked lips whispering on the landing, down the stairwell, into the empty rooms. But even as he prayed, he knew that he had yet to pay the price that lay waiting for him behind the door. He must pay it, he knew and would, but not yet, not yet.

  After the sounds came the desperate memories from his childhood and in some ways they were even worse. The giant, twist-limbed yew in the garden of the rectory, purple-black in the moonlight as he crept so quietly across the rooftop of Big Dorm and down to it. The fleeting glint of moon on blade as he sliced away the perfect length, sneaking back to his bed beneath the window, slipping the heavy, exquisitely balanced limb between the spring and mattress, leaving it there to cure. The guilt of his transgression, the fear of capture and revelation. The long, waiting silence of the room and all the sleeping boys.

  Going Home Day. The cabs, horse plodding invisibly behind the low brick wall and trees, appearing finally on the drive. A line of them wheeling around the ilex tree and pausing before the door. The red-cheeked cabmen waiting. The flick of the whips and then the line moving off, leaving him, alone with no home to go to, watching from the upstairs window as the procession finally moves off, reaches the lane and wends across the countryside like a line of marching ants, vanishing into the distance.