A Gathering of Saints
Page 49
‘Masterman has him working for Double Cross as an interrogator. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was down at Latchmere with Tin Eye and Herr Hess.’
‘I heard about that. Unbelievable.’ The detective smiled blandly. ‘That should have Kennedy’s fascist friends in an uproar, wondering what Hess is going to say. He was part of their little plot.’
‘Yes, I should think they’ll be running for cover just about now. Low profiles all around and some rousing patriotic speeches in the House of Lords to prove their loyalties.’ Liddell smiled. ‘We still have that cine film of Knight’s, though, in case they get out of line. Not to mention Tennant’s records, or the threat of them.’
‘What about Tennant? Your elusive Doctor?’
‘It’s driving Maxwell Knight mad,’ said Liddell, smiling around the stem of his pipe. ‘There was enough material in the man’s files to bring down half a dozen governments. It’s been taken out of his hands entirely. Sealed forever, thank God. We’ve seen the end of Tennant and Queer Jack both; their secrets are safe.’
‘Secrets don’t last forever and The Doctor and Queer Jack won’t be the last,’ Black answered quietly. ‘Treason and madness are universal constants, I’m afraid.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Liddell smiled. ‘Which makes people like you and me constant as well.’
‘Is there anything else? I really should be getting back.’
Liddell shrugged. ‘No, not really. I just thought I’d see how you were faring out here beyond the pale.’ It was a lie, of course, but then again very little of what Liddell said or did these days had any truth to it. He pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll walk with you back to the bridge.’
‘If you like,’ said Black mildly. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other and Liddell knew that something had gone out of the policeman. What the intelligence officer had originally taken as cool defensiveness he now recognised as indifferent calm. Assaulted by emotion and event, Morris Black had made himself an emotionless castaway in the eye of the storm of war that raged around him.
The two men left the inn and walked back to the bridge leading onto the Abbey grounds. Halfway across, Morris Black stopped and turned. ‘Why did you really come here? It wasn’t to give me the gossip about Queer Jack and Tennant or to ask me about Katherine.’
‘I wanted to find out where your loyalties lay.’
‘You want me to spy for you,’ Black said flatly. ‘Is that it? Your people want to know what SOE is up to and you want me to provide the information.’
Liddell let out a small sigh. Black was still too good a detective. There was no point in lying to him. ‘It had occurred to us.’
‘Which would make me as much a traitor as Tennant and as mad as Raymond Loudermilk.’
‘Hardly. Tennant was working for the enemy and Queer Jack was a homicidal madman.’
‘From what I can tell, everyone is potentially an enemy and the definition of madness can change on a whim. If Loudermilk had been murdering Nazis in Berlin you would have called him a patriot or a hero.’
‘Which doesn’t answer my question.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’ Black’s voice was cold.
‘Just think about it.’ Liddell let the offer lie. If he said too much, too soon, the tenuous connection between them would disintegrate.
Eventually Black spoke. ‘I make no promises. Not now. To you or to anyone else. Not anymore.’
‘I’m not asking for any.’
‘But you will. Eventually. Your sort always does.’
‘Perhaps.’
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, Black’s expression lost in the darkness surrounding them. Liddell extended his hand again and this time Morris Black took it. The grip was firm and dry.
‘Goodbye, Liddell.’
‘Goodbye, Morris.’
The detective nodded once, then turned away. He crossed the bridge, feet ringing dully on the stone, then reached the path beyond. He paused, turned briefly and raised a hand in faint salute. Liddell responded in kind, then watched as Morris Black vanished into the shadows of the Abbey.
Liddell stood on the bridge then turned, looking out over the rippling water of the river running below him. He breathed deeply, taking in the scents of a dozen different wildflowers and the faint salt tang of the estuary where sea and river merged. There was no sound except the whisper of evening air through the trees. A haven of peace and calm that seemed inviolate, while a hundred miles away, on the far side of the narrow channel that stood between England and Europe, war was raging, a tempest of death and devastation. Liddell shook his head sadly; Morris Black had his refuge from the storm, at least for now – his sanctuary – but how long would its protection last?
The intelligence officer glanced down, realising that his pipe had gone out. He dropped it into the pocket of his jacket, then made his way back to the inn, knowing that it was a question with no answer and that only passing time would give it meaning.
Author’s Note
Although A Gathering of Saints is a work of fiction, it is based entirely on historical fact. With almost no exceptions, the characters in the book are real people and virtually all of the events took place as they have been described. Particular bombing raids during the Blitz, and their effects, have been recreated as accurately as possible, including information relating to times, damage, fatalities and weather conditions.
More than three hundred historical books were consulted during the writing of A Gathering of Saints, as were a large number of military, intelligence and political experts. Of the books consulted, a number were especially useful. These include Secret Service by Christopher Andrew; A History of British Secret Service by Richard Deacon; The Double Cross System in World War II by James Masterman; A Letter From Grosvenor Square by John G. Winant; The Enigma War by Jozef Garlinski; Firewatch Diary by John Betjeman; St Paul’s Cathedral in Wartime by Dean W. R. Matthews and Browne and Tullet’s biography of Sir Bernard Spilsbury, Scalpel of Scotland Yard.
Of the many people who helped me with the research directly, I would particularly like to thank Mrs Betty Heller, who was kind enough to record her vivid memories of the Blitz for me. I would also like to express my deep appreciation for the help of a retired member of both the United States Office of Strategic Services, and later the Central Intelligence Agency, who provided me with invaluable information and corroborating evidence regarding the attempted ‘separate peace’ of 1940 and the existence of the man who really was ‘The Doctor’ during World War II. For obvious reasons, of course, she must remain anonymous.
Paul Christopher
Point Roberts, Washington
1995
First published in the USA in 1996 by Atria
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Paul Christopher, 1996
The moral right of Paul Christopher to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788636230
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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