by Pirate Irwin
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Could the Minister please answer the question? He seems to be not fully appraised of his brief, which I find, Mr Speaker, quite astonishing considering this is a matter that has been in the public domain this past couple of weeks,” growled Bill Bacon, the Labour member for one of the Newcastle constituencies.
The minister in question rose slowly and returned to the dispatch box.
“The honourable member should be advised that as the matter, as he calls it, has been in the public domain for the past few weeks, then the answer lies there too. It is not for me to criticize the people of this country, that have had the good judgement to elect us and not his party, over their welcoming of the nuclear weapons we have agreed to develop in co-operation with our allies, the United States. Does he really think that we should instead show the Soviets more sympathy than they merit? I don’t think so. But the honourable member is more than welcome to do so if he so desires and may I wish him Godspeed!” and with raucous laughter from all sides of the house accompanying his last statement, the Minister of State for Defence, Sebastian Stuart, took to his seat on the front bench.
He had enjoyed a rapid rise in the party ranks since his election in 1950, displaying the quick wit and sharpness that many of the older members lacked and was much needed in a party that had been sent reeling to heavy defeat only months after the end of the war and his liberation from Flossenburg. He had left the camp still with the lasting odour of the smell of Canaris’s, Oster’s and another conspirator Karl Sack’s burning flesh in his nostrils, for they had not been accorded cremation in the camp’s ghastly huge crematorium but instead had been burnt on a pyre in suitable Götterdämmerung fashion. The sweet odour had stayed with him, and on occasion when relaxing back in his house in Mayfair, staring into the fireplace, he would drift back to that awful time and imagine that the ashes collecting in the grate were those of the heroic group, who had been judged and tried and executed in a matter of hours as Hitler settled scores while his regime endured its final agonising death throes. He had been excluded from this, along with the lawyer Josef Müller, probably by mere accident and a rare moment of bureaucratic incompetence, but for that he would not now be enjoying the fruits of ministerial office and a place among an elite club. The luck that had carried him through the war still held, no embarrassing revelations or allegations had been made despite his high profile post, but in a way he yearned for it and he thought that perversely he had actively sought public office so he could have his guilt exposed. By all accounts, everyone thought he had had an exemplary war; he was at last acquainted with his Military Cross, which was pinned on his chest by the commanding officer of the regiment. People avoided asking him about Flossenburg, as they knew it was more than just a POW camp and one step down only from being one of the extermination camps where the inmates had been gassed. His mother had survived the war, retreating to the country during the Blitz, but it was clear that she was proud of her son, who at last had done the right thing and made the family name one to be respected. Now that he was a minister she was positively purring with satisfaction, though her only regret was that he was still not married and showed little sign of doing so. Her constant pleas that she wanted to have grandchildren before she died fell on stony ground. Sebastian rebutted her with bland replies such as when the time was right he would settle down, but after all he was still only in his early 30s and he did not want to make a mistake because to him marriage was sacrosanct and was for life, blah, blah, blah. Of course he did not really believe that but it kept his mother satisfied until the next assault. He had no idea of what had happened to Victoria and if she had had the child. He couldn’t really have cared less after her actions over the infamous letter, but having seen intelligence information on what had happened to the Berliners on the arrival of the Soviets, he didn’t think she had enjoyed a happy one.
He had been chosen for the junior ministerial post in the Department of Defence based on his military experience and had found it an exciting brief to handle, particularly with the Cold War in full throttle as their former allies the Soviets displayed their true colours and threatened to make the world even more of a wasteland than Herr Hitler had achieved. He found it a subject he could wax lyrical about for hours on end; he certainly had first-hand knowledge of fighting the Soviets close up, but then again it was not the wisest thing to elaborate on, particularly if he didn’t want to end up like the baleful von Ribbentrop, hung after a fair or as fair a trial as victors can give to major war criminals at Nuremberg. Fat old Hermann, a much reduced sized one, in fact, after going off the old morphine, had given a bold defence before escaping the noose by acquiring a cyanide capsule from some friendly source. He reckoned that of all the people sitting on the top table from that balmy day at the wedding he was probably the only one still alive, Henrietta having died in some concentration camp after paying the price for being married to Beckmann, as the families of the conspirators were swept up by the regime and found equally guilty for the one true moral stand of the war. Of course, it meant he was more secure with so many of them dead and it was as if that guardian was keeping an eye out for him, ensuring that anyone considered a threat to him should be gotten rid of. It was both comforting and at the same time slightly unnerving and it certainly played a part in his reluctance to get married, as everything or anybody he touched seemed cursed. That’s why he loved politics so much because in that world it paid to be brutal, softness was a sign of weakness and therefore one could afford to ride roughshod over those you considered either threats or plain weak.
He was due to have dinner with his mother that evening where no doubt she would introduce him to some single woman, another in a long line of hopeless candidates, at one of her regular soirees, as she liked to call them. First, though, he had matters of state to attend to back at the Ministry and ordered his secretary to ring his mother and tell her he may be held up and to go ahead without him. He started poring over the papers to do with the latest development of the nuclear defensive system, which was really an oxymoron as they were nothing else but offensive and singularly destructive, introduced to the world by the Americans and to his mind the greatest threat to peace than anything else. However, now the Soviets, too, had reacted by initiating their own programme, there was no other option but to increase the tempo of the development, and so it went on and on and one started to wonder what on earth people had learnt from the war. Not a lot, surmised Sebastian, as he browsed through the paperwork. He was interrupted by a knock at the door and glancing at his clock, which stood to the left of his resplendent desk, he remarked it was nearly seven o’clock. It meant his secretary must have left, which was a pity as she acted as a one woman Praetorian Guard in stopping him being disturbed. However, he knew one of her children was sick and for once he had permitted her to leave ahead of him hence leaving him open to this interruption. “Come in,” he said impatiently. The door swung open to reveal a well-dressed man, greying and quite plump with a ruddy complexion. It was not a face he recognized and he knew most of the people within the ministry by sight. “Yes, what do you want? If you wish to make an appointment you should ring my secretary tomorrow and she will arrange it,” said Sebastian. The man stood in the doorway, his bulky frame blotting out most of the light coming from the secretary’s office, and indicated he would like to be admitted now.
“Listen, sir, I am as you can see rather busy, and I have a dinner engagement with my mother. And you know what they are like, very touchy about tardiness,” grinned Sebastian, but only received a stern look back. Sebastian’s patience was never one of his strong points and the taciturn fellow was trying it to the limit. He reached for the phone to ring down to security to have them come up and remove the intruder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Minister,” said the stranger firmly. Sebastian retorted he would bloody well do what he liked in his office and pressed the buzzer on the phone. There was no answer, so he decided
to remove the man himself. As he rose to eject him, the man sat himself down into one of the red leather-backed chairs, which surrounded Sebastian’s desk and lit a cigarette. “Listen, whoever you are, I don’t know what your business is here but I think you should leave before I throw you out. I haven’t the time to be playing games,” Sebastian said. His uninvited guest exhaled smoke from his nose and indicated that his host should take a seat before adding: “I have come over from the Ministry of Transport, and I had an appointment which clearly you have forgotten. You can look in the diary to confirm it.” Sebastian left the room and looked in his diary and saw that there was indeed an appointment set for that time and cursed himself for forgetting it. As a way of apology he asked if the man from transport would like a drink. “Yes, a large Scotch, please. No ice,” he drawled. Sebastian sensed that he had already had quite a few, but still poured him three fingers full and handed it to him. “Now Mr Cartwright isn’t it? What can I do for you?” Cartwright sipped from his glass, allowed the alcohol to swirl around his mouth before swallowing it, relishing the burning sensation as it hit the back of his throat and descended down to warm his chest. He flicked some ash off his pinstripe trousers and lit another cigarette. “Well, Minister, we were rather interested in how the programme is progressing and what role we could play in it,” he smiled what Sebastian thought was rather an ingratiating smile. “Sorry. First such information is classified and to be shared only in Cabinet where your minister would be appraised of progress and secondly I am a little non-plussed as to why the Ministry of Transport would be so interested in how things are progressing,” Sebastian said. Cartwright gulped down his drink, and laid it on the side table beside him before turning to Sebastian and fixing him with a steady gaze. “I don’t think you understood my question, Minister.” Sebastian was bemused by the riddle-like sentences of the stranger, and felt not a little irritated as the clock ticked to half past seven. “Listen, Mr Cartwright. You appear to be wasting my and your time with this game playing, added to the fact you have clearly had too much to drink. I think it would be preferable if you left and did not return unless you have something that I can discuss openly with your ministry. I assure you that I will not take this incident further with your head of department,” Sebastian said and returned to his paperwork. Cartwright, though, refused to rise and stayed sitting there while Sebastian tried to ignore him.
“I am not going anywhere, Minister. You see, I am not here on behalf of the Ministry of Transport but for someone else, who has a large interest in what you are handling,” said Cartwright. Sebastian had had enough of this joker and reached towards the phone again, but was stopped by Cartwright. He tried to pat away his hand but this time he felt a vice-like grip on his wrist and he withdrew it in some pain, scowling at Cartwright. “What the hell do you think you are playing at?” he said angrily, while rubbing his wrist.
“Listen, Minister, the people I work for would be very grateful if you could, well, keep them appraised of the nuclear programme. Through me, of course,” and he smiled his ingratiating smile again. Sebastian began to grasp what the undertone was and he didn’t like it one bit, though he found it absolutely farcical as well.
“Listen, Cartwright, or whoever you are, as I imagine you have invented the name. What you are suggesting is treason and the very words you have used here this evening would entitle me to have you arrested immediately for trying to acquire state secrets. I will give you one last chance to explain yourself properly and clear off before I call security and have you arrested.” Cartwright grinned, revealing yellowing tobacco-stained teeth, and to Sebastian’s relief lifted his large body out of the chair and then to his dismay saw him not making for the door but the drinks cabinet. “Right, Cartwright. That’s it I’m calling security,” and he pressed the buzzer again. There was somebody this time at the other end. “Yes, Minister, what is it,” asked the sergeant, who was stationed in the hallway at the entrance but had been out having a cigarette the first time Stuart had buzzed down. “Er nothing, sergeant. I pressed the buzzer by mistake. I am sorry,” came Stuart’s trembling reply. For on his desk lay an identity card dating back to 1941 for Lieutenant Rupert Murat of the Wehrmacht.
“Where did you get this?” whispered Sebastian, who had just held back from vomiting and had broken out in a cold sweat. Cartwright smiled gleefully and did a little twirl of drunken celebration, fixing himself another drink while also filling another glass and plumped it down beside the stunned Minister. He stroked the back of Sebastian’s head, which provoked Stuart into angrily shaking it off as he sought to steady himself. The moment had come which he had both been fearing and wanting to happen but now having achieved status and with whispering that he might well become a Cabinet minister at the next reshuffle he was reluctant to welcome this expose.
“You see, Minister, the past has a nasty habit of resurfacing just when you believe it has been buried forever and when you have at last achieved something of note,” said Cartwright without the slightest sympathy in his tone. Sebastian swallowed a large mouthful of the Scotch and puffed on a cigarette and asked again where the card had materialized. Cartwright shrugged claiming ignorance but Stuart declined to move on till he knew of where and when it had been discovered. “All right, then, though it hardly matters now that you have accepted it is genuine,” sighed Cartwright. “I am afraid that the one thing the old Krauts were dead good at was keeping records of personnel and files on everybody that was ever mentioned as a potential saboteur or critic of the regime. Now I have no idea what you did or which side you eventually came to agree with but judging by the fact you resided in Flossenburg at the end of the war I would hasten to conclude that it was not on the regime’s side or perhaps of course you had outlived your usefulness to them. Anyway, as I said, all that doesn’t matter a fig because the very fact you put on a German uniform and fought for them is enough to hang you. So where this came from, and the source of it, is immaterial. You, Minister, are a dead man,” he said icily. Sebastian acknowledged that, there was little way out of this situation. Ridding himself of Cartwright wouldn’t help either, as he had been signed in and would be missed if he didn’t sign out and a search of the premises would lead to his being discovered. Sebastian wondered whether it was better to be hanged for murder or for treason and decided to leave the drunk alone and see if he could cut a deal. He clasped and unclasped his hands, patted the desk as if playing the drums and waited for Cartwright to deliver the deal, for he was now the ringmaster.
“What we want from you is in return for the card the latest plans on the nuclear programme and anything you might have on the Americans and their plans . . .” Sebastian interrupted him immediately. “You have got to be bloody joking. You’re working for the Soviets, aren’t you?” Cartwright clapped sarcastically and bowed.
“Caught on at last, Minister. Bravo! Yes, you see, we are not all dreary little civil servants trudging home to our little neat houses in the suburbs every night to see Marjorie and the kids and mowing the lawns on a Saturday morning. No, some of us are for our sins idealists, still believing in a different but equally meritorious ideology and way of life that you and the Americans believe to be equitable to paganism. Thus we must fight you on every level and where necessary bring up topics that are uncomfortable for those we are trying to fight. Hence this rather dramatic scene with you,” smiled Cartwright.
“You’re a traitor, no matter what hue you try and colour it with. No amount of eulogizing about believing in higher ideals can change that. If you are so bloody in love with it, why don’t you just leave and go and live there, for Christ’s sake!” Sebastian shouted. Cartwright put his finger to his lips to tell him to quieten down.
“Well, that could be a mirror image of what you did, Minister. No?” and again came the ingratiating smile. “You see, Minister, I don’t see how you can reject our offer. No one will know that it was you who handed over the information, and you will be able to carry on your inexorable rise up the political tre
e. Who knows, you could become the first Western politician to ease the freeze between the two Blocs and you might even get to visit those old battlefields of yours again.”
“How do I know that you won’t come sashaying to my door again with some more incriminating material? Because I imagine that if you have my ID card there must be plenty of other papers in my file, some of which I would actually be delighted to have exposed,” said Sebastian wearily.
“Well, you won’t know until one of us turns up, will you? Let us just say it will keep you on your toes and stop you from being too intemperate with your anti-Soviet language. So can I have your answer, because I have another engagement and as you said, it is not done to keep one’s mother waiting?” Cartwright said sardonically.
Sebastian shook his head and wagged his finger reprovingly at his blackmailer. “No, you can’t. I want some time to reflect on it, that you can at least give me when such an important matter is at stake. You may cast me in the role of traitor but you would be surprised to learn what really went on at that period of my life. On the surface it looks clear cut but I can assure you that it was far from that. However, I admit the very fact I donned the uniform puts me in a distinctly precarious position and it is for that reason I will mull over what you have said and give you an answer as soon as possible.”
Cartwright looked peeved at the response; he had already been upset by the derisory way Sebastian had said “sashayed” once again reflecting the prejudicial manner in which homosexuals were treated, let alone that they were still considered criminals, but thought there was no way the result would be a negative one. “Very well, Minister. I am not very happy about it but I can give you till tomorrow afternoon to think it over. However, I would caution you not to be too negative in your response as I am not sure which is more terrifying for you, the thought of sharing a cell with me or ending up at the bottom of a rope. Don’t bother letting me out as I know the way. Enjoy your dinner. Oh and by the way, before you start wasting more time trying to check out Cartwright, he is one of those infernally dull civil servants I was talking to you about. However, this gives him some real excitement to alleviate the boring day to day rituals,” and with that he departed, blowing Sebastian a theatrical kiss.
