“Oh? And why is that?”
Randall was staring at her with such a blank, unfeeling expression that, despite the heat from the roaring fire, Evelyn felt a cold prickle at the back of her neck. She glanced at Weston, but he was gazing into his empty glass, while Nina still had her eyes fixed on the painting, her forehead creased; if they knew what the work represented, they weren’t saying. But Randall—did he know?
“It’s an Old Testament story,” she murmured. “Judith is a heroine of the Jews. One night she penetrates the camp of the Assyrian general Holofernes. The Assyrians have been plundering her homeland for months and she offers to help his army in the siege of Bethulia. But after waiting for Holofernes to drink himself unconscious, she takes his sword and cuts off his head.” Evelyn paused. “She’d been planning her attack for some time. She caught Holofernes completely unawares.”
“Not the first fellow to fall into that trap!” Weston snorted.
Evelyn looked at the fire, sensing Randall’s eyes on her as he reached for the poker hanging from the stand, and realized she had no idea what he was capable of. Could he have set her up? The door was only a dozen paces away. If she moved fast, she could be on the other side of it before they had the chance to react.
“But why on earth did Isadore buy this for you, Andrew?” Nina’s sneering voice cut through the room. “She mustn’t have known it was Jew art, surely?”
Randall gave a wan smile. “Oh, she knew. My wife is nothing if not meticulous.”
Evelyn saw his mouth twitch beneath his mustache as he raised the poker, gazing at the sharp tip.
“I hang it here to remind me. About complacency. That our enemies are everywhere—even in our own ranks. That given half a chance they will destroy us in our own homes.”
There was plain menace in his face now, real animal hatred, and Evelyn felt a bright stab of fear in her gut. He knows, a voice bellowed inside her head. He knows.
“My wife tells me you are a champion of our cause, Evelyn,” Randall said, facing the fire again to prod at a log.
Evelyn somehow nodded. She daren’t speak—she couldn’t.
“And your work in the War Office provides an opportunity to advance our plans at the Society?”
Randall reached across the hearth and hung the poker on the stand. Then, with his back still to her, he rested both hands on the mantelpiece while one foot was planted forward, as though he were about to spring into the flames. But when he finally looked back at Evelyn, she saw that he was smiling.
“That is my belief, yes,” she said, exhaling slowly in relief.
“The government continues to ignore my warnings about the Jew problem,” Randall muttered. “No amount of negotiation, wrangling, or even begging will persuade Chamberlain to shift an inch. They’re so eager to misunderstand—to think the worst of us, as if we were the enemy. But all we want is stable government, safety, and security for our nation. Safety in our beds.” He pointed to the painting. “But to do this we have to rid ourselves of these corrupting forces and recognize how much can be gained by peace with Hitler.”
The fire hissed with the abrupt explosion of a log. Randall crossed the carpet to close the drawing room door.
“To make matters worse, I have MI5 watching me like a hawk. It’s been like this for weeks. They’re surveilling anyone with connections to the British fascists. Tom must take precautions, too—the Americans have eyes everywhere.” Randall returned to the edge of the rug. “We’ve known for some time the danger our cause faces if the bulldog gets his way and becomes PM. It’s no secret that Churchill’s argued in the Cabinet for stronger measures against the Germans—he wants full-scale war. But this outcome would be a disaster. British troops are already depleted; the German army is more organized and more powerful. It will be a bloodbath. And now we have proof of something we’ve suspected for many months: that Churchill has been secretly agitating for American involvement in this war.”
Evelyn sat forward. “What kind of proof?”
“Highly classified cables between Churchill and Roosevelt. They reveal that while the Americans have been making false overtures about peace and appeasement, Churchill has been doing everything he can to entice them into the war.”
Evelyn blinked. Such an alliance required the cooperation of many agencies of British government, including MI5, yet she had heard nothing about it. Could it be true?
“Quite a shock, isn’t it?” Nina said with a grim smile. “To have been lied to so comprehensively by the government?”
“And the cables?” Evelyn asked. “Where have they come from?”
Randall pointed at Weston. “Direct from the American embassy. Nina arranged to make copies. I have the originals.”
“I used a fellow named Sidorov, a Russian photographer,” Nina confirmed. “Very good, very discreet.”
“But the Americans,” said Evelyn, shaking her head, “they won’t be drawn in, will they? They’ve nothing to gain, nor any appetite for another world war.”
“They’re as mendacious as Churchill,” Randall said, now pacing the rug. “But I’ve read the advice from Roosevelt and his intelligence agencies, as well as correspondence direct from the Admiralty. The Americans are already involved. They’re sourcing radio detectors and sharing signaling with MI5. Their preparations for war have begun. And they must be stopped. Churchill must be stopped. If he topples Chamberlain, we will never forge peace with the Germans, and Britain will be razed to the ground.”
He marched toward the desk, unlocked the slatted tambour top, and rolled it back to reveal two small drawers, several letter racks, and a few pigeonholes. The top drawer contained a sheaf of papers, which he tucked under his arm, and a red leather-bound ledger. The membership list. Evelyn caught only a glimpse of it before he slammed the top of the desk shut.
“There.” Randall thrust the documents into her lap. “These prove the extraordinary deception of both governments.”
Evelyn leafed through the papers, each bearing the American embassy seal and the stamp TOP SECRET. She read quickly, taking in as much as she could. It was just as Randall had described. When she was done, she sat back, deflated. If these were leaked, they would further destabilize the government, dealing an enormous blow to public morale in the process. But White, she thought angrily—he must have known about this all along and kept it from her. Why? She studied Tom Weston. He hadn’t said much, an arrogant smirk fixed to his handsome face. Just how had he stolen the cables right from under the Americans’ noses?
When she asked as much, he replied, “It wasn’t difficult. I have high-level clearance at Grosvenor Square; I just took them home one evening a few weeks ago—I bet no one’ll ever notice they’re gone. I like to think Kennedy would approve of our activities in his own way. Old Joe wants appeasement almost as much as we do.”
“The man’s been trying to meet with Hitler for months!” Nina added.
“Yeah, well, from where I sit, it’s all a question of trust,” drawled Weston, standing up to pour himself another drink. “On the one hand, Roosevelt tells the American people that this war is Europe’s problem, that the United States will not enter the conflict under any circumstances, while on the other he’s cozying up to Churchill and laying the groundwork for deployment. They leave us with no option but to alert the public. We all deserve to know the truth.”
Evelyn found herself nodding, though she didn’t know what she was agreeing with anymore. Everything had become scrambled in her head.
“And there is still time, still opportunity, to negotiate an honorable peace with Germany,” Nina put in. “Hitler is a reasonable man. He has made these overtures. We can form an alliance, work toward a greater, purer Britain. We all know this is preferable to another war.”
“Which is why this duplicity must be exposed,” Randall finished smoothly, “and why I will take the original cables to Parliament. I will expose the hypocrisy of the lot of them and show just what Churchill plans to do if he gains power.”
Evelyn felt her eyes grow wide. She had not counted on this development.
“And the copies,” she asked, her voice hollow in the high-ceilinged room, “what do you plan to do with them?”
“Several have already been smuggled to Berlin,” Nina said. “I had a contact, a most trusted ally in the Italian embassy . . . But his position was compromised and now we’re in something of a fix.”
“Where was he taking them?”
Nina glanced at Randall, nodded.
“To the Rundfunkhaus radio station,” he said. “The head of our operation is a British fellow based in Berlin.”
“He’s a broadcaster?”
“Yes. We communicate through a system of code words. They travel in a note alongside the cables. It’s clever, really: to let us know the package has safely arrived, the broadcaster delivers the code word during his program. And the next time the code word is broadcast I’ll know he’s ready for me to take the cables to Parliament the following day for the afternoon session.”
Evelyn swallowed. So White had been right: the cables were going to this German propaganda broadcaster, and Nina, Captain Randall, and Tom Weston were responsible for the leak. She stared at the fireplace, a low rumble of terror working its way up from the balls of her feet. She had the proof, here in this room, not just of the theft of the classified documents but of the existence of the membership list itself. Evelyn felt like she was standing on the top of a rugged mountain peak, staring at the swaths of desolate landscape below. One ill-timed step now . . .
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “You may not have heard, but the Censorship department has moved into the War Office. I’d really like to help, but I couldn’t get this material out for you myself—they’re just too scrupulous.” She sat forward and frowned, her chin in her hand, as if considering. “But I do have another contact who might be useful.”
“Yes?”
Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to look at Nina; it was like watching someone tiptoeing into the path of an oncoming train. Evelyn glanced at the door, knowing what she needed to do but wishing in that moment she could walk away and never look back. She gritted her teeth and took a long, slow breath.
“She’s a Belgian girl,” she heard herself say. “Christine Bakker. Very reliable. We were friends at the War Office, but she works for the Romanian Legation now and still has diplomatic immunity, which means no army personnel are authorized to search her at the border. She travels regularly to the Continent—I believe she’s due to leave London again next week. I know she would be amenable to our plans.”
“And we can trust her?” Randall asked.
Evelyn nodded. “Absolutely. We can put any material in her correspondence satchel and it is guaranteed to be delivered. No one will suspect her.”
She stared at the ice dissolving in her glass, her rapid heartbeat thudding in her ears. Could the others hear it too? If they did, they would surely know the truth, and when finally she looked up she saw Nina inching toward her.
“When?” she said. “When can I meet Christine?”
Evelyn’s stomach clenched. “Monday?”
“No,” said Randall. “It must be sooner.”
“Tomorrow?”
“And she will get the cables to Berlin?”
Nina’s hands were extended, beseeching, as if she would at Evelyn’s command prostrate herself there on the rug. Even Randall looked queer, chewing on the corner of his thumb, his eyes fixed on the fire. Only Tom Weston was undisturbed, swigging the rest of his drink and loudly smacking his lips. Foolish boy, Evelyn thought. He has no idea what he has done.
She turned to Nina and nodded, hoping the Russian woman didn’t see the twitch beneath her eye, the first tremor before the earthquake struck, while Randall raised his glass and drank. From above the mantelpiece Judith loomed large, her gaze no longer one of triumph but of resignation.
“They will get to Berlin,” Evelyn said. “I can promise you that.”
* * *
The trip to Chemley Court was a blur. Somehow she managed to climb into a taxi, mumble the directions to Pimlico, and before she knew it she was hammering away out the front of the flat, half out of her mind. White wrenched open the door.
“Evelyn? What on earth is the matter?”
But her teeth were chattering so hard she could hardly get the words out.
White brought her inside and led her over to the sofa. He fetched a glass of brandy from the cabinet and made her drink it.
“Are you quite all right?” He was wearing pajamas and his reading glasses hung at the top button, dragging the plaid down to reveal a triangle of pink flesh. “Did something happen at Randall’s? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” Evelyn rested her head against a soft cushion, feeling some calm return. How she wished she could close her eyes and make everything disappear. It was too much. She couldn’t do it, could she? Their plan was certain to fall apart. White regarded her sternly, and behind him Evelyn glimpsed a light glowing beneath his study door and the quick movement of a shadow.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had guests,” she said.
“Never mind about that. What happened at Onslow Square?”
“Is there someone here?” Evelyn sat up. “Is it Vincent?”
White blinked and looked away, but not before she caught a flash of rage in his eyes. She hadn’t meant to say it, but she needed some truth to cling on to now, especially as she knew how closely White guarded his secrets.
“What is going on, Evelyn?” he demanded, turning to face her once more. “Why have you arrived here in such a panic?”
She stared back at him. “We got it wrong,” she said finally. “Not about the membership list—that’s locked away in Randall’s bureau. It’s a red-leather ledger, like you said. Top left-hand shelf. He keeps the key on him.” Evelyn took a deep breath. “But we missed the Americans’ involvement. There’s an embassy cipher clerk named Tom Weston working for the Lion Society. I actually encountered him a few weeks ago at the restaurant but didn’t know at the time that he was part of all this. Turns out for the past few months he’s been stealing cables between the Admiralty and the American government. Nina Ivanov and Captain Randall have been making copies and sending them on to Berlin. You were right: it’s all part of their propaganda effort with the Rundfunkhaus radio station to disrupt the Allied war effort and organize support for Germany in the event of invasion. The Lion Society had a man in the Italian embassy delivering these cables to the Continent, but somehow his cover was blown. Which is lucky for us: I said that Christine Bakker can help transport the latest batch . . . I’ve told Nina we can meet her at the Arbat Tea House tomorrow morning.”
White went to his small writing desk, where he rummaged in the drawer for a moment before producing a notepad and pen. She thought he might make some notes, but he only sat there at the desk, his unlit pipe gripped between his teeth, and Evelyn registered that this was the longest she had ever spoken without him interrupting.
“But, sir, I’m afraid that’s not all—Randall is threatening to bring these cables into Parliament once he has the go-ahead from Germany. He wants to expose Churchill and his secret dealings with Washington.”
“Fuck,” White whispered. “Fuck it!”
“Did you know? About Churchill and the Americans, I mean?”
A lock of White’s silver hair had fallen in a curl over his eyes as he furiously massaged his temples. He let out an odd noise—laughter, Evelyn supposed, though it sounded more like a bark.
“Of course I bloody knew,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t. The Americans have been equivocating for months, we need to pull them over the line.” He stood up, his face now bright red. “But I didn’t know that a mole in the American embassy had been smuggling out our top-secret communiqués . . . Christ! The Home Secretary will be apoplectic that we missed this. It could put these negotiations at risk.”
He marched toward his study and re
turned with a manila folder that he slapped down on the desk.
“Those damned Yanks at Grosvenor Square,” he growled. “There when you don’t want them and always sloppy. You see?” He opened the folder and stabbed at the sheet of paper inside. “Ted already had a file on this Weston; I knew I’d heard his name before. Seems he’s been on Special Branch’s radar since he arrived in London.” He scanned the document and exhaled. “Look. He’d only been here a few weeks before inviting a suspected German agent to his flat.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Flashy fellow, is he?”
Evelyn nodded. “Certainly more highballs than neat whisky. But why wasn’t he brought in?”
“The Americans—here.” White read, gave another sigh. “They pulled rank, citing diplomatic immunity. We were told to back off. Bloody fools!” He rubbed at his temples again. “All right, all right. We can contain this. Not the cables going to Berlin, but we have our opportunity to catch out Randall and the others. You said Ivanov wants to meet you and Christine Bakker tomorrow at the restaurant?”
Evelyn nodded. “I thought that the best place. I know it means we can’t get any surveillance in, but it’s safe territory for Nina. She’ll be less twitchy somewhere familiar.”
“Good, good,” said White. “Then it is all arranged.”
Evelyn sank farther into the sofa. She felt achy, like something metallic had been slipped into her bloodstream.
White took her empty glass. “You did very well tonight, Evelyn. At last we have the Lion Society right where we want them. Now go home and get some rest. You must be as sharp as a tack tomorrow.” He frowned at the telephone on the stand. “I’ll make calls to the Home Office and the Director General, but first I must speak to Christine.”
* * *
The lights were out when Evelyn returned to Broadwick Street. She stumbled along the dark hallway until she found her door, so tired she was dizzy, and kicked off her shoes. She managed to scrabble about and find the lamp switch on the table by her bed, but when she flicked on the light she screamed.
An Unlikely Spy Page 22
