by Walter Ellis
“What pretext did you give?”
“The Duke, of course. What else? Now that he’s about to leave for the Bahamas …” Bramall halted for a second and looked hard at Hasselfeldt. “You did know that, didn’t you?”
“I had heard.”
“Yes, well, I told them I needed a briefing on security in the Atlantic sector and what sort of an escort his ship could expect. That sort of thing. I spoke to MI5, too, just to be sure. Their duty officer said it all looked pretty routine, no problems he knew of. American ship, safe as houses, he said. And I’m sure that’s right. Thing is, none of us would actually benefit if His Royal Highness was lost at sea, would we? That’s the funny part.”
Hasselfeldt said nothing. He wondered if Churchill might not have a torpedo in mind. It would arouse the English to new heights of patriotic fervour, and at the same time outrage the Americans, many of whose citizens would be on board. Wasn’t that what happened with the Lusitania in 1915?
“I even got to see the Governor for a couple of minutes,” said Bramall. “Nice chap. He said best to leave it to the shipping line, which knew its business, and that pretty well wrapped things up.”
“Quite,” said Hasselfeldt, who already knew about the Excalibur. “But no more detail?”
“’Fraid not. That’s something that would be organised in London.”
Hasselfeldt continued to probe, still not sure who was leading whom. “So let us go back a little. When you left Madrid, you did so without informing me. That is not how the game is played. Don’t you remember our little talk?”
“Of course. How could I forget? You made my position crystal-clear. But the Duke had moved on to Lisbon, leaving me as Spanish liaison with pretty well nothing to do. I’d spoken with the interior Minister. There didn’t seem any pressing reason for me to hang around. Besides, they were turfing me out of my hotel. Did you know, I’ve been downgraded to the Paris?”
Hasselfeldt could feel his patience wearing thin. “When you were in Gibraltar, you must have seen the French raid.”
“Saw the whole thing from the harbour. Now that was a surprise.”
“How was the response?”
Bramall leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “By our side? Pretty decent, I’d say. Considering the first fighter squadron won’t arrive until next month at the earliest and the searchlights aren’t due until about the same time. They managed to drive the French off before they got within 500 metres of the harbour. From what I can judge, they’re a lot more worried about the Italians, who have naval and air forces ready and are a lot better prepared than the French.”
Hasselfeldt picked up a pen and began scribbling on a piece of paper – the same childlike hand, with large loops and heavily defined full stops.
“Tell me about troop strengths.”
“Hard to be sure. They’re pretty hush-hush about that. I recognised a couple of battalions: the Somersets, the Devonshires – oh, and the King’s Own. And I know the Black Watch are coming – crack regiment from Scotland. Some other unit as well – I’ve forgotten which. I’ve got it written down somewhere. Oh yes, and there’s a battalion of anti-aircraft specialists arriving at the end of the month to handle the big Ack-Ack guns they’re bringing in.”
“It sounds as if the British expect something might happen.”
“Certainly looks that way. Why, are you thinking of having a go?”
Hasselfeldt emitted a slightly forced laugh. “I don’t think the Caudillo would be too happy about that, ha! What do you think?
“No, I suppose not. Not unless he’s decided to join the war, of course.”
“Exactly. But now, before you go, there is one other matter we should discuss. What is your current relationship with the Ortega girl?”
“Isabella Ortega? Finished. Not that there was anything to begin with. She came to see me in my hotel, completely out of the blue. I told her I couldn’t see her any more.”
“How did she take it?”
“Well enough, I suppose. Like I say, we never actually ...” He let his voice trail off.
“ – And you have stayed clear of her?”
“Of course. I don’t believe in coincidence either, you see.”
Hasselfeldt grinned. “That is more like it. You see, Herr Bramall, it is really very easy for we two to get along. All that is required is give and take.”
“You mean, I give and you take.”
“Selbstverständlich. Exactly. Now you are getting it. But the thing is, I have very much enjoyed our little talk. Indeed, I have enjoyed it so much that I wish to have it repeated to me in written form, as a memento.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Very simple. I want a full report, with your signature attached, of everything you saw in Gibraltar. Everything. From the shine on the regimental buttons of the resident battalions to the calibre of the guns being trained on Algeciras. Consider it a test. Pay particular attention to remarks people may have made and the mood they were in. Describe any newly built defences you may have observed and the extent of any gun emplacements inside as well as on the perimeter walls. And do it quickly. As I believe you say in Hong Kong, chop-chop. You have two days. Unless, of course, you would like the photographs of you and me dining here in the Legation to turn up in the British Embassy.”
Bramall let his jaw fall open. “Listen,” he spluttered, “I don’t see what more I can possibly …”
“Must I always repeat myself? I said two days. Is that clear?”
Bramall sighed. “Very.”
“Excellent. Then get on with it. Oh, and should you hear anything further about the Duke, include that as well. I do so love your royal family.”
As soon as Bramall left, Hasselfeldt retrieved his notebook from the top of the Magnetophon and closed the instrument’s heavy lid, locking it with a key that he then placed in his pocket. It was time for lunch. Bramall was a fool, whose intelligence must have been affected by years of in-breeding. It was true that he had come forward with some interesting details about security in Gibraltar – information that would add a welcome new dimension to his planned cable to Berlin. He had also, apparently, broken with the Ortega girl, as instructed. But a nagging doubt persisted. He would wait until he received his report, then decide what to do with him. In the end, it might be simpler just to eliminate him. It would be like cutting the Gordian knot – and it would be such a pleasure.
Vichy: Office of Alain Delacroix, July 9
The message from Dominique Fourneau, typewritten on a sheet of pale grey notepaper, was delivered to the airport in Lyon by a Swiss banker flying home to Zurich from Madrid. The banker, a keen wine buff, had known her husband and was always happy to do a favour for the beautiful French countess. The airport customs official to whom the envelope was passed, telephoned Delacroix, as the consignee, and a car was sent to pick it up. By the time the driver got back to Vichy, the former Army captain was so excited that he slit the envelope in his haste, severing the letter inside so that he had to re-join the two halves with adhesive tape. But it was worth the trouble. Dominique’s first piece of field intelligence, obtained after just 10 days’ residence in Spain, proved to be a fascinating read and confirmed Delacroix in his belief that no good could come from a closer alliance between Franco and the Führer.
I have it on the best possible authority that Germany plans an assault on Gibraltar as soon as passage is granted for its forces through Spain. Franco will demand in return that Berlin should back its claim to an expanded empire in Africa, but in the German view Madrid’s reward will come primarily from a redistribution of British colonies after the war. Following capture of Gibraltar and its transformation into an Axis naval base, German troops would cross the Strait to take up station in Spanish Morocco. Franco and Hitler are expected to meet in the autumn to give final approval to wh
at has been proposed. Await instructions. Further details if available.
Defarge
Dominique’s nom de guerre, Defarge – taken from A Tale of Two Cities, by the English writer, Dickens – had been her own idea. Delacroix thought it a little eccentric, but did not care much either way. What he did care about was the information she came up with. He could only guess how she had acquired it – probably from Beigbeder, a notorious roué, leaky as a sieve. sxFive minutes after reading Dominique’s note, he stood outside the door of Laval’s office.
“I must see the Deputy Prime Minister at once,” he announced.
Laval’s secretary, Madame Edith Bouisson, a 47-year-old career civil servant, was not impressed. She was well used to the strutting ex-captain, who seemed to believe that a little bit of power and an extra ration of ground coffee made him God’s gift to the female sex. Several of her juniors had complained to her that he had pawed them in the canteen vestibule. “M. Laval is with the Maréchal,” she told him coldly. “After that, he is flying to Paris for a meeting with Herr Abetz.”
“Abetz?”
“Herr Otto Abetz, the newly arrived representative of Reich Foreign Minister Ribbentrop. It is expected that he will shortly be appointed ambassador to the Occupied Zone.”
“I know who he is. Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“Mme. Bouisson attempted to indicate by her expression that she did not consider the ex-captain’s ignorance to be either an unlikely or an undesirable state of affairs.
Delacroix glared at her and stood up to his full height. Why did no one take him seriously? “What I have to tell the Minister is a matter of national importance.”
“More important than a briefing from the German emissary?”
“That is not a matter for you to decide.”
“Well, M. Delacroix, you may be assured in that case that when the Minister has concluded his discussions with the Maréchal, he will be informed of your most urgent business.”
“Be sure that he is.”
“A votre service, Monsieur.”
Back in his office, Delacroix seethed with indignation. How was he going to safeguard the honour of France if Laval refused to take him into his confidence? He sat down at his desk and stared out the window. After a couple of minutes, his stomach began to rumble and he felt a familiar pressure build in his bowels. He should not have eaten those oysters, he now realised. He had been warned that July was a risky month, but they looked so succulent.
It was while he stood crouched over the rank repository of the lavatory across the corridor that he heard his telephone ring. It would choose this moment. His secretary knocked sharply on the toilet door. “It is M. Laval. He is in the office of the Maréchal and he says he is in a hurry. Shall I tell him you are too busy to take his call?”
Delacroix groaned with a mixture of effort and frustration.” No, no.” he barked. “Give me a moment.” Oh, merde!
He could hear his secretary convey the message. Something about answering a “call of nature.” It wasn’t fair, it really wasn’t fair. Concluding his toilette in seconds flat, he held his still unfastened trousers up to his waist and rushed across the hall. “Monsieur le Ministre!” he gushed, seizing the telephone, “I have important news.”
Laval, at the other end of the line, sounded unusually curt. “I don’t have much time, Alain. There is a car outside waiting to take me to the airport. What is so important that it cannot wait until my return from Paris?”
“I have had a communiqué from … Defarge.”
“Who?”
“You know … our agent in …”
“Ah! De-farge. Yes. Very good.” Laval’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this a secure line?”
“That is what they tell me.”
The Deputy Prime Minister though for a second. “Very well. Continue. So what does it say?”
“I will read it to you.” Delacroix reached for the letter with his free hand. As he did so, his trousers fell down. Ignoring this latest misfortune, he proceeded to recite Dominique’s message.
Having listened in silence, Laval said: “That is interesting, Alain. You did well to bring it to my attention. But it does not sound too terrible. Madrid, as we always knew, is not to be trusted. Spain’s interests and ours are in natural conflict. But the Führer has given every indication that he is mindful of France’s imperial interests. What we need at this time is not so much proof of Spanish duplicity as confirmation of Germany’s good faith. I will find out what I can in Paris, where Abetz, I feel sure, will provide all necessary reassurance. I understand Berlin may even be amenable to a summit with Pétain and myself later in the year, which could yield great benefit. In the meantime, tell the Comtesse that she has our gratitude and that she should await further instructions.”
“Of course. As always, I am at your service.”
Delacroix replaced the receiver. As he did so, his secretary re-entered the room with a cup of coffee. She stared at her boss as he stood by his desk with his trousers round his ankles. “I thought you would like a coffee,” she said dryly, “ but perhaps you had something else in mind.
Madrid: Romero’s bar, Malasaña, July 8
Bramall wasted no time. He had called an urgent meeting with Romero and Isabella and got down to business almost at once. “I hate to sound like the chairman of the board,” he began, but something’s come up and it could change everything.”
“Go ahead” said Romero, winking at Isabella. “We’re listening.”
“Okay. The way I read it, the key to Gibraltar, and its tie-up with France, is right there in the German Legation. All we have to do is get in there and take it.”
He told them about hearing Serrano’s voice in Hasselfeldt’s office, only for it to be cut off in mid-sentence. “It was like he was there, but not there, if you see what I mean.”
“I don’t understand,” Isabella said. They were speaking in Spanish. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Positive. Who else sounds like him? No one I know. And don’t forget, I spent an hour with him just last Monday.”
“Could be some kind of recording device,” Romero said. “I hear the Germans are ahead of pretty well everybody when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“Well, that’s just it,” said Bramall, a definite glint coming into his eye. “When I got to Hasselfeldt’s office, there was this machine switched on in the corner. I’d seen it before, except that the lid was closed. I think I thought it was a radio transmitter or something. This time, it was open and on full display. It was the size of a suitcase and, by the look of it, it weighs a ton. There were valves – you could see them glowing. And it had what looked like an amplitude dial and a series of knobs that could be turned up from 1-10. But what really made it stand out for me was the fact that there were two reels, laid flat next to each other, with some kind of tape running between them by way of a slot with a series of little guide wheels. I’m no technician; still it was obvious to me it was pretty advanced stuff. I’d interrupted Hasselfeldt in the middle of something. He’d been sitting on a chair next to the machine, taking notes. The pages of his notebook were filled with direct speech – quotation marks, colons after names, that sort of thing. And here’s the thing: from what I could see, the initials of the main person he was transcribing were ‘RSS’.”
“Ramón Serrano-Suñer!”
“Exactly.”
Romero’s yes opened wide. “Coño!” he exclaimed. Then, noting the shock on Isabella’s face, he apologised for the crudity of his language. She blushed attractively and he went on: “Well, there’s your answer. There’s your proof. You get hold of that notebook, and the tape goes with it, and you’ll have all you need to convince the French.”
“Yes, but how do I get into Hasselfeldt’s office, in the middle of the German Legation, break
into a locked steel cabinet, take what I need and get out again with nobody the wiser?”
“That’s why you’re a spy,” Romero said, matter of factly. “You’re supposed to be good at that sort of thing. Didn’t they send you to spy school?”
Bramall looked away. “Yes, well, the less said about that, the better.”
It was Isabella who came up with the answer. “Maybe we could help,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You could visit Hasselfeldt unannounced, in disguise or something, while we created some kind of … disturbance outside.”
Romero’s eyes brightened. “A diversion, you mean? Yes, that could work.”
“What sort of diversion?” Bramall asked.
“Something that would grab their attention. A bit of activity on the street. Maybe a grenade through the front door.”
“And while they’re dealing with the emergency …”
“You’re upstairs saving the world.”
Isabella gave a nervous laugh.
“No, seriously,” said Romero, turning to Bramall. “It could work – always supposing that the secret you’re after is there in the first place. But then, I don’t suppose you’re in any doubt about that.”
“I’m convinced of it,” Bramall said.
“Well, there you are, then. No problem.”
It was Isabella who brought them back to earth. “But what do you do afterwards? How will you get the material to London?”
“Whatever way I can,” said Bramall. “The way I see it, once I find what I’m looking for and get out of the Legation, I need to get over the border into Portugal as quickly as possible.”
Romero nodded in appreciation. “And Isabella can go with you.”
“Well, actually no.”
“What do you mean?” Isabella asked, her eyes wide open. “You’re going to leave me here?”
Bramall pulled at the knot of his tie. “No, of course not. But it’s a question of priorities. If I get hold of this tape and the notebook that goes with it, my overriding responsibility is to get them back to London. I don’t want to exaggerate, but they could prove vital to Britain’s war effort.”