by John Gardner
‘Oh?’ Arnie felt a twinge of worry. He had really wanted Sara and his Uncle Dick alone for the day. ‘When’s later?’
‘Early evening. They say they’ve all but fixed the wedding date.’
‘Great. Mind if I use the phone, Sara?’
‘Not at all. Here, leave your case and use the General’s Study. Dick’s taken one of the horses out, so you won’t be disturbed.’ She propelled him toward the study door where he put a call through to Naldo in London. Barbara answered.
‘I’m here doing the packing. We’ll see you later.’ She sounded extraordinarily happy, and Arnie felt a real stab of regret. For a second he wondered if he had been right to push Liz away without even putting up even a token resistance.
‘Okay, Barb, can you do me a confidential favor?’
‘Try me.’
‘Tell Nald that I don’t want anyone to know where I am – the Chief, my people, anyone.’
‘Your command is my word. It’s as good as done, unless Nald’s already spilled the beans.’
Sara waited in the breakfast room with coffee.
‘You wanted to talk to Dick?’ She queried once they were settled.
‘Both of you, really. And I’m sorry, Sara, it isn’t easy.’
A shadow crossed her face. ‘Caroline and Jo-Jo?’
He nodded. ‘How did you know?’
Her voice was flat. ‘Oh, it’s what they all say – Cas, Naldo, everyone who knows about it. You’re all the same. You start the conversation by announcing, “This isn’t going to be easy.” They’ve been traced?’ The question presupposed that the girls were dead.
Arnie shook his head. ‘No. But, between us, I think we’re a little nearer. It’s possible we’ll find out soon enough.’
She looked out the window and he realised there were tears in her eyes. ‘No, it isn’t easy, Arnold. We’ve more or less given up all hope of ever knowing. Accepted their deaths, of course.’ A long pause. ‘What did you want to know?’
‘That’s the least easy part, Sara. I’ve got to ask about their politics.’
Sara gave a long sigh. ‘Oh, lord.’ Another sigh. ‘What are the politics of the young, Arnie? They all think they’ve found a new way of changing the world, and they all think it’s better… You know about Jo-Jo’s background, don’t you, Arnold?’
He nodded a ‘Yes.’ In his mind he thought of the stories he had heard – Jo-Jo, the orphan bastard of a Railton, brought up by another Railton.
‘I treated her like my own daughter, and she was an elder sister to Caro. It was odd to see them as children, they were so alike. They had everything. Then, when they had been formally educated, Jo-Jo wanted Paris – the Sorbonne, which was her right, and where she did very well. Caro naturally demanded the same. Even with the age difference they always had to be the same, do the same things. Caro would’ve been twenty-eight years old now. Jo-Jo thirty-one.’
‘Sara, their politics are what I’m asking about.’
She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Of course. I don’t know – not for certain, Arnie. But Dick’ll probably say the same. We both saw them in ’38, and again in ’39. Pleaded with them to come back if things got difficult. To be honest, they appeared to have moved slightly to the left of Lenin. I don’t know if they were actually card-carrying members of the Communist International – the Comintern – but Dick might tell you. Dick has a tendency to know just about everything. Sometimes he shields me.’
She looked away, out the window again onto the view she had loved and known almost from her own childhood, for she had been barely an adult when John Railton first brought her here. Once more the weary sigh. ‘As for Caro and Jo-Jo, like others we tried to ignore it. Thought it would go away. Their revolution had nothing to do with manning the barricades or throwing bombs. They wanted to cut through class. All men and women were equal to them.’ Her face suddenly underwent a small change, as though deep inside her she had long digested something very bitter. ‘I think they carried that message to others. It’s totally out of proportion, I know, but I think both of those girls gave their bodies to anyone they believed to be in need of them; and what money and intelligence they possessed they passed on to similar people.’ She gave her smile again, lacking in dazzle now: laced with wormwood. ‘Ask Dick, Arnie. I think he probably knows more than I do.’
‘Sure, Sara. I’m sorry.’
Sara’s trick in life, Arnie thought, was that she did not allow moods to hold her for long. Over lunch she was as bright and sparkling as ever. The smile she gave him as she left the room afterward was as flirtatious as some golden summer girl up to her knees in long grass and lust.
‘Sara’s told me what you want.’ Dick said it the moment the door was closed. ‘I have to ask you why.’
‘And I can’t tell you, Dick. There must be a reason, but I am simply instructed to do some research into their political backgrounds. Both Naldo and myself – well, we thought it best to start here, with you. To be truthful, Naldo suggested it.’
Dick nodded. His leathery face had taken on a fast and solemn look, as though he had received several injections of novocaine and could not move a muscle.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘In Paris, they were fashionably left wing. I have my own reasons for believing it went further than that, rich spoiled babies that they were. Always the trouble with the privileged, there comes a point when they discover the whole world is not like them. When that moment comes they either go on just as before, or they despise their families and feel guilty about their own good fortune. There was a bit of both in Caro and Jo-Jo. Enough to worry me.’
‘You saw them last – ’
‘In ’39. Actually they promised that should things become really bad, if war overtook them, they would come home. I think they meant it.’ He paused, as though about to weigh his words. ‘I should tell you that I know for a fact Caspar had no knowledge of their political leanings. I’ve never spoken to him about it, but I’m as certain as I can be that both of those girls were members of the Comintern. They wanted to change the world. They couldn’t understand why so many people didn’t want the kind of world they offered. They starved themselves, mixed with dubious people, did good works – like Sara, only their good works were for a very uncertain ideal.’
‘No more than that?’
‘If you want the truth I can give you a few names. Some addresses.’ He glanced away. ‘Actually, you’d be doing me a favour, Arnie. I’ve checked on certain of their old acquaintances from the Paris days. Found out where they are now – the ones that lived. But I’ve never had the guts to go and ask the right questions. I’ll give you the names if you’ll bring me the answers – the true answers, mind. I don’t bruise that easily.’
Arnold promised, and made arrangements to leave for Paris the next afternoon.
*
At a little after six o’clock that evening Naldo and Barbara arrived in Naldo’s Humber. ‘Your shadow’s been looking for you, Arn,’ Naldo told him. ‘I said I thought you were still in Germany. Seemed a bit put out.’
‘Thanks. I need some time to do his dirty work. Keep him at bay, will you, Nald?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Could you brief Sara and Dick as well?’
Naldo nodded. Then – ‘We must be closer to the end than I thought. The Chief’s given me the go-ahead for a Christmas wedding.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Sara appeared from the General’s study, her arm wrapped around Barbara’s shoulders.
‘Dick and I were married from here at Christmas.’
‘I’m afraid it has to be Surrey for us.’ Naldo gave an uncharacteristic little grimace.
‘Honeymoon here then, Nald.’ Sara was serious.
‘With the whole family around? I know Redhill at Christmas.’
‘That’s exactly why you should spend it here. We’re family, we’ll leave you alone like proper lovebirds and laugh if you don’t come down for meals, but it would be fun.’
To his
surprise, Arnie saw the look pass between Barbara and Naldo, and the honeymoon at Redhill Manor arranged between them without a word crossing either’s lips.
*
As they were all sitting down to dinner that night talking of weddings and happiness, Caspar opened the next batch of papers in the ghastly pink Northolt cave,
The first private report of the meeting with the SS officer remained in his head. He could hear the trams of Basle and smell the new-baked bread and strong aroma of coffee in the Berne safe house, which he also knew well.
They covered exactly the period between the former C’s return to London after his adventure in Switzerland, and his death. Mainly there were decrypted letters and telegrams – from Harold as well as Hornet – mixed up with the intelligence analysis from C, which he had already briefly examined.
First came the initial product. The first messages from the newly recruited Harold of the SS.
Chapter Thirty-two
The messages from C’s fledgling agent – Harold – began on November 13, 1938. The first was short and bitter. The decrypt read:
You will see that I told you the truth. The whole world now knows something of what has here been called Crystal Night. Yet I suspect the news outside Germany gives only a fraction of the truth. I was involved, naturally, and am heavy with guilt. Hundreds, possibly thousands of Jewish shops and businesses have had their windows broken; while Jewish Temples have been burned. Looting and brutality are ripe with horror and, bearing in mind my original warning to you, the scale of this terror is great – Jews murdered, clubbed to death; hundreds, maybe thousands taken into the Camps. Again I must warn you – this is only the beginning. Harold.
Between this message and March 1939 there were a number of short pieces of intelligence, some of it of interest – order-of-battle for both the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe. There were special reports on the Panzer divisions, and one message drew attention to what was later to become known as Blitzkrieg.
Caspar shook his head sadly over a particular passage:
You should caution your military men to read a book by a young French colonel called de Gaulle – Vers l’Armée de Métier. Also one by a senior German officer, Erwin Rommel, Infanterie Greift An. The latter was written two years ago. Both books are required reading for all our officers, and will show your people the way German strategy is changing. There will be new mobility, with tanks and bombers crushing forward positions, while infantry will leapfrog with the tanks. Harold.
Caspar wondered how much use had been made of this advice, and of further information which poured in. On March 1, Harold predicted the move into Prague and the takeover of Bohemia and Moravia. A week later he sent a long letter which gave almost the entire text of Hitler’s speech declaring that Czechoslovakia had ceased to exist.
Most of the reports were in the form of lengthy letters, which must have taken hours to encrypt. All were both accurate and could have been of great use.
Late in March, Harold reported his promotion to Sturmbannführer – Major – together with his concern that this elevation would lead to a posting as a staff officer in one of the camps.
But it was a report from the first week of April that made Caspar sit up as though stung.
An opportunity has come for me to take your advice regarding the Russian business. There has been much coming and going here. Do not be surprised if you hear suddenly of a pact between my country and the Russians. I realise it sounds impossible, but it becomes increasingly likely as each day passes. AH appears to have set his heart on it. There is, of course, plenty of opportunity to speak with members of the Soviet Legation, and visiting Russian diplomatic people. In terms of great secrecy I have made an approach to a man named Baleikev who I suspect to be one of their Intelligence officers. He has responded well. I do not know how to describe my feelings. I seem to boil with a mixture of hatred for those who lead my country, and a sea of guilt at what I am doing. Pray for me. Harold.
Caspar wondered how much praying the old Chief was doing at that time. If at all, it was probably for himself. The next message was simple, but told Caspar all he needed to know. He had suspected it from page one of C’s First Folio, but it still made him catch his breath.
It is done. The Russians have accepted me and worked out a series of codes and similar instructions. Once they had questioned me, in great detail, four times in all, they told me to be prepared for a visit from my controller. I returned home late on Thursday night, having been dining with my brother officers. Hannalore is away, visiting her aunt in Austria. I went to my study and switched on the lights. There, sitting in a chair, was my man. He is to be known by me as Thunder. No clue to his true name. A tall man who does not look like a Russian. He speaks German well, also English like a native. To hear him you would think he was born of your country. First I am to give them mainly military and economic details. I am to use the code name Lightning. Please give me instructions of what I should not tell them. Harold.
So, Lightning! Lightning equalled Hans-Dieter Klaubert. Hans-Dieter Klaubert also equalled Harold, C’s inside, private source within the SS. During the interrogation of Ramillies, outside Frankfurt, he had asked his brother about code names. Much earlier, Ramillies had given him Lightning; during a sultry, sticky afternoon, a low rumble of thunder had precursed a downpour. ‘God’s playing with my crypto,’ Ramillies had said, with almost a sneer. When Caspar had queried the remark, Ramillies volunteered the information that he had been Thunder to Klaubert’s Lightning.
Now Caspar turned the pages rapidly. Most of the information was about troop and weapons buildups and reorganisation. Early in August, Harold once more predicted a Soviet-German peace treaty, and then, in mid-August, he was moved to an active unit – ‘In preparation for war. I have several officers and many clerks and experienced NCOs under me. We are to be a field unit, ready to take military control in occupied townships,’ he wrote. ‘I am still in Berlin and we are training, mainly on how to treat local people of countries overrun by our armies. I am afraid for my soul. There will be need for many arrests of able-bodied men and women to act as labour. Foreign Jews are to be shown no mercy. I hope God will have mercy on what I might have to do.’
Interleaved with these messages were C’s replies, which mainly thanked Klaubert for his invaluable work and pointed him toward other targets. There were also instructions on what to give to the Russians, and – more to the point – what not to give. C was controlling this asset through Hornet and clearly holding him close to his chest. By August, Caspar knew, C was already bedridden.
The last week of August explained much of what was later to occur. By now it was certain that war could not be averted. The dossier included signals sent directly from the Foreign Office warning embassy diplomats to prepare to evacuate. Hornet issued information two days in advance of the signing of the peace treaty between Russia and Germany – a piece of news that rocked the world, for Britain appeared to be about to sign a similar document. Harold calmed any fears. ‘Do not take the treaty seriously. My controller, Thunder, still wishes me to feed them with a lot of information. Neither side trusts the other. War is a week or so away.’
Then came a long message from Hornet:
Because I have to prepare for evacuation, I have given Harold fresh instructions. He realises that he can no longer rely on the system which has worked so well until now. He understands perfectly what must be done, and I have arranged, without giving any details, for our people to clean out two letter-boxes in Switzerland. Harold will communicate regularly by letter to one of two Poste Restante addresses – in Berne and Zurich. He will write to a distant relation called variously Anna Flemart (an aunt); Ingrid Stoltz (a second cousin); Karl Mulders (a great-uncle); Peter Diester (another second cousin); and Paul Dopft (a family friend). All will appear pro-Nazi and I have taught Harold a simple checkerboard cipher. This is the best I can do at such short notice but it should arouse no suspicions among the German military censors who will see the
letters. The decrypt will be done on the basis of the second letter to the right at the beginning of each line up to line twenty, when it will become the first letter. Also the first letter to the far right for the first twenty lines, and the penultimate letter at the end of each line thereafter. The letters should be taken in rotation – left, right, etc. I enclose the checkerboard, and his letters will all include the initials RKT in some form of order attached to his name. Once we begin to operate him directly from London a further, and safer, method can be used. I trust this is satisfactory for the interim period. Hornet.
There followed an en clair telegram from the Embassy in Paris to the Foreign Office. It was dated August 28, 1939, and read:
REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT NIGEL RICHARD MANNUS FORMERLY DPCO MUNICH KILLED IN MOTOR ACCIDENT NEAR AMIENS WHILE RETURNING TO ENGLAND BY CAR ON YOUR INSTRUCTIONS PLEASE ADVISE NECESSARY DEPARTMENTS AND RELATIVES STOP BODY WILL BE RELEASED FOR ONWARD JOURNEY AS SOON AS FRENCH POLICE WILL ALLOW STOP ENDS.
There followed a tightly written note by the present C which said that, while Mannus was on the SIS books, there was no record of his being operational regarding any current agents. Of course C had technically broken all the rules of agent-handling in keeping this asset to the closely restricted knowledge of only two people, but who could have known these two would die within a few months of one another? It is difficult to understand, C wrote, how my predecessor could have entrusted his secretary with a letter naming me as his successor, yet making no provision for his agent, Harold. He did not even know if C, who was quite ill by this time, was even informed of the young officer’s death. It did, however, explain the bewilderment of various people when the decrypts came in from Switzerland. There they had been decrypted on Mannus’ instructions only, then transmitted in a more secure cipher to London. In England there was, naturally, certain suspicion in dealing with an agent, not on the books, called Harold. C noted, In the first months I had no time to investigate what was a small matter, but it did cause great alarm.