‘And?’
‘They want more information about Steiner. They’re interested in mounting a rescue operation.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘That was the message. They want all possible information as to his whereabouts. They seem to think you will move him from the Tower.’
‘Who’s they? The Abwehr?’
‘No. General Schellenberg of the SD is in charge. At least that is who my cousin is working for.’
Carter nodded, fiercely excited, and got up. ‘I want you to phone me on the usual number at eleven, old chum, and don’t fail.’ He leaned forward. ‘This is the big one, Vargas. You’ll make a lot of cash if you’re smart.’
He turned and went out and hurried along Baker Street as fast as his game leg would allow.
In Lisbon at that precise moment Walter Schellenberg was climbing the steep cobbled alley in Alfama towards the Lights of Lisbon. He could hear the music even before he got there. When he went inside, the place was deserted except for the barman and Devlin at the piano.
The Irishman stopped to light a cigarette and smiled. ‘Did you enjoy your Christmas, General?’
‘It could have been worse. And you?’
‘The bulls were running well. I got trampled. Too much drink taken.’
‘A dangerous game.’
‘Not really. They tip the ends of the horns in Portugal. Nobody dies.’
‘It hardly seems worth the candle,’ Schellenberg said.
‘And isn’t that the fact? Wine, grapes, bulls and lots and lots of sun, that’s what I had for Christmas, General.’ He started to play ‘Moonlight on the Highway’. ‘And me thinking of old Al Bowlly in the Blitz, London, fog in the streets. Now isn’t that the strange thing?’
Schellenberg felt the excitement rise inside him. ‘You’ll go?’
‘On one condition. I can change my mind at the last minute if I think the thing isn’t watertight.’
‘My hand on it.’
Devlin got up and they walked out to the terrace. Schellenberg said, ‘We’ll fly out to Berlin in the morning.’
‘You will, General, not me.’
‘But Mr Devlin – ’
‘You have to think of everything in this game, you know that. Look down there.’ Over the wall, Frear had come in and was talking to one of the waiters as he wiped down the outside tables. ‘He’s been keeping an eye on me, old Frear. He’s seen me talking to the great Walter Schellenberg. I should think that would figure in one of his reports to London.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘You fly back to Berlin and get on with the preparations. There’ll be plenty to do. Arrange the right papers for me at the Legation, travelling money and so on and I’ll come the low-risk way by rail. Lisbon to Madrid, then the Paris Express. Fix it up for me to fly from there if it suits or I could carry on by train.’
‘It would take you two days at least.’
‘As I say, you’ll have things to do. Don’t tell me the work won’t be piling up.’
Schellenberg nodded. ‘You’re right. So, let’s have a drink on it. To our English enterprise.’
‘Holy Mother of God, not that, General. Someone used that phrase to me last time. They didn’t realize that’s how the Spanish Armada was described and look what happened to that lot.’
‘Then to ourselves, Mr Devlin,’ Schellenberg said. ‘I will drink to you and you will drink to me,’ and they went back inside.
Munro sat at his desk in the Haston Place flat and listened intently as Carter gave him the gist of his conversation with Vargas.
He nodded. ‘Two pieces of the jigsaw, Jack. Schellenberg’s interested in rescuing Steiner and where is Schellenberg right now? In Lisbon hobnobbing with Liam Devlin. Now, what conclusion does that lead you to?’
‘That he wants to recruit Devlin to the cause, sir.’
‘Of course. The perfect man.’ Munro nodded. ‘This could lead to interesting possibilities.’
‘Such as?’
Munro shook his head. ‘Just thinking out loud. Time to think of moving Steiner anyway. What would you suggest?’
‘There’s the London Cage in Kensington,’ Carter said.
‘Come off it, Jack. That’s only used for processing transients, isn’t it? Prisoners of war such as Luftwaffe aircrews.’
‘There’s Cockfosters, sir, but that’s just a cage, too, and the school opposite Wandsworth Prison. A number of German agents have been held there.’ Munro wasn’t impressed and Carter tried again. ‘Of course there’s Mytchett Place in Hampshire. They’ve turned that into a miniature fortress for Hess.’
‘Who lives there in splendour so solitary that in June nineteen forty-one he jumped from a balcony and tried to kill himself. No, that’s no good.’ Munro went to the window and looked out. The rain had turned to sleet now. ‘Time I spoke with friend Steiner, I think. We’ll try and make it tomorrow.’
‘Fine, sir. I’ll arrange it.’
Munro turned. ‘Devlin – there is a photo on file?’
‘Passport photo, sir. When he was in Norfolk he had to fill in an alien’s registration form. That’s a must for Irish citizens and it requires a passport photo. Special Branch ran it down. It’s not very good.’
‘They never are, those things.’ Munro suddenly smiled. ‘I’ve got it, Jack. Where to hold Steiner. That place in Wapping. St Mary’s Priory.’
‘The Little Sisters of Pity, sir? But that’s a hospice for terminal cases.’
‘They also look after chaps who’ve had breakdowns, don’t they? Gallant RAF pilots who’ve cracked up?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’re forgetting that Abwehr agent Baum in February. The one who got shot in the chest when Special Branch and MI5 tried to pick him up in Bays-water. They nursed him at the Priory and interrogated him there. I’ve seen the reports. MI5 don’t use it regularly, I know that for a fact. It would be perfect. Built in the seventeenth century. They used to be an enclosed order so the whole place is walled. Built like a fortress.’
‘I’ve never been, sir.’
‘I have. Strange sort of place. Protestant for years when Roman Catholics were proscribed, then some Victorian industrialist who was a religious crank turned it into a hostel for people off the street. It stood empty for years and then in nineteen ten some benefactor purchased it. The place was reconsecrated Roman Catholic and the Little Sisters of Pity were in business.’ He nodded, full of enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I think the Priory will do nicely.’
‘There is one thing, sir. I would remind you that this is a counter-espionage matter which means it’s strictly an MI5 and Special Branch affair.’
‘Not if they don’t know about it.’ Munro smiled. ‘When Vargas phones, see him at once. Tell him to leave it three or four days, then to notify his cousin that Steiner is being moved to St Mary’s Priory.’
‘Are you actually inviting them to try and mount this operation, sir?’
‘Why not, Jack? We’d bag not only Devlin, but any contacts he would have. He couldn’t work alone. No, there are all sorts of possibilities to this. Off you go.’
‘Right, sir.’
Carter limped to the door and Munro said, ‘Silly me, I’m forgetting the obvious. Walter Schellenberg is going to want a source for this information. It’s got to look good.’
‘May I make a suggestion, sir?’
‘By all means.’
‘José Vargas is a practising homosexual, sir, and there’s a company of Scots Guards on duty at the Tower at the moment. Let’s say Vargas has picked one of them up in one of those pubs the soldiers frequent round the Tower.’
‘Oh, very good, Jack. Excellent,’ Munro said. ‘Get on with it then.’
From a discreet vantage point on the concourse at the airport outside Lisbon, Frear watched Schellenberg and Berger walk across the apron and board the Junkers. He stayed there, watching it taxi away, and only went out to the cab rank when the plane had actually taken off.
&
nbsp; Half an hour later, he went into the Lights of Lisbon and sat at the bar. He ordered a beer and said to the barman, ‘Where’s our Irish friend today?’
‘Oh, him? Gone.’ The barman shrugged. ‘Nothing but trouble. The boss sacked him. There was a guest here last night. Nice man. A German, I think. This Devlin had a row with him. Nearly came to blows. Had to be dragged off.’
‘Dear me,’ Frear said. ‘I wonder what he’ll do now?’
‘Plenty of bars in Alfama, senhor,’ the barman said.
‘Yes, you’re certainly right there.’ Frear swallowed his beer. ‘I’ll be off then.’
He went out and Devlin stepped through the bead curtain at the back of the bar. ‘Good man yourself, José. Now let’s have a farewell drink together.’
It was late afternoon and Munro was at his desk in his office at SOE Headquarters when Carter came in.
‘Another signal from Frear, sir. Schellenberg left for Berlin by plane this morning, but Devlin didn’t go with him.’
‘If Devlin is as smart as I think he is, Jack, he’s been on to Frear from the start. You can’t be a military attaché at any embassy in a place like Lisbon without people knowing.’
‘You mean he’s gone to Berlin by another route, sir?’
‘Exactly. Twisting and turning like the fox he is and all to no avail.’ Munro smiled. ‘We have Rivera and Vargas in our pockets and that means we’ll always be one step ahead.’
‘So what happens now, sir?’
‘We wait, Jack, we just wait and see what their next move is. Did you arrange the meeting with Steiner?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Munro went to the window. The sleet had turned to rain and he snorted. ‘Looks as if we’re going to get some fog now. Bloody weather.’ He sighed. ‘What a war, Jack, what a war.’
4
As the car went along Tower Hill, fog rolled in from the Thames. Munro said, ‘What’s the situation here now?’
‘The whole place is guarded, Brigadier. Public aren’t allowed in like they used to be before the war. I understand they run sightseeing trips for Allied servicemen in uniform some days.’
‘And the Yeomen?’
‘Oh, they still function and still live in the married quarters with their families. The whole place has been bombed more than once. Three times while Rudolf Hess was there, remember?’
They were stopped at a sentry post to have passes checked and moved on through the wool of the fog, traffic sounds muted, an anguished cry from the Thames as a ship sounded its foghorn on the way down to the sea.
They were checked again then carried on over the drawbridge and through the gate. ‘Not exactly a day to fill the heart with joy,’ Munro observed.
There wasn’t much to see with the fog, only grey stone walls as they carried on, eventually reaching the Inner Ward, everything cut off around them.
‘The hospital’s over there, sir,’ Carter said.
‘You’ve made the arrangements as I ordered?’
‘Yes, sir, but with some reluctance.’
‘You’re a nice man, Jack, but this isn’t a nice war. Come on, we’ll get out here and walk across.’
‘Right, sir.’
Carter struggled to follow him, his leg the usual problem. The fog was yellow and acrid and bit at the back of the throat like acid.
‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ Munro said. ‘Real pea-souper. What was it Dickens called it? A London particular?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
They started to walk. ‘What a bloody place, Jack. Supposed to be haunted by ghosts. That wretched little girl, Lady Jane Grey, Walter Raleigh ceaselessly prowling the walls. I wonder what Steiner makes of it?’
‘I shouldn’t think it exactly helps him to sleep, sir.’
One of the Tower’s famous black ravens emerged from the fog, enormous wings flapping as it cawed at them.
Munro started violently. ‘Get away, you filthy great creature.’ He shuddered. ‘There, what did I tell you, spirits of the dead.’
The small hospital room was painted dark green. There was a narrow bed, a cupboard and a wardrobe. There was also a bathroom adjacent to it. Kurt Steiner, in pyjamas and towelling robe, sat by the window reading. The window was barred although it was possible to reach through and open the casement. He preferred to sit there because in better weather he could see out into the Inner Ward and the White Tower. It gave an illusion of space and space meant freedom. There was a rattle of bolts at the stout door: it opened and a military policeman stepped in.
‘Visitors for you, Colonel.’
Munro moved in followed by Carter. ‘You may leave us, corporal,’ he told the MP.
‘Sir.’
The man went out, locking the door. Munro, more for the effect than anything else, was in uniform. He shrugged off his British Warm greatcoat and Steiner took in the badges of rank and red tabs of a staff officer.
‘Oberstleutnant Kurt Steiner?’
Steiner stood up. ‘Brigadier?’
‘Munro, and this is my aide, Captain Jack Carter.’
‘Gentlemen, I gave my name, my rank and my number some time ago,’ Steiner said. ‘I’ve nothing to add except to say I’m surprised no one’s tried to squeeze more out of me since and I apologize for the fact that there’s only one chair here so I can’t ask you to sit down.’
His English was perfect and Munro found himself warming to him. ‘We’ll sit on the bed if we may. Jack, give the Colonel a cigarette.’
‘No, thanks,’ Steiner said. ‘A bullet in the chest was a good excuse to give up.’
They sat down. Munro said, ‘Your English is really excellent.’
‘Brigadier,’ Steiner smiled. ‘I’m sure that you’re aware that my mother was American and that I lived in London for many years as a boy when my father was military attaché at the German Embassy. I was educated at St Paul’s.’
He was twenty-seven and in good shape except for a slight hollowing in the cheeks, obviously due to his hospitalization. He was quite calm, a slight smile on his lips, a kind of self-sufficiency there that Munro had noticed in many airborne soldiers,
‘You haven’t been pressured into any further interrogation, not only because of the condition you were in for so long,’ Munro said, ‘but because we know everything there is to know about Operation Eagle.’
‘Really?’ Steiner said drily.
‘Yes. I work for Special Operations Executive, Colonel. Knowing things is our business. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to discover that the man you tried to shoot that night at Meltham House wasn’t Mr Churchill.’
Steiner looked incredulous. ‘What are you trying to tell me now? What nonsense is this?’
‘Not nonsense,’ Jack Carter said. ‘He was one George Howard Foster, known in the music halls as the Great Foster. An impressionist of some distinction.’
Steiner laughed helplessly. ‘But that’s wonderful. So bloody ironic. Don’t you see? If it had all succeeded and we’d taken him back … ? My God, a music hall artist. I’d love to have seen that bastard Himmler’s face.’ Concerned that he was going too far, he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. ‘So?’
‘Your friend, Liam Devlin, was wounded but survived,’ Carter said. ‘Walked out of a Dutch hospital and escaped to Lisbon. As far as we know, your second-in-command, Neumann, still survives and is hospitalized.’
‘As is Colonel Max Radl, your organizer,’ Munro put in. ‘Had a heart attack.’
‘So, not many of us left,’ Steiner said lightly.
‘Something I’ve never understood, Colonel,’ Carter said. ‘You’re no Nazi, we know that. You ruined your career trying to help a Jewish girl in Warsaw and yet that last night in Norfolk, you still tried to get Churchill.’
‘I’m a soldier, Captain, the game was in play and it is a game, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘And in the end, the game was playing you?’ Munro said shrewdly.
‘Something like that.’
‘Nothing t
o do with the fact that your father, General Karl Steiner, was being held at Gestapo Headquarters at Prinz Albrechtstrasse in Berlin for complicity in a plot against the Führer?’ Carter asked.
Steiner’s face shadowed. ‘Captain Carter, Reichsführer Himmler is noted for many things, but charity and compassion are not among them.’
‘And it was Himmler behind the whole business,’ Munro told him. ‘He pressured Max Radl into working behind Admiral Canaris’s back. Even the Führer had no idea what was going on. Still hasn’t.’
‘Nothing would surprise me,’ Steiner said, stood up and paced to the wall. He turned. ‘Now, gentlemen. What is this all about?’
‘They want you back,’ Munro told him.
Steiner stared at him, incredulous. ‘You’re joking. Why would they bother?’
‘All I know is that Himmler wants you out of here.’
Steiner sat down again. ‘But this is nonsense. With all due respect to my fellow countrymen, German prisoners of war have not been noted for escaping from England, not since the First World War.’
‘There has been one,’ Carter told him. ‘Luftwaffe pilot, but even he had to do it from Canada into the States before they were in the war.’
‘You miss the point,’ Munro said. ‘We’re not talking of a prisoner simply making a run for it. We’re talking about a plot, if you like. A meticulously mounted operation master-minded by General Walter Schellenberg of the SD. Do you know him?’
‘Of him only,’ Steiner replied automatically.
‘Of course it would require the right man to pull it off which is where Liam Devlin comes in,’ Carter added.
‘Devlin?’ Steiner shook his head. ‘Nonsense, Devlin is one of the most remarkable men I have ever known, but even he couldn’t get me out of this place.’
‘Yes, well it wouldn’t be from here. We’re moving you to a safe house in Wapping. St Mary’s Priory. You’ll be given the details later.’
‘No, I can’t believe it. This is some trick,’ Steiner said.
‘Good God, man, what profit would there be in it for us?’ Munro demanded. ‘There’s a man at the Spanish Embassy here in London called José Vargas, a commercial attaché. He works for your side on occasion for money. Operates via his cousin at the Spanish Embassy in Berlin using a diplomatic pouch.’
Eagle Has Flown, The Page 6