“It’s no good, Ellen, we’re on different sides.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’m English and you’re a German.”
“Yes, but–”
“Ellen, I’m working for the resistance now.”
“My God. You mean … you are a terrorist?”
“One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
“But you kill Germans!”
“And the Germans kill the English,” reminded Jerome.
“Look, that does not matter. We can work through this.”
“We can’t, Ellen,” Jerome assured her. “You see, I’ll probably have to leave the country soon.”
“Why?”
“Because … I can’t tell you.”
“Jerome, I thought you loved me.”
“I thought I loved you, yes, but–”
“Please. If you are going to leave me, at least have the decency to tell me why.”
“I’m … I’m going to do a big job for the resistance movement.”
“What kind of a job?”
“The biggest. I can’t tell you no more. That’s why we have to say goodbye.”
“But I love you, Jerome,” Ellen said, leaning across to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She hugged him. He felt her press a hand against his collar. She kissed him on the cheek.
Jerome pulled away.
He squeezed her hand lightly.
“I’m sorry, Ellen.”
Ellen stood up.
She didn’t say another word.
She left.
Jerome knew that he could never see her again, and that he had told her things he should not have. He knew how the saying went – hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
He drained his pint glass and stood up.
He knew now that Ben had been right. He should’ve just disappeared from Ellen’s life. He shouldn’t have tried to explain in his clumsy way that he didn’t want to see her anymore. He should’ve let her think that he couldn’t see her anymore, not that he didn’t want to.
He nodded to the landlord as he left.
Surely Ben would find out about this.
63
Jerome didn’t notice the Opel parked by the roadside just a few hundred metres along Frankfurt Boulevard. He had his mind on other things, and walked past the car without even glancing at it.
He didn’t even hear the car door opening behind. He just carried on walking. He should’ve heard the footsteps, but he didn’t. However, he definitely heard somebody say his name.
“Jerome.”
It was a woman’s voice – an English voice.
Jerome spun around and saw Maggie standing a few yards from the car, a smile on her face, her hands on her hips. She was wearing a red low-cut blouse under a small black jacket, a knee-length black skirt, and a pair of red high heels. Her hair, although still short and spiky, was combed slightly neater. Her glasses were gone, her face wasn’t so pale. She looked different, yet she looked just the same …
“Maggie?”
“I was hoping you’d come here.”
“It’s … great to see you,” Jerome said, walking to her and throwing his arms around her. “Jesus, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Jerome said.
“Yeah, well, you can’t keep a good girl down.”
“You look … different.”
“Like it?”
“It’s … different.”
“Is that all you can say? Hey, I know it’s not the most inconspicuous of outfits, but … well, it’s my job.”
“You look fabulous,” Jerome assured her.
“But you wouldn’t take me home to meet your mother dressed like this,” Maggie said, leading him back to the car. She got in behind the wheel, he hopped in beside her, and she fired up the engine and moved off.
“Where are we going?”
“Just for a ride,” Maggie said. She looked at him, smiled, but something in that smile told him she was a little upset. Finally, she said, “Was that Ellen?”
“Who?” Jerome asked, immediately feeling his face redden.
“The girl you went into the Pig and Whistle with,” Maggie said. “I watched you arrive.”
For a moment, Jerome was silent. “Yeah, that was Ellen.”
“A bit foolish, wasn’t it, taking a Kraut to that pub?” Jerome looked at Maggie, then patted her leg. He felt her skin, his hand tingled. It had been more than a fortnight since he’d seen her, more than a fortnight since he’d made love to her.
“I told her it was all over, Maggie. I owed her that much at least.” Maggie was silent. She rammed the car down into second, slowed at a T-junction, then turned left. “Maggie?”
“I thought I meant something to you.”
“I had to finish it, Maggie, once and for all.”
“And that’s all you did?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t kiss her goodbye?”
“I didn’t get the chance to,” Jerome said, “not that I would’ve done. I told her it was all over, and she stormed out.”
“I know I probably shouldn’t be so … overprotective,” Maggie said, “but I love you. I don’t want anybody else to.”
“Don’t worry,” Jerome said, squeezing her thigh. Maggie pulled over to the kerbside outside a semi-detached house. “Where are we?”
“My house,” she answered, turning off the engine. “I thought we should get … reacquainted. Unless you have any objections?”
“I’d love to get reacquainted with you.”
“Let’s go then.”
Jerome looked down at Maggie as she lay asleep with her head on his bare chest. It was late, after one, and Ben would most probably be back at the hotel wondering where he was. He had to return.
But he didn’t want to leave Maggie.
She stirred as he moved, and opened her eyes.
“Jerome?”
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
“Why?”
“Ben’s expecting me.”
“Don’t leave me,” she said plaintively.
“I have to,” he said, jumping out of bed. He found his underpants and jeans amongst her blouse and skirt, and pulled them on. Then he picked up his shirt, put it on and fastened it.
“Are you sure?” she asked, pulling back the sheets to show him her naked body. Sweat glistened down her breasts, her thighs, between her legs. The dark thin strip of pubic hair almost beckoned him to come to her.
He wanted to, but he couldn’t.
“Ben and me are doing a big job, Maggie, I can’t let him down.”
“I know, I know,” Maggie said glumly, covering herself over again. “How long will it be before I see you again?”
“When this job is over, Ben said we might be moving to the US,” Jerome said. He watched the look of dismay appear on Maggie’s face. “I told him I wasn’t going unless you came with me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“We can start a new life,” Maggie said, beaming.
“A new life together,” Jerome said, kneeling on the bed and kissing her. “And we can forget all about this place, all about the oppression. It’ll be me and you, that’s all that matters.”
“I love you, Jerome.”
“I love you too.”
They kissed.
Jerome didn’t leave for another half an hour.
64
Heinz von Stauffenberg, the Reichsführer-SS, picked up the telephone receiver and demanded an outside line, which he was duly given. He immediately called the Führer’s office in Germania, and was incensed, although not surprised, to find himself being put through to the Vizeführer.
“Heil Führer,” was the first thing he heard.
“Heil Führer.”
“What can I do for you, Heinz?” the Vizeführer enquired.
“I need to speak with the Führer urg
ently.”
“If you have a message, Heinz, I shall be happy to convey it personally to the Führer.”
“I would prefer to convey it personally to the Führer myself,” von Stauffenberg growled.
“And what is the nature of this message?”
“I would rather discuss that with the Führer himself.”
“The Führer is busy, Heinz.”
“Then I will wait for him. This is a matter of extreme importance, and should be dealt with urgently.”
“In that case, Herr Reichsführer, you should tell me. I will ensure that the Führer receives your message.”
“I said I would rather speak personally with the Führer myself.”
“And I said the Führer is busy. He will not be available to speak with you today, Herr Reichsführer.”
“Then let me speak with the Führer’s personal assistant.”
“That also is not possible.”
“I do not believe this!”
“Give me the message, Herr Reichsführer.”
Von Stauffenberg could see that he had little choice in the matter. He had to tell the Vizeführer, despite the fact that he didn’t trust the man. But whether the Vizeführer would, as he had promised, deliver the message to the Führer was debatable.
“We have reason to believe that the English terrorist group, Combat UK, has a copy of the Führer’s itinerary for his planned visit to England.”
“And what reason is that?”
“A member of the English Sicherheitsdienst was executed for handing documents to the terrorists. One of the documents he had recently handled prior to this arrest was a copy of the Führer’s itinerary.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is,” assured von Stauffenberg. “Now, the Führer’s visit must be cancelled.”
“The Führer will not agree to that.”
“Surely the Führer is no fool, Herr Vizeführer,” von Stauffenberg said. “He will see that his visit to England has been compromised.”
“I will inform him of this … development, Herr Reichsführer, but I doubt the Führer will be swayed on this. He has made up his mind. He is a very determined man.”
“Then he must hear the news firsthand from myself.”
“As I have explained, that is not possible.”
“I will leave for Germania as soon as I can,” von Stauffenberg assured, and he put the handset down. He could see that the Vizeführer was not going to help him, but he could not stand by and watch the Führer visit a State where his life might be at risk.
The Vizeführer had his own secret agenda, it seemed, and that depended upon the Führer’s life either being threatened or taken. After all, it was the Vizeführer who had the most to gain from such a scenario.
Von Stauffenberg called SS-Oberführer Scholl to his office. The officer snapped to attention and saluted.
“Scholl, I have to return to Germania.”
“Mein Herr?”
“It appears as though the Vizeführer is not as concerned about the life of the Führer as we are. I will have to speak with the Führer myself.”
“Mein Herr,” Scholl said with a nod.
“During my absence, you will assume command of the Germania Schutzstaffel contingent here in England.”
“Yes, mein Herr.”
“Have you any questions?”
“Mein Herr, I …” Scholl stopped, looked around the room. It was a natural reaction. Von Stauffenberg had seen it throughout his service in the Schutzstaffel. Officers afraid to speak their minds for fear of those who might be listening in.
And Scholl seemed more fearful of outside forces than he did of the Reichsführer-SS, which von Stauffenberg found particularly disconcerting.
“You may speak candidly, Scholl,” he assured. “I have had this office checked thoroughly for bugs.”
“Yes, mein Herr.” Scholl certainly seemed anxious, and he paused for a few more moments before continuing. “Mein Herr, if there is some kind of … power struggle in Germania, perhaps it would not be prudent of you to return there.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying, mein Herr, that the Vizeführer has powerful allies.” Scholl seemed embarrassed that he had spoken. Von Stauffenberg urged him to continue. “If, as you say, the Vizeführer is not concerned for the Führer’s safety, then perhaps it is because he covets that position for himself. And under such circumstance–”
“–it would be dangerous for me to return to Germania?”
“Yes, mein Herr.”
“Have you any names for me?”
“Mein Herr?”
“Names of these … allies the Vizeführer has.”
“A name that was mentioned was that of SS-Oberstgruppenführer Schaemmel, of the–”
“–Leibstandarte-SS Führer,” concluded von Stauffenberg. “Yes, I know Schaemmel, and so do dozens of other officers who have had the misfortune to work alongside him. He is a bastard of a man.”
“It is curious, is it not, mein Herr, that Schaemmel has not already arrived in England, and yet the Führer is due to arrive tomorrow evening.”
“It is indeed.”
“Herr Reichsführer, if you must return to Germania – and I seriously advise against it – then I would like to accompany you.”
“I need you here, Scholl. You are my best officer. I need my most valuable officer to continue with our work here. Besides, if the Vizeführer does intend to do me harm, I doubt whether you would be in a position to prevent him.” Scholl nodded his head. “I appreciate the support, Scholl.”
“Thank you, mein Herr.”
“If you have to reach me, use my personal number,” von Stauffenberg said, holding aloft the cellular phone that had been resting on his desk.
And with that, he dismissed Scholl.
He thought about what Scholl had said. It pretty much confirmed his own suspicions. And if that were the case, if the Vizeführer was standing by and allowing the Führer to be killed, they would still need to blame somebody. And von Stauffenberg would be the ideal candidate, with Schaemmel ready to assume the position of Reichsführer-SS.
It was a conspiracy that von Stauffenberg would have trouble proving, if at all.
But he couldn’t stand by and watch it happen.
He picked up the phone and ordered his secretary to arrange a flight back to Germania.
65
Liam arrived at the US end of the tunnel that ran for two kilometres under London from Ostmünchenstrasse to Hitlerhofstrasse, and was immediately frisked by the US Marines. They confirmed that he was who he claimed to be, and that he had no concealed weapons on his person, and then allowed him to climb up into the basement of the US Embassy, where Clark Rydell and Barney Kitchener were waiting for him.
They led him to a small conference room, and the three men sat around a table. Immediately, Liam lit a cigarette, and Barney removed his glasses and wiped them. It was up to Clark to open the conversation.
“So, how are things at your end?”
“They could be better,” Liam said.
“Problems?”
“Didn’t you hear about the so-called Combat UK pogrom?”
“We heard a rumour,” Barney said. “The Germans like to keep things quiet, for obvious reasons. They’ve already got the Russo-American Pact and a dozen other nations against them. They don’t want the whole world to introduce embargoes and sanctions.”
“They arrested about three hundred people in London alone,” Liam explained. “Obviously in preparation for the Führer’s visit. Out of those three hundred, about a hundred or so were Combat UK members. We lost about a dozen chief members, the rest were sympathizers, odd-job merchants, nobody too important. The thing is, we lost Scott too.”
“Jesus.”
Clark said, “I was gonna ask where he was.”
“And when they took Scott, they took our link in the Sicherheitsdienst, the man who got us a copy of the Führer’s itinerary.”
&nb
sp; “So, you’re thinking the Führer’s visit might be called off?” Clark asked. He and Barney exchanged glances.
“It’s possible,” Liam said. He dragged from his cigarette, and blew smoke high over the heads of the Americans. “But we’re continuing as normal.”
“Good,” Barney said. He thought for a moment about what he was going to say, then added, “We have it on good authority that the Führer’s visit has not been cancelled, and that his itinerary, whatever it is, has not changed.”
“I’d love to know who your source was,” Liam said with a smirk. “But in any case, we want a few things from you people.”
“If we can help.”
“We have two men working on this assassination attempt, and whether they fail or succeed, they are going to be hunted for the rest of their lives. Now, there is nowhere in the whole of the Old United Kingdom, in the entire German Reich, in fact, where they will be safe. I want you to fix it for them to travel to the US.”
“I don’t know if that’d be possible.”
“Put it this way, Barney,” Liam said, smoking his cigarette frantically, “it had better be possible, because my lads are doing this principally for you. As it is, it’s fair to assume that it’s a suicide mission. But I don’t want them to be left in the lurch if they do manage to escape. And if you can’t guarantee them the assistance that they deserve for risking their lives, then perhaps I might just call them in.”
“Liam, do you think they’ll succeed?” Barney asked.
“Our sniper is the best in the business.”
“And who’s the other guy.”
“His back-up.”
“And how good a shot is he?”
“He doesn’t need to do any sniping,” assured Liam. “He’s there to watch our sniper’s back. Believe me, if the Führer visits England, if he travels to any of the places on the itinerary where an assassination attempt might be possible, and there are about half a dozen of those, then he will be shot dead.”
“That’s a pretty cast-iron guarantee, Liam.”
“And it deserves one from your end.”
“Okay,” Barney answered. “We’ll help your guys get out of the country.”
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