Traitors' Gate

by Dennis Wheatley

  It was the sanctimonious phrase which sprang to the lips of many Frenchmen in those days; in most cases to disguise from themselves the fact that they had been led by their military idol, old Marshal Pétain, into deserting their ally and entering into a pact with Hitler.

  On this they both stood up, remained silent for a moment as though paying tribue to the memory of some highly respected friend who had recently died, then shook hands. It seemed then that Monsieur Cochefert had no further questions to ask for, after exchanging punctilious salutations with his visitor, he showed him out to the front door.

  Back in the sunlit street, Gregory felt that he had dealt with a possibly dangerous business very successfully. The line that he had at first thrown in his lot with the Free French but later ‘seen the light’ was, he thought, a nice artistic touch; and the foie-gras story could not have gone down better. Cochefert might lack most of those physical attributes which would have made him the answer to a maiden’s prayer, but he had fulfilled his tiresome function in a friendly spirit and appeared to be entirely satisfied.

  The next item on Gregory’s agenda was to get in touch with Sir Pellinore’s old friends. Just in case he ran into any trouble, he thought it wiser not to do so from his own hotel; so he walked along to the Bristol. Going up to the hall-porter’s desk he asked the man to get him Count István Lujza’s telephone number.

  The porter looked at him in surprise and said, ‘If you mean the ex-Minister, sir, he has been dead for two years or more.’

  Murmuring that he had not been in Budapest since before the war, Gregory asked him to try Count Mihály Zapolya. This time the porter held a short telephone conversation in Hungarian, then reported:

  ‘I have spoken with the doorman at the palace in the Illona Utcza, and he says that as usual in the summer months His Excellency the Count is living on his estate at Nagykáta.’

  Hoping that he would prove luckier with the third string to his bow, Gregory asked for Prince György Hunyadi. The porter gave a dubious shake of his head and replied:

  ‘I feel almost certain that His Highness is still abroad, sir; but I will ring up the Foreign Office.’ Another telephone conversation followed, and it emerged that the Prince was in Buenos Aires as Hungarian Ambassador to the Argentine.

  That left only Count Zapolya as a possible contact; so Gregory enquired where Nagykáta was. He learned to his relief that it was only about thirty miles from Budapest; but the station which served it was no more than a village halt, and there were only two trains that stopped there each day. As it was not yet half-past ten, by hiring a two-horse carriage and promising its driver a liberal tip, he just managed to catch the morning one, which got him there by half-past eleven.

  When he jumped down from the train he could see no sign of a village or a large country house, and there was no conveyance of any kind available. But he had taken the precaution of writing the Count’s name in block letters on an envelope and, on showing this to the solitary porter, the man grinned and pointed up the road towards a slight eminence, crowned by trees, that stood out from the flat plain.

  After a half-mile walk he found that beyond the trees lay the village, and that it was a replica of a dozen others that he had seen from the train. To one side of a broad uneven open space stood a small onion-spired church; the rest of the buildings varied little except in size. They were thatched and squat, the eaves of their roofs coming very low down; nearly all of them were whitewashed and had semi-circular arches leading to inner yards. There were no motor vehicles in the street, but a number of huge hay-wains each drawn by a team of four slow-moving white oxen, and flocks of cackling geese straggled in all directions. Not one of the villagers was in any kind of uniform; there were no notices with arrows pointing to airraid shelters or Red Cross huts and, in fact, it made the war seem so immeasurably remote that the bombings, the sinkings and the barrages that were killing thousands every day might have been taking place on another planet.

  At the village inn he found a man who could speak German and, while he drank his first baratsch of the day, a horse was harnessed for him in leisurely fashion to an ancient carriage. There followed a two-mile drive between the endless fields of rich black earth, which had no boundary banks or hedges and were broken only by an occasional low farm-house with a few barns clustering about it. More trees at length indicated an entrance to a private park. In it, grassy meadows with fine herds of cattle grazing in them sloped down to a long lake, partly covered by bulrushes and with a few swans gracefully sailing about its open spaces.

  The house was hideous. Except for one much older wing, the main building was a product of Victorian times and even the green-painted wooden colonial style shutters that flanked its many windows could not redeem it architecturally. Yet in eighty years its lemon-yellow brick had mellowed sufficiently to give it a not unfriendly appearance, and fine magnolia trees, the flowers of which gave out a heavenly scent, broke up the flatness of its barrack-like walls.

  When the carriage pulled up in front of the porch, Gregory got out, signed to the coachman to wait for him, then took an envelope from his pocket. It contained a note that he had thought out during his journey and written in the village inn while the carriage was being got ready for him. It was in French, addressed to Count Zapolya, and read:

  I have recently arrived in Hungary, and Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust particularly asked me while here to seek an opportunity of conveying his kindest remembrances to Your Excellency. Owing to the unhappy events which have disturbed so many social relationships in Europe during the past three years, it is possible that Your Excellency may prefer not to receive me; but I trust this will not be the case, as I have proposals to make which might prove to Hungary’s advantage.

  He had written it in French only because that was the lingua franca of Sir Pellinore’s generation; he had all but said that he was in Hungary on a secret mission as the agent of an enemy power, and he had signed the note with his own name. His reason for this unusual rashness was his instinct that, should he introduce himself to the Count as a Frenchman, then later have to admit that he was an Englishman, it might so offend the susceptibilities of an old-school Central European nobleman at not having been trusted in the first place that he would refuse to play any further part in the matter.

  A servant in livery had hurried out of the house as the carriage drove up. He ushered Gregory into a hall panelled in pine and hung with ibex antlers and other trophies of the chase, bowed him to one of half-a-dozen big ebony elbow chairs, then put the note on a silver salver and hurried away with it.

  Five minutes later he returned to lead Gregory through an even larger hall in which there were some fine suits of armour and several very beautiful Ming vases on tall carved stands, then down a long dim corridor to a pleasant sunny room at the south-west corner of the house. As Gregory was shown in an elderly man stood up moved out from behind a desk, bowed slightly and said:

  ‘Zapolya.’

  Returning the Continental greeting by saying his own name, Gregory took swift stock of Sir Pellinore’s old friend. The Count’s hair was still thick and dark, except for white feathers just above his ears, but his lined face gave the impression that he must be seventy or more. He still held himself very upright and, from his prominent nose, chin and dark velvety eyes, it was apparent that as a young man he must have been very good-looking. Another legacy of his youth that he retained was the fashion of wearing short side-whiskers and an upturned waxed moustache. He smelt faintly of eau-de-Cologne and fine Havana cigars, and was wearing country tweeds that had the cut of Savile Row. Having offered Gregory a chair, he sat back in his own and said in French:

  ‘It is now quite a few years since I have seen Sir Pellinore, but I am always delighted to have news of him. I trust that he is well, and that even the war has not robbed him of his remarkable capacity for enjoying life?’

  ‘When I left London ten days ago he was in excellent health and spirits,’ Gregory smiled. ‘And over our last dinner
together he told me with tremendous zest of some of the marvellous times he had had with you here in Hungary.’

  ‘Ah, we were both younger then,’ the Count smiled back, ‘but such memories keep the heart young even in old age. So you have come from London, eh? May I ask your nationality?’

  ‘I am an Englishman; but I came here from Switzerland on a French passport.’

  ‘You are, then, a member of the British Secret Service?’

  ‘No. If I were caught I should expect to be treated as a spy, and shot. But I give you my word that I have not come here to ferret out Hungary’s military secrets. I am the personal emissary of Sir Pellinore, and my object is to find out if there is any chance of detaching Hungary from her alliance with Nazi Germany.’

  Gregory expected the Count to shrug and shake his head; but instead, changing to English which he spoke as fluently as he did French, he said, ‘This is most interesting. Nothing would please myself and most people of my class better than to break with that horrible man Hitler, if it could be done with reliable safeguards for Hungary’s future. Please tell me your proposals.’

  For a moment Gregory remained silent. It would not do to show his surprise, or the sudden excitement which rose in him at the thought that, after all, he might succeed in sticking a knife in Hitler’s back and reducing the pressure on the Russian front by a dozen divisions. Leaning a little forward, he said earnestly:

  ‘Your Excellency will appreciate that I am not authorised to enter into negotiations. I am here only on behalf of Sir Pellinore to explore possibilities. But, as you may know, Sir Pellinore is very close to His Majesty’s Government; so you may take it that his ideas, as brought to you by me, would certainly receive very serious consideration and, probably, official endorsement. His suggestion is that Hungary should enter into a separate peace with the Allies and withdraw her Army from Russia. In return Russia, Britain and the United States would jointly guarantee Hungary’s frontiers after the collapse of Hitler and thus she would save herself from occupation and imposition of a heavy war indemnity.’

  ‘You speak with great confidence of the collapse of Hitler; but in all the three years the war has lasted, he has never been in a stronger position, and the territory he controls is still increasing every day.’

  ‘His new gains might well be compared to a swollen stomach,’ Gregory smiled. ‘It is my belief that the chunks of Russia that he is swallowing will give him a frightful bellyache before he is through.’

  ‘Perhaps; but if he succeeds in biting the heart out of Russia it is she who must collapse.’

  ‘That would not save him. He would have to leave half his army to occupy these vast areas of enemy territory, and he would still have Britain and America building up to leap upon his back. The Allied Air Forces are already pounding hell out of the German cities; and air-power is the dominant factor in modern war. As the months go by we shall be putting two, three, five, seven, ten aircraft into the air for every one of his. When the time is ripe the Allied armies will land in Europe and, with German industry in ruins, the Nazis will no longer be able to maintain their army in the field. That is why Hitler must ultimately be beaten.’

  Zapolya nodded thoughtfully. ‘Personally, I believe that with regard to the final outcome you are right; but Hitler is a very long way from being beaten yet. Germany might exact an extremely heavy penalty from Hungary should she attempt to insure her future with the Allies in the way you suggest.’

  ‘That is a risk which must be run if Hungary is to sit among the victor nations at the Peace Table. She would find no seat there if she waited to act until Germany was on her last legs. Now is the time when Hungary’s help would be of real value to the Allied cause, and so worth their agreeing to pay for in solemn undertakings which would ensure her future well-being.’

  ‘You implied only that she would not be treated as a defeated enemy. That is not enough. You may recall what happened in the First World War, when Rumania decided to throw in her lot with the Allies. General Von Mackensen and his Germans overran her in a few weeks. The same thing might happen here.’

  Gregory countered that suggestion with the arguments he had used to Levianski, but the Count waved a slender hand in a gesture of rebuttal. ‘It is true that the Germans are very heavily engaged in Russia, but they still have several armoured divisions in the West. I can hardly imagine that sufficient trained American troops have yet arrived in Britain for the Allies to be contemplating an assault on the Continent; so those armoured divisions could be used to subdue Hungary. Our people are brave and most of them hate the Germans, but nearly the whole of our own army has been sent to the Russian front. It could not get back in time to defend our cities, and their garrisons of reservists would be practically helpless in the face of several hundred German tanks.’

  After a moment’s thought, Gregory said, ‘Even if the Allies are not yet ready to attempt the liberation of the Continent, I think they are quite capable of making a landing in force strong enough to pin down the German armour in the West. Again, I speak only as a private individual; but Mr. Churchill has always used large maps. I think it quite possible that he would press the Americans to agree to such an Allied landing, if Hungary definitely undertook to break with Hitler, as Italy might then follow suit, and that would bring a complete Allied victory within measurable distance.’

  ‘It would.’ Zapoyla drew slowly on his fine Havana. ‘And if such a landing succeeded Hungary would have little to fear. But what if it failed? What if the Germans drove the Allies back into the sea? Their Panzers would then face about and come dashing across Europe to destroy us.’

  ‘I have already agreed that some risk must be taken if Hungary is not to suffer the fate of a vanquished nation when the Allies finally defeat Hitler.’

  ‘And I have already said that merely to be guaranteed her present frontiers is not enough. If she is to risk being overrun and forcibly held down, perhaps for several years, while many of her leading citizens are murdered by the Gestapo or thrown into concentration camps, her people must have something more than that to look forward to.’

  ‘You mean a revision of the Treaty of Trianon?’

  ‘Yes. By that iniquitous settlement forced on us after the last war, Hungary was robbed of over half her population and nearly two-thirds of her ancient territories. The Allies would have to give a solemn undertaking to repair permanently this monstrous injustice.’

  Gregory had known that if he could get any Hungarian to enter on a serious discussion of his mission that demand would be made, but he had deliberately refrained from leading off with any proposal smacking of bribery. Now he smiled, and said:

  ‘Sir Pellinore raised that matter with me. Few English people realised the way in which Hungary was being torn to pieces by the Allied statesmen who dictated the Peace Treaty; and those of us who have since considered the facts feel that she was greatly wronged. Proposals for revision would, Sir Pellinore assured me, be most sympathetically considered by His Majesty’s Government if informal talks such as we are having now develop into actual negotiations. I think, too, we can look even further than that. Quite apart from the question of old wrongs being righted, there is another side to it. A few minutes ago you referred to Rumania’s having been overrun in the First World War because, she sided with the Allies. It was largely to compensate her for her sufferings in the Allied cause that she was given Transylvania at Hungary’s expense. In this case the position would be reversed. General Antonescu brought Rumania in on the side of the Germans, so the Allies owe her nothing; whereas, if Hungary now exposes herself to the possibility of repression by the Nazis, she would be able to put forward claims at the Peace Conference which could not decently be rejected.’

  ‘You are right! Yes; you are right,’ Count Zapolya nodded vigorously. ‘But we should need an undertaking signed by Churchill, the President and Stalin, so that we could proclaim it to the people. Given that I believe that the Hungarian nation to a man would favour defying the Nazis.’
/>
  This enthusiastic declaration swept away the last traces of the pessimism that had weighed on Gregory’s spirits since his talk with Levianski. In fact, to arouse a united Hungary against Germany was far more than he had hoped to do when leaving London. Striving to suppress the excitement that had risen in him at the entirely unexpected change in his prospects of succeeding in his mission, he asked as calmly as he could:

  ‘What does Your Excellency suggest should be my next step?’

  ‘We must consult with certain of my friends. Like yourself, I am only a private individual and have no power to enter into actual negotiations. It would, in fact, be futile for anyone here to do so without having the approval of the Regent. But Admiral Horthy could not fail to be swayed by the opinion of a powerful group of his brother magnates. From frequent conversations I know the views of most of them are similar to my own; but we must get them together so that a committee of them can set about exploring the conditions on which Hungary might enter into a separate peace with the Allies. The first, of course, would be that the Allies should make a landing and do their utmost to contain the German armoured divisions in France and the Low Countries. Everything else hangs upon your being able to obtain for us a firm understanding from the Allied Governments that they will do that.’

  ‘In that case,’ Gregory suggested, ‘I think it would be best if I returned and reported to Sir Pellinore right away.’

  ‘No, no; I wish you first to discuss the whole matter with some of my friends.’

  ‘Surely that could come later? An Allied landing on the Continent in sufficient strength to be effective would, I imagine, necessitate drastic changes in Allied strategy. Given that Mr. Churchill and President Roosevelt both favoured it, they would still ask the advice of their Chiefs of Staff, and they in turn would not give an opinion until the question of forces available, and all sorts of other matters, had been thoroughly gone into. The decision is such a momentous one that they could not be expected to take it without prolonged discussion. Therefore, the sooner I set the ball rolling the better, and in the meantime you could be preparing the ground among your friends; so that there would be less delay on this side in the event of my coming back with a favourable answer.’