To Catch a King

by Jack Higgins

  “You know, Sir Walford, this whole affair is really beginning to take on all the elements of a farce.” The Duke of Windsor and the British Ambassador were seated together in the library. “Primo de Rivera brings me this nonsensical story from Madrid that the British Secret Service intend to take me off to the Bahamas whether I want to or not. Now you give me the same sort of yarn with the Nazis as the villains.”

  Sir Walford Selby tried to contain his exasperation. One of the most brilliant members of the Diplomatic Corps, he had known the Duke previously during his time as British Ambassador in Vienna in 1937.

  The Lisbon posting was, by its very nature, the most crucial held by any British Ambassador outside Washington at that time, which was precisely why he had been appointed. And now, to make things even more difficult, he had the presence of the Windsors to deal with.

  “I have already indicated to you my belief that your host Dr. Santo é Silva is sympathetic to the German cause, and with all due respect, sir, the presence in Lisbon of General Schellenberg should give us pause for thought.”

  “But good heavens, man, I'm no good to the Germans as a prisoner. Even Goebbels couldn't make much propaganda out of that situation.”

  “There are those who might suggest that in the context of an England under occupation, a position would be suggested to Your Royal Highness that you might feel compelled to accept, in the belief that it was in the best interests of the people.”

  The Duke stood up, his face dark. “That, Sir Walford, is a Judas Gate through which I would never enter.”

  He turned away angrily, took a cigarette from a silver box, and lit it. After a moment, he was in control again.

  “Anyway, what's the time schedule?”

  “There's a suitable boat leaving on the first of August, sir. For Bermuda. American. The Excalibur.”

  “Which gives us what, three days or is it four? You'll just have to see that our Secret Service people here keep a jolly good eye on me.”

  “At the present time, sir, the sole representative in Lisbon of the Secret Intelligence Service is Major Frear. In the situation in which our country finds itself at the moment, Portugal is of relatively little importance from an active intelligence point of view. Major Frear merely acts as a channel for double agents and paid informants.”

  “So what do you want me to do? Sleep with a gun under my pillow?”

  There was a polite cough, and they turned to find Colonel da Cunha standing in the open French windows.

  “No, sir,” Sir Walford said. “The Portuguese government, being acutely aware of the dangers inherent in the situation, have assigned Colonel da Cunha to take personal charge of all arrangements for your security until the Excalibur leaves.”

  “I have inspected the grounds,” Da Cunha said. “Extra men will be drafted in. I foresee no problem. Of course, it would assist if Your Royal Highness would stay within the walls.”

  “Now there I really can't oblige,” said the Duke. “Having a day in the country tomorrow.”

  “May I be permitted to ask where?”

  “Place called Nina. Bull farm.”

  Colonel da Cunha glanced at the Ambassador. “Sir, may I point out that you would be within ten miles of the Spanish border.”

  “The whole affair's being laid on by my good friend Primo de Rivera, the Marques de Estella. You're surely not trying to suggest that he's going to try to run away with me!”

  “No, Your Royal Highness,” said Da Cunha diplomatically.

  “Good. Of course, I don't mind your sending a few of your chaps along to keep us company if that will make you happy, but now, you really must excuse me. The Duchess is waiting.”

  He went out and Sir Walford turned to Da Cunha. “As I said, it isn't going to be easy.”

  As soon as he returned to his office, Da Cunha phoned Egger at the German Legation and at ten-thirty saw Schellenberg, by appointment, in a small café near the Belem Tower. He was in civilian clothes. Egger, who was with Schellenberg, made the introductions.

  “General, I'll come right to the point,” Da Cunha said. “Our relations with the Reich are of the friendliest at the present time, and you are a welcome guest in our country.”

  “But?” Schellenberg said.

  “The Duke of Windsor is a special case. We desire nothing more than to see him board ship on the first of August and sail away to Bermuda. Until then, President Salazar has made me personally responsible for his welfare. I have increased the guards at the villa and they have orders to shoot any intruder. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As crystal,” Schellenberg said. “And now, my dear Colonel, a cognac to sweeten your coffee.”

  “My pleasure,” Fernandes da Cunha told him.

  Joe Jackson telephoned Frear at his apartment just after ten. It was some time before he got an answer, and Frear sounded annoyed, as if he'd just been awakened from a sound sleep. “It's Jackson. What's happening?” “What do you mean, what's happening?” “About what we discussed last night!” “Nothing new in that, old boy. Thought I made that clear. I've reported it to my people, of course. I'm sure they'll take appropriate action.”

  “If they're anything like you, they couldn't find their way to the men's room,” Jackson said.

  “Now look here, Joseph,” Frear told him angrily. “This is none of your affair, so stay out of it. If you want my advice, that girl friend of yours had better keep her head down as well or she might get it knocked off.”

  He put down the receiver. Jackson sat there, thinking about it for a while, then dressed and left quickly. It was raining when he went downstairs and got into the Mercedes. He turned into the main road and started along the waterfront. Behind him, a Buick pulled out from behind a large produce truck. Schellenberg said to Zeidler, the driver whom the Legation had provided, “Take your time, stay well back. If you lose him, I'll have your balls.” He leaned back in the seat and lit a cigarette.

  There was no sign of Hannah in the house at Cascais. Jackson left the car in the courtyard and walked back down the track to the beach. The Buick had pulled into the pine trees a good hundred yards away, and Schellenberg watched through field glasses.

  It was a fine, warm day, and down below the village the beach was stacked with fishing boats painted in vivid hues of every description.

  Fishermen sat mending their nets, children playing around them, and beyond, the long Atlantic combers rolled in.

  Jackson saw her walking toward him barefoot, carrying a bucket, men, young and old, looking up at her in frank admiration as she passed. She saw him and started to run.

  “What a marvelous day,” she said. “And this place. The people are wonderful. So friendly and courteous, and the boats.” She turned to look at them. “Why do some of them have eyes painted on the prows?”

  “That's debatable,” he said. “Some say to ward off the evil one. Others, so the ship can find its way through any storm. I see you've been buying fish.”

  “Yes, have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Then you're in luck. As my mother raised me to be a nice Jewish girl that means I'm a wonderful cook.” She took his arm and as they walked back toward the house said, “You told me you'd see the right people—did you?”

  “Yes, and when I got back to the club your friend Schellenberg was waiting to see me.”

  “My friend? Why do you say that?”

  “Because in a strange kind of way, I think he is.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said the British knew why he was here so there was no reason for you to continue to get involved. That he wanted you to stay out of it.”

  She was troubled now, he could see it on her face, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  And she was indeed a good cook. The fish was delicious, but she didn't do more than pick at it herself and stared down into her coffee, her face moody.

  “All right, what is it?” he asked.

  “It just doesn't seem right. I
don't get the feeling that anyone's taking the thing seriously enough.” She leaned across the table. “It's no good, Joe. I want to see him myself. Tell him to his face. What he does then is his affair, but unless I do it that way, I'll always feel that somehow I let Uncle Max down.”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “There's someone I can try. A man I know called Taniguchi who can fix most things. I'll go and see what he can do, but it could cost money.”

  “I've got an American Express credit letter for two thousand dollars.”

  “For that he'd probably kidnap the Duke himself. I'll see what he says.”

  “Now?” she said.

  “You mean right this minute?” He shook his head in mock resignation. “Women. My old granny always warned me against them. Okay. I'll take a run into town. You keep your head down. I'll be back when I can, but it could take most of the day.”

  She watched him drive away and, on impulse, went down the track, kicked off her shoes, and walked on the beach again. The sun was very warm now. She flung herself down in the sand next to a fishing boat and closed her eyes.

  She heard footsteps approach. A familiar voice said, “Hello, Hannah.”

  When she opened her eyes, Walter Schellenberg was standing beside her.

  “I must say you're really looking very well indeed, all things considered.”

  She said, “What do you want with me?”

  “Cigarette?” He offered her one, and she took it without thinking. When he gave her a light, there was a curious intimacy to the gesture. She drew back as if to put distance between them.

  “I asked you what you wanted.”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Or rather, I wish you to do nothing from now on. You can no longer alter the course of events, Hannah. The game is in progress, and the players on both sides know the score—isn't that your American phrase?”

  “Is that how you see it? Just a game?”

  “Of course it is—a great and terrible game that, once started, is impossible to stop. The game controls us, Hannah, we don't control the game. It's like a fairground carousel. Once it's in motion, that's it.”

  “You could always try jumping off.”

  “Too late for that now. I'm trapped along with thousands like me. You think I believe that madman back there in Berlin? Do you honestly think that I believe in even one word of his lies? Blacks are inferior, which means I can't enjoy the music of your Connie Jones. The Führer in his wisdom had decreed that Einstein can't count up to ten, and the fact that Hannah Winter has a voice to …”

  “I don't want to hear any more of this.” She got to her feet, her hands to her ears for a moment.

  “You got me out of Prinz Albrechtstrasse, God knows why, but you did, and you helped Connie and the boys in Madrid, but you killed Uncle Max. It doesn't matter whose finger was on the trigger. You killed Uncle Max.”

  They stood there, confronting each other. There was only the sound of the sea on the shore, a gull's cry. And then it was as if something broke inside her.

  “Why?” she whispered and there was pain in her voice. “I don't understand.”

  He put a hand under her chin and smiled gently. “Life, my Hannah, has a habit on occasion of seizing one by the throat and refusing to let go. It's really very sad.”

  He kissed her gently on the mouth, turned, and walked away. For a long time after he had gone, she simply sat there, staring out to sea, then she got up and walked slowly back to the house.

  12

  Unlike the previous evening, the warehouse was a hive of industry when Schellenberg entered and went up the iron staircase to Taniguchi's office. The big Japanese was dictating letters to a young secretary, but he sent her out, shutting the door.

  “Anything for me?” Schellenberg asked.

  “But of course.”

  Taniguchi opened a cupboard to disclose a wall safe which he unlocked. He took out a manila folder, “Everything you need, Walter. A plan of the villa and the grounds. A list of the servants. They are provided by an agency in town in which I have a business interest. I have already arranged that as from this morning, an under-footman, a maid, and an assistant gardener will be replaced by people in my pay. They all speak reasonable English.”

  “Excellent—and the police?”

  “Slightly more difficult. Colonel da Cunha, head of Security Police, has been placed in charge of security at the villa personally. The rumor is that his orders come from Salazar himself.”

  “I've already heard he is a first-rate policeman, that one.”

  “Certainly beyond any bribe,” Taniguchi said. “Luckily, the officer who is actually stationed at the villa for the duration of the Duke's stay is a different specimen entirely. One Captain Jose Mota.”

  “Is he on our side?”

  “If you're referring to ideologies, no, but he does have appallingly expensive tastes, particularly in women. So, what are your orders?”

  “For the moment, what I require is general information about what's going on in the house itself. Any conversation these people of yours can overhear would be useful.”

  “About the Duke's future plans? And what if he decides to go to the Bahamas after all, Walter? What then?”

  “I wouldn't blame him really.” Schellenberg got up. “I hear the climate's delightful.”

  Taniguchi laughed uproariously. “It really is most amusing.”

  “What is?”

  “Life, or its more ridiculous aspects. Now take something as abstract as information, Walter. A commodity as subject to the forces of the market place as any other. Something which may, for example, be sold not only once, but twice.”

  “An interesting hypothesis,” Schellenberg said. “Let's discuss it.” He sat down again.

  * * *

  Huene was having his morning coffee when Schellenberg was shown into his office.

  “Ah, there you are, General. Care to join me?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Huene poured coffee into another cup and pushed a message across. “There's something for you from the Foreign Office which you may not appreciate quite as much. I've had it decoded.”

  It was from Ribbentrop and very much to the point.

  At a suitable occasion, the Duke must be informed that Germany wants peace with the English people, that the Churchill clique stands in the way of it, and that it would be a good thing if the Duke would hold himself in readiness for further developments. Germany is determined to force England to peace by every means of power and upon this happening would be prepared to accommodate any desire expressed by the Duke, especially with a view to the assumption of the English throne by the Duke and Duchess …

  There was more in the same vein, including the fact that Ribbentrop believed Espirito Santo é Silva to be sympathetic to German aims. There was also a reiteration of the rumor that the British Secret Service had designs on the Duke's person.

  “Well, that's certainly explicit enough,” Schellenberg said.

  “I've heard from Primo de Rivera,” Huene told him. “He's taking the Windsors out for the day tomorrow to visit a bull farm. Rather interesting, the Security Police has been placed in charge of security at the villa personally. The rumor is that his orders come from Salazar himself.”

  “I've already heard he is a first-rate policeman, that one.”

  “Certainly beyond any bribe,” Taniguchi said. “Luckily, the officer who is actually stationed at the villa for the duration of the Duke's stay is a different specimen entirely. One Captain Jose Mota.”

  “Is he on our side?”

  “If you're referring to ideologies, no, but he does have appallingly expensive tastes, particularly in women. So, what are your orders?”

  “For the moment, what I require is general information about what's going on in the house itself. Any conversation these people of yours can overhear would be useful.”

  “About the Duke's future plans? And what if he decides to go to the Bahamas after all, Walter? What then?”

/>   “I wouldn't blame him really.” Schellenberg got up. “I hear the climate's delightful.”

  Taniguchi laughed uproariously. “It really is most amusing.”

  “What is?”

  “Life, or its more ridiculous aspects. Now take something as abstract as information, Walter. A commodity as subject to the forces of the market place as any other. Something which may, for example, be sold not only once, but twice.”

  “An interesting hypothesis,” Schellenberg said. “Let's discuss it.” He sat down again.

  * * *

  “I think you could say that.”

  Jackson led the way upstairs to his office and closed the door. “All right—what's the deal?”

  “A busy man, this Duke of yours. Tomorrow, he goes with Primo de Rivera to visit the bull farm of Antonio de Oliveira outside Nina.”

  Jackson frowned. “That's getting awfully close to the Spanish border.”

  “Yes, isn't it? However, to stick with the villa. Although Fernandes da Cunha has overall responsibility for the Duke, the officer in charge at the villa at all times is one Captain Jose Mota.”

  “And he's bribable?”

  “Corrupt as a week-old corpse, but it's going to cost you, Joe. One thousand dollars in American money—nothing less. And he wants it in advance.”

  “What do we get for that?”

  “Every night at ten o'clock, the Duke has a final cigar while taking a walk in the garden. Always goes alone. I've got a small plan.”

  He took a square of paper from his wallet and unfolded it. “Down here, below the swimming pool in this corner, there's a summerhouse. The Duke always ends his walk sitting in there for five minutes finishing his cigar.”

  “So?”

  “Just a few yards away from it in this area?” He pointed. “It's a shrubbery concealing a door in the wall. Usually, there's a policeman discreetly on guard, but tonight, if you're interested, there won't be. What's more, it will be unlocked.”