by Jack Higgins
“Colonel da Cunha is here on behalf of the Duke of Windsor,” Huene said.
“Is this true?” Schellenberg said in astonishment, turning to Da Cunha.
“His Royal Highness would like to see you tonight. Secretly and informally. He's most anxious that his own people don't know anything about it.”
“What does he suggest?”
“Roughly the same arrangement as pertained last night. He'll be having a final cigar in the summer-house at ten. If you leave your car down the hill and walk up on foot, I'll let you in by the side door. No one else in the villa need know anything about it.”
“I can't believe it. At this stage in the game? Why?”
“Thirty-six hours only and the Excalibur sails,” Da Cunha shrugged. “Perhaps this is the moment of truth for him.”
“All right,” Schellenberg said. “I'll be there.”
“And I'll be with you,” Kleiber said, his voice trembling with emotion.
It was a public confrontation which Schellenberg had not sought, but he had no intention of avoiding it. “I don't think so, not after this morning's debacle.”
Huene said, “I'm sorry, General, but I have here a signal, received within the last hour from Reichsfuhrer Himmler himself.”
He held it out. Schellenberg said, “No, read it aloud, then we all know exactly where we stand.”
General Schellenberg will pursue his present task with the utmost vigor. Failure is unacceptable. At every possible opportunity he must—repeat must—avail himself of the assistance of Sturmbannführer Kleiber. Any deviation from this order must be reported to me at once.
There was silence for a moment, then Schellenberg turned to Da Cunha with a smile. “So, Colonel, it would appear that when you open the door in the garden wall tonight, you open it to Sturmbannführer Kleiber also.”
When Da Cunha was admitted to Jackson's office, the American was seated behind his desk dressed for work again in black tie and white tuxedo.
Da Cunha sniffed the air. “Chanel Number Five. Quite unmistakable. You can come out, senhorita. I've left my handcuffs at home.”
He went to the sideboard and helped himself to a Scotch as she emerged from the washroom.
Jackson said, “What do you want?”
“I've got a job for you,” Da Cunha told him. “Or rather, the Duke has. He's arranged to meet Schellenberg and Kleiber in the summerhouse. Same time as last night, and he'd like you to repeat your performance, Joe, up on the wall.”
“You don't mean he intends to do a deal with them?” Hannah said. “He can't. It's not possible.”
“Don't be silly, angel,” Jackson told her. “If that was his game, then why would he want me on hand?” He shook his head. “There's more to this than meets the eye—much more.”
“You'll do as he asks?” Da Cunha said.
“Sure—I'll be there.”
“Good.” Da Cunha drained his glass. “An interesting night lies ahead, I feel. Let's hope we're all around in the morning to recall its events.”
He went out and Hannah said, “I'm frightened, Joe, and I don't understand it. Not any of it. What can the Duke be thinking of?”
Jackson went and poured himself a drink. “Perhaps he's started to fight back.”
14
Jackson was on the wall again just after nine-thirty, dressed, as he had been the previous night, in black, the Browning ready in his hand. It was not very comfortable, but at least it wasn't raining.
After a while, Da Cunha appeared, walking along the path through the shrubbery. He checked the door, then waited. A little later, the Duke appeared. He wore evening dress, and a light tweed coat hung from his shoulders as a protection against the night air, which was rather chilly.
He moved closer to the summerhouse. “Are you there, Mr. Jackson?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes, sir,” Jackson replied.
The Duke took a Havana cigar from a leather case and lit it, still standing there in the path. At the same moment Jackson heard footsteps approaching in the road outside. There was a tap at the door, Da Cunha opened it, and Schellenberg entered followed by Kleiber.
“General Schellenberg and Sturmbannführer Kleiber,” Da Cunha made the introductions and withdrew to a discreet distance.
“Ah, the gentleman who was waiting for me at Rosario this morning?” the Duke said.
“An unfortunate error, Your Royal Highness,” Schellenberg told him.
“An unnecessary one. Especially if you'd made an honest, direct approach to me in the first place. Suggestions, General, veiled hints, that's all I've had. What exactly is it that your government is offering?”
“It is well known, sir, that the post of Governor of the Bahamas has few attractions for you. In the circumstances, you would perhaps prefer to stay on in Europe. In Spain, for example, or Switzerland. I am authorized to say that if, because of circumstances, you find yourself in financial difficulties by making such a move, a sum of fifty million Swiss francs could be made available on deposit in Geneva.”
“Nonsense, General Schellenberg. Sheer bloody, unadulterated nonsense. The Führer doesn't want me in Spain or Switzerland. He wants me in Germany, to be on hand for the day the German army enters London. A familiar face to give the British people confidence. Is this not so?”
“What can I say, sir?”
“My boat sails the day after tomorrow and I don't want to go. I admit that. The British Government have treated me badly—damn badly—and if my services matter so little to them …” He shrugged. “Thirty-six hours, that's all I've got, but if I'm to throw myself into the game on your side, I must know exactly what I'm getting into.”
Kleiber started to speak and Schellenberg cut him short. “May I ask Your Royal Highness a direct question? If necessary, would you be prepared to ascend the throne again?”
“Certainly,” the Duke said. “I would naturally expect the Duchess to be accepted as my consort.”
“I foresee no difficulty there, sir.”
“Naturally, if I am to take so drastic a step, an action which, to put it mildly, would cause something of a stir in the world, I shall require some evidence of cooperation on the part of the Führer.”
“And what would satisfy Your Royal Highness?”
“If the Duchess and I are to make plans to return to England, we must know by what date the Führer thinks we should be ready to depart.”
Schellenberg saw it all then, or thought he did, but contented himself with saying, “Very well, sir. I understand your interest in the timing involved. I will convey this to Reichsminister von Ribbentrop, who will no doubt communicate it to the Führer without delay.”
“At once, General,” the Duke said. “You have only tomorrow. It would distress me to leave on the Excalibur, but I will go if I must. Any communication you have for me, put through Colonel da Cunha. There must be no question of the British Embassy getting even a hint of our negotiations.”
“Of course, sir,” Schellenberg said. “I'll be in touch at the earliest possible moment. The instant I obtain a reply from Berlin. And now, goodnight to you.”
He moved to the gate followed by Kleiber; Da Cunha opened it for them and locked it after they had passed through. Jackson, on the wall, made no move until the sound of their footsteps had faded down the hill.
“Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes, sir.” The American dropped down into the shrubbery and approached the summerhouse.
“Did you hear that?”
“I think I got most of it.”
“Well, what do you think? Will they play ball, isn't that the American phrase?”
“I'd say that depends on how badly they need you, sir.”
“If they occupy England, very badly indeed. Still, thank you for coming.” The Duke held out his hand. “May I count on you again? For obvious reasons, it would be unwise for me to approach our own intelligence people at the moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. I'll say good
night then. Colonel da Cunha will let you out.”
He walked away through the shrubbery and Da Cunha approached. “Did you hear any of it?” Jackson asked him.
“No, and I don't want to. Now get out of here and quickly. I should have changed the gate guard twenty minutes ago.”
“He's lying,” Schellenberg said. “I don't believe a word of it.”
They were in Huene's office again. The Ambassador sat behind his desk, and Kleiber stood at the other end facing Schellenberg.
“I was there too, remember, and I believed him. Why not? They threw him out on his ear, didn't they?
“Now we're giving him a chance to go back in style, regain his throne, and with the woman he loves at his side. That's all he really wants.”
Huene shook his head. “I don't agree. We'll be landing in Britain in a matter of weeks, the whole world knows that. As I see it, the Duke is just being practical. A timetable isn't an unreasonable request. And if he gives his word …”
“I know,” Schellenberg said. “A man of finest honor. But it occurs to me that there may come a time for any man when he's at his most honorable by acting dishonorably for the sake of a cause he believes in.”
“We're going around in circles,” Kleiber said. “Are you going to get in touch with Reichsminister von Ribbentrop or must I do it for you?”
“No,” Schellenberg said. “That won't be necessary. I'll get a signal off right away. I'll leave you to impart the glad tidings to Reichsführer Himmler. You'll enjoy doing that.”
Himmler often spent the night in a small room adjacent to his office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse. Kleiber's rather lengthy signal had been routed through the Madrid Embassy and had been delayed because of technical difficulties on the line. It was ten-thirty on the following morning before it arrived on his desk.
He read it through, lips pursed, then sat there, staring into space, thinking about it. Finally, he put the signal to one side and started to work his way through his correspondence, waiting for Von Ribbentrop to make the first move.
It was just after eleven when the phone rang. The Reichsminister said, “I've had a signal from Schellenberg. Rather remarkable. Frankly, I'm not sure what to do about it. I wondered whether the Führer …”
“No,” Himmler said firmly. “The Führer is particularly busy at the moment, as you well know. There are some burdens we must carry for him. I, too, have received a signal from Lisbon. I know that the Führer has placed the Windsor affair in your lap particularly, but if you thought it helpful, I would be happy to discuss it with you.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Von Ribbentrop said and hung up.
It was just after noon when Walter Monckton was shown into the library, where he was greeted with real affection by both the Duke and the Duchess. It had been Monckton who, more than anyone else, had provided not only guidance but friendship during the dark days of the Abdication Crisis.
“I suppose Winston's sent you to make sure I get on that damn boat tomorrow?” the Duke said.
“Well, sir, the Prime Minister and indeed His Majesty, have been concerned at the delays in the matter. I know, sir, that this Bahamas appointment is not to your liking, but there are certain advantages.”
“Name one, Walter,” the Duchess suggested.
Monckton smiled amiably. “The climate? No, sir, there have been rumors of an unhealthy German interest in your presence here.”
“Walter, you're behind the times. It's our own Secret Service I have to worry about, according to Madrid gossip.”
“But that's absurd, sir. You can't possibly believe such a thing.”
“Do you know the Marques de Estella, Primo de Rivera? An old friend, Walter, very highly connected with the Spanish government. He has assured me on several occasions that there is considerable substance to these rumors.”
“But what would be the object, sir? I don't understand.”
“Well, if there was any kind of possibility that I was going to refuse to go to the Bahamas, the idea seems to be that they'd take me by force. De Rivera is coming for lunch today. You'd be doing me a favor if you'd talk to him about this thing. Hear his evidence.”
“You've no idea what it's been like here, Walter,” the Duchess told him. “Anonymous letters—even phone calls. We can't take a step without falling over a policeman.”
“Now, Wallis,” the Duke took her hands in his. “You worry too much. Go and get ready for lunch. He'll be here soon.”
When she had gone, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a large Scotch. Monckton said, “Good Lord, sir, in all the time I've known you I've never seen you take a drink before seven in the evening.”
“I know, Walter, but I need it today. By God, I really do need it. Tell me, old friend, since we first knew each other at Oxford, have I ever been less than honest with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I ask you to trust me now. Walter, when the Excalibur sails tomorrow, I shall be on board, I promise you, but for the moment, it's essential that certain people still get the impression that I'm vacillating. Will you spend the rest of the day with De Rivera for me? Tell him how shocked you are at my fears. That I'm threatening not to leave on the boat. Ask him for proof of these plots he speaks of.”
Monckton said gravely, “And am I not to be permitted to know what's really going on, sir?”
“No, Walter. Not for the moment.”
Monckton sighed. “Very well. I'll do what I can.”
“Good—excellent,” the Duke said.
There was a knock at the door, and a footman appeared. “The Marques de Estella is here, Your Royal Highness,” he said and Primo de Rivera entered.
Himmler said, “If we give him our time schedule, what exactly is it that we're giving away?”
“You mean show him the entire plan?” Von Ribbentrop said in horror.
Himmler gave one of his rare smiles. “The whole thing is quite academic. Look at it this way. A few weeks ago, the British Army left most of its equipment on the beaches at Dunkirk. Their Home Guard drill with pikes and pitchforks. They have less than two hundred tanks. They are desperately short of fighter planes.” Himmler paused for a moment. “Conditions for a landing are at their most favorable in the period between September the nineteenth to the twenty-sixth. Anyone with a Channel map and a tide schedule knows that. The Luftwaffe will have crushed all opposition in the air by then, and without air support the Royal Navy is most effectively neutralized. No, if Winston Churchill had the entire plan of Sea Lion in his hands at this very moment, he has neither the resources nor the capability to stop it.”
“So, you think we should meet the Duke's demand.”
“My dear von Ribbentrop, it is you to whom the Führer entrusted the Windsor affair, in the confident expectation of a successful conclusion. I, of course, can only advise you, but I must say that I don't see how you can go far wrong under the circumstances.”
It was just after five o'clock when the signal was received at the Legation, and Huene sent for Schellenberg and Kleiber at once.
“From Reichsminister von Ribbentrop. It simply says: ‘Demands acceptable. Details requested follow.'”
Kleiber turned to Schellenberg, his eyes ablaze with triumph. “So, you see, General, I knew my man. Better than you did, I knew my man. I'll go to the communications room and wait for the signal to come through.”
When the door had closed behind him, Schellenberg lit a cigarette and laughed out loud. “This isn't just Ribbentrop, you realize that? It's Himmler as well. A champagne salesman and a chicken farmer. That is really an unbeatable combination, you must admit.”
“General Schellenberg,” Huene said. “I can listen to no more of this. I have a family to consider. Relatives back home.”
“Of course,” Schellenberg said. “Stupid of me to allow emotion to take over. The trouble is that one remembers occasionally that one is a human being and not just a zombie walking through the canebrake. I detest stupidity.”
The door opened and Kleiber entered with a sealed envelope. “They put it through the encoder, General, so that even the coding clerk didn't see it. It was marked for your eyes only.”
Schellenberg weighed the envelope in his hands. “And for the Duke of Windsor's also, I presume?”
“Shall I get hold of Da Cunha?” Huene asked.
Schellenberg nodded. “Better tell him to arrange another meeting with the Duke. The same time and place as last night will do.”
He slipped the envelope into his inside pocket. Kleiber went out, and Schellenberg followed. At the door, he paused and turned to Huene. “I leave you with one happy thought. I think we've just lost the war.”
Walter Monckton heaved a sigh of relief as Primo de Rivera was shown to his car. He stood on the steps beside the Duke, waving cheerfully.
“I really must protest, sir. I don't think I've ever heard such nonsense in my life as I've taken from that gentleman tonight. I asked him for some sort of documentary evidence, and he can show me nothing. He then had the infernal cheek to inform me that within ten days he'll have all the evidence we'll need.”
“And asked you to postpone any sailing tomorrow? Poor Walter. You've earned a drink, and I really am most grateful.”
As they went in, Monckton said, “And now, sir, may I be permitted to know the object of the exercise?”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” the Duke said as they went into the drawing room, where the Duchess was sitting by the fire with Dr. Ricardo de Espirito Santo é Silva and his wife. “Now, who's for a drink?”
There was a discreet knock at the door, and a footman came in. “Colonel da Cunha to see Your Royal Highness.”
“Do please excuse me, everyone. Security arrangements for tomorrow. See to the drinks, there's a good chap, Walter.”
He sat in the summerhouse, a coat around his shoulders, and examined the documents the envelope contained, by the light of a small flashlight. Schellenberg and Kleiber waited by the door.