‘Will you be all right, Fräulein?’ he asked, passing up her case.
‘I will be fine,’ Tanja told him.
Becker opted to sit in the cab with the driver. Tanja was glad. There was something about him she disliked intensely – something that reminded her of Orca; perhaps it was the oily smoothness. Perhaps it was just that she disliked spies. Von Mellenthin and Berendt – they were soldiers first, intelligence officers on Rommel’s staff, courteous and charming, despite the terrible privations they suffered. Becker, on the other hand, was an Abwehr man, an intelligence agent, codename Cobra – the man who had masterminded the Cairo circuit, and who was now to be her handler as she became a double-agent for them. It was his job to be sly, cunning and mistrustful; she understood that, but found his presence oppressive and menacing, just as she had Orca’s. He was a reminder of the fragility of her existence.
Now, though, a few hours of escape lay ahead. She would be alone in the back of an Opel truck. A hard wooden floor, a canvas covering, and a powerful stench of petrol from the cargo it had brought to the front, but Tanja did not mind. The luxury of Cairo – the decadence even – seemed to belong to a different life, and in many ways she supposed that was so. But at least the back was open to the elements. She could smell the fresh, cool desert air, and watch the incredible canopy of stars. She had blankets, a few cigarettes, a little water. And most of all, for a few precious hours, she could be herself.
Alexandria, Thursday, 17 September. A breeze was blowing across the sea and small eddies of sand were skittering across the road, while overhead the brittle leaves of the palms rustled against one another noisily. As in Cairo, the traffic in the city was constant during the day, and now, at eight in the morning, in full swing, gharries and taxis competing with the trams. Vaughan slipped nimbly between two trams, crossed the square, and went over to the Cecil Hotel. In the foyer, the concertina gate was shut, the lift rising sedately, huge coils dropping as it disappeared from view. He took the stairs two at a time. On the second floor, he turned left and left again, until he found himself outside Room 223. He knocked and waited.
The door was opened by Colonel Maunsell.
‘Ah, Alex, my dear fellow, good to see you.’ Maunsell pumped his hand, his face creased in a broad smile.
‘How are you, RJ?’
‘All the better for seeing you alive and well. I’m glad you survived the débâcle of Tobruk.’
‘Yes,’ said Vaughan. ‘We survived both Tobruk and the journey back.’ He now saw that Maunsell was not alone: Colonal Bowlby was standing by the window next to an armchair and table. ‘How are you, sir?’ he said, stepping forward and offering his hand.
‘Well, thank you, Vaughan. Have a seat.’ Vaughan glanced around the room. There was no bed, but half of the space was dominated by a large, rectangular table surrounded by straight-backed chairs, while the other had a low rattan coffee-table and four wing-backed armchairs. Three french windows led on to small, narrow balconies overlooking the square, the Corniche and the sea.
A tray lay on the coffee-table.
‘Would you like a cup, Vaughan?’ said Bowlby, leaning down and pouring before Vaughan had answered. ‘It’s still pretty fresh.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Then a cigarette was offered, which Vaughan took – Turkish, an expensive brand, from an expensive gold case. What was coming, he wondered, that required such service beforehand?
‘I’d like to echo what RJ just said, Vaughan,’ said Bowlby. ‘I’m relieved to see you safe and sound. You’ve heard, no doubt, about the rest of the fiasco?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Zulu sunk, Sikh and Coventry badly damaged, our German Jews gone, Haselden killed, five MTBs lost and some hundred and fifty men taken prisoner. And that’s just Agreement. Bigamy was every bit as much of a balls-up. Stirling’s mob rumbled as they reached Benghazi, and the SDF failed to take Jalo. A lot of men and equipment lost for absolutely no gain whatsoever.’ He paused. ‘Or, rather, almost no gain whatsoever.’ He glanced at Maunsell. Your turn.
‘We do now,’ said Maunsell, ‘have a better picture of the defences at Tobruk.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Vaughan. ‘But if so, it’s come at one hell of a cost.’
‘Of course, but what’s done is done. We must now look forward, and take what we can from the situation. And as it happens there has been one positive result from this.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Bowlby, taking the reins once more. ‘One of our agents has now been sent to Tobruk.’ He shuffled to the edge of his chair and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And as we speak that agent is gathering all sorts of intelligence for us. Intelligence that will be damned useful in the coming battle.’
‘I see,’ said Vaughan.
‘Unfortunately, though,’ continued Bowlby, ‘we have no way of getting that intelligence.’
‘I don’t understand, sir.’
Maunsell smiled again. ‘Apollo – that’s the agent’s codename – is a double-agent, Alex. The Abwehr think Apollo is one of theirs, but Apollo in fact is one of ours.’
‘Apollo is signalling messages being fed by the Abwehr who think we are swallowing every word,’ said Bowlby.
‘I see,’ said Vaughan, ‘and he can’t signal any intelligence to you without them knowing about it.’
‘Exactly,’ said Bowlby. ‘Apollo’s cover would be blown in a trice.’
Maunsell cleared his throat. ‘When we first broached the idea of you fetching one of our agents, Alex, we were deliberately vague. We weren’t quite sure how things would pan out. To be honest, we weren’t quite sure where our agent would end up. For the past week, Apollo has been at Rommel’s headquarters in Mersa Matruh, but last night was moved to Tobruk.’
‘How do you know for sure? I thought it was impossible to be that precise.’
‘It is when you’re tracking from radio waves only. But part of the double-bluff is that Apollo reveals that kind of detail. The Abwehr think it adds to the verisimilitude.’ A knowing smile. He took out a typed message from his pocket and passed it to Vaughan. Have been sent to Tobruk. Saw vast fuel store beneath escarpment two miles south-west of town. Another German division is being landed at Benghazi in two days’ time.
‘That’s all rot, of course,’ said Maunsell. ‘No doubt several large tents have been erected and, of course, we’ll go over and bomb it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they detonate some explosives too, just to add to the sense of authenticity.’
‘And the division?’
‘Completely bogus. It’s all part of a plan to make us think they’re stronger than they really are. A delaying trick. They want us to hold off attacking for as long as possible.’
‘But we want Apollo back,’ said Bowlby, ‘and quickly.’
‘So you can find out more about Rommel’s headquarters?’
‘Yes. We have a pretty good picture, but nothing like the complete picture Apollo can provide.’
‘And presumably he can offer some useful intelligence on Tobruk as well,’ said Vaughan.
‘Quite,’ said Bowlby.
‘So you want C Detachment to go and get him.’
Maunsell smiled. ‘Yes, Alex, we do. And as soon as possible, before Apollo gets moved again.’
‘And what about sabotage?’ Vaughan asked. ‘We could blow up real fuel dumps, not bogus ones. Spike guns. I can’t imagine Tobruk’s held by the best troops the Axis have over here.’
‘First and foremost, your job is to get Apollo out of there. If the chance offers itself, then, yes, any sabotage is to be welcomed.’
‘But Apollo is our number-one priority, Vaughan,’ said Bowlby.
Vaughan nodded. ‘I understand. And how will I find him?’
‘Apollo is billeted at the hospital in one of the staff buildings.’
‘I know – single-storey villas across the road from the main hospital.’
‘You’ve been there, then?’ said Maunsell.
‘Yes, I was taken to the hos
pital when I was wounded earlier in the year.’
‘Then as you know, Vaughan,’ continued Bowlby, ‘the hospital is perched on the hill overlooking the harbour, slightly away from the centre of the town. Less bombed than the rest of it.’
‘Which villa? There were a lot, running down one side of the road. And how am I going to find him? I don’t know what Apollo looks like.’
‘There will be a black stone by the foot of the door.’
‘It seems a bit vague, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ said Maunsell, ‘but it’s the best we can do. If Apollo starts being too specific the Germans are going to smell a rat.’
‘And when do we go?’
‘No time like the present,’ said Maunsell. ‘Allenby is pretty familiar with that coastline by now, I should hope. Get close tonight, lie up during tomorrow, then get Apollo out tomorrow night. We’ll make sure the RAF gives you a clear steer.’
‘It’s a big thing to ask, I know,’ said Bowlby, ‘but I hope you can see why it’s so important, Vaughan.’
‘Of course, sir. Should I tell my men?’
‘Only as much as is necessary: that you are going to Tobruk and that you’re there to pick up an agent. You have German uniforms, I believe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ He stood up, signalling that the interview was now over. ‘Risk,’ he said. ‘It’s always a question of weighing up the odds, and wondering whether the benefits outweigh the potential cost of failure. In the case of the recent operations, I think we’re all agreed that it was not. In this instance, however, it most certainly is.’
Maunsell got to his feet. ‘Good luck, Alex. And here’s hoping that we shall be seeing each other again in just a few days’ time, with your mission a glorious success.’
‘There’s one thing troubling me,’ said Vaughan. ‘I appreciate that you don’t want to tell me Apollo’s name, but do you have a photograph? Something at least?’
He saw Maunsell glance at Bowlby, who gave a barely perceptible shake of the head.
‘I’m sorry, Alex. We’re keenly aware that this is a highly hazardous operation. If you’re captured, it’s better you don’t know Apollo.’
‘What I will say is this,’ added Bowlby. ‘That Apollo will recognize you.’
Half a minute later, Vaughan was retracing his steps along the empty corridor, his mind whirring. The mission was all that he had hoped for when he had first been given command of C Detachment, and yet there was a leaden feeling in his stomach. Over the past week, he had often wondered whether he really cared whether he lived or died, but now he knew the answer: he wanted to live.
By the lift, he lit a cigarette and discovered his hands were shaking. Memories of the intense enemy fire two nights before swarmed into his mind as the enormity of the task before him sank in. One thing was certain: there was no middle road. Either they would get Apollo out or they would die in the attempt.
24
Friday, 18 September, dusk. The desert was transforming from biscuit to pink. The eight-man team scrambled up the low, rocky cliffs and, at the top, paused. On the western horizon, the sun was dipping out of sight, and the desert, that strange chameleon, was changing again, from pink to darkening orange, then russet.
‘Come on,’ said Vaughan, ‘let’s go.’
The men were in German uniform – dusty green denim field tunics, matching trousers, rubber-soled boots, and on their heads, the distinctive peaked field caps that the Germans seemed to wear far more than their tin helmets. Their cover had been agreed in Alexandria: that they were from 1 Company, 63rd Combat Engineer Battalion, or Pionere Abteilung as the Germans called their sappers, part of the 90th Light Division. They were in Tobruk to help rebuild defences after the British raid of a few days earlier. To complete the authenticity, each man had been issued with German aluminium oval dog-tags, a Soldbuch – the German soldier’s pay and identity book – and various other papers and letters. Tanner had a sweetheart in Hameln, Sykes a wife in Dresden. It had amused them greatly, but while the attention to detail had been impressive, Tanner felt it was a wasted effort. He fancied it would all be over before anyone read his love letter from Gretl.
So far, though, so good. The journey back up the coast the previous night had been uneventful. In an MTB, it was just under nine hours from Alexandria to Tobruk, but with autumn drawing on and the equinox just a few days away, there were now ten hours of darkness, which had enabled them to take a wide berth around Tobruk, then cut back in and lie up in a narrow cove some three miles west of the town on the headland. They had covered the MTB with camouflage netting and had waited all day, taking turns to keep watch on the shallow cliffs above. For much of the time it had been quiet. A few planes had buzzed high above them, and a number of transport planes had landed and taken off to the south of the town, some five miles away, but there had been nothing to suggest they had been spotted. Then, at around four, they had noticed increased air activity, flights of fighters heading out to sea, and this had been followed by the appearance on the horizon of two ships, which, over the next two hours, had grown in size as they had neared the coast. Just before six, they had slipped past the headland a few miles to the east and entered Tobruk harbour. A good omen, Tanner had thought. After all, the arrival of ships made the appearance of new troops in town more likely. And then there was the small matter of sabotage – a secondary aim of the mission, Vaughan had explained: there was no denying that the ships would provide an opportunity at the very least …
At this time of year, the light faded rapidly with only around half an hour between sunset and darkness. With that in mind, they had decided to use the last of the light to walk a mile and a half along the coast to where a narrow wadi ran from the sea to a track that went roughly west–east into the town.
They reached the wadi a little before half past seven, the horizon lined with thin streaks of cloud silhouetted against the last fading light of day, while above, the fathomless sky prickled with glittering stars. The air was still and cool, with barely a breath of wind, so that even in their rubber-soled boots each step they took and each chink of equipment seemed horribly loud.
They heard nothing and met no one. Half an hour later, daylight gone, they reached the track. From the town they heard engines and, lying on the ground among the salt-bush, they waited as a convoy of trucks approached. What was in the back? Tanner wondered. It looked like fuel barrels, but he could not be sure. ‘Boom,’ he said softly to himself.
When the last lorry had passed, they got to their feet, made their way to the track and began walking down it until, silhouetted against the sky, they saw the outline of buildings. The faint sound of voices to their left made them stop. Tanner strained his ears. Nothing distinct – and then he saw two glowing pinpricks. Cigarettes.
‘Gun emplacement,’ he whispered, to Vaughan and Farrer.
Vaughan nodded and, as quietly as possible, led them back into the open desert of the headland.
A couple of hundred yards from the hospital, they paused in a little rocky hollow in the ground. Vetch and salt-bush surrounded them, offering ideal cover. A little way to the south there was another gun emplacement, its great barrel pointing skywards, while in front, the dark shape of the hospital loomed. It was a large stone building, originally built by the Italians in grand neo-classical style. Bungalow villas and blockhouses, normally white and sand-coloured during daylight, stood around it and down the hill. In the harbour, they could hardly see the ships, but lorries were rumbling back and forth in a near constant stream, as the newly arrived cargo was unloaded and whisked away.
Tanner watched, his spirits rising. Anything that kept the enemy busy was all right by him.
‘Right,’ said Vaughan. ‘Time to find out where Apollo is.’ The plan had caused considerable debate. Captain Farrer had suggested they split into two groups, and that the first, including Sykes, would create a diversion at the harbour; they had all thought the arrival
of the two ships propitious. In the mayhem that would result, the second group would hurry to find Apollo. Meanwhile, Farrer and Tanner’s group would prepare a number of other explosive devices. There was, however, a major flaw in the plan: if Apollo was not in any of the villas, finding the agent within the town and wider garrison, which would be on full alert, might prove extremely difficult, if not impossible. The alternative was to forgo the diversion and simply try to get Apollo out without being discovered – they should not allow the arrival of the ships to cloud their judgement. In the end, Vaughan had said they would make the decision when they reached the edge of the town, as they now had.
A further complication for Tanner and Sykes was that they suspected Apollo was not a male agent but the woman they had seen boarding the Junkers ten days earlier. They had speculated about it during the journey up the coast, Sykes increasingly convinced as the rescue mission drew closer.
‘You’ve got to tell Vaughany,’ Sykes had urged earlier, as they had sat on watch at the top of the cliff.
‘We gave our word, Stan,’ Tanner had replied. ‘If they’d wanted him to know, they’d have told him.’
‘But it’s affecting our chances of pulling off this mission,’ Sykes had argued.
Tanner knew he had a point, but what if they were wrong? What if Apollo was not Tanja Zanowski? He would then have revealed a secret he had been honour-bound to keep. They had been sworn to secrecy and there had to be a reason for that. He was not a man to break his word.
‘Sir,’ he now said in Vaughan’s ear, ‘why don’t you and I carry out a quick recce on our own first? It’ll be easier for two of us to scamper about than all eight. We could give ourselves until, say, nine o’clock, and if we’re not back then, the rest can set up the diversion.’
‘Good idea,’ said Farrer. ‘It seems pretty quiet after all.’
Vaughan thought for a moment. All day he had been worrying that there were so many variables. It was impossible to know whether or not he would be making the right decision. Now he realized he would have to rely on his gut instinct and hope for the best. He was commander of this operation, and he had to lead. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yes.’ Instinct told him that Tanner’s suggestion was the least flawed of the ideas they had come up with so far. It occurred to him then that finding the others again might be difficult, so he said, ‘But we’ll all move up to the villas before the hospital. You can stay close by, while Tanner and I make our recce.’
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