by Alex Gerlis
Tom Gilbey was sitting behind his desk. ‘I don’t expect you’ve met Christine, have you… Richard?’ Still the slight hesitation before ‘Richard’.
‘I think we shared the lift up here, sir.’
Prince said he hadn’t and a very English silence followed, one interrupted by the clearing of throats and the movement of china followed by the sound of pouring – first the tea, then the milk. Christine looked at him intently – not so much in a manner that unsettled Prince but it did feel as if she already knew a lot about him and was seeking confirmation. It seemed somehow impertinent to know her by her first name; she was the type of person who expected to be referred to by her surname, with the correct honorific prefix.
‘I’m terribly sorry but there were no custard creams – forgive me! We’ll have to make do with these plain biscuits. Not really a treat, eh?’
Yet another English silence as the biscuits were passed round, the woman and Prince taking one each, Tom Gilbey helping himself to three or four.
‘Let me say at the outset, Richard, Christine works for me. She’s fully au fait with your… circumstances and will be fully involved in your mission. It should go without saying that one can trust Christine one hundred per cent, no question about that.
‘Perhaps, Christine, you might like to brief Richard on your background? Good for him to know a bit about you.’
She spoke in a clear voice, slightly loud in the way of someone used to giving orders. Prince couldn’t detect any accent: well-spoken certainly, but in a middle-class way rather than anything more entitled than that.
‘Very well. After graduating in English from King’s College I became a librarian in the main library at the University of London. After a few years, I moved to the library at the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, which is part of the university. I soon became deputy head librarian and then head librarian and latterly combined that role with head of research. Though one is reluctant to blow one’s own trumpet it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge one has, over the years, acquired a good deal of specialist knowledge both in relation to the countries of Central and Eastern Europe and beyond as well as in the field of research. Thoroughness and preparation is an absolute prerequisite for academic research, most especially at a postgraduate level, and I believe that made me eminently qualified when the war began.’
She paused to drink some tea and Tom Gilbey spoke. ‘I have to say, Prince, Christine is rather playing down—’
‘…when the Special Operations Executive was formed in the summer of 1940 I was transferred to it and worked with the sections covering Czechoslovakia, Romania and Bulgaria. My role has been to prepare and coordinate missions and to assist in the running of agents. I’m now seconded to Mr Gilbey’s office and I will be working on your mission. We have one month to prepare you, Mr Prince – that’s not terribly long but I’m used to working under that kind of pressure. One has prepared and dispatched agents in shorter periods of time. Mr Gilbey has made me aware of your professional background, Mr Prince. I understand you’re a serving police officer of a senior rank?’
Prince nodded and noticed Christine now had a pair of reading glasses on and was consulting a notebook, a thick one with multiple bits of paper inserted throughout.
‘And you were recruited by the Service last October and travelled to Denmark in the November, returning here at the end of… April.’ She squinted as she turned over a page. ‘While in Denmark you twice entered Germany, returning to Denmark and then this country via Sweden in… April. I will have an opportunity to read about your mission in more detail and I will ask you questions about it, but I have to say well done, Mr Prince. The mission appears to have been a success and you returned. Few do.’
She looked at him in a pleasant manner, nodding her head in approval.
‘I should add, Mr Prince, I’ve also been made aware of your personal circumstances. I just want to say how awfully sorry I am. After the death of your wife and daughter, the disappearance of your son must have been simply ghastly and I can quite understand how you are so furious at the circumstances which allowed it to happen.’
‘In connection with that, I understand you met with the retired officer I mentioned to you earlier in the week – all good, I hope?’ Tom Gilbey made the question sound as if it was one he wanted to get out of the way.
‘It is sir. I know Chief Superintendent Newton by reputation, his was in a neighbouring force to mine. I was most encouraged by the meeting. He’d already done some homework on the case and is raring to get stuck into it.’
‘And you have confidence in him, I hope, Richard?’
A pause. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘If I may say,’ said Christine, ‘I can fully appreciate any reservations you may have about this. I realise you’re being expected to go on another mission and entrust the search for your son to other people. I realise this may not be easy, and from our point of view it is essential that when agents are sent on a mission they have as few – and I use this word advisedly – distractions as possible. It doesn’t help if people have things on their mind. By this I mean that an agent is not well prepared if he or she has worries or concerns relating to other parts of their life. But it rarely happens like that, I’m afraid. Many of the agents I’ve sent out have been nationals of the countries they’ve been sent back to. They may well have already suffered tragedy or have uncertainties about the fate of their loved ones. It isn’t uncommon, Mr Prince. By way of some reassurance, I’d make the observation that in the case of Henry you may well be too close to be as effective as you’d wish. We need you to be confident Chief Superintendent Newton is the right man to lead the search for Henry.’
‘Jolly good.’ Tom Gilbey stood up without waiting for Prince’s response and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘It sounds as if we’re ready to start, Richard. I expect you want to hear about your mission?’
‘I think that would be an excellent idea, sir.’
‘Splendid – I believe Christine has arranged a tutorial for you to attend this afternoon.’
* * *
Two days earlier and an awkward encounter on a landing close to the prime minister’s office in Downing Street. Sir Roland Pearson knew Lord Swalcliffe’s weekly meeting with the prime minister would end around eleven thirty and he’d been hovering on a staircase nearby hoping to bump into him in what would appear a spontaneous manner.
‘Edward! Good morning, I hope Winston wasn’t in too demanding a mood.’
‘What do you want, Pearson?’
‘Why should I want anything, Edward?’
‘Because you show every sign of having been waiting here for me. Had you just climbed those stairs you’d have been considerably more breathless than you are now. And you called me Edward. What is it you want?’
The prime minister’s personal intelligence and scientific advisers didn’t get on. They were quite different types: one the public school educated spy, a bachelor, getting on in years and very overweight, the other the émigré scientist, sporty, ten years younger and with an even younger wife. Whereas Sir Roland Pearson had a demonstrable interest in good food and expensive wine, Lord Swalcliffe was known to be spartan in his tastes. The men had little in common, which should not in itself have accounted for their mutual dislike. But these two managed to rub each other up the wrong way. In his defence, Sir Roland would point out that this was the case between Lord Swalcliffe and so many people. Winston Churchill liked to think this tension helped keep his key advisers on their toes.
‘Well, I would call our meeting a happy coincidence, Edward. But seeing as you ask, there is something I wanted to run by you. It is—’
‘…my office at three, Pearson. First, I have to see some men about jet engines—’
‘…not heard of them. Ideally it would be before then. It is rather urgent and will hopefully be very quick.’
‘Go on. Make it snappy though.’
‘I need an expert to give a briefing to one o
f our chaps about chromium, Edward.’
‘Chromium, you say?’
‘Yes, chromium.’
‘And this lay person is…?’
‘Come on, Edward, you know the rules. This is an important mission sanctioned by Winston. I promise that in due course you’ll receive a full report on it. I need someone who knows everything there is to know about chromium, who can explain it in a clear manner and has top-level security clearance.’
‘Apart from myself?’
‘Well, you’re so busy, aren’t you?’
‘Miles Harland at Imperial College – excellent chap. We’ve used him a good many times and he’s absolutely trustworthy.’
* * *
‘Our meeting isn’t until two,’ said Christine, glancing at her watch and looking up and down the road, as if the weather – it had just stopped raining – would help her decide. They were standing outside Broadway. ‘I suggest we walk, there’s plenty of time… it’ll do us good.’
‘I’m not sure where we’re going, Christine?’
‘Don’t worry, I do. My surname is Wright, by the way. I’m not suggesting how you should address me, but I fear you may have thought it is forbidden to ask.’
She’d set off at a fast pace and, after ten minutes, Richard Prince was struggling to keep up with her. ‘Come on, Mr Prince – you’re a decade younger than me and a foot taller. You ought to be outpacing me!’
‘In normal circumstances perhaps, but I returned in April with a spot of typhoid. Doctors reckoned they caught it in time and I feel better every day, but I can get tired.’
‘Of course, I forgot.’ She slowed down and kept pace alongside him. ‘Would you prefer I call you Richard, or indeed Detective Superintendent?’
‘Richard is fine, I suppose. To be honest, I had to get used to so many different aliases on my last mission any variation of my proper name is most welcome.’
‘Very soon – next week – you’ll have a new name for your new mission and I’ll refer to you by that.’
‘I’m not sure there’s much room left in my brain for a new name, Christine.’
‘One thing I have learned since entering the world of espionage – we need to cross here, Richard, mind that cyclist – is that the human brain has infinite capacity. I am constantly surprised at how much information people can absorb. And in your case that is certainly going to be put to the test this afternoon.’
They’d been walking for half an hour and had just crossed Knightsbridge, heading west, and Prince thought of himself as being on a giant chessboard.
‘You see, Prince, the most dangerous thing we teach agents is how to be aware they’re being followed.’
It was one of his first training sessions, before he was sent to Denmark and what seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘For a start, even the word “following” is wrong. If you’re being watched when you’re out and about they’ll be everywhere – in front of you and to your left and right. And they’ll be all sorts – men, women, smart, scruffy – and moving in different directions. Best way of thinking about it is to imagine you’re on a giant chessboard – in the middle of it.’
On this occasion though it was definitely people behind him who’d caught his attention.
‘I presume you know, Christine, we’ve been followed since we left Broadway?’
She nodded her head approvingly; a teacher responding to a pupil who’d unexpectedly answered a particularly difficult question. ‘Describe the person who’s been following us.’
‘Three of them actually. There’s a rather tall man wearing a Homburg hat and with a white carnation in the buttonhole of his coat. He’s carrying an umbrella and has been following us since Broadway, on occasion getting very near us – I thought the idea was to keep one’s distance. Until about ten minutes ago we were also being followed by a woman, possibly in her thirties, she was wearing what I’d describe as a beret-style hat, scarlet. She appears to have been replaced by another woman, this one possibly a few years older.’
‘Anything you can point out about this woman?’
‘I’ve not had a proper look yet but she’s wearing a blue suit with a belt around the jacket, if that helps.’
‘Hat?’
‘No hat. She is wearing spectacles though.’
‘Well done, Mr Prince that really is rather good.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course we trust you, Mr Prince but we need to be sure about you. It’s been nearly three months since you returned from Denmark and both the circumstances of your return and the situation with your son have been most trying for you. We have to be certain you can still function well as an agent in hostile territory. I set this up to see whether you’d spot you were being followed and you’ve certainly passed. I’d have been most concerned had you not at least spotted the peacock – the chap wearing a Homburg hat and with the carnation and the umbrella.’
‘The peacock – someone who stands out because of their attire and demeanour and who lacks subtlety in the manner of following you. The idea is that the peacock lulls you into focusing your attention on them and in doing so you fail to spot other people watching you.’
They walked on further and were now on Exhibition Road, opposite Imperial College.
‘So I’ve not lost my touch?’
‘It would appear not, Mr Prince, but please avoid complacency. You’re most certainly going to need to be as alert as possible.’
* * *
They entered the City and Guilds Waterhouse building, part of the Imperial College complex. Just before going in, Christine had stopped and beckoned him closer.
‘He has the highest level of security clearance but he doesn’t need to know your name or anything about you. Is that understood?’
Prince said he understood.
‘He does know you’re about to go on a mission – it’s important he does so. As far as he’s concerned, you’re Mr Black and I’m Miss White, no doubt Mr Gilbey’s idea of a silly joke. Let’s go in.’
At the end of the corridor Christine knocked on a door, its brass nameplate only just visible in the dim light.
Professor Miles Harland – Metallurgy
‘Come in, come in – let me move these papers. One of you can sit there, and if you bring over that chair, there we are.’
Professor Miles Harland fussed around and rearranged his study as if they were welcome but unexpected visitors. The professor was not much taller than Christine Wright and wore a large bow tie with a waistcoat but no jacket. He peered at them over the top of half-moon shaped spectacles, his white hair jutting out in different directions. As he sat down he rubbed his hands in the manner of a hungry person about to tuck into a meal.
‘You want to know about chromium, I’m told?’
Prince nodded.
‘Do you know anything about chromium?’
‘Not really. I—’
‘Very well, very well… Have you ever seen chromium? Have a look, here…’
From a table behind him he produced a large wooden tray covered by a cloth which he theatrically removed to reveal around a dozen irregularly shaped lumps of metal. They varied in form from medium-sized pebbles to rocks only slightly smaller than his fist, some dark, others looking as if they were tightly wrapped in bright silver-coloured foil.
‘Pick one up, Mr Black. Be careful though, they can be very sharp… the brighter ones are bits of polished chromium, Mr Black. Those with a grey colour, perhaps with a hint of blue, are unpolished chromium. You’ll observe it is the same shape but smaller. If you come across chromium on your travels I think it will look more like this.
‘Chromium is a non-ferrous metal which is essential to the manufacture of armour plating. It is used in the production of stainless steel as it makes it more wear resistant and helps stop machinery rusting. I would say that in the production of almost all alloy steels, chromium is vital. Our purpose today is to talk about the industrial application of chrome. The addition of it
to steel has two absolutely critical effects – to make it harder and less likely to rust.
‘Broadly speaking, I would say that as little as one and a half to two per cent chromium will have a noticeable effect in hardening the alloy. But in terms of corrosion or oxidation resistance, my estimate would be as much as eighteen per cent.’
He paused, looking at his guests in the hope they’d be impressed.
‘I hope I’ve been able to impress upon you how important chromium is to the manufacture and production of machinery and equipment. I cannot stress how vital an uninterrupted supply of chromium is for the German war effort. Without it, it would be impossible for the Germans to maintain large-scale production of essential military vehicles such as tanks and artillery. However, Germany and the countries which form Nazi-occupied Europe…’ he was pointing now at a map suspended from a bookshelf, ‘…do not produce much chromium. They produce some but nowhere near the amount they need.’
The professor gazed up at the map, shaking his head as he did so.
‘So they need to import it. One of the world’s largest producers of chromium is the Soviet Union, but at the moment they are not minded to export it to Germany!’ The professor’s shoulders heaved up and down as he chuckled at his own joke. ‘Yugoslavia and Bulgaria are producers of chromium but they are part of Nazi-controlled Europe, so are already supplying them. Further to the south-east – here – is Turkey, which is one of the world’s largest producers of chromium – its chromium production is at least twice that of Germany.’
Christine stood up and walked over to the map. ‘If I may, professor. We know that in 1941 Turkey produced 164,000 tons of chromium which accounted for sixteen per cent of the world’s production. Our estimate is that by the end of 1941 they had at least half a million tons in reserve, waiting to be mined. We believe this year they’ve already exported around 45,000 tons of chrome to Germany and will export at least the same amount by the end of the year. According to our intelligence, they are planning to export up to 100,000 tons next year. Turkey is an ideal trading partner for Germany in this respect and vice versa. The Turks are worried about the Soviet threat and the Germans have been able to supply them with munitions. That’s not to say we’ve not tried that approach, but it’s so much easier from a geographical point of view for the Turks to trade with Germany than with us. Transporting chromium into German territory is relatively easy, not least because they don’t need to cross Allied territory. Here…’