City of Gold

by Len Deighton

  He turned to Wallingford and his men.

  ‘You men with IDT badges, close up and listen to me.’ The men shuffled forward and surrounded him. ‘We know all about you. You’re all thieves and deserters. You stink! You let down your friends, you let down your families, and you let down your country. I despise the lot of you.’

  At this disconcerting greeting, some of the men looked around and saw regimental police, their rifles at the high port and ready to use.

  ‘Well, you are lucky. Now you’ve got a chance to redeem your self-respect. We’re expecting another attack by the Huns, and then another and another. So I need all the men I can find, even rotten scum like you. The chaplain is with me here. He’ll take a note of your name, rank and number, your unit, and the approximate date of your last pay parade. I don’t want you wasting his time with any bloody fairy stories. Fairy-story time is over; get that into your thick heads! Give him your correct details, then draw a rifle from the armoury sergeant. You’ll be assigned to a place on the perimeter. Move from it one inch, and you’ll be shot dead by the Field Security police. I’ll be watching every one of you, and so will your comrades.’

  Wallingford’s men took this news with mixed emotions. Some were horrified, some were frightened, some were relieved. ‘Is that all right, Mister Wallingford?’ Mogg asked.

  Before Wallingford had a chance to reply, Anderson said, ‘And cut those IDT badges off your shirts right away. You’re under my command now. Your mister bloody Wallingford won’t be giving you any more orders. He’s a deserter, a crook and no better than you lot. I’m taking him along for interrogation. Now, pretend you are real soldiers again; form a line for the padre.’

  As the men started to line up in front of the chaplain, Sandy Powell called, ‘Will you put in a good word for us, colonel?’ The others turned to hear the reply.

  Anderson stared at him indignantly. ‘When we repair the wireless and regain contact with army HQ, I’ll tell them that I’ve got you deserters on my ration strength. I’ll list your names so that your friends and relatives back home will eventually get to know you were here, fighting alongside real soldiers, who know how to do their duty. It’s our job to hold out as long as we can. That’s what I mean to do. The only thing I can promise any of you miserable bastards is a Christian burial.’

  Ross had kept Wallingford under observation from the moment he arrived. He’d even guessed what Wallingford’s greeting would be, ‘Can we make a bargain, major?’ But Wallingford’s proposal surprised him. ‘One of my men knows what you need to know – about the spy and so on – but I don’t think you’ll squeeze it out of him without my help.’ He puffed on his cigarette.

  ‘It took you a long time to see where your duty was,’ said Ross.

  ‘Better I talk to him first. I know how to handle him. He’s called Percy. He’s a German deserter. He was a cipher clerk for Rommel. He knows all about the intelligence stuff Rommel is getting from Cairo.’

  ‘You’re a fool, Wallingford. One of your mistakes was awarding yourself the Distinguished Service Order. I couldn’t trace you through the naval records, but when we checked the list of DSO winners it took only half an hour to confirm that you were a phony.’

  ‘I can –’

  ‘Go and get yourself a rifle and be a man instead of a thief. I don’t need your help, Wallingford. I’ll find your pal, Percy. This is my show.’

  Jimmy Ross had no trouble in finding Percy. He was standing in line where the rifles were being handed out. Ross walked up to him and, without a word, grabbed him by the throat and said, ‘I want to talk to you –’

  But Percy had recognised what was in store for him. He’d prepared for this moment a thousand times. He ducked his head and lashed out to strike Ross’s face with the edge of his hand. Then Percy was running. At first it seemed as if he might be heading to the tent where Anderson had set up his command post, but then Percy headed towards the German lines and went scrambling up the sandy embankment. It was a dune of wind-blown sand, steep and soft. He slipped but persevered, grabbing at the sand with both hands and feet, so that he climbed like a spider. He looked round and, seeing Ross running after him, scrambled more frantically.

  When he reached the top Percy stood up. Although the landscape was lit by a bright moon, he showed no fear. It was as if he believed himself invulnerable to the shot and shell of his own people. He ran along the ridge in full view of the Germans manning their forward positions. Ross, equally exposed, was chasing after him.

  But now Ross changed direction. By risking a more exposed route, he could cut Percy off. Jumping over the top of the ridge, Ross skidded in the sand, toppled and nearly fell. Shots were fired. His sudden movement attracted a stream of machine-gun bullets. He heard them spitting and hissing in the sand near him and rolled over to go head first down the incline. Now he was completely exposed to the German fire. Ahead of him there was a flat stretch of limestone and, beyond it, Percy. Ross jumped up and sprinted across the hard slippery surface, while bullets chipped away pieces of ground, and sent them singing away in all directions.

  At the far side of the flat stretch he got to a wide gully, created by a flaw in the rock. He threw himself down flat and for a moment felt safe. He made his way along the crevice, using the knees-and-elbow crawl that does not have to be taught to men being shot at. As the gully tapered to nothing he was again spotted and he heard bullets passing close as he ran the final few yards.

  He could see Percy now; he was running across soft sand. The guns paused as the Germans stared and tried to understand what was happening. Lungs bursting, Percy came to the ridge and an abandoned Bren gun weapon pit. From here there was a clear view of the German positions. The nearest ones were about six hundred yards away, marked by sprawling figures, spread-eagled grotesquely like rag dolls. They were dead British soldiers, tumbled out of their slit trenches to make room for the new owners.

  Percy started to run again, but he was moving more slowly now. Every intake of breath burned his lungs. He slipped and skidded down the far side of the slope, but each step pained him. Ross had now encountered the soft sand and found it heavy going, as Percy had done. With each step he went in to the ankles and sometimes deeper, so that he felt like a fly on a sticky paper, trying to get free.

  Now a few Germans were also standing up. One of them was on the top of a dune, and using binoculars to see better. Then some German sniper opened fire. Single shots came very close. Ross dropped flat and Percy did too. They both got up, but Percy was slower in recovering.

  Half a dozen more shots were fired before Ross reached Percy. He charged into him, shoulder forward, knocked him full length, and landed on top of him. The two men rolled down the slope in a cloud of dust. By the time they stopped rolling, Ross was uppermost and had his captive pinned down. Here in a piece of dead ground they were lost to the sight of anyone. Ross hit him hard and Percy went limp.

  Squatting upon him, Ross said, ‘I swear by God I’ll kill you…’ He stopped and tried to get his breath. ‘You’re going to open up about your lousy signals intercepts, or whatever they were.’

  There was no answer. Percy was winded too.

  ‘Do you hear me, Percy, damn you?’ He slapped him to provoke a reaction. Percy had his eyes tightly closed. He gave a grunt that might have meant yes or no. The firing had slackened and stopped. Then came the distant sound of an engine starting. Someone was sending a vehicle to investigate.

  Ross turned Percy over roughly and, holding the back of his head, banged his face hard down into the sand. ‘You are for the high jump, unless you talk, Percy. So get it straight in your mind: you are going to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk.’ He smacked him across the side of the head.

  Percy couldn’t breathe. Close to death by asphyxiation, he struggled and finally twisted his face clear of the sand. He spluttered, spat sand and gulped. ‘Let me go. Please. I will tell you.’

  Ross let Percy move a little, and let him free his arm. Percy twisted, reached
up and rubbed his throat and shook his head as if trying to clear his mind.

  There came the sound of more shots. But the two men couldn’t be seen from the German lines. The shots went overhead and they heard them hitting nearby rocks. The Germans were becoming alarmed, fearing that what they’d seen was the precursor to some kind of counterattack. As Ross was taking his weight off his victim half a dozen mortar shells landed with a dull thump. One after another, in close succession, they exploded deep in the soft sand, so that they made tall columns of dust and smoke and deep craters. The sand and smoke drifted across them so that Ross could taste the cordite. There was some artillery fire off to the north. Everyone was getting jumpy. Were these incidents all part of the overture? Was this a softening up that would become an attack in strength? More thumps of mortar fire sounded.

  And then the sound of the engine became much louder. Ross looked at Percy and Percy grinned. But when the sound got close it was not a German tank that came rumbling over the sand and rolling down towards them, it was Beryl.

  ‘The armoured car will give us cover,’ said Ross. The first light of dawn was making long shadows in the sandy landscape in which they were hidden. ‘While he’s with us, we’re going to scramble back along that gully and up the dune and get back to the British position. Crawl with me and keep with the car. And don’t try anything stupid.’

  ‘Tell me again,’ said Ross.

  They were sitting on the ground in the shade cast by a wrecked tank. It was late afternoon and so far the threatened German attack had not developed. There had been more false alarms. The Germans were trying to keep them jittery.

  ‘How many years did you say you were in Signals?’ he asked Percy. It was a question designed to test the consistency of Percy’s story. Ross was getting the hang of this interrogation game. It was just like an audition. Easier really, for no one could tell better lies than an actor who wanted a part.

  ‘Always. I read electrical engineering at the Technische Hochschule in Berlin. I immediately became lieutenant and I was assigned to Lauf, the radio intercept station.’

  ‘All right. Don’t go all through that again.’ He looked at his notes. ‘So the messages came in; then what happened?’

  ‘The intercepted messages were stripped of their superencipherment by the cryptanalysts on duty.’

  ‘How long did that take?’

  ‘A short message, less than an hour.’

  ‘And then you sent it to Tripoli?’

  ‘No. I told you. The messages had to be translated into German, by someone who understood British military terms, equipment, and the way the British army works. Then they were rewritten so that no one could guess where the stuff was coming from.’

  ‘But your people in Tripoli would have it within a couple of hours?’

  ‘More like three hours. It varied, of course. The black code was easy for us.’

  ‘Tell me about the black code.’ He offered Percy his cigarettes and matches.

  Percy took a cigarette and lit it. ‘Black is the American name. It is called black because the bindings of the code-books are black.’ Percy leaned against a sprocket wheel of the tank and drew on his cigarette. ‘In Rome, an agent of the Servizio Informazione Militare stole it from the American military attaché. He also got the superencipherment tables. The SIM gave it all to us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘The Abwehr.’

  ‘You said you weren’t in the Abwehr.’

  ‘I was Signals staff attached to the Abwehr,’ said Percy, pleased to have won the exchange.

  ‘When did you first get the code?’

  ‘Last summer: August or September.’

  ‘Good stuff right from the start?’

  ‘Supply shipping, morale, evaluation of enemy tactics and weapons. Everything Rommel needed to know. Numbers, units, dates. It was wonderful material.’

  ‘It sounds like it.’

  ‘Sometimes it could tell us of British intentions: a raid, or an attack, or how a certain unit would be employed when the right time came. And there were comments, very frank comments, about the training state, morale, and readiness of the British units.’

  ‘And then, when you came to Africa, you were on the receiving end?’

  ‘I worked as an assistant to Rommel’s Staff Officer Operations. Sometimes I was in Tripoli, but Rommel liked to move around, and usually I went where he went.’

  ‘In his car?’

  ‘I was not that important. I was in a truck with my immediate superior, a Signals Oberleutnant, and the maps and radios and so on. We worked even while on the move. Rommel is tough.’

  Gently Ross steered him back to the messages. ‘So you saw the messages in the first raw state?’

  ‘Exactly as they were sent. I could speak and write English. Sometimes they would ask my opinion about a word or a phrase that puzzled the interpreters. But since the difficulties were usually technical British army words, I could not help very often. I told you that. I saw the originals. That is why I know where they came from.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘The messages are coming from the American embassy, from the military attaché in Cairo. They are filed through the Egyptian Telegraph Company, Cairo, for radio transmission to Washington DC. Each message is marked MILID WASH; that means the destination is the Military Intelligence Division, Washington.’

  ‘And we’ve been looking for a spy all these months.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The American attaché is shown everything,’ said Ross, remembering Harry Wechsler’s stories. ‘The instructions are to show the embassy staff anything they want to see. Every tank and gun, down to the last nut and bolt.’

  ‘Rommel’s staff knows everything you do,’ said Percy simply. He looked around him at the wrecked tanks and the tents as if seeing it all for the first time. ‘You will be overrun before nightfall.’ He said it without gloating, as if it were a self-evident fact.

  ‘I must get you back to Cairo. I must tell GHQ.’

  ‘You must let me go,’ said Percy.

  Ross stared at him in disbelief. ‘Are you completely mad? Don’t you know what your playmates will do to you if they find out that you’ve betrayed their greatest secret?’

  ‘It is a gamble,’ said Percy. ‘When they overrun the box, you will be my prisoner. If they do not overrun it, I will be your prisoner.’

  ‘I’m not making deals with you,’ said Ross.

  Percy didn’t respond. He knew that no one would want to transmit such a story over the air. Rommel’s monitoring service would be sure to pick it up. Even without that happening, a sensational story like this would be sure to leak out amongst the British signals staff.

  Ross said, ‘Colonel Anderson has generously offered me a car and crew. I’m going to try and get you through the lines tonight. With luck we’ll get to Cairo. Cooperate, and I’ll see what I can do for you.’

  As he said it, they heard whistles blowing and there was a sudden heavy salvo of gunfire. Then there was the curious popping noise of smoke shells. Anderson came out of his command post and called to them. ‘This is it, major. The Hun infantry is coming over in open order. A lot of them. They have a sprinkling of tanks. We may not be able to hold them.’

  ‘I’ll need your man,’ said Ross.

  ‘He’s coming,’ said Anderson. ‘Butcher is the man for the job.’ He went back into his tent. There were more explosions and more sounds of Spandau machine guns.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Percy asked.

  ‘I’m giving my notes of what you’ve told me to a runner. He’ll depart in a few minutes’ time. We’ll leave tonight, if we haven’t been overrun by then. Meanwhile, should your people break into the compound, Colonel Anderson has assigned a reliable man to shoot both of us.’

  22

  Alice got the news from Peggy West. Peggy spent fifteen minutes preparing herself for the ordeal. She went into the office. Alice was alone there. Thank heaven for that; it would have been unbearabl
e to tell her with others present.

  ‘Alice, I have to tell you something,’ she said. Her tone was sombre, and she paused to let the words sink in. ‘It’s not entirely good.’

  ‘It’s Bert?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Bert. He went into surgery. I was on the team. But he’s strong; he’ll be all right.’

  ‘What happened?’ Alice was on her feet. Her face was drained of blood, and she was holding some pages of typing with both hands, holding them so tightly that they were beginning to tear apart.

  ‘He’ll be all right.’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Peggy.’

  ‘Burns on his legs, mostly. Shock. Exposure too. He was unconscious for a bit. He had a couple of nights and days out in the sun before they found him.’

  ‘Will he…?’ She couldn’t bring herself to look at Peggy. She looked out of the window. She could see the Kasr el Nil barracks. There was always a crowd of Egyptians there. They watched the daily activities of the British soldiers with the passive curiosity of visitors to a zoo.

  ‘No, he’ll be all right,’ said Peggy. ‘He’ll be on his feet again in a couple of weeks or so. He’ll be scarred, of course, but he’s lucky to come through.’

  ‘May I see him?’

  ‘The brigadier has been up there with him. He’s brought back some important news. He was demanding to see the brigadier before he went into surgery, but the Hoch wouldn’t delay.’

  ‘The Rommel spy?’

  ‘Yes, something like that. No one was allowed up there while the brigadier was with him.’

  ‘Are you sure he’ll be all right, Peggy? How soon may I see him?’

  ‘Come up with me. I’ll get you in there, brigadier or no brigadier.’