Innocence To Die For

by Eidinow, John

  ‘Interested, yes. Very.’ Back to France.

  ‘Everything now is strictly between us. Start with the context, what political intelligence is crossing the Foreign Secretary’s desk, or, to be precise, isn’t crossing it. Halifax is very worried indeed over how cut off we are from Vichy; how little we know of Pétain’s plans and policies that might affect us.’ He gestured with a slice of brown bread. ‘Or that we might affect.’

  ‘I’ve noticed how the only press reports come from correspondents on the borders or American journalists in the country: “Chaos in France. A People Broken in Spirit”.’

  ‘We think we’ve identified an opportunity – a somewhat out of the ordinary opportunity, it has to be admitted – to plug the gap.’

  ‘Without continuing diplomatic relations?’

  ‘For the moment. As Halifax sees it, we’re in a state of not friends, not enemies. We must try to keep the door open to the French government, at best to be with us or at least to stay out of Germany’s embrace. Build policies that will keep the gravity pulling towards London. To do that, we must have accurate information on their thinking. For that, we need a man on the ground, with access, able to move about freely, sniff the air, and not rely on those US newspaper reports, French and German speeches and so on.’

  ‘Can’t we put agents in? Our own or use their sympathisers? We must know men who can be trusted.’

  ‘Horseradish? That’s the obvious route, but it’s not open for the moment. The intelligence service has really been cleared off the map in Europe and needs time to rebuild. The alternative force that’s being put in place will eventually be concerned with propaganda and sabotage, fairy tales and bangs, not diplomacy. General Spears had excellent contacts, but now they’re out, literally. They might soon be inside.’ He sniffed his wine and rolled it round his mouth. ‘This Cheval Blanc is rather good.’

  ‘It is, thank you. But, if I’m following you, aren’t you backing a dark horse.’

  ‘Not dark to us – we’ve studied form.’

  ‘And you’ll be ringing your runner?’

  ‘Needs must. If he’s to be entered at this course. Pudding?’

  ‘Anchovies, please. I’m not playing the “gaunt stranger” tonight.’

  ‘Ah, you mean The Ringer? Man of many faces. One can learn a lot from Edgar Wallace’s works, so I’m told. I hope there are no shortages in Vichy. An American reporter says there’s real hunger in places.’

  As Hendersley finally unrolled it – over a brandy in one of the discreet recesses praised by Anselm – the plan seemed simplicity itself.

  While France had broken off diplomatic relations with Britain, she still had them with Canada. The Canadian minister had moved to London from Paris and had no intention of setting up in Vichy; he also had responsibility for the Netherlands and Belgium. He would send his chargé d’affaires to open a Vichy office and the Canadian prime minister, W L Mackenzie King, had agreed to his making political reports to London. ‘Obviously this could be very useful to us.’ However, he couldn’t go out until late September at the earliest. ‘From the British policy-formation point of view, that’s far too long a gap. We need a source there now, as Vichy takes shape. The Canadians see that. So it’s been agreed to send out a deputy chargé as soon as possible, on a temporary footing. And …’ He drew on his cigarette for a moment or two, narrowing his eyes at Peter through the smoke. ‘… and he can be London’s man, specifically for political intelligence. Your mission, Peter, if you’re prepared to take it on. Be Canada’s deputy chargé. Be our ringer.’

  ‘Of course I’m ready to serve, but …’ Peter raised a series of practical objections. Hendersley had patient responses ready.

  For this singular mission, it was inappropriate to ask a Canadian diplomat to pursue London’s prime objective. Better for both sides to have a British agent carrying out some formal Canadian duties. Equally obviously, an established British diplomat – or any official – wouldn’t be appropriate. Peter would be stood down from the army for the duration of the mission.

  His diplomatic passport would be genuine, would give protection if problems arose – he would be performing routine diplomatic duties for Ottawa. If his background was questioned, well, his was a wartime appointment. No one would turn a hair at his having an English background and education; so did two Canadian diplomats to his knowledge, and at least one Canadian general, much the same as Peter’s. Anyway, he’d be operating in French. They would work up his Canadian connection – his having relatives there was a helpful point. Visits to the Canadian Hospital, some Newfoundland troops and the Canadian second division. Briefings on formal duties from the minister and the future chargé, Pierre. What to do if a Canadian gets into trouble. ‘You’ll have some authentic Canadian kit.’ The eyes twinkled. ‘Visit a Canadian barber.’

  Once in Vichy, he should simply put himself about, make as many contacts as possible, listen, fact and gossip, and report. ‘Your operational base will actually be Berne.’ His reports would be transmitted from the British legation in Berne, using its cipher. ‘You’ll be fully briefed on all that sort of thing.’

  So here it was.

  ‘You’ll get a bit of time off in Switzerland, lucky devil. No stumbling about with a gasmask in the blackout.’ Finally, if that was all, ‘Is it to be yea or nay? I’m sorry to rush you. We need to start the ball rolling. The Foreign Secretary’s private office is breathing down our necks. Halifax is taking a personal interest.’

  ****

  Next morning, a new note-taker was eyeing Peter’s desk and Colonel ffoulkes was ready for him, somewhat with the air of a headmaster whose influence had secured a good position for a favoured pupil. ‘Just your cup of tea.’

  ‘Thank you for suggesting it, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t come from me. Of course, when it was suggested, I gave you my absolute backing.’ He was to be stood down forthwith. The new commander was about to be appointed. The colonel wanted Peter off the books as soon as possible: ‘Had to look up the procedure; never come my way before.’ It meant he could rejoin, though if he came back to the army, plainly he should go for officer selection. ‘I’ll forward the application.’

  The paperwork completed, they shook hands and the colonel wished him good luck. He dropped by the staff sergeant, who refused to believe Peter was at all taken aback by this unheralded move. ‘Didn’t think you’d be with us for long. Enough to give you cover, I suppose.’ Amused, Peter protested sufficiently to leave him convinced he was right. They would have a drink before he went off. From the phone box outside the school he rang Hendersley.

  ‘Can I say who is calling?’

  ‘Please say it’s Mr Hill.’

  Chapter Four

  The meeting with Burenko was upon him. With a certain grim amusement he was looking forward to the Russian’s visiting The Looking Glass.

  ‘Are you sure that’s the place?’ said the Special Branch man.

  ‘Just the place – have him playing away.’

  ‘You’ll be playing at home, I suppose.’ The Special Branch man’s voice was flat.

  ****

  All moderne curves and zigzags, black and white decoration and mirrored walls, The Looking Glass was in the staid Baker Street area north of Oxford Street, a small, basement nightclub, doubling as a piano-bar and restaurant before eleven o’clock. Perhaps its location, in a quiet street leading into an elegant Georgian square, dictated its respectability; professional families recommended it to each other as a decent spot for their young to play adult, enjoy dancing into the small hours to bands moonlighting from the music colleges.

  Still, piano-bar/nightclub it was, and, to Peter, Trade Counsellor Burenko looked like a man awaiting sentence as he stood a careful few doors away from the tiled black and white entrance where a black porter in a white uniform stood guard.

  ‘A very good place for confidential conversations,’ Peter said as he ushered the Russian down the club’s curving, glassy black staircase. ‘Busin
essmen use it to tie up deals, lawyers to settle cases, and lovers to find a rendezvous.’

  As if to seek samples of Peter’s catalogue, the Russian’s gaze was sweeping round – the bar, the restaurant, the dance floor, the tiny stage. The pianist came in and placed his cocktail glass and cigarette on top of the piano and went out again. The night was young but the few customers provided a background hum of conversation.

  ‘Of course in Soviet Union we have such People’s House of Entertainment. But there, places are reserved for workers who performed heroic service for state.’

  ‘People who perform heroic service come here. After Dunkirk, returned troops packed the place. Fighter pilots come and relax here. I‘ve heard talk of your Stray Dog Cabaret. Does something like it still exist?’

  ‘Was revealed as nest of counter-revolutionaries and enemies of people. No such place could exist today when all are united in building socialism.’

  Over Burenko’s protests, Peter ordered a bottle of champagne, a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches and plovers’ eggs. ‘You must permit me. We are, so to speak, working together.’ The pianist returned, sipped his drink, pulled on his cigarette and began to play a popular medley. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square became It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow became We’ll Meet Again.

  The Russian offered Peter a papirosa. ‘Why your club have negro pianist?’

  ‘Many nightclubs do. I imagine because they play this kind of music especially well.’

  ‘In Soviet Union would be pianist who grew up from soil of fatherland and has full understanding of people’s music.’

  ‘You are very patriotic, Mr Burenko.’

  The Russian stared straight ahead. ‘Imperialist capitalist nationalism has been eradicated in Soviet Union. Our eternal duty to our fatherland can be only to build socialism there in true spirit of Marxism-Leninism under tireless guidance of our great leader Stalin. Our international duty is to support longing of international proletariat for socialism and work for objective conditions in which it will arise.’ He turned back to Peter. ‘However, we are not here, Mr Hill, simply to drink champagne in these decadent capitalist circumstances. Why did you wish to meet me?’

  ‘Mr Burenko, in our past meetings you have kindly shown an understanding of my anxiety over my mother, an anxiety that was increased with your description of the resentment of local people at the conditions in which she is held—’

  ‘Not resentment, Mr Hill. Outrage. Outrage at luxury how she lives while held for investigation.’

  ‘Outrage increases my anxiety even more, as I’m sure you understand. You also mentioned the importance of my demonstrating friendship for the Soviet Union and its peoples. Nazdarov’e.’ He raised his champagne glass, drank, and topped up Burenko’s glass, then his own. ‘I hoped today you would be able to give me some reassurance as to her present well-being and we could discuss her future in a spirit of friendship and co-operation.’

  ‘I can tell you I passed on your initial demonstration of friendship and this was well received. As a preliminary expression. It also helped me, Burenko, when they say “But why this your business? Is this trade?” I can say “Nikolai Alekseevich bringing home the bacon.” Nazdarov’e.’ He smiled without warmth and sipped his champagne. ‘If young man continues friendship …’ He drew on his cigarette and then made a rolling gesture with it.

  ‘Naturally we continue friendship.’ He was beginning to talk like the Russian.

  More people were coming into the club, young and middle-aged. The tables round the piano were filling up, bringing laughter and the popping of corks.

  ‘Your countrymen seem not to worry over invasion.’

  ‘They are confident. With good reason. My mother, Mr Burenko? Friendship is a two-way street.’

  Burenko nodded. ‘You are correct. Your mother well and co-operating fully with process over her status. Judicial authorities consider positively her request to move to Kiev, where investigation now supervised.’

  ‘Kiev?’ He had no need to put on surprise – a note of panic? He hoped not.

  ‘We were talking of invasion, I think.’

  ‘We will talk about it. But I must hear about my mother. Kiev is a shock. You will understand that.’

  ‘Of course you have my understanding. For any son, deeply worrying. Also daughter far away, in Egypt, trying to attend to her drawings.’ He put his hand on Peter’s sleeve. ‘Mr Hill, I sincerely believe Kiev improvement. Officials higher in rank, greater experience. Conditions better for process. I know some officials. I do my best for you.’

  ‘She will be in an hotel?’

  ‘I do my best for you. I in my heart sincerely want to say: “Mr Hill, breathe easy, your mother on way home.” We do our best for each other. Yes.’ He held out his hand for Peter to shake. It was firm under the fat. Then he held up his glass. ‘To her safe return.’

  ‘To her safe and speedy return.’

  ‘And now, invasion?’

  Peter was ready. The most interesting part of the briefing had been deciding the basis for misleading Burenko and, through him, Berlin. Should he be talking strength, warding off invasion? Or should he be talking weakness, encouraging invasion to give a death blow to the Nazi war machine in the eyes of Europe? The decision had been to run on Britain’s confident strength: a confidence and a strength based on secret weapons, new armour, reformed armies, and, best of all, apparent foreknowledge of German plans. Something along the lines of … ‘Of course, if the invasion had been launched earlier, after Dunkirk … but the extra time has been a gift.’

  ‘Invasion?’ He set off. Britain increasingly confident the enemy would be repulsed in the air and on land. The Luftwaffe now losing the air battle over the Channel and their losses unsustainable. German land forces had delayed landing too long. In Britain, time for armies to reform and re-equip with new armour; defensive lines to be hardened and troops to dig in. As he spoke, he felt the fate of his country on his shoulders: this might be only cover, but Burenko would still report to Moscow and Moscow to Berlin. A top-secret weapon developed by British scientists would destroy the invasion force as they came on to the beaches. Best of all, Intelligence seemed to have foreknowledge of the German’s planning. ‘Of course, if the invasion had been launched earlier, after Dunkirk … but the extra time has been a gift.’

  Burenko listened expressionlessly, taking a sandwich, interrupting only to ask if The Looking Glass could satisfy his wish for glass of beer.

  ‘What if no invasion? You turned down peace offer. We believe Herr Hitler sincere when he spoke to Reichstag and made appeal to you.’

  ‘The country is united in rejecting it. No possibility of leaving Europe to Hitler. If no invasion? We think the evidence is increasingly solid that he plans to drive east.’

  The lieutenant from Military Intelligence had not taken so positive a line in the briefing, saying only: ‘I personally believe it’s much more Hitler’s and Germany’s historic line of thinking than crossing the channel. Much more his Weltanschauung – world outlook – much more in accordance with his pre-war rhetoric. However, that’s not playing a part in the appreciations we do here. Not called for when all the signals are set at green for invasion. Still, there are some indications of troops being transferred to the east, headquarters being established. I thought that might be something for your Russian chum. It’s the drift of wireless traffic and postings. But we’d like him to think the sources are agents on the ground and in the Wehrmacht. Should put the wind up them.’

  Burenko was frosty. ‘Evidence cannot exist for impossible.’

  ‘One, he states his ambition in Mein Kampf. Two, if the war goes on, the blockade will force him to look for food supplies in the east. Three, I’ve heard we have sources on the ground – in the Wehrmacht – reporting a troop build-up in the east, headquarters being established. You should warn your government.’

  ‘And you should convince yours how our great guide and leader’s fundamental strategy is to avoid war. Under
stand that and you understand our great guide and leader’s diplomacy. Soviet Union will not fight on your side or any side: this also in accordance with objective interests of international proletariat. Equally, Soviet alliance with Germany firm: in final analysis, fundamental state interests of both sides stand bound together.’

  ‘Britain wishes to be friendly with your country. You can see that in our sending Cripps as ambassador.’

  ‘There is much history to overcome. Possibly appointment does indicate wish on part of your country for better relations. Papirosa?’

  ‘Another beer?’

  Burenko blew out a long column of smoke and watched the stream of new arrivals. Reflected from all angles in the mirrored walls, the floor looked dizzyingly busy. The pianist passed and the Russian tugged his sleeve. Could he play Black Eyes? And to Peter, would more sandwiches also be possible?

  He waited until Black Eyes had been played. ‘Now, my friend, our proper business. I hope you have something to tell me?’

  Peter took a deep breath. ‘Mr Burenko, in Kiev, will my mother be able to have a visit from the British consul?’

  The Russian put on his pince-nez and looked at him severely. Then he let them drop. ‘My young friend.’ He blew a long stream of smoke up above him, screwing up his eyes. ‘I allow for fact you lack experience. I advise simply, not try to bargain. I repeat, you have news for me, I think.’

  ‘I’m not attempting to bargain. You want me to show willing. Please understand that I am prepared to do so. But I think you too can show willing. After all, a consular visit is a very straightforward matter.’

  ‘Mr Hill, you have our promise to see your mother home. It is enough.’

  Peter caught the waiter’s eye. ‘Mr Burenko, it’s been a pleasure to meet you again. Tonight I think I have shown friendship towards the Soviet Union, its great people and its trade counsellor.’ He paused to order sandwiches and a beer and ask for the bill. ‘Let me be clear. You will find me showing willing, as you said, when you tell me that my mother will have a visit by the British consul. You will not be disappointed. That I can promise. At this moment, the band is to play and the cabaret will soon perform.’ He counted money out on the plate and got up, leaning over the table for a moment. ‘I must get back to my duties. Beer and sandwiches are on their way. Please enjoy them and the show. Let me know when you would like to meet again. I will be at your disposal.’