Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  “You have my hand written report, sign it and give it a couple of months to see if anyone makes contact with Stockley. As I said a moment ago, arrest and charge him if he is of no further use to us.

  “I will leave you to do what is necessary. No one will believe any of his claims. Who would believe anything a traitor says?”

  ***

  Back at MI5, Davis was forced to make the very call he was so sure he would not have to make.

  “Good evening John, sorry it is so late, but I know you wanted to be kept informed. The police raided the spies’ safe house, but were just seconds too late. The two leads I had also came to a dead end.

  “I regret it is not what you wanted to hear, but you know I will not let the matter drop. I will get them!”

  “Thank you Steve, I will pass on the news of your failure to Sir Philip.” There was a sort of political gloat in John Caplin’s tone.

  Scattered.

  Peter had completed all his drops, the beacons and kit were all secure at the lockups Sundown suggested in his message. The team’s clothes and personal necessities were the only items Peter had left in the van. Soon it would be time to collect them from work, and take each of them to their new digs.

  He guessed that if his team were compromised, then no immediate action would be taken. They would be followed and observed, so that they could all be caught. Having no intention of being captured, he would be on his guard for tails. He had to be absolutely certain no one was watching his team as they left work for the day.

  Peter also speculated as to who might have betrayed him. Suspects were Dan Stockley and his mate, the doctor or, most unlikely, Sundown or someone on his team. There was no doubt that somebody had put the police on to the safe house.

  It sickened him that he could trust no one. He was a spy who would use every dirty trick in the book to achieve his mission, but he needed to believe he was an honourable one.

  ***

  With all this going on in his mind, he arrived at the factory entrance 30 minutes early, having parked in a nearby street. He stood at the corner and leaned casually against the wall to watch people hurry past. He was watching for someone near the factory entrance, doing the same as him. They would arrive early, and take up a close vantage point so they could follow their targets as they left work. After a few minutes, Peter moved across the road, checked again and changed position several more times until he was satisfied there was no trap. He maintained his own cover by moving around and looking through the windows of parked cars.

  At the corner where the van was parked, he waited in a doorway. As each member of his team passed him, he spoke.

  “Go left, black Morris 8 van, BRU 963, get in and wait.”

  Anna was last, and he followed her after checking again that no one was tailing them.

  Back in the van, Peter turned in the driver seat, so he could see the three faces.

  “Our safe house was raided earlier today, I had cleared everything out only seconds before the police arrived.” They all looked incredulous at the news and asked where the beacons were.

  “I have put everything away securely, apart from your clothes and personal necessities, which I have in the back of the van. I will drop off each one of you at your new digs and give you a coded message. It will tell you the location of your beacons, tools and kit. I cannot trust any of you and neither should you trust each other. This way, we can minimise any risk to the mission. There is a way of contacting me urgently if you must, and the location of a dead drop for normal messages from me to you.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  They looked at each other thoughtfully and shook their heads. Peter could feel for each of them, he had been in that same position a long time ago. Now they were on their own, having to think and act like real spies. They were all convinced he would not be there to save them, if they got into trouble.

  It had always been Peter’s intention to split them up, though he had never mentioned it. As a group, one mistake or act of betrayal would take them all down. Individually, they stood a vastly better chance of surviving and completing the mission.

  ***

  “On a lighter note, how did you all get on with your first day at work?”

  Anna answered first.

  “I feel much better now. Work was easy to learn. Exhausting and very boring. I listen a lot. I repeat everything in my head. So my language skills should quickly improve.” Anna was back to her positive attitude, which pleased Peter.

  “What about you, Henryk?” asked Peter.

  “The same for me about the work, I shall be pleased when we go on to train others and plant the beacons.” Peter had expected Henryk to say that. Working on an assembly line was not for an entrepreneur.

  “It will be a while before we can plant the beacons, but we need to screen and train others soon.” Setting up a secure screening process was going to be tricky with so many turned agents in the field, but Peter decided now was not the time to bring that up.

  “How about you Andrzej? What have you got to say about today?”

  “I think being a cleaner is all I can do. I am frightened to speak. No one speaks near me. I cannot learn English this way.”

  It was clear that Andrzej was going to need help with the English and Peter decided he could help him with that.

  “I will fix you up with a language teacher. That will help you mix with the others at work. You can’t afford to be an outsider, you must blend in.

  “Ok, now we will go to your digs and get you settled. I also have genuine money for you all, so you can get the things you need. Spend wisely and when you go out, stay alert to people following you.”

  Peter started the van and drove off. Their respective accommodation was near to the Gant’s Hill factory and they were all just a few minutes’ walk away from each other.

  Code name Zebra.

  Henryk Robak (Horst) was the first to leave his friends, and the safety of the van. It did not bother him as much as he expected; he was better off finding his own way and was confident he would be a successful agent in the field.

  He stepped back into the shadow of a doorway and observed the flow of the traffic. No vehicles had stopped at the same time as the van, or pulled away to follow it. He could go to the house where he would be staying, without worry.

  His room was above a small book shop in a long street of struggling, back street shops – definitely not a house. He reckoned he could buy everything he needed in the street, without going far. The factory was just 15 minutes’ walk away; he already hated the new place, and the work.

  From his pocket he took the Yale key Peter had given him, and opened the shabby well-worn door alongside the shop. The long staircase ahead of him was dark, the smell of stale cooking, cigarette smoke and musty damp assaulted his nostrils. Walking slowly up the stairs, he tested the bare timber steps for the comforting squeak of wear and neglect. It would be difficult for anyone to sneak up on him quietly.

  Henryk’s room was one of four on this level, the stairs continued up another floor. He opened number 2, his room. The curtains were drawn, so he switched on the light at the door and went right in, closing the door behind him. He threw his suitcase on the single bed, which was covered with a stained candlewick bedspread, in a disgusting shade of brown. The small, scruffy rectangular room contained a kitchenette and a toilet.

  The linoleum floor covering was so worn there was virtually no pattern left in the middle, resulting in a depressing black expanse of slightly sticky backing. In front of the filthy chipped porcelain sink, and a gas cooker thickly coated with black charred fat, the lino had worn right through to the floor boards.

  Peter had paid a premium for the toilet pan in the room; at least Henryk needn’t share sanitary facilities, as most bedsit occupants did. It was a shame the endless chain of previous tenants had never cleaned it, and a seat would have been nice.

  Henryk knew without a doubt, he would be very unhappy here!

  P
eter had stocked him up with tinned food, fresh bread, dripping, tinned milk and tea. His spirits lifted an immeasurably small amount at the man’s thoughtfulness.

  While the tea was brewing Henryk decoded Peter’s message, read it and burned it. There was much planning to do.

  Code name Ballerina.

  To Anna Gohl (Carina) the back street looked busy with older men and prostitutes. Her heart sank; this was not at all what she had expected. True, she had given no thought to what she might be going into, but a large house and garden would have come as no surprise.

  As she passed each prostitute, they eyed her up, instantly disliking her pretty, fresh face. They offered implausible advice and threatened anatomically impossible activity, punctuated with tuberculosis infected spit.

  “Number 41… 43… 45a, here it is, Shangri-La, if I am not mistaken!” She mumbled the numbers aloud, apparently indifferent to the jibes that still followed her.

  Anna walked through the entrance door, climbed a winding staircase to the third floor and entered a freezing attic room - her new home.

  The shabbiness overwhelmed her, when illuminated by the only light, a completely naked 40 watt bulb, dangling from the small strip of horizontal ceiling. The remainder of the room was under steep plastered slopes that might well have been painted white, some twenty years ago. However, the crazing, filth and black mouldy damp stains had taken over long ago.

  The dark red floor covering was obviously a re-allocated stair carpet, judging by the heavy wear pattern, probably taken from a bomb damaged house. The narrow strips and heavily patched repairs to the scorched areas, were held in place by thousands of tacks, many with their heads worn as thin as razors; not that any sensible person would walk barefoot in this room.

  The communal bathroom was at the end of the landing, on the floor below. Meanwhile, an ornate white china piss-pot lurked coyly under the rickety double bed. Obviously an upgrade from the virtually knee-height, large sink that most people would have used for nocturnal sanitary functions. So now, the dirty crockery could soak overnight in the filthy sink.

  Carina tested the bed, pressing down on it with her hands. The crisply stained pink satin quilt had lost most of its filling over time. It lay like a revolting skin over the dark grey coarse woollen blanket. The white sheets were freshly laundered, as were the pillow slips. Disappointingly, the pillows were crushed and thin, Carina had seen thicker magazines.

  She felt a flush of gratitude upon seeing the supplies Peter had provided. He cared, she thought, he was not a bad man, as men go.

  Initially, Peter had planned for Henryk to stay here. However, with all the whores outside, he dare not take the risk of an unsafe relationship developing, from natural male need.

  The rusty, chipped, enamelled kettle heated water for a drink, on the solitary gas hob, while she unpacked her clothes and toiletries. The carbolic soap would have to go; it was not skin friendly, the whores downstairs could use it.

  With the brew made and floating tealeaves picked out, she sipped it and decoded her message. She memorised the contents and burned it.

  Code name Arrow.

  Andrzej Trocki (Andreas) read the small neon sign in a front window of the large detached house. The bright red wiggly letters, formed from a continuous thin glass tube, spelled ‘Accommodation’. It gave him the feeling that inside was impersonal and uncaring. Fine for a spy, completely desolating for a lone soul, trying to make a start in life. He urged forward resolutely up the four wide stone steps, and pushed the bell.

  A plump woman wearing a flowery dress and an apron answered the door and smiled at Andrzej, she was expecting him. It was warm inside and smelled of fresh baking, his stomach rumbled, telling him what his brain already knew.

  “You are Andrzej aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Are you Mrs Taylor?”

  “Yes. Do come in out of the cold. I will take you to your room, but please come straight down again; I have the evening meal laid out, for you and the other guests.” Andrzej beamed with delight and squeezed past her as she closed the door.

  His room on the first floor contained just a single bed, a side table and small wardrobe. Not knowing the dreadful condition of his colleagues’ rooms, he was not overwhelmed, but glad it was warm and clean. He dumped his case on the clean, blue calico eiderdown and went down stairs to the dining room.

  There were seven guests, four were men, and everyone looked up enquiringly at this new arrival, still dressed in his work clothes. Mrs Taylor showed him to the only empty seat, at the end of the table. All eyes were on him and he knew he was facing a big challenge.

  Mrs Taylor made introductions and Andrzej tried to link their names to bizarre mental associations. For example, Richard Wallis, one of the men, conjured up the vision of lots of walls adorned with gold and jewels. It registered in his memory as rich, for the gold and jewels, and walls for Wallis.

  Suddenly Andrzej was being bombarded with questions. They all wanted to know about him. He managed to explain that he was just a cleaner with no chance to speak to anyone, so it would help him with his English if they told him about themselves.

  By the time the seven people had said their piece, the meal was over. He was somewhat intrigued by one of the guests, Richard Wallis, a highly educated and boffin-like young man. Wallis was very dismissive of the true nature of his job. He described his work as statistics and mathematics, hinting he worked for an insurance company; but somehow it did not seem quite right, he was hiding something. When all the guests sat in the lounge reading, Andrzej noticed it took Wallis just minutes to complete the Times crossword.

  Andrzej excused himself at 7.30pm and went to his room. The first thing he did was decode Peter’s message, memorise it and burn it.

  As the flame scorched and blackened the page, there was a knock at his door. It was a light tap, indicating a reluctance to make much noise, but it startled him, just the same. Could it be Peter or the others? It was not the police, he was certain of that.

  The paper curled into charred ash, he got up from the bed and opened the door. Two of the girls at the dining table stood there, named coincidentally, May and June. He remembered them as the calendar girls. They asked if he wanted to go out with them, for a drink in the pub just down the road. He noticed them looking past him, checking out his room as they spoke.

  “I would enjoy that. Not tonight. I have no money. I get paid in a week. Can you come in?” They accepted his odd phrasing of English, now they understood his problem. Also he was very good looking and they hoped he would do a lot more than talk.

  He was surprised to find English girls were no different to Germans, under the shadow of war. There was a powerful urge to make love at every opportunity. Someone explained it as nature’s way of replacing the loss of the species during times of disaster. Morality is an elastic concept, and many justified their actions as having fun while you can, a bomb might end it at any moment.

  June said she had a bottle of whisky in her room, she would go and get it. May offered to bring her portable radio, real milk and some coffee, so the evening would be fun.

  It was not long before the low light from the radio dial, soft music and the whisky took effect. Any inhibitions, if there had ever been any, vanished. Andrzej was the focus of the two girls, each egging the other on and becoming desperately aroused. They lay either side of him, kissing and fondling him under his clothes, giggling and becoming ever more suggestive.

  There is an English saying, “black cats all look the same in the dark”. The same is also true of passionate girls, and Andrzej had his eyes shut as well. His imagination ran wild as he cuddled and fondled them, helping to remove clothing, as his hands explored their bodies.

  May and June had been close friends for a long time and were entirely at ease together in a passionate threesome. Their gasps and groans of ecstasy were punctuated with weak cries of mock surprise.

  ***

  The following morning Richard Wallis sat at his desk at GCHQ, Bletc
hley Park. He picked up his phone and spoke to MI5 agent, John Caplin regarding Andrzej.

  Code name Glass.

  Peter Stone (Strom) drove out of the City and parked the van in the garden of a derelict house, behind a thick hedge. He climbed into a sleeping bag, ate a stale bread roll and a lump of Cheddar cheese, washed down with a pint of beer. It was all he could get with the few coupons which remained after shopping for the others.

  This was his first opportunity in months to escape from the harsh reality of his precarious life. At the moment, the only thoughts in his tired brain, were of Helga. He relived their times together, her emotional confession that she loved him, when he had said goodbye.

  He dreamed of flying back to Alderney and telling her that he loved her too. He imagined he could feel her warmth as he caressed her, the sound of her soft voice as she agreed to start a new life with him, in Brazil. She questioned how he could afford to buy a home there, and everything that it entailed.

  Where would the money come from to buy food, clothing and anonymity? What about children; they would need stability and schooling. This would be for a lifetime, not just for the moment…

  It was so peaceful in the darkness of the van; quite soon he had fallen into a deep and satisfying sleep.

  Change of plan. 20th December 1943

  Early in the morning, Peter returned the van and walked to a nearby hotel, carrying his personal necessities and clothes, in a worn and battered brown leather suitcase. The hotel was of moderate quality and would provide the first stepping stone to his new life in Brazil. His dreams had posed the many questions from Helga, and his subconscious had come up with the answers. However, in his single mindedness, it had not occurred to him that Helga might have other plans for her future.