Betrayal

by J. Robert Janes

  ‘That of a gentleman—is that it, Major?’ She’d never get it in writing, but had Nolan really murdered two innocent women in their sleep?

  Trant gave her that little smile of his, but she’d have to continue regardless. ‘Our stableboy often sleeps in the hayloft when he thinks he can get away with it. After I’d told Mrs. Haney and my husband what had happened at Parker’s farm, I went to tell William he’d best go home. Parker was his uncle.’

  ‘These damned people are all related,’ said Bannerman, reaching for a glacier mint and slowly untwisting its cellophane.

  ‘After William had left the loft, I noticed that something wasn’t quite right.’

  Oh and did you now? thought Trant, but he wouldn’t press the issue. He’d watch the O’Neill girl who, with evident dismay had swiftly turned to hear what the Fraser woman was saying, since the stableboy had been implicated.

  ‘I found the last of that dynamite, Major. I didn’t touch the box. I left things exactly as they were.’

  But you want us to know that you didn’t touch anything, thought Trant. The O’Neill girl had gone quite pale, Mrs. Mary Ellen Fraser having just signed her own death warrant should Nolan or any of the others find out they’d been given away.

  ‘Look, I would have told you, Colonel. Hamish and I really want to see Caithleen safe. That’s … that’s why I tried to make a deal with you.’

  It was Bannerman who, taking the mint from his mouth, said, ‘Is there anything else, then, that you’d like to tell us, hmm?’

  As if there had to be. ‘No. No, there’s nothing else.’

  ‘Then might I make a suggestion, Mrs. Fraser? Bring us the names of all those who were involved in the hanging of Second Lieutenant Bachmann. Bauer was most certainly one of them—we’ve established that since we last saw you here, but there were others.’

  ‘And Caithleen?’ asked Mary, seeing in his eyes an emptiness that haunted.

  Bannerman let her have it as planned. ‘The girl is to be taken by you to Dublin on Sunday.’

  ‘Mrs. Fraser, if I might have a word.’

  Trant caught up with her in the no-man’s-land of the bailey. Above her the flag flapped mercilessly at half-mast. He had had Private McQuinn leave her at the side door to the southern of the eastern gate towers, had let her walk out here again, all on her own. ‘Well, what is it, Major?’

  She was trembling with indignation, knowing they were using her and not liking the choice of meeting place either. God alone knew who might be watching.

  He’d affect an apologetic smile. ‘I just thought I ought to warn you Franz Bauer’s not been locked up.’

  ‘But … but if he thinks I’ve …’

  ‘Now steady on. I thought I detected a blitheness to your step. See that you keep it up. There’s a good girl.’

  Stung by this, anger leapt into her eyes.

  ‘Major, don’t patronize me. If Bauer suspects I’ve told you about his part in the hanging, he’ll try to kill me.’

  ‘Not in the library, surely, but just in case, I’ll detail two of the men to stand watch if you wish.’

  Mary knew that he had deliberately pinned her down. ‘That wouldn’t be wise, would it? I’d not find out what you want.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, but if there’s the least sign of trouble just give a shout and my men will come running.’

  ‘Bauer’s not the type to allow a shout, is he?’

  One had best let her have it gently. ‘Nor are his Kameraden, Mrs. Fraser, a point you must never forget.’

  Trant allowed her a few steps before calling after her, ‘Oh by the way, there’s been word of another escape tunnel. See what you can pick up on it, will you?’

  There’d been no books today—forgotten of course, and left at the house, no doubt. It couldn’t have been pleasant her seeing the dead and the wounded at dawn, but why in God’s name had she been out on that bicycle of hers at such an hour?

  Her back was still to him, she waiting with hands crammed into the pockets of her mack.

  ‘You can go now, Mrs. Fraser. Go and do your stuff.’

  Private Summers met her, he all smiles and holding the heavy door to the keep open for her while shouldering his rifle. There were armed guards in the halls, guards at every turning, the prisoners nowhere in sight, not even in the great hall.

  ‘Special rules, m’am. Confined to quarters until fifteen hundred hours. You’ll have an easy day of it.’

  Alone in the library, waiting, trying to collect her thoughts and put reason to Trant’s not having told her, Mary wondered if she would be allowed to meet with Erich’s High Command, or if Trant had known all about it.

  Bauer was among the first to enter and one look at him was enough. He’d kill her, if not today, then soon. ‘Du kommen, ja,’ he said. ‘Kommen.’

  Three candles glowed in the darkness of the little chapel that had been built into the warren of cellars beneath the castle. The race through corridors and up and down staircases was now over.

  As Bauer stepped aside, Mary caught a breath. Five men stood waiting for her but only three of these could be the High Command. The tallest, she was quickly told, was Oberst Karl-Ernst Tatlinger of the Luftwaffe. Walter Storch, a Generalmajor, was from the army, a short, squat, fiercely tough and distrusting man.

  Vizeadmiral Dietrich Huber was somewhere in between, but was he the only one who spoke English?

  ‘Mrs. Fraser, our lack of time necessitates we dispense with formality. Kapitanleutnant Kramer, here, has told us much about you. Now, please, what is it the IRA are demanding?’

  She would have to be straight with them. Even the slightest sign of weakness would be wrong. ‘Proof that I’ve met the three of you, and something substantial to be sent over by wireless to Berlin.’

  And a firm answer from one so gullible, thought Huber. ‘Is it true that the British killed six of their members this morning?’

  How had they found out so quickly? ‘I was there just afterwards. Parker, the man at whose farm it happened, was my friend, but he wasn’t one of them, hadn’t been in years, I’m certain.’

  And yet again that firmness. ‘There was a quantity of explosives. Was it all recovered?’

  Huber was the key to this whole thing. ‘Some was left at my house, but …’

  ‘But what, Mrs. Fraser?’

  How quick he was to search for answers. ‘But the British know about it. I had to tell them otherwise this meeting would never have taken place.’

  The three of them conferred rapidly in Deutsch, Huber insisting that they note how resolute she seemed, circumstance having led them to believe otherwise of her. Each threw her glances from time to time while Erich remained indifferent—at attention over to the left of the altar, with Bauer standing directly behind her and …

  Mary turned sideways to see Hans Schleiger looking at her, Erich’s Number One.

  Again it was Huber who did the talking. ‘Please tell us what you meant by this meeting not being allowed to take place. Is it that the British are aware of your dealings with us?’

  As quickly as she could, she told them how things were, that the IRA were insisting she take Caithleen to Dublin on Sunday, and that in order to gain permission she’d had to tell Bannerman and Trant about the explosives in the loft.

  Huber knew he had to be impressed with this … this woman of the Kapitanleutnant’s but did such a summoning of spirit on her part not spell trouble in the end? ‘Ach, you are playing such a dangerous game, aren’t you, Frau Fraser? Let us hope it will soon be over.’

  He had said it in Deutsch and she had given him nothing but a blank look.

  Again the three of them went into a huddle. Again there were glances—Tatlinger flashing her a brief but encouraging smile. From Storch, there was only brutal suspicion. He clearly didn’t trust her and didn’t like their having to depen
d on her.

  From Erich there was nothing. It was as if she no longer existed for him, as if he really had hanged Bachmann and that it had been his decision, and his alone.

  ‘This Nolan, Mrs. Fraser. How far can we trust him?’

  ‘Nolan’s not their leader. Kevin O’Bannion is—he’s quite different, far more reliable.’

  ‘Cool-headed?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And this O’Bannion is in the South?’

  Again Mary had to ask herself how they had learned of it. ‘He was the last time I talked to the others. He may have come back. This I simply don’t know.’

  And again a directness that both troubled and puzzled. Had she sized him up so easily and intuitively known precisely how to answer, that her life could well depend on it? wondered Huber. ‘And the British don’t suspect you of helping us?’

  He had known, too, that she had seen Nolan last night. ‘They suspect it, of course. I did lose a button but …’

  Huber gave a curt nod to Erich who stepped forward and held out a fist, didn’t even smile, just let her see that he’d been the one …

  ‘A measure of our trust,’ said Huber. ‘The British did not find it as I’m sure you must have feared.’

  ‘But … but why wasn’t it returned?’

  And at last the forgetfulness of a spark of anger. ‘To put you on your guard. To make you far more careful. Please do not be dismayed. The Kapitänleutnant has always been under our command and was ordered to do as he did. We must escape and you have been of such help, it is only proper that we should guarantee you safe passage to the Reich.’

  Surprise was shown, the woman blurting, ‘Safe passage …’ before recovering control. ‘They know about the other tunnel you’ve been digging, Vice Admiral.’

  Had that caused her to think escape was now impossible? he wondered. Had she been relieved? She was hard to gauge, was entirely contrary to what they’d come to believe of her. ‘It’s a false one. You need have no worries. Tell this Nolan that when the time comes for us to place the charges, we will be ready.’

  ‘And Berlin?’ she asked.

  ‘A simple message of five-letter groupings. The Kapitanleutnant will give it to you after we have left. Memorize the groupings then destroy the message. Have Mrs. Tulford send them over. Berlin will agree to the IRA’s demands.’

  ‘But … but what about the last of the explosives?’

  A logical concern she’d not avoided and he would acknowledge with a curt nod. ‘Nolan’s problem and yours.’

  They had realized that Trant and Jimmy would leave the dynamite where it was in hopes of catching Nolan. Taking all but one of the candles, they left her with Erich and the others, none of whom said a thing. All just simply looked at her, Erich still over by the altar, Bauer still behind her, and Hans Schleiger by the side door from which the High Command had departed.

  ‘Mary, have you brought us another bullet?’

  Even now he still did not move. Reluctantly she unbuttoned her blouse and found them both. She mustn’t let Erich and the others realize how terrified she really was and had been, yet mustn’t let them think she was invulnerable—they’d want her to be just the opposite, would want always to believe they had the upper hand.

  Only then did Erich grin. ‘Still warm,’ he said, glancing at each of the others before pinching out the candle.

  Mary waited. She mustn’t run, mustn’t cry out, must just try to be still and yet … and yet none of them moved. ‘If you harm me in any way, you’ll get nowhere,’ she quavered.

  It was Erich who said, ‘Why should we when you’ve been so useful?’

  The patient dripping of water came from somewhere.

  ‘Be careful what you say to the British from now on, Mary.’

  Erich had moved to stand in front of her. As her blouse was unbuttoned by him, Bauer pinned her arms to her sides but he did not laugh at her, just held her in a vice for his captain who slid a small, folded bit of paper in and under her left breast before kissing her lightly on the lips and saying, ‘Liebling, there are no tears?’ and buttoning her up.

  ‘Nolan now has a man inside the British garrison, Mary. Don’t try to betray us. Bachmann had to hang.’

  There were seven five-letter groups in the message. They’d all been written in a line with slashes to separate them. It made no sense when read straight through, was simply a jumble of letters. Only twice was one repeated in sequence. There were two of the letter I and, at the end, two Cs. CCRMR—C-and-C U-boats Berlin? Was RMR some sort of code for Vice Admiral Huber? CCRMR did have that ring to it.

  GBXLM/AKZOM/DORPT/FCJAU/SIIMN/VGDRQ/CCRMR … MOST URGENT YOU AGREE ALL DEMANDS RELEASE STOP HAVE DETAILS ENEMY RADAR NORTH ATLANTIC LOSSES FOR C-AND-C U-BOATS STOP HUBER.

  That might be it—something substantial but far too many letters. By cutting, using a pencil and paper at her desk, she ended up with: MOST URGENT AGREE STOP DETAILS ENEMY RADAR STOP RMR, but if the British had recovered Erich’s ciphers intact would Huber and the others, forced with mounting IRA losses, not have wanted to signal this as well, though in an entirely different code? One known only to C-and-C U-boats Berlin? Each letter might then be transcribed into two or even three others, or into numbers, thereby allowing a much longer message.

  MOST URGENT YOU AGREE IRA DEMANDS ESCAPE PLAN TRALANE CASTLE EARLY NOVEMBER STOP U-121 CIPHERS RECOVERED BY BRITISH STOP CODES BROKEN REPEAT BROKEN STOP TOGETHER WITH DETAILS NEW ENEMY RADAR EXPLAINS INCREASED U-BOAT LOSSES NORTH ATLANTIC STOP HUBER.

  Or simply: URGENT OFFICERS U-121 ESCAPE HANGING STOP HUBER.

  She would never know the answer, never be able to memorize the groupings, not with the state her mind was in. Mary smoothed the tiny slip of paper out. Even when held up to the light, in reverse, the letters made no sense but gave a further possibility to the decoding.

  Caithleen had gone to bed and had been looked in on hours ago. Hamish must have decided to stay over in Belfast where he’d gone to lodge a stiff protest over Brian Doherty’s being denied immediate medical attention. The house felt strange without him and Robbie.

  Leaving the light on, she went downstairs to his study, but left the room in darkness. He loved his books, his fishing and his dog. As always the books smelled musty at first. Tobacco smoke hung about for ages, especially if from a pipe. There was a warmth, though, to the room, a comfort.

  She must have slept for an hour, not much longer. The afghan she’d pulled over herself had fallen to the floor—she’d become cold. That’s why she had awakened, or was it?

  The ashes in the grate had gone to dust through which ember cracks seemed all but lost and the caking grey of the peat crumbled as it fell.

  The wind, never calm for long, was gusting fitfully in the beeches, the shutters were creaking.

  When a mouse made its way across the hearth, Mary relaxed at its furtive progress, but when it scurried away, she sat up, sucking in a breath, her heart hammering as she looked for something with which to defend herself, but then … then the little fellow came back.

  There were crumbs on the hearth. Toast had been made. Cinnamon toast. Mrs. Haney’s precious cinnamon. Hamish would let Robbie lick the crumbs from his plate, but since some of them must have been missed, and the toast waved about a good bit, why that could only mean that Hamish had …

  Running, moving swiftly, Mary went silently through the house and up to her room to hide the message and burn her attempts at decoding.

  Lights off, the black-out curtains flung open, she looked out into the night, knowing he and Robbie must be out there, knowing, too, that so was Jimmy Allanby and several of the men.

  This thing wasn’t going to end easily, and she’d best get used to that.

  Parker’s body had been placed in an open coffin on the plain deal table in the centre of Mrs. Haney’s house. White bedsheets had been wrapped arou
nd the coffin. Crosses, made from black crepe paper, had been scattered, each of their crosspieces twisted by deft motions of the woman’s hands.

  Mary knew she couldn’t help but see those motions in memory. Several women in black, with lace shawls over their heads and tied tightly under their chins, sat around the body telling their beads and muttering prayers. There was no keening as such, no wailing now.

  Men of all ages but mostly older, sat around the perimeter walls of this one room that constituted a house she’d never been in before, their black suits, boots and pinched collars only adding to the glum expressions, they trying to keep life in the clay pipes they’d been given.

  A plate of cut shag lay on a chair by the hearth. Mrs. Haney got up and they embraced, the woman whispering, ‘M’am, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I had to, Mrs. Haney. He was my friend.’

  ‘He was indeed, that he was.’

  A fine linen table napkin—a relic of some estate, their own perhaps—had been spread over Parker’s bullet-shattered face.

  ‘He died quick, he did,’ whispered Ria, that lump still in her throat, she having taken the doctor’s missus by the arm. ‘And here is me that was always criti-cruelling him.’

  ‘Now you didn’t, Mrs. Haney. Not really. He always had a kind word for you.’

  ‘He did. Now I know he did.’

  There was a turf fire in the hearth, the kettle on the boil and the air reeking of tobacco smoke, the closeness of the crowd and the scent of poteen.

  ‘Dr. Fraser, God bless him, was by th’ morn, he was, missus.’

  ‘And Robbie,’ she said, grateful to know that Hamish was safe, though that hadn’t been the reason she’d come. She had owed it to Parker.

  Mrs. Haney’s husband got up to welcome her, a man too tall for the doorway of his house, all bones, knees and elbows, and of a deep and weathered shyness. He offered her his chair and took it from the wall so that she could sit among the women, knowing as he must that she’d not been to church in years and wasn’t even of their faith, but that neither mattered. She had come across the hills to be with them and that was enough.