Alfie Lewis Box Set

by Thomas Wood

  “So, Rudolf handed me the intelligence after he had been shot, now I must stress that the situation he found himself in leads me to believe that he had absolutely no reason to be falsifying this intelligence. He genuinely believed this to be the case, albeit without being able to produce any evidence.

  “He claimed that the Germans were being able to foil so many escape attempts, despite the various different networks out of Paris, because they had someone working for them. He managed to tell me that they let some of them through, NCOs and other ranks mainly, the ones that aren’t as difficult to replace for us. The ones that get caught though, invariably, are the officers who are attempting to escape. In fact, the two men that I was meant to be with were executed as they tried to get out.”

  I took another sip of tea and I bowed my head for a moment for Jacques and Julien, knowing full well that their families would never know about how they had specifically died, or their assumed identities at the point of their deaths.

  “That it?”

  I grew irate at Jimmy’s remark as I tried to honour the lives that had been lost so close to my own. Eventually, my anger subsided enough for me to continue, but not after another couple of minutes of pure silence. I took note of Jimmy’s expression, one of apprehension at what I might say next and I could almost imagine the pistol beneath the desk that was ready to kill both of us if we said anything out of line. Robert, on the other hand, had a disappointed look on his face, like he was waiting for something far more spectacular from me than just a run of the mill informer situation.

  “The mole is high up in the resistance it seems. He is an overseer of every single escape attempt originating from safehouses in and around Paris and seems to know everything about them. All he has to do is pass on the information to the Germans, then they decide whether to act on it or not.

  “I must say that Rudolf seemed surprised that we had only just picked up on it, especially the fact that it was only officers who were being caught.” I shot an accusing look at Jimmy, hoping that he would feel the full weight of my suspicion and suddenly feel overwhelmingly guilty.

  “They know everything about the resistance’s escape networks and safehouses. There is no way that any soldier will be leaving Paris without the Germans knowing about it.”

  “So, we need to act on this immediately then, right?”

  “Yes, Sir. Straight away. Men are being killed every day.”

  “Hmm.”

  I refrained from volunteering my services to return to France too eagerly, as I wasn’t entirely sure that I could trust Jimmy to not try and get me killed again.

  “There’s another thing Jimmy,” I said, slightly quieter, and he shot me a look so vicious that I thought that I would soon be meeting my maker. I sensed Robert looking up inquisitively from his notepad too, and I wondered whether I should fulfil their expectations of what was to come and reveal what I knew or not.

  “Something that makes the whole situation rather more sensitive. The informant has managed to make his way up the chain of command in the resistance. But he’s not French. Rudolf claimed that it was a British soldier that was their point of contact. It was one of our own.”

  They both looked disappointed with the news, and I wondered whether it was because I had failed to tell them what they had wanted to hear, or that they both possessed a feeling of being let down by one of their compatriots.

  “Right, thanks Alf.” Jimmy said, as Robert furiously scribbled something on his notepad, “Anything else?”

  I let him stew for a second, while I pretended to wrack my brain and piece together some sort of answer. In reality, I had so many questions for him, not least about his true relationship with Joseph and how they really came to know each other and why I had the gut feeling that I could not trust either of them.

  “No, Jim. That’s everything.”

  “Okay then,” he said, glancing at his watch, “Zero six thirty. Get some sleep, both of you. Meet me in the briefing room at zero nine hundred. Any issues with that?”

  We both replied in the negative, and we each began packing up our things in preparation for relocating to our respective bedrooms to get some much-needed rest before, what would undoubtedly be, one of the busiest days of my life.

  Robert and I left Jimmy’s office walking in silence towards the corridor which led to our rooms.

  Suddenly, Robert spoke, and I had to get him to repeat what he had said, just so that I didn’t put my foot in it by talking about something completely different.

  But I had heard him correctly, it was as clear as day.

  “I know Rudolf told you about Geranium. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  ***

  THE END

  The Betrayed

  Alfie Lewis Thrillers Book 3

  Thomas Wood

  Part I

  1

  28th August 1939

  Tarnow, Poland

  As he charged his way down the steps leading away from the train station, Standartenführer Rudolf Schröder made no secret of his desire to leave the vicinity as quickly as he possibly could. He had barged into numerous people in his attempt to make it to his car, offering no sort of apology other than running away from his victim.

  The station had been particularly busy today, far more so than he had ever seen before on any of his other previous visits, which filled him with an intense feeling of accomplishment on being able to pick this station for what he wanted it for. It needed to be out of the main cities, but busy enough so that something or someone could get totally lost in it, otherwise his cover, as well as that of the man that he had just dropped off, would be blown almost immediately.

  His driver sparked up the engine as soon as he saw the man racing his way towards him, his large, athletic thighs reminiscent of days gone by, when Rudolf had spent many hours on the football field and in more recent years, thanks to a friend who had ‘enlightened’ him to the game of rugby.

  Rudolf Schröder was a large, powerful man, standing at well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, which had made him a natural for the game that his young university friend had introduced him to. Owing to his long, muscular thighs, it did not take long for the Standartenführer, today dressed just like any other of the civilians that milled around the train station, to reach the car, that was about a hundred yards or so away from the bottom of the steps that he had practically leapt down.

  In one swift, elegant movement, the door was opened, the Standartenführer slid himself in and the door was swiftly closed, just missing the back of his ankle as he swung it closed behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he shut his eyes, feeling as though they had been permanently open for the last few hours, with no respite, not even for a single blink.

  He kept them closed for a while, mulling over the day’s events, and the goings on of the last few days especially. He wanted nothing more than to be as far away from here as he possibly could, but particularly away from the train station, even the five minutes that he spent there had been far too long for him.

  Rudolf hadn’t liked the place one bit, especially as it was now incredibly dangerous for him to be there at that moment in time. He didn’t speak the language, he knew nothing of their customs here, but perhaps most of all, if they found out who he was and what he was doing there, he would undoubtedly be dead before he had the chance to take another breath to explain himself. They were, Rudolf told himself, a barbarous people here, one that did not know the meaning of compassion or mercy.

  He felt like he had outstayed his welcome here, if there had even been one for him in the first place. Either way, he was desperately looking forward to getting home.

  It had been a normal day in Tarnow and as the car began to pull away from the station forecourt, Schröder decided to take note of what was going on outside of his windows, in an attempt to calm himself down. The people that surrounded him were going about their daily business, there were women wheeling pushchairs around in the summer sunshine, parading their children
around as if the sun gods would bestow upon them some sort of special gifts, for the length of time they managed to spend basking in the rays.

  Children ran unruly up and down the sidewalks, occasionally launching themselves in front of the odd car or truck that trundled their way up the street, taking marvellous enjoyment out of watching the occupants lurch forward as the brakes were slammed on.

  Rudolf’s patience was wearing thin today. If they happened to do that in front of the vehicle in which he was travelling, he was unsure about whether or not he would be able to maintain his composure, or whether the pistol that was in its holster under his overcoat would bask in the same sun rays that the babies were being subjected to.

  To distract himself from the hindrances to his patience, he began looking above, to the sky, at first marvelling at the deep blue that it presented, before turning his gaze to the criss-cross maze of wires that skirted their way around the town, carrying messages of love, of hate or worry.

  He began to daydream about the types of messages that would be sent along the telegraph cables over the next few weeks, maybe even days. He was certain that they would be of desperation and panic, and he began to wonder whether or not there would even be someone on this end of the telegraph, to be able to send or receive the messages the people had wanted. If it was him, he would be moving out of Tarnow, sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, the people here did not know the might of the machine that was soon to hit them, but their situation was not one that plagued on Rudolf’s own mind for too long.

  A war was coming to Europe, there was no way of avoiding it now, the tensions had grown so much over the last few months that it was inevitable. Rudolf had heard the mutterings around the various corridors in Berlin about what was going on or what might be happening. He had seen the reconnaissance reports for various ports and airfields right the way across mainland Europe and yet, he was still in some sort of denial about how widespread the conflict might be.

  He refused to believe that it would be anything near to what the continent had experienced twenty years ago, and remained confident that, if anything was to happen, then the might of the German empire, already proven itself in battle in recent years, would be able to quell any sort of opposition that may stand in its path.

  And, if in the unlikely event of the German Reich being itself crushed, he knew that he could always rely on his contacts, the ones he had spoken to now two weeks ago, to get him out of any sort of trouble with Germany’s enemies.

  The very car journey that he had made this morning, would do wonders for his prospects in this regard, he was sure of it. The war had been coming for months now, years even if you count the discontent that had festered in the Fatherland for many years, until the Führer and his party had risen up to save Germany.

  But Rudolf, like many of his counterparts back in Berlin, had not wanted war. He had wanted Germany to be restored back to its former glory, but not to watch it send thousands upon thousands of the younger generations to their certain death. That is why he had resolved to do something about what he saw as the impending doom.

  Schröder had found it relatively easy to come up with a plan to do something, along with many of his co-conspirators, and not just from his native country either, there were many in on this plot, many who would welcome an avoidance of war.

  He had found it easier still to find someone to do what he was requesting, it was just a matter of identifying and nurturing someone who had the abilities to do the job. Naturally, Rudolf had found himself a young man, resolute in his outlook on the world, but malleable enough so that an SS Standartenführer might be able to use him in some subtle way.

  Stefan was a young lad, just shy of his twenty fifth birthday, and he had been the ideal candidate for Rudolf, although he had been totally unaware of the potential part he could play in history.

  Rudolf had kept his eye out at the local Gewerkschaft Deutscher Arbeiter, a local agency that helped get the unemployed back into some sort of work. Stefan was perfect for the job, not because he was just desperate for money - had that been the only criteria, all of them would have been put forward for the job - but because of his heritage.

  Stefan had both German and Polish blood in him, his mother of the Fatherland, his father from the Polish city of Wroclaw. He was a quiet kid, but once Rudolf had aligned himself with him, he realised that he had untapped potential, manifesting itself in an unspent rage that burned deep within Stefan’s psyche.

  His father had been killed during the tumultuous times of the Great War, his mother subsequently moving them back into Germany to be closer to her family members. Stefan had hated the move into the Fatherland, which Rudolf saw as understandable. He had become a social outcast; his mother was a pureblood German whereas her offspring was tainted with blood from the other side of the border.

  He was a troubled soul, which made what Rudolf was going to ask him to do that much easier, he saw it as some sort of catharsis to his troubles. Of course, Stefan wouldn’t know the exact nature of what he was going to be doing, but Rudolf was certain that the offer of money, enough for him to get away and start his life elsewhere, would be more than enough to take his mind off what he was actually doing.

  Standartenführer Schröder didn’t particularly like to think about all the ins and outs of what he was instigating by being in Poland himself but, as the car rounded yet another bend, the journey littered with right angled bends and turns, he reasoned with himself that what he was doing was necessary. If successful, which he was convinced it would be, it would end up saving hundreds of lives, if not thousands. He didn’t consider the consequences of it all being a total failure.

  He hadn’t been met with stiff opposition like he had expected, which could only have meant that all of his counterparts, compatriots and foreigners, saw the same potential for saving lives as he had done. Either that, or this was all one massive stitch up, to get rid of one of the more popular SS officers from within the ranks of the superior force.

  “We are almost there now, Sir,” said Karl, Rudolf’s driver and adjutant. He felt an overwhelming sense of elation at the news, as he simply couldn’t wait to hop on the overnight train that would see him waking up back in the Fatherland again. Relations between the two nations were fragile, but not so tense that the trains had ceased to operate over the borders, something which Rudolf had planned to take full advantage of, making sure that Karl also had a ticket with him.

  Karl too, was looking forward to getting out of Poland. When he had joined the Schutzstaffel back in 1936, he was under the assumption that he would always be behind a desk, safely indoors and away from any kind of fighting. This notion seemed to back itself up when he was assigned to Standartenführer Rudolf Schröder, one of the best brains in Berlin when it came to internal security. He had not, for a minute, imagined that he would be in a foreign country, driving as fast as he could to make a train that would get him back into his home nation.

  Rudolf let out a sigh of relief as he scratched at his eye balls, unconsciously beginning to tap his foot on the carpeted floor of the car, unknowingly infuriating his driver as he did so. Rudolf began to dream wistfully of home, and the almost certain granted leave that he would be given as a result of this particular venture out into foreign territory.

  He longed to see his wife and his daughter again, this time for much more than simply watching them both sleep as he made it in after another long night at the office. He had nothing to remember them by on his person right now, he was completely clear of anything that might lead to his body being identified, he had only memories of them playing together in the small courtyard that was at the back of the block of flats in Berlin that they called home.

  As he sat back in the leather chair, relaxing his muscles half an inch each second the car’s engine was still roaring, he vowed to himself that he would get a photograph of the two of them as soon as he got back, so that he had something to look at if he was to be sent away again.

  His daughte
r was gorgeous, the prettiest girl in the whole of the Reich he reasoned, her piercing eyes and blonde locks that would be done no justice by the sepia toned snap of a photographer’s camera. All the same, as soon as he made it back to Berlin, he would get one taken and developed, and he would keep it in his suitcase every time he went away.

  At the thought, he wondered how Stefan was getting on with the suitcases that he had left in his possession, back at the train station.

  2

  Stefan had long been an outcast in society, and it was a future that he had learnt to accept a long time ago, after years of pleading from his mother to think of the alternative. He had made a promise to himself when he was a thirteen-year-old schoolboy, to try and get through life by keeping his head down, until such a time when he might be accepted for who he was. That meant agreeing with things that people said about him, but also doing things for other people to try and build up some favour.

  He had long been in a No Man’s Land - a half German, half Pole living in Germany - especially since the rise of Hitler and the resulting anti-Polish sentiment, which had made his residence in Germany a particularly dangerous one. He could not, even now, understand why his mother insisted on staying in the awful country, which is why, Stefan told himself as he watched the German soldier leave him at the entrance to the station, that as soon as this was over, he would collect his money, and start his life all over again in Poland.

  Stefan felt at home here, like he was among his kind and less of an outcast than he was in Germany. He had tried to make sure that he looked exactly like a Pole, gathering up the few clothes he had that he thought would make him look like a Polish gentleman.