‘I’m glad to see you,’ said Theo. ‘I was worried about you when I heard what had happened at Venlo. I knew you hadn’t been captured, so at first I thought they must have shot you. You were the chauffeur, presumably?’
‘Yes, I was,’ said Conrad. ‘I slipped away. What about the man who was shot?’
‘He died. He was a Dutch officer, apparently.’
‘I know. I’m sorry to hear that. What the hell happened, Theo?’
‘Schämmel was a plant. The SD were running the operation.’
Conrad remembered that ‘SD’ stood for Sicherheitsdienst, but he was hazy about the intricacies of the Nazi security hierarchy. ‘The Gestapo?’
‘More or less. The plan was to use Schämmel as bait to try to uncover any conspirators in Germany who had been talking to the British. As soon as I found out I came back here to try to warn you, but it was too late.’
‘I did get your message, but we were just setting off for Venlo,’ said Conrad. ‘If that’s what they were up to, why did they kidnap Payne Best and Stevens?’
‘A last-minute change of plan,’ said Theo. ‘Hitler is convinced that the British organized the beer hall bomb in Munich, and that those two British agents were behind it.’
‘They weren’t,’ said Conrad.
‘We know that,’ said Theo. ‘But it’s never a good idea to tell the Führer he is wrong.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Conrad. ‘Do you know whether Payne Best and Stevens have talked?’
‘Not yet,’ said Theo. ‘But they will. The Gestapo have found a list of names on one of them. They passed them on to us: some of them we recognize as Dutch agents in Holland working for the British. But I have a question for you, Conrad.’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you ever meet Schämmel yourself?’
‘No. Thursday at Venlo would have been the first time.’
‘Which means he didn’t get any information about us from you?’
‘No.’
‘What about Payne Best and Stevens? Did they know anything about the real conspirators?’
‘No. Nothing at all. They asked me, but I refused to tell them.’
‘Good. So they don’t know anything about me?’
‘Damn!’ Conrad glanced anxiously at Theo. ‘They do. They had me followed in Leiden last time we met. Stevens asked me what I was doing talking to you. He knew who you were, he knew you worked for the Abwehr.’
Theo frowned. ‘And what did you tell him?’
‘I refused to tell him anything. Apart from to check with Captain Foley.’
‘Damn and blast!’ said Theo. ‘I knew you were the weak link.’ He looked angry. And worried. ‘Do you know if Stevens has spoken to Foley?’
‘He won’t have had a chance to,’ said Conrad. ‘All this came out on the way to Venlo.’
‘That’s something, anyway,’ said Theo.
‘Sorry,’ said Conrad. ‘Are you afraid Stevens will tell the Gestapo about you?’
‘Eventually, yes. At the moment the Gestapo are trying to get them to confess to planning the Munich beer hall bomb.’
‘Poor bastards,’ said Conrad.
‘They will talk in time.’
They fell silent as the young couple sauntered past. A pair of swans glided along the canal. It reminded Conrad a little of the Cherwell back in Oxford. He wondered about the bend in the waterway. ‘Was this a moat once, do you think, Theo?’
‘Yes. They call it the Singel. There is one in Amsterdam, you know.’
‘You are quite the Dutch expert.’
‘It’s the place to be, these days, in our business.’
‘Your business,’ said Conrad. The couple were safely past. ‘So if it wasn’t the British who planted the bomb, who was it?’
‘They’ve arrested someone at the Swiss border. We are pretty sure he is responsible. What we don’t know is who he was working for, if anyone.’
‘So it wasn’t you chaps? Canaris and Oster?’
‘Definitely not. The current favourite theory in the Abwehr is it was a set-up. The Gestapo. It was pretty extraordinary that Hitler just happened to leave ten minutes before the bomb went off. He’s calling it Providence. Interesting how he uses the word “Providence” rather than “God”, isn’t it? It’s almost as if even he can’t believe that God would be on his side.’
Conrad could feel one of Theo’s philosophical digressions coming on, but he wasn’t in the mood. ‘What about the invasion of Holland and Belgium next week? Is that still going ahead?’
‘The weather forecast isn’t good. Halder is trying to persuade Hitler to postpone.’
‘So there won’t be a coup, after all?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Theo. ‘This Venlo business has rattled them. I hope they hold their nerve. But that’s all it is, just hope.’
Conrad could sense Theo’s impatience. The year before, his friend had risked his life to stop Hitler; they both had. It was understandable that he should be frustrated by a lack of courage from the men who were supposed to lead him.
A frustrated spy. A frustrated enemy spy.
‘Who is Charles Bedaux, Theo?’
Theo, who had been staring at the swans, turned sharply to Conrad. ‘How do you know about Bedaux?’
‘Stevens told me. He said that you had been meeting him in Holland. He said he was a shady American businessman who lives in France.’
‘He is,’ said Theo.
‘Does he have anything to do with Schämmel?’ Conrad asked.
‘Nothing at all,’ said Theo.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Conrad’s instinct was to wait. Let his friend think.
‘You know I’m an Abwehr officer?’ Theo said eventually.
‘Yes,’ said Conrad.
‘So most of my job is to try to uncover British secrets and to use them to help Germany win the war?’
‘Yes,’ said Conrad again. There was something in Theo’s voice which told him to shut up and listen.
Theo sucked his lip. ‘Sometimes I wonder if that would be a good thing.’
‘What would be a good thing?’
‘That Germany win the war.’
Conrad nodded. He knew how important that statement was to Theo. Because even when Theo was at his most rebellious, even when he was declaiming socialist theories to his fellow undergraduates, his patriotism was at his core. It was his duty to serve his country, as it had been for all his ancestors.
‘If Hitler beats the British and the French, then Germany will rule Europe and there really might be a thousand-year Reich. And that would be a disaster for the human race. For the Germans as well as all the other peoples we will have subjugated.’
‘You’re right. It would.’
‘Someone needs to investigate Charles Bedaux, Conrad.’
‘All right,’ said Conrad. ‘I will tell the secret service when I get back to England.’
‘Not your secret service,’ said Theo. ‘Someone else. You.’
‘Me?’ Conrad shook his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an officer in the British Army. A real soldier, not some spy. What’s wrong with the secret service? It’s not entirely compromised, is it? I thought it was just The Hague?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s something else. You have to trust me on this.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if someone doesn’t do something pretty soon, you are going to lose this war.’
‘What? How?’
‘Check out Bedaux and you will find out.’
‘Theo, stop playing games! Tell me what’s going on here.’
‘No!’ Theo’s vehemence startled Conrad. ‘I’m not playing games. If I tell you all of what I know, then you will have to tell the authorities in Britain and I will be betraying my country. Instead of that I would prefer to point you in the right direction and leave you to discover what you are going to discover.’
Conrad was tempted to ask Theo if that wasn’t betraying his country anyway, bu
t he kept quiet. Theo had carefully drawn a line for himself beyond which he would not go. Conrad didn’t want him to change his mind and redraw that line.
‘It’s going to be difficult for me as a serving officer,’ said Conrad.
‘You’ll work out a way,’ said Theo. ‘I know you.’
Conrad frowned. How would he clear it with Van? How could he persuade Van, or even himself, that the best thing wasn’t just to tell Major McCaigue and let the secret service get on with it?
Theo seemed to read his mind. ‘You have to trust me on this, Conrad. Investigate Bedaux yourself. Find out what he is up to. And stop him.’
Conrad sat on the bench by the ‘Singel’ for twenty minutes, while Theo went wherever Theo was going.
Conrad had obtained clear answers to Van’s questions. He was booked on a flight back to London at noon the following day. All he had to do was kill time until then. He had left his small suitcase at the station luggage office, postponing the decision about where he stayed the night.
But what about Charles Bedaux?
Conrad and Theo had been through a lot together. Theo had a cool head and sound judgement. If he said Bedaux should be investigated, he should be investigated. In theory this could be some clever Abwehr stratagem to waste the British secret service’s time. Perhaps feed them dud information. Mislead them. Yet Theo had insisted that Conrad look into Bedaux himself, and not tell the secret service.
It could be a fiendishly clever bluff or double bluff. Conrad knew enough about Admiral Canaris to know he was capable of all sorts of devious tricks.
But Conrad knew Theo wasn’t bluffing him. In fact, Conrad was pretty sure that the Abwehr wouldn’t approve of what Theo had just told him.
So he had to trust Theo. Then what?
Conrad stood up and made his way out of the Botanical Gardens, through the Academy’s iron gates, and out into the street. He crossed a little bridge over the canal and wandered through a maze of old back alleys and red-brick courtyards.
The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that he had to find out about Charles Bedaux. And he had to do it soon, because once he returned to London, he would be sent back to his battalion. There would be little he could do stuck in Tidworth.
Where to start? Conrad checked his watch. It was just after four o’clock. Conrad had spent several years researching obscure historical subjects in libraries in Oxford, London, Berlin and Copenhagen. He needed a library.
He doubled back to the Rapenburg, and a building he had spotted earlier, on the other side of the canal from the Academy. Sure enough, it was the university library, and fortunately it was open on Saturday, but only until five o’clock.
He found a friendly librarian who spoke German and just had time to locate a couple of Dutch business directories. There was an Internationale Bedaux NV listed at Spuistraat 210 in Amsterdam. The business was marked ‘Management Consulting’.
Conrad headed back to the station to catch a train to Amsterdam.
17
Scheveningen, Holland, 12 November
The breeze skipped in from the North Sea, plucking at Constance and Millie’s dresses as they walked along the Promenade. There were a few hardy Dutch couples taking some fresh air on a Sunday afternoon, but not many. The Kurhaus, the grand hotel overlooking the beach and pier where the two women were staying, was almost empty. Scheveningen in November was not a popular place.
The customs officer at the airport had given the women a strange look when they had told him they were going for a few days’ holiday by the sea. Scheveningen had seemed a good idea to Lord Oakford and Millie. Millie was familiar with the town – Lady Oakford had fond memories of the place from her own childhood, and the family had spent two summer holidays there when Millie was small. Also, it was only a couple of kilometres from The Hague.
The perfect place to meet Theo.
‘This is rather exciting, isn’t it?’ said Constance, threading her arm through Millie’s. ‘What’s this Theo man like? Describe him to me.’
‘He’s tall. Dark hair. He has a scar running along his jaw.’
‘How did he get that?’ asked Constance.
‘A duel when he was a student, I think,’ said Millie.
‘A duel? At Oxford? With pistols?’
‘No. At Heidelberg. With a sabre, I should imagine. That kind of German does that sort of thing at university. They think it’s terribly smart to have a face cut up like a pineapple. At least Theo has only the one scar.’
‘It sounds rather dashing.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Millie. ‘Or stupid.’
‘When you say “that kind of German”, what do you mean?’
‘Oh, you know, a Prussian aristocrat. They don’t do that sort of thing quite so much in Hamburg, where my family comes from.’
‘Is he frightfully good-looking?’
Millie hesitated. She could feel herself blushing. ‘I suppose he is.’
‘I thought so!’
‘Thought what?’ said Millie.
‘Thought you were sweet on him. Don’t deny it, I can tell. Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way.’
Millie didn’t deny it. She had first met Theo when he had visited their house in Somerset when she was fifteen and Theo had been the impossibly glamorous friend of her elder brother. But then she had seen him again in the woods around the Grunewald in Berlin the year before, while delivering a secret message from the British government to Conrad. He was still glamorous and good-looking, with a roguish charm, but this time she could see from the first glance he gave her that she had made an impression on him.
Then in April her father had asked her to meet him again, in Zurich this time. Conrad had refused to go; he didn’t trust his father to negotiate behind the British government’s back. Lord Oakford couldn’t risk being seen with a young German officer in Switzerland, but Millie could. And did.
She had spent a week there conducting negotiations through Theo on behalf of Lord Oakford. At that stage, Theo and the people whom he represented, meaning Admiral Canaris and his colleagues, wanted peace, as of course did Lord Oakford and Millie. The negotiations hadn’t come to anything; Oakford couldn’t get Lord Halifax to bend, and Canaris had no real influence over Hitler. But Oakford thought them worthwhile because of the direct channel he had opened with the plotters, if they ever did succeed in getting rid of their Führer.
And Millie had spent a whole week, a wonderful week, with Theo. Much of the time was passed waiting for responses from England. They had taken the train from Zurich up to the Walensee or to Zug, and gone for long walks through Alpine meadows. They had spent a magical day wandering around the old abbey at St Gall, where Theo had told her about Notker the Stammerer, a medieval monk with a vivid imagination and plenty of ribald stories about Charlemagne. Theo was a fascinating man; although he was arrogant, with a tendency to patronize, he did listen to what she had to say. He made her think: about politics, about history, about her family. And most of all about herself.
After that, they had sent frequent letters to each other. Once war had broken out, Theo had come up with an address in Denmark she could use. And in a few minutes, she would see him again, continuing her mission where they had left it six months before.
None of which Conrad knew anything about.
They were approaching the harbour. No longer did they encounter the good burghers of The Hague in their Sunday best suits; now rougher-dressed fishermen and their women in black shawls and white lace caps, each fastened with two prominent buckles, were enjoying their day of rest. The latest craze among the children seemed to be rolling bicycle wheels along the street with sticks.
Since it was a Sunday, the fishing fleet was crammed into port, and the wind made a racket as it strummed the rigging of the sailing vessels. Millie remembered them from her childhood: they had made quite a sight in full sail setting out to sea to scoop up herring.
Whereas most of the cafés on the promenade had been closed for the wint
er, down by the harbour they were bustling. They found their café, secured the last table, and ordered some coffee in German. Most of the other patrons were local fishermen.
‘Where is he?’ whispered Constance.
‘He’ll be here soon,’ said Millie.
Constance looked around the café. ‘Shall we blend in? Do you think they can tell we are foreign?’
‘I think they can,’ said Millie. ‘But that’s all right. Plenty of foreigners come here in the summer.’
‘Do they have Jews in Holland?’ Constance asked.
‘I think there are rather a lot of them,’ Millie said.
‘That’s strange. I haven’t seen any,’ Constance said.
‘How do you know?’ asked Millie.
‘Oh, I can tell.’
Millie glanced sharply at her companion. ‘Don’t you like Jews, Constance?’
Constance hesitated with her response. ‘I am sure there are many perfectly decent Jews,’ she said primly.
‘There are,’ said Millie. ‘In fact, my brother is engaged to one.’ She was exaggerating a little, Anneliese wasn’t exactly a Jew and she and Conrad were not exactly engaged, but Millie liked Anneliese and she disliked the casual anti-Semitism of so many English people. What she really objected to was the way it seemed to have become more frequent since refugees had begun to arrive from Germany, Czechoslovakia and Austria.
‘Your brother is a socialist, isn’t he?’ Constance said.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ said Millie.
‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,’ Constance said with a smile. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Millie. I am sure there are all sorts of decent socialists too. Really, politics isn’t my thing.’
Millie wasn’t entirely convinced. If that really was the case, why had Sir Henry Alston chosen her to accompany Millie? It was true that Millie did need someone to accompany her to Holland, and that Constance was game for any adventure, yet she seemed terribly innocent and naive. Not a natural person to select for a part in complicated diplomatic negotiations. But she had proven herself a jolly travelling companion so far, and perhaps it was better that Millie be left to deal with the discussions herself.
‘Millie!’
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