‘But didn’t you consider you were betraying me?’
‘I didn’t like doing what I was doing, but it wasn’t up to me. If the coup had gone ahead, then the new German government would have needed a channel to speak to the British government right away.’
‘Was there ever really going to be a coup? And what happened to that offensive you told me about? Germany and Holland should have been at war for a week by now.’
‘The offensive was called off. Bad weather. And so was the coup. Cowardice on the part of the generals.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Conrad said.
‘I’m telling you the truth, Conrad,’ Theo said, weariness touching his voice. ‘You deserve that. Whether you believe me or not is entirely up to you.’
‘So what happened to Millie? Who killed her?’
‘I don’t know.’ Theo paused. ‘I had seen her that afternoon, in Scheveningen. It had come to my attention that it wasn’t only me that she was seeing in Holland. She also met a man called Otto Langebrück.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a crony of Ribbentrop. Used to live in Paris. He’s clever and he’s a Nazi.’
‘Why was she seeing him?’
‘She, and her little friend Constance, were negotiating with Ribbentrop as well. Or in other words with Hitler.’
Conrad glared at Theo. He could feel the fury building up within him, and it was all he could do to prevent it from erupting. It wasn’t just Theo who was betraying him, it was his father, and for that matter Millie. They were all talking to Hitler’s regime. And it was his father’s fault. His father, the supposedly sophisticated ex-government minister, had been a fool – an utter, total, complete fool! ‘No wonder they didn’t want to tell me where they were going!’
‘If it makes any difference, I think it was Constance who was responsible for talking to Langebrück. Constance and Sir Henry Alston.’
‘But my father knew all about it, didn’t he?’ Conrad said.
Theo shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I assume so.’
Conrad’s mind was whirling. He wanted to slug Theo. And then he wanted to fly back to England and slug his father too. But this might be his only opportunity to speak to Theo about his sister’s death and he wanted to make the most of it.
‘Do you think Langebrück might have killed Millie? Or was it the Gestapo?’
‘Possibly,’ said Theo. ‘But I don’t know why they would. It could be the British secret service.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Conrad protested. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘I don’t know. To stop Lord Oakford’s discussions with the enemy?’
Theo was suggesting that his father was a traitor and that his own country would murder his sister. It was outrageous. But possibly true. It would explain why the secret service would manufacture a witness to place Theo in the sand dunes. Conrad was convinced now that van Gils was right to doubt their evidence. But that was about all Conrad was convinced of.
Theo could sense Conrad’s distress. ‘I repeat, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I was fond of Millie, very fond of her.’ Theo swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I let her die; I don’t know how it happened. I’d like to know.’
‘The Dutch police think Constance killed her,’ said Conrad. ‘Or at least the man in charge of their investigation thinks so. Millie was stabbed with a knife taken from the kitchens of their hotel. He thinks Constance was the most likely person to have taken it.’
‘Have they arrested her?’
‘Oh, no. Dutch military intelligence sent her back to Britain. Remember they claimed you killed her, whatever the policeman in charge of the investigation thinks.’
‘But why would Constance want to kill Millie?’
‘The police inspector has no idea. He suggested that Constance might have been jealous of the relationship between you and Millie.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Theo.
Conrad was about to question Theo’s denial, but he kept quiet. Theo seemed distracted, as though he was thinking, weighing something up.
There was silence in the attic. The two men were still standing several feet apart, but for the first time Conrad felt closer to Theo, to his friend. He waited.
Eventually Theo spoke. ‘In that letter you wrote to me at the beginning of the war, you reminded me how at Oxford we swore we wouldn’t let anyone make us fight each other as they had made our parents fight last time. How we owed our allegiance to the human race, not to our country. How it seemed so simple then.’
Conrad nodded. He remembered. ‘Algy.’
Algernon Pemberton was the man who had inhabited Conrad’s rooms in 1914 and died at Ypres in 1915. His name was on a wooden plaque on the wall; Conrad and Theo had talked about the doomed undergraduate many times.
‘Then it turned out not to be so simple for either of us,’ Theo went on. ‘You decided to fight for socialism, or at least against Fascism, in Spain. I became involved in trying to rid my country of a madman. You helped me. And now I am fighting for my country and you for yours.’
Conrad wanted to interrupt, to point out that he was fighting as much against Hitler as for Britain, but he kept quiet. He knew what Theo was saying was important to him, and he didn’t want to interrupt his flow.
‘Well, you would think that as a German officer fighting for my country, I would want my country to win this war. But I’m not sure I do. If Germany smashes France, Hitler’s control of power will be total. The only people left who can stand up to Hitler are the generals, and if they achieve a great victory in France, they won’t do it. You can see how success in Poland has gone to their heads. If Hitler maintains his control of Germany, that will be disastrous. A thousand years of darkness.
‘So, as a good German, as a good German officer, as one of those von Hertenbergs who has served his country for generations, I do not want a successful blitzkrieg in the west. Can you understand that?’
‘I can understand that,’ said Conrad.
‘Good,’ said Theo. ‘That’s why I told Millie something when I saw her in Scheveningen. That’s why I told you about Bedaux. Did you look in to him?’
‘I went to Paris. I discovered he has been talking to the Duke of Windsor. I discovered the duke has been inspecting the French lines. I guessed that Bedaux has been telling you about it.’
Theo smiled. ‘Well done. Did you tell your government?’
‘I did,’ said Conrad.
‘Did they listen?’
‘I think so. I’m not sure. The Duke of Windsor is a tricky subject.’
‘All right, then. Let me tell you some more. The duke is no fool, it turns out, at least when it comes to military matters. He has identified a significant weakness in the French line, in the Ardennes around Sedan. He has also made clear that the most powerful French forces have been earmarked to push northwards into north-west Belgium when we invade, which we will do, by the way. Now the German general staff knows these weaknesses, they will be able to alter their plans to take advantage of them.’
‘Bedaux told you all this?’
‘He did. Also...’ Theo hesitated. Conrad waited. ‘Also there are people in the Nazi Party who believe that the Duke of Windsor would make an excellent leader of a British government that was sympathetic to Germany. That he is a man that Germany could do business with.’
‘People? What kind of people?’
‘Ribbentrop. Hitler.’
‘I see. And do you know what the duke thinks about this?’
‘That’s a good question,’ Theo said. ‘The truth is we don’t. According to Ribbentrop, the duchess would like it and the duke does whatever his wife wants. But Ribbentrop is not nearly as astute a judge of the British as he thinks he is. Do you know?’
‘No idea,’ said Conrad. ‘Frankly, it’s hard to believe that a man who was king only a couple of years ago would behave in the way you have described.’
‘Believe it,’ said Theo. ‘And tell your government.’
‘I
will,’ said Conrad. He swallowed. The information Theo had just given him would shatter the people who ruled Britain. Van would have to take notice. The government would. So would the present king, George. It seemed so fantastic, could it possibly be true?
Conrad now realized why Theo had taken the time to explain why he was telling him about the duke. To convince him that he was speaking the truth. And Conrad was convinced.
‘Good,’ said Theo. ‘Now you had better be going. You leave first. Don’t look for the professor, just go straight down the stairs and out of the building. I will wait and follow you.’
He held out his hand to Conrad.
Squatting behind a tea chest only three metres from the two men, Neuser had heard and understood every word, since they were fortunately speaking in German. He was astounded. He only hoped he could remember it all.
It was absolutely clear that Hertenberg was a traitor. The slight qualm Neuser had felt when first ordered to kill a fellow officer was gone. Hertenberg had to die. They both had to die.
He was glad he had waited to hear so much of the conversation, but now it was time to move. He risked a peek from behind the chest, and saw the Englishman moving towards his German friend, hand outstretched. Neuser ducked back behind the chest and raised his pistol, ready to act.
Just before Theo shook his outstretched hand, Conrad noticed a flicker of movement in the glass of a framed photograph behind his friend. Then it was gone. In the reflection he could see his own legs and the fuzzy silhouette of the tea chests behind him. Something thin and rounded briefly appeared above the tea chest and then it too was gone.
Was that the barrel of a gun?
Possibly. Possibly not.
He would take no chances.
Theo let go of Conrad’s hand. Conrad had lost track of what Theo was saying.
‘Conrad?’
He had to play for time. Give himself time to think. Toss something to make whoever was behind the tea chest pause and listen.
‘Göring,’ he said.
‘Göring?’ said Theo, puzzled.
In similar situations when dealing with Nazis in Berlin the year before, Conrad had alighted upon Göring as the perfect name to intrigue and confuse them. The fat Luftwaffe chief was one of Hitler’s oldest allies, but he had his own power base and the SS did not trust him.
‘I should have told you before. About Göring.’
‘What about Göring?’
Good question, Theo, Conrad thought. ‘I’ve got a message I need to show you. Van gave it to me in London.’ Conrad put his hand in his jacket pocket. There was nothing there. ‘But we’ll need a little more light.’
It was gloomy in the attic.
‘That’s all right. I’m sure I can read it,’ said Theo, holding out his hand for the non-existent message.
Conrad ignored him and turned away back towards the door and the light switch. He was now facing the tea chests. He couldn’t see any sign of anyone lurking, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t there.
When he reached the door he yelled: ‘Down, Theo!’ and dived at the tea chests.
There was a cry, and a muffled crack. Conrad found himself on top of the legs of a man holding a pistol with an attached silencer pointing towards Theo. Conrad stretched out and struck the man’s elbow as he pulled the trigger for a second time. Both shots seemed to have missed Theo.
The man struggled to his feet and turned to face Conrad, bringing his gun around in a wide arc. He was short, almost completely bald, broad-shouldered and tough. Conrad dived at him again, hitting him full in the chest, and the gun was sent spinning. The man writhed and wriggled and broke free of Conrad’s grasp. He scrambled to his feet.
‘Freeze!’
It was Theo. He had the gun and he was pointing it at the man.
The man froze.
‘Kill him, Theo,’ said Conrad.
‘We don’t know who he is,’ said Theo. ‘Who are you?’
The bald man didn’t reply.
‘Kill him!’ said Conrad. ‘Doesn’t matter who he is. You know what he heard. Pull the damn trigger!’
The man’s eyes were wide. He turned and ran, away from Theo deep into the attic.
‘Shoot him, Theo!’ Conrad shouted and then set off after the killer. Whether because Theo had doubts who the man was, or was struck by indecision, or just hadn’t fired a gun in anger before, there was no shot.
A short flight of wooden steps led up to a small door. The bald man leaped up the stairs, threw open the door and climbed outside on to the roof. Conrad followed him.
The Academy roof had a double gable with a valley in the middle, on to which the door opened. The bald man slid down a couple of feet and then into the bottom of the valley, which consisted of two feet of lead where the two roofs met. He turned, saw Conrad following him, and set off along the valley.
But there was nowhere to go. Beyond the end of roof was air. The building was one of the highest in Leiden, and Conrad could see countryside, windmills and, beyond that, the North Sea.
Conrad slowed, ready for a fight. The bald man stopped and faced him. Conrad was tall, but the other man had muscles and looked like he knew what to do with them.
Theo emerged from the doorway on to the roof and took aim with the pistol. The bald man saw him and launched himself at the roof, clambering up it crabwise, sending slates clattering. This time Theo let off a couple of shots, but he missed. The angle was difficult and the silencer didn’t help accuracy.
Conrad set off up the slope of the roof after the bald man. He got into a rhythm and was gaining. At that point, a slip wouldn’t be fatal: he would just end up back in the valley.
But the bald man reached the ridge of the roof before Conrad. Gingerly he stood upright and began walking back towards the bell tower.
Conrad hauled himself up on to the ridge. The ridge was narrow, perhaps two inches wide, and it was a long way down on the outer side. Now a slip in that direction would be fatal. The Academy building was high, at least sixty feet, and there was nothing to break a fall down to the street below.
Conrad stood upright. He had done some mountain climbing in Switzerland and Scotland with his older brother Edward when he was a boy, so he had a good head for heights, but nevertheless it was difficult not to look down.
He saw there was a small door in the side of the bell tower leading out on to the roof. The man was heading for it, stepping gingerly, arms outstretched for better balance. If the door was unlocked he would be through it and away. Given what the man had overheard, Conrad and Theo would be in big trouble, Theo especially.
Conrad couldn’t let him get away.
So he began to run slowly along the ridge. The speed gave him some balance, although he wasn’t quite sure how he would eventually slow down. He also wasn’t sure what he would do if he caught up with the man – perhaps drag him off to the left down into the valley where Theo had his pistol?
He didn’t look down, just kept his eyes looking steadily forward.
The man turned. Saw Conrad jogging towards him. Lengthened his steps into strides, and then he too broke into a run.
And slipped. The wrong way.
With a cry he slid down the roof, rolled twice, and then bounced into the air and fell out of sight. If he made a thud when he hit the ground, Conrad didn’t hear it, but he did hear the shouts of passers-by.
Conrad almost lost his own balance as he watched the body fall. He carried on running until he reached the bell tower and grabbed hold of the door handle for support. He twisted it; it was unlocked and opened inside on to a ladder.
He scrambled down it into the attic and then back to the other doorway leading out into the roof valley. He beckoned to Theo.
‘Time to go!’
30
The Dorchester Hotel, Park Lane, London
‘Cheers, Henry!’
They were at the bar. Freddie Copthorne raised his glass and gulped his beer and Alston sipped his pink gin. It irritated Alston that
Freddie insisted on drinking beer in the most inappropriate of places. All right, his family’s fortune was based on the stuff, but Freddie’s loyalties seemed to stretch to any old brew.
‘Do you think we will hear back from Herr Langebrück?’ he asked.
‘I expect so, somehow or other,’ said Alston. ‘The important thing is that Rib knows we are ready to talk. It’s a shame Constance couldn’t have stayed longer in Holland to get a reply.’
‘I can’t get over what happened to Millie de Lancey,’ Copthorne said. ‘Poor old Oakford.’
Alston didn’t answer. He too couldn’t get over what had happened to the de Lancey girl, but for very different reasons. Of course it was a shame that she had had to die, but he had come to realize that Constance was absolutely right: the girl was a war casualty, and when you thought about it, she was a casualty for the enemy. Alston was on the side of peace and sanity. Millie de Lancey had declared herself to be on the side of war.
Alston would have liked to explain all that to his friend, but he couldn’t. Freddie wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have the balls.
Whereas he, Alston, did have balls. He suppressed a smile.
‘Sir Henry! Lord Copthorne! It’s great to see you!’
The French-tinged American accent was instantly recognizable. The two men turned to see Charles Bedaux holding out his hand. He looked like a spruced-up boxer, Alston thought. His face was battered, his ears verged on the cauliflower, but his thick dark hair was brushed back with brilliantine and he was wearing a smartly buttoned double-breasted blazer and two-toned brogues. Not exactly the way one would dress in the dining room of a City merchant bank, but Bedaux was certainly not a City merchant banker. Alston smiled and shook the American’s hand.
‘Do you mind if we go straight in to lunch?’ Bedaux said. ‘I’m not in the country for long, and I have a lot to do.’
‘Of course not,’ said Alston. Some might have found Bedaux’s direct manner rude, but Alston liked it. The man had energy, and energy was good. It got things done. And it was Bedaux who had asked to see Alston. They knew each other from mutual business acquaintances before the war. There were quite a few British firms who used the Bedaux System in their factories and Gurney Kroheim’s money to finance them.
Shadows of War Page 21