by Jack Ludlow
‘Fine.’
‘You must get Miss Littleton to send a telegram to Henlein’s press office at the Victoria Hotel asking for an interview and stating her credentials, while also insisting that she wants to give him and the cause he leads a fair hearing.’
‘She will ask to come to Cheb with her own interpreter,’ Veseli continued, ‘and give your name and the nature of your business.’
‘They will refuse unless she comes unescorted, and once that is granted by us, they will next seek to get her to come alone, but if she declines they will back down.’
There was no point in asking how Veseli knew all this, but Cal suspected he was running whatever agent they had in place, if he was not himself that person.
‘Miss Littleton has not had her accreditation from the Interior Ministry.’
‘That will be seen to.’
‘Then it only remains for me to talk to her.’
‘Time to eat,’ Moravec said, showing a relish wholly at odds with his normal demeanour; clearly he was either a man who liked his grub or Cal’s agreement had relieved him of the worry of a refusal.
As they ate — a very tasty lamb stew Veseli had prepared — they talked. Cal was only partly engaged in the general conversation, mostly background to where he was going and the people who mattered there, while he also had to consider the likelihood of anyone in the Czech borderlands knowing him — unlikely given he had operated in Hamburg.
Still, it would be a good idea to subtly alter his appearance, which could be done in small ways — the wearing of glasses, a different type of hat and even a haircut, though there was no time to grow a moustache.
Eventually, when the light of the day was fading, it was necessary to say farewell to Veseli and return to Prague. A lot of his thinking, in the back of the car, was how long it was going to take him to compose another telegram to Peter Lanchester outlining what he was about to do.
Also, if he was going to involve Corrie Littleton he would have to talk to her, and the sooner the better.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noel McKevitt and Sir Thomas Inskip were not, in the strict sense, friends; the social milieus in which they moved were too far apart but they did share a certain philosophy, which made their conversation of more import than mere gossip. First of all they were united in their staunch Protestant faith — the vicar of their local church had introduced them — and secondly Sir Thomas had at one time been part of the intelligence community, which to McKevitt meant he was reliable.
Such an occupation had long been left behind by the older man; Inskip, a high-flying lawyer by profession, was a member of the Government, having been given by Stanley Baldwin, the previous incumbent of Number 10, the office of Minister of Defence Procurement, this despite the generally held opinion that he possessed a staggering degree of military ignorance.
Churchill, who had lobbied for the creation of what was, in effect, a minister for rearmament, had expected the job would be given to him. Baldwin thought differently; he had no desire to have someone so bellicose in his government, quite apart from the signal such an appointment would send to the dictator states he was determined to mollify.
Once deprived and Inskip appointed, a furious Churchill, with his usual facility for the killer phrase, had called it ‘The most cynical appointment since Caligula made his horse a consul.’
Inskip’s other trait was a blind loyalty to the serving prime minister, which manifested itself as strong support in the Cabinet for the policy of appeasement. Having lost ministerial office once in the National Government landslide at the start of the decade, Sir Thomas was not about to act in a way that would find himself out in the cold again, and it had to be said his aims were honourable.
Though he had never been a front-line soldier, he harboured, along with many of his contemporaries in age and experience, a horror of a repeat of the blind slaughter of 1914-18, the evidence of which, in maimed ex-soldiers, widows and unmarried women, was still very obvious even after all these years, a subject he had laboured long the night before at the Downing Street dinner for the French delegation.
In some sense Sir Thomas had helped to form McKevitt’s thinking on Czechoslovakia, a country he had insisted was impossible for Britain and France to defend, an opinion he was willing to share with anyone who would listen, and who should be more inclined to do so than the man appointed by the head of MI6 to oversee matters in that country?
‘Mark my words, Noel,’ Inskip had pronounced after church one day. ‘If we seek to aid that country we will end up with stalemate and a repeat of the Western Front, with all the death such a futile exercise produced. I would not sacrifice a single soldier for such a policy and thankfully neither will the PM.’
McKevitt did not question Sir Thomas’s assertion, he took it as fact, assuming, which was quite natural, that a man who spent much of his time with soldiers, seamen and airmen discussing their needs, with a quite brilliant legal brain, had been given a bona fide opinion by those who would have to execute such a course of action.
Yet it was also the case that McKevitt saw war as predictable; you could not hold the Berlin Desk and watch the rise to power of the Nazis without accepting that conclusion. In Hitler’s magnum opus he demanded Lebensraum for the German people. If one nation needed to expand it could only be at the expense of another.
In addition, and this had been his primary intelligence target, within the higher reaches of the German General Staff it was a common gossip that another war was inevitable, with the date of 1945 almost pencilled in as the time at which they reasoned Germany would be ready both economically and militarily to confront their old foes.
If it was to come, then McKevitt was of the opinion it should be when Britain was ready for it, perhaps with the Americans as allies. In the meantime Hitler needed to be diverted to the east and as far as the Ulsterman was concerned he could go as far as he wanted in that direction.
Yet it was axiomatic that the department for which he worked would have to expand dramatically over the next few years to confront a range of emerging dangers and McKevitt had enough personal arrogance to see himself as ideally suited to head the more powerful entity.
Sir Hugh Sinclair had been good in his time but he was now sixtyfive and must be nearing retirement, so when he was worried about being sidelined in a way that obviously diminished his standing, it was quite natural to call at Inskip’s office and express his concerns.
‘Sir Hugh is up to something in my backyard, Sir Thomas.’
‘I judge by your tone you have no idea what that is?’
‘While I see my superior as deserving of my respect, sir, I am also a servant of the government of the day, and what concerns me is that he is stepping outside his brief of support for the declared policy and at a very dangerous time.’
That had no need to be mentioned; even the proponents of the ‘policy’ were becoming uncomfortable with the word ‘appeasement’, which had originally been coined as a description of the need to satisfy the legitimate concerns of the dictator states. In a couple of years it had morphed into a means, in too many minds, to let them do whatever they wished to avoid conflict.
‘Deliberately so?’
‘We occupy a murky arena, Sir Thomas, so I would not wish to be so specific. But if my concern is genuine I have no means of finding out the truth. Right now I believe he might be colluding with the Government of Czechoslovakia to produce some rabbit that will force our country into an anomalous position.’
That too required no spelling out; the press, with the exception of the Daily Mail and The Observer, was split on appeasement, with even The Times occasionally posing awkward editorial questions, while the public mood was febrile and uncertain. In the social circles in which Sir Thomas moved — his club, his legal chambers and the drawing rooms of people of property — it had unqualified support.
But out in the country, certainly in the industrial north, the mood was not, by the accounts he was receiving, the same. His
position involved him in visiting the factories and workshops where armaments were being designed and produced, an unpleasant task to a man as fastidious as he but one that could not be avoided. Even some of the military officers he was obliged to deal with were beginning to voice doubts.
‘If he is engaged in such a venture, Noel, then he is exceeding his brief. Are you sure he is not just seeking information in the normal manner?’
‘If he was doing that in Central Europe, Sir Thomas, he would go through me.’
Inskip nodded slowly; oversight of the intelligence service was outside his responsibilities but he knew who to talk to. ‘I shall have a word with the Home Secretary.’
‘I wonder,’ McKevitt advanced gently, ‘if it might also be wise to alert the prime minister?’
Quick to see a way to underline his loyalty, while not willing to appear to be guided by the man to whom he was talking, Inskip, the highly paid and quick-witted barrister, produced a ready answer. ‘An idea I had already considered, Noel. If what you say is true, Neville will be incandescent.’
‘Would you wish me to act as a conduit, sir?’
That involved a look into the Ulsterman’s eye, which was steady, as it should be for a man seeking in no way to hide his own hopes and ambitions, this while Sir Thomas Inskip was wondering if such an association and the information it could produce would help him to where he wanted to go, to one of the great offices of state in the gift of the prime minister: the Exchequer, the FO or the position of Home Secretary.
‘It can do no harm,’ he nodded. ‘I will instruct my civil servants that, should you call me on the telephone, you are to be put through to me on my private line. Now, if you will forgive me, Noel, I must dash — I’m invited to lunch at Cliveden by Lady Astor.’
McKevitt thought that a perfect way to tell him they were very different people; Sir Thomas Inskip thought so too.
‘Hey, Doc, I ran into a friend of yours down the Jewish Emigration Centre yesterday, nice kid called Elsa. Went kind of weak at the knees when I mentioned you, like she had a crush on you or something.’
That strident greeting, said in a loud and carrying voice, turned every head in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel, busy with all sorts of folk; for a man who liked to be discreet it was anathema.
‘Do you ever talk softly, Corrie?’
‘Only when I carry a big stick.’
The arm was taken with the same force as previously and Corrie Littleton found herself propelled to a quieter corner of the hotel, an act that did nothing to diminish the interest of the other folk present.
‘Is that how you got pretty little Elsa out of the cradle?’
‘We’re just good friends.’
‘Well we’re not, so ease off with the third degree.’
‘Sit down and shut up, Corrie, and listen to what I have to say to you.’
‘That adds up to three things I don’t want to do, buster!’
He had to drop his voice. ‘But you would like a trip to the Sudetenland, wouldn’t you?’
About to produce a scathing response, she must have seen in his look that he was serious; she sat down quickly and he joined her. ‘You on the level?’
‘Better than that, Corrie, I think I can get you an interview with Konrad Henlein.’
‘Early morning and you’re drunk already! That guy hasn’t given an interview to a non-German newspaper for two years and the last one, from what I hear, was one of your Brits called Ward Price who the guys tell me is a Nazi himself and a prize shit.’
‘He works for a bigger one called Rothermere.’
‘What the hell, we’ve got Charles Lindbergh.’
Cal knew she was stalling. ‘Henlein is holed up in the Victoria Hotel in Cheb and if you put in a request for an interview it will be positively received. Do you want that I should go find another journalist to offer this to?’
That shut her up; there was nothing like professional rivalry to achieve her silence.
‘I am talking about just you and him, an exclusive, as well as a look around the town and Henlein’s home base in Asch, with maybe the chance to talk to the locals, and me along to interpret and make sure you don’t get yourself shot by some ardent Nazi thug.’
‘No cops?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you mean why you?’
‘No, Doc, I mean “why?” You might come across as all charm, Cal Jardine, but you are one devious son of a bitch.’
‘I’ve always admired your command of the English language.’
‘One of these days I’ll give you my personal dictionary, but right now I would like to know what is in this for you.’
‘Typical, you try to do someone a favour-’
‘Cal, I don’t give a goddam what you are up to, I just want to know what it is that you get out of this offer.’
He had known he was never going to get away without an explanation, but he had enjoyed guying her a little. ‘Care to go for a walk?’
‘What’s wrong with right here?’
Thinking of Snuffly Bower and his paranoia, Cal replied, ‘Lip-readers.’
As they exited the hotel, to a salute from the liveried doorman and a look that asked if they wanted a cab, Corrie spotted Vince Castellano and her body movement presaged a greeting.
‘Don’t say hello,’ Cal whispered, ‘Vince will follow us.’
‘To?’
‘To make sure nobody else does, or gets too close to hear what I am going to say.’
‘Part of me is saying I should get my arm out from yours and walk away.’
‘But the other part is screaming “story”, yes?’
They walked several paces before she answered. ‘So, shoot.’
‘I need to go up there to do a bit of a recce. Don’t ask why or what because I won’t tell you, on the very good grounds that it is best you don’t know.’
Expecting an objection Cal was surprised she remained silent; maybe learning to be a journalist had cured her of shooting from the lip.
‘You will have your accreditation by tomorrow and I will drive us both to Cheb, where you will be taken to meet Konrad Henlein for a full interview at his headquarters.’
‘What’s the angle?’ Cal explained about Henlein’s aim of appealing to the likes of the American German Bund. ‘They’re Nazis, Cal, and on his side already.’
‘He also wants to get his message across to the other Germans in the USA. It’s a big community and it might get him a better hearing in Washington.’
‘Depends what I write.’ That was both true and significant; Corrie had gone from doubtful to committed. ‘How the hell did you arrange this and who the hell did you set it up with?’
That he ignored. ‘He won’t speak to the press from the other democracies and I doubt he would be happy with any of the big American names who are over here and have already made their positions plain.’
‘Whereas?’
‘You are an unknown quantity.’
‘You’re avoiding the question.’
‘Let’s just say I know the right people, have a job to do and I will be travelling as your chosen escort and interpreter under a false identity.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Look, I am a guy you have never met before until you arrived in Prague, but we got along.’ He outlined what she had to do to get a response, which he assured her would be positive even if she insisted on her own German-speaker being present. ‘And it might be a good idea when we get there to let them think we are lovers.’
‘I think this is where I bale out,’ she snapped, in the manner of the girl he knew so well.
‘This is your chance to do so,’ he replied, determined she should know he was serious. ‘Once we’re committed you will have to live with whatever lie suits.’
‘You mean I might be interrogated.’
‘Meaning you are going to be in amongst people who are suspicious as hell and they will probe you, your motives and your connection to me.
And as for pretence, you are going to have to act like you have some sympathy for what Hitler is trying to do. It’s the only way you’ll get the story you want.’
‘I get to write what I think?’
‘You get to come back to Prague and file, which, once it appears in your magazine, should make all those guys you drink with in the bar, who think you are a novice, want to cut your throat.’
‘You been watching me?’
‘Not me.’
‘People you know?’ He nodded. ‘One question, why are you doing what you’re doing?’
‘The idea is to keep whole the country we’re in and stop a German invasion. If I can do what I want, it may be possible to get Britain and France to stand up to Hitler.’
That made her ponder, but in reality it could only be one of two things: he was either acting for those he had worked for in Ethiopia or the Czechs themselves. She knew what he thought about Fascism, given she had heard him talk about it too many times to be in doubt about his feelings.
‘Look, there is danger in this, I won’t lie to you, but it is more to me than to you. In a sticky spot you can always claim you were deceived about me, wave your press credentials and scream for the American ambassador.’
‘How do we get to this Cheb?’
‘I told you, by car, which I will drive.’
‘Long journey?’
‘Depends on checkpoints and things I don’t know about. Could be four hours, could be ten.’
‘When do we leave?’
‘As soon as we get the go-ahead. You happy with what you’ve been told?’
‘Like hell I am, but if I’m going to be sitting in a car with you for all that time I guess it will give me a chance to grill you properly.’
‘My real name and what I am up to is off-limits and I need your word on that.’
That made her stop walking and look up at him and there was a note in her distinctive cracked voice, deeper that usual. ‘You telling me, Doc, that you would accept my word?’
How do you say to someone, I know what you are made of; I have seen you embrace danger and a cause when you could have walked away; struggle through tents full of the dead and dying doing a job for which you had no training and do it superbly; that, in fact, for all the sparring we indulge in, you are admirable?