Текст книги "A Bitter Field"

Автор книги: Ludlow Jack

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Peter Lanchester’s ‘chat’ with Noel McKevitt had not started well and ended badly, though he had noticed on entering the Ulsterman’s office that there was a strong smell of drink on his breath. His eyes also had that slight glaze which comes from a too-liquid lunch and perhaps it was that which led to a surprising loss of control from a man so well known for the lack of passion in his demeanour.

There had been a seemingly interminable discussion of Brno and what he had observed there, tedious because Peter had nothing to say which he suspected McKevitt did not already know, but eventually it led to where it was clear he wanted to go, even if he said he was no longer concerned: had Peter found out the identity of the fellow who had illegally bought those weapons?

‘You didn’t question anyone at the arms factory?’ McKevitt asked, for the first time slightly querulous when the answer was negative.

‘That was not my brief, Noel, and besides, given we surmise that the End User Certificate was known to be false by the managers, I doubt asking questions would have got me very far. They would have just clammed up, while I was not inclined to seek out and interrogate your source.’

‘Not your brief,’ was the response, accompanied by a slight frown. ‘You were given this job by Quex himself—?’

A sharp interruption was necessary. ‘I do think that is a question you should put directly to him, Noel.’

‘Would it be breaching any confidentiality to tell me what the parameters were? For instance, was your mission to stop the shipment or just to track it?’

‘As you know,’ Peter responded, prevaricating, ‘it had already left Brno when we were alerted to the transaction.’

‘Which makes me wonder, Peter, if the man we pay a stipend to there is either as quick or as loyal as we would hope. We should have known about this deal before it was concluded.’

The idea that the fellow’s loyalty might be to the country of his birth was not one to raise; it may well be he had done the minimum instead of the maximum.

‘I’m curious, Noel, where this is leading. I am happy to talk to you about Brno, even if there’s not much to say, but I am less so to discuss an operation with anyone not directly connected with it. It would, in fact, be a breach of both confidence and protocol.’

‘Do you not see, Peter?’ McKevitt replied, rather pedantic in the way he used that expression. ‘We have been made to look like fools.’

‘We cannot be certain of that; there’s no evidence those weapons ever got out of France.’

Maybe it was the drink, maybe the way he was being stalled, but the man lost some of his habitual detachment.

‘Christ, we would be a poor Secret Intelligence Service if we relied on evidence. You have admitted you were in La Rochelle on the trail of those bloody machine guns. One phone call to the French would have put the kibosh on any attempt to get them through France, never mind out of the country. Why was that call never made?’

The temptation to ask if he had made any calls around the same time was so hard to resist.

‘Now if you did not do that,’ McKevitt continued, ‘there had to be a motive for it, and I am curious as to what that could be. I am also curious, Peter Lanchester, why a few days after your return from this particular cock-up you are in receipt of a telegram from Prague?’

‘That is none of your business.’

‘Anything to do with Czechoslovakia is my business and the list of such telegrams and the recipients lands on my desk as a matter of course. What I want is the contents.’

Peter stood up. ‘Have you never heard of Chinese walls?’

The tone of the response was icy. ‘I’ll give you Chinese walls, or maybe they’ll be prison walls. I am not a man to mess with, Lanchester, as you may find out, and don’t be sure that there is anyone, however high and mighty, who can protect you. There’s something going on that I should know about and I intend to find out what it is. Maybe you would like the weekend to think that over.’

‘We are all here on sufferance, Noel, including you, but I will pass on to Quex your concerns as to how he runs SIS.’

There was pure devilment in what Peter said next and he had no knowledge of what Quex had been up to.

‘And while you are busy monitoring the telegram traffic from Prague don’t be surprised to find there are certain communications between London and France that are also under surveillance, by the Deuxième Bureau if not by us. I’m wondering if a request to them for certain information would go unacknowledged.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ McKevitt replied, his face expressionless.

‘I wonder,’ Peter barked over his shoulder as he went out of the door.

After a day of endless talking at Downing Street, during which many a bellicose statement had come from the French delegation about standing up to Hitler, meeting more measured assertions from their British counterparts, it was fairly plain to Sir Hugh Sinclair that matters had not moved on one centimetre, never mind an inch; it was all talk and no go.

There had been no time to beard his French counterpart, Colonel Gauché, during the day, both men being too busy advising their own superiors, but as usual there was a formal dinner in the evening and they were seated next to each other, where, conversationally, they competed to see who could most mangle the other’s native language.

For all the difficulties that entailed, communication was achieved as they discussed what might come out of the forthcoming gathering of the Nazi bigwigs in Nuremberg. Gauché had a very good intelligence operation in Czechoslovakia – hardly surprising given they were formal allies, with a proper signed treaty and France had bankrolled a lot of the Czech armaments through loans and subsidies – but when it came to Germany the British had the upper hand.

A free flow of shared information was never possible with two intelligence agencies – not even internally did they always cooperate – but within the bounds of mutual jealousies and natural Anglo-Gallic mistrust they did help each other and the Frenchman saw nothing to trouble his conscience in having one of his men examine the records of foreign calls made to such outfits as the Jeunesses Patriotes.

‘The call,’ Sinclair said, ‘C’est from Angleterre, dans le middle de Août.’ Then he flicked a finger over his shoulder. ‘Votre glass c’est empty, Colonel.’

The Frenchman replied, but not in words Sinclair was sure he understood; the man was nodding and that would suffice.

While Vince was reading his day-old News Chronicle Cal had his nose buried in the freshly delivered German newspapers that had come in on the overnight trains which still ran over the disputed border as though there was no problem. It was one of the features of Prague that you could buy almost any newspaper published in the world if you didn’t mind old news.

The Czechs prided themselves on being internationalists, as people with a world view, not a narrowly parochial one, and in the cafés and bars in normal times you could get into a well-informed discussion about what was happening in the four corners of the globe; not now – even the foreign press was full of what was taking place in Bavaria.

If there was a deep fascination, allied to a visceral fear of what the Nazi Party was up to in Nuremberg, it certainly, in Cal’s mind, would never extend to the speeches, which were the usual Aryan claptrap mixed with justifications for no freedom, low wages for workers and the need for vigilance against foes, who would be manufactured if they did not exist, all wrapped up in nice language about the beauty of their ideology.

Any discussion about what they might be asked to do had been put to bed; Vince had been reassured that Cal would do nothing without having a good look at any problems first, but he had persuaded his boxing friend that what was on offer might fulfil the requirement of what he had been sent here to do, without the need to cross into Germany. Quite apart from that, if it could be done it was too good to pass up.

When Moravec phoned, Cal was translating some of the more florid and ridiculous bits from the newspapers to Vince in a cod German accent that had them both laughing. The call put an end to that; he advised Cal to take a tram to a station called Geologica for noon, probably chosen, Vince ventured when he looked at the tram routes on his town map, because it was the only one a foreigner could pronounce.

For Cal, having sent off his telegram to London and with a bit of spare time before the rendezvous, it presented a good opportunity to look over their own means of emergency extraction, that ugly Tatra car parked in a side street gathering dust. Having ensured it was untouched, it was back on the busy tram system to the aforementioned station, in his hand his canvas bag containing the information that had arrived the night before.

When they alighted Vaclav was waiting, as if an aspiring tram passenger, but once they had moved away and he had checked no one was following, he spun on his heel and walked quickly to get past them. With all the usual precautions he led them to where Moravec was waiting in a very different vehicle, a limousine; this time Vaclav was the driver.

Naturally the talk turned to what he had sent them and Cal’s impression of the information, to which there was only one reply – that it was comprehensive enough to qualify for praise as to the amount of detail, but it did not answer the pertinent question, this while he was vaguely aware, by the position of the sun and the time of day, that having originally travelled south-east they were now heading north in a wide arc around the city.

‘I am taking you to meet someone who might answer any questions you have.’

‘He is?’

‘The man who compiled much of what you were given, as well as the person who is still in charge of the surveillance on Henlein and the SdP.’

They drove on for about an hour out through the suburbs and into a pleasant countryside, leaving the main road for narrower tree-lined avenues, finally turning up a wooded drive and stopping at a farmhouse with a barn big enough to accommodate the car, the doors being closed once it was driven in so it was out of sight of the road.

Vaclav headed off down the drive to keep an eye on the road, Vince opting to follow him and help, knowing that, being unable to understand German, he was likely to be no more than a spectator at any discussion.

Cal and Moravec approached the door of the house, which was opened by an invisible hand, and they entered the darkened interior, progressing through to a sunlit and rustic dining area, full of the tempting smell of cooking, without a word being spoken.

The man they had come to meet could have sat for a poster of the perfect Aryan as seen by those lunatics who prated on about ethnic purity in Germany. He was tall, having several inches on Cal, broad-shouldered, with neat blond hair, piercing blue eyes and chiselled features that extended to a square jaw, as well as being deeply tanned in that bronzed way so loved by the old Wandervogel movement.

‘Captain Karol Veseli.’

As he said this Moravec took off his hat and threw it on the table, where sat a bottle of plum brandy and several glasses. Compared to this gleaming specimen, the intelligence chief, stocky, his suit crumpled, with his mop of greying hair, weary broad face and tired eyes with heavy bags beneath, looked like he was from another species.

Cal, who without vanity knew he was attractive to the opposite sex, felt he would hate to compete with this bloke for female attention and that was made worse when the sod beamed at him with teeth so white they seemed to flash, before a hand came out to be shaken in a very firm grip.

‘A drink, first,’ Veseli said, uncorking the bottle and pouring three glasses of clear liquid. ‘Then we can talk and finally we will eat.’

Whatever was bubbling on the stove smelt delicious, so that was something to look forward to. With the drink there was, of course, a clink of glasses and a toast to Czechoslovakia, made standing, before the contents were downed in one go. They then arranged themselves around the table, Cal emptying the bag to spread out the files and photos, posing an important question as he did so.

‘Where is Henlein?’

‘In Cheb during the day and Asch at night.’

‘He hasn’t gone to Bavaria?’

‘No,’ Moravec insisted. ‘He dare not be seen in Nuremberg. To do so would blow open the fiction that he is acting independently.’

‘Before we begin,’ Cal asked, now that everything was laid out, ‘I need to know if, as I suspect from all this, you suppose what you seek is in Henlein’s offices at the Victoria Hotel and not at Frank’s headquarters?’

‘Yes.’

‘To be sure of that you must have someone on the inside?’

The two Czechs exchanged looks but it was Moravec’s call and he nodded. ‘But we will not reveal the name.’

‘Naturally. But is this person in a position to aid any attempt to get to the written details of the invasion and Hitler’s instructions?’

It was Veseli who answered. ‘To do so would expose the agent, who is able to tell us everything the leadership of the SdP are doing and thinking.’

‘So I assume that I would not be given contact with this person?’

‘No!’ Moravec replied, emphatically.

Cal nodded; he had expected nothing less, because whoever that asset was he looked to be too precious to put at risk even for such a prize. ‘Can I ask if you have planned an operation to get hold of these documents?’

‘If we were certain that an invasion is imminent,’ Veseli said, ‘we would use the full power of the state so our police and army can counter the attempts of the Sudetenlanders to carry out the kind of tasks they have been set.’

‘Always assuming,’ Moravec added in a mordant tone, ‘that we have allies in the West to help us fight the German army.’

‘So,’ Cal asked pedantically, ‘is there a fully worked-out plan in place that does not depend on an imminent invasion?’

Moravec paused for several seconds before he replied, Cal thought more for effect than anything else; he wanted it to look as if the answer was being dragged out of him. ‘There is.’

‘But you cannot carry it out?’

‘For the reasons I gave you as we walked around the Jewish cemetery.’

‘Is it one that I could execute given the right circumstances?’

‘I believe so,’ Moravec replied. ‘Otherwise I would not have brought you to this place.’

‘And if Henlein takes flight, which he is bound to do under the circumstances of German invasion, what then? He would not want to fall into your hands, would he?’

That got two nods.

‘So you must have more than just a pre-planned assault on the hotel; there must be one to take him between there and his house, which he might go to on the way, or a place where you could ambush him before he gets to the German border?’

That got Cal a full flashing smile, in truth no more than an acknowledgement that he had discerned the obvious; these people had plans in place for any eventuality.

‘Naturally,’ Moravec said, ‘should the invasion come, our police would storm Henlein’s hotel and Frank’s Nazi HQ to find evidence of their activities, things that could be shown to the neutral press to increase pressure for their aid. They would not, we think, be able to remove or burn all the files in time and if they did so prematurely that would alert us to the aggressive movements of the German army.’

‘You know, you should do it now and tell your president to go to hell.’

‘To which he would say, the consequences would bring on that which we most fear. Imagine Hitler’s closing speech at Nuremberg on Monday if we do that, and besides, both locations are well defended, Henlein’s house less so, but there are plenty of locals in Asch who would come to his aid to fight us, so taking even that would not be easy.’

‘Even if you took him by surprise?’

‘A difficult thing for a Czech to do when they cannot even get into his hotel if they are local, and no stranger would be allowed entry unless they could prove they were ethnic Germans.’

‘Go in numbers?’

‘How many? Remember, in Cheb too he is surrounded by his own kind who would be keen to protect him.’

Veseli took over. ‘And how can we surprise him when we would need the army to take the place?’

‘Understand,’ Moravec interjected, ‘that apart from manning the defensive emplacements in the borderlands, most of our troops have been withdrawn from the disputed provinces to locations where they pose no threat to the German minority. Left in place it would be too easy for Goebbels to claim the soldiers were committing atrocities.’

‘Even the police in Cheb are kept in their station unless an incident occurs they must deal with, and they have strict instructions to stay well away from the Victoria Hotel.’

‘I need copies of those ambush plans and I need to go and take a look to see if there is any way that I can implement what you dare not.’

‘You need more than that, my friend,’ the older Czech replied. ‘You need a reason to be there.’

‘Understand, sir,’ Veseli said, the honorific making Cal wonder to whom he was talking until he realised that in introducing his agent Moravec had not given him any name. ‘Cheb is not a large town and it is ninety-ten per cent ethnically German, Asch almost wholly so.’

He paused to make sure Cal understood.

‘They are doubly suspicious of strangers at the moment, regardless of their nationality, unless they know why it is they have come there, and given the number of members of the SdP in both places, any outsider would be treated a suspicious person as a matter of course and watched.’

‘Presumably, then, you do not go under the name of Karol in Cheb?’

The two other men only exchanged a half a flicker of a look, but it was enough to tell Cal that Karol Veseli was not his real name, but certainly his given one in a Czech-spelt version and, he suspected, if asked to spell it, though it would sound the same, it would read very differently. Given his looks, added to what he had just said about Cheb, it was clear he could not move around there without arousing suspicion unless he was a long-term resident himself.

Cal knew something about small towns, having spent four years before the World War in a Scottish one and found himself an outsider to people who knew each other from their very first day at school right through to their places of work. Without those connections it was hard to discover who was cousin to whom and to understand all the local matters that constituted old enmities and long-standing grudges.

In such places you watched the generations come and depart, caught sight of the same faces in their main streets, shops and events, as well as seeing your fellow citizens procreate and age. Captain Karol Veseli, or whatever he was called, to do what he did in such a community, had to be either wholly or partly an ethnic German and he certainly looked like one.

So it was a fair bet he was a ‘traitor’ to his own kind, or a Czech patriot, depending on which side of the divide you occupied. Whatever, he was playing a very dangerous game in which there was only one price for exposure and it would not be just a bullet; discovered, he would be ripped limb from limb.

‘I doubt we would be sitting here if you did not have some notion of how we can visit there and move around freely.’

‘Last night you were observed dining with an American female journalist,’ Moravec ventured, his tone cautious. ‘A Miss Corrine Littleton.’

There was no point in Cal asking how he knew her and her occupation; it was his job to know and Moravec already knew he and Vince had been followed to the restaurant. Question: did her job have a bearing on that card being dropped on the table? Had that been part of a jigsaw Moravec was toying with?

Cal knew also enough about intelligence work to realise that a lot of what went on was manipulation and he wondered if that was what he was being subjected to now. He had come to Prague looking for facts about dissent in Germany and now he was being edged in another direction entirely, not that it made much difference if the end result was the same.

‘How well are you acquainted with the lady?’ While Cal was considering how to reply to that, Moravec added, ‘You seemed to be friendly from what was observed—’

That’s all you know, Cal thought.

‘—much more so than the men with whom she drinks in the hotel bar.’ That got the older Czech a look of deep curiosity, to which he responded, ‘The barman, who has good English, observes that they treat her with little respect, that if they are kind, they talk down to her.’

‘Because she’s a woman?’

‘No, because she drinks little, but more because she lacks experience.’ That was followed by a sardonic smile. ‘You will know that such men have been in many places and seen many wars and perhaps they drink so much to forget what it is they have seen. To them our troubles are just another crisis. They are, I suspect, full of cynicism.’

Cal had met many a war correspondent in his travels, more recently in Madrid, and that was a description which entirely suited them; they drank like fish, would roger anything female that moved and looked willing, while they took not a word they were told at face value for the very good reason they had heard it all before.

‘But your Miss Littleton is not that, which might make her perfect for what we have in mind.’

‘For some time now,’ Veseli cut in, before Cal could nail that statement, ‘it has been suggested to Konrad Henlein that he should cease to avoid the international press, that he should stop hiding away in his hotel suite and grant an interview to a selected journalist from the democracies to insist he wants peace. What better time could there be than now, when the trumpets are blaring in Nuremberg?’

The person who would be pressing for that could be the agent they had in place, whoever he was.

‘He will not countenance, naturally, a French or British publication, but an American one he is less troubled by, given there is a large German population in the USA to whom he would like to be able to speak and who could be counted on to put pressure on the US Government to give consideration to his aims.’

‘Or,’ Moravec said bitterly, ‘his lies.’

‘I take it he has agreed.’

‘I think such an opportunity would please a young lady American journalist, don’t you?’ Moravec replied softly. ‘And I can say a request would be received favourably from such a person.’

Cal recalled what Corrie had said about the borderlands being hard to get into without a police escort and the frustration that was causing her.

‘I think any one of them would trip over themselves to get an interview with Henlein, especially if it was not the whole pack.’ For some reason the thought of the way her peers were treating Corrie annoyed him. ‘And for Miss Littleton it would be one in the eye to all those fellows you say are patronising her.’

‘“Exclusive”,’ Moravec said in English, ‘they call it, I think.’

‘But she has been told she cannot go there without being escorted by the police. I can’t see Henlein agreeing to having a Czech policeman present while he’s interviewed.’

‘Naturally,’ Veseli added with a grave expression, ‘for a woman journalist to travel to a dangerous part of our country alone would not be wise, and you are right that Henlein would not accept that anyone from the Republic should escort her …’

‘But two British nationals?’

‘No, we had in mind one only,’ Veseli said. ‘To drive her, look after her welfare and, of course, interpret.’

Moravec took up the baton. ‘You can, after all, easily do such a thing for her.’

He was not about to respond to that right away, so it took several seconds, while he was under close scrutiny, before he nodded at the logic; she would have to have an interpreter and some kind of bodyguard would be wise, but how could that be squared with the local police?

‘That, I think, can be arranged,’ Moravec said, ‘by my talking to Colonel Doležal, while to Henlein, to lift such a requirement at his request would only look like the kind of Czech collaboration he now takes for granted.’

‘You think we would be free to move around?’

‘It would be part of the arrangements,’ Veseli said, with such assurance Cal wondered if he was the inside man. ‘Anything written about the area must include an impression of what it is like for the ordinary people, though not Czechs, and it would be unwise to approach the many social democrats who live there. That would cause Henlein unease.’

‘And he would know, because?’

‘You will be followed wherever you go.’

‘I would need a car and a good one to befit my supposed occupation.’ He was thinking of that Tatra he had bought, which was not the kind of vehicle to turn up in. ‘And it can’t be anything belonging to the Czech state.’

‘A suitable one can be hired.’

‘There’s only one problem that I can see, quite apart from being unhappy without my own man or anyone else to back me up. Corrie Littleton would have to know what I am trying to do.’

Moravec waved a finger in dismissal. ‘You tell your lady friend that through your contacts you have been able to arrange her a meeting with Henlein. She will, I think, be too excited about that to press home questions you do not want to answer about how it was arranged.’

‘One thing I should tell you, Colonel Moravec – you are talking of a lady who knows what I do for a living and is already curious about what I am up to in Prague.’

‘Ah! She is not, as you would say, a paramour?’ Cal actually laughed, which brought forth two frowns to tell him how inappropriate that reaction was in such a serious situation. ‘It was said to me she might be, given the lady is not married.’

Vaclav must have watched them for a while and observed their animated conversation, while Moravec had done his digging about Corrie Littleton, and they had come to a conclusion that was at total odds with the facts.

Right now he was not committed to anything, nor would he ever have been without he had surveyed the ground. What was on offer was a way to accomplish what he had come to Prague for, but regardless of what Moravec said – and surely he must know it even if he did not want to admit it – Corrie would have to be in on the deal to some extent.

‘The only question that lacks an answer is what you are doing in Czechoslovakia.’

‘I have certain documents, papers from a good friend, to cover that, both here and in Germany. In them it will tell anyone who asks that I am on the lookout for trade opportunities in chemicals.’

Moravec was impressed, but troubled. ‘I had in mind a disguise for you as a German national.’

‘I can’t see the necessity, but there is one other thing: I am not armed and I don’t like the idea of being in bandit country without the means to defend myself.’

It was Veseli – or whatever his name was – who replied. ‘You cannot travel with weapons, it is too risky given our police might search your car, but maybe they can be discreetly provided when you get to Cheb.’

‘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.