Camp 30 (12 page)

“I'm terribly sorry,” Bill said. “I didn't mean to bring back bad memories. I'll have a truck take you back so you can sit inside and not be seen. By the way, I hope you boys have an hour or so to spare.”

“What do you have to tell us that's going to take that long?” Jack asked.

“The conversation won't, but the drive will.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Camp X.”

“Camp X!” I exclaimed. “Why are we going there?”

“Because Little Bill doesn't have the time to come running out this far.”

“Little Bill wants to see us? Do you know what he wants to talk about?”

“I have an idea, but why don't I leave that up to him. How long before you have to be home?” Bill asked.

“We don't really have anything to do until we pick up and deliver the mail … Will we still be able to deliver the mail?” I asked.

“That would be telling, now, wouldn't it?”

“Could I ask you another question?” I said.

“You can ask.”

“It's about Little Bill. He's your boss …”

“Is that the question?” Bill asked.

“No. I just wanted to know … Krum and those other Nazi agents, they were after him—I know that. I just wanted to know … how important is he really?”

“Very important. I can't tell you much, but I will say that he's not just my boss. He's
everybody's
boss.”

“Everybody?”

Bill nodded. “He's an extremely busy man. As it is, I don't know when he has time to sleep.”

“But he wants to see us?”

“As I've said before, you boys are important to him— you're important to all of us.”

“I just feel bad for causing everybody all these problems. We can stay away from the camp if that's what he wants, if that's what everybody wants,” I said.

“No point in talking to me about it. Talk to Little Bill.”

The car slowed and turned off Highway 2 onto Thornton Road. I knew exactly where we were of course. The main entrance to the camp was just up ahead. Again the car slowed, and it turned down the lane leading to the camp. It travelled a few car lengths and then came to a complete stop.

Four soldiers, two from each side, all carrying rifles, approached the car. The driver rolled down his window
while Bill did the same with the back passenger window.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Bill said.

“Afternoon,” one of the soldiers said as he bent down and peered into the car. I recognized him. “I didn't think I'd be seeing either of these two again,” he said, gesturing with his rifle. Obviously he recognized us, too.

“You'll notice that they are on your list of those who may be admitted,” Bill said.

The other soldier pulled a pad out of his pocket, flipped it open and began running his finger down a page.

“Just making sure,” said the first soldier. “We've had enough of these two getting in here when they're not supposed to. Makes us all look pretty silly.”

“They're on the list,” the second soldier said. “Please proceed.”

Bill rolled up the window and the car started up the lane. We were once again on the grounds of Camp X. The very few people who even knew it was here thought it was just one of countless military bases that dotted the country. Jack and I knew better. We knew it was a special base, a place that wasn't training soldiers but operatives … secret agents … spies.

The lane passed between and beneath massive chestnut trees, which painted the car with deep shadows. Up ahead through the front windshield I saw the farmhouse, the place we were headed. We came to a stop directly in
front of the old building. Without saying a word Bill got out. We followed him up onto the porch and through the door. He led us down the corridor, stopped at a closed office door and knocked.

“Come!” came the voice from the other side. Bill opened the door and ushered us in.

Little Bill was standing at the window, his back to us. I could see he was wearing a civilian suit, not a military uniform. As he turned around I tried to read his expression. It was like a blank canvas. Not angry, or sad, or surprised or even amused. Just blank. Not so much as a twitch of his moustache.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk. Again there was no emotion in his voice. I felt anxious, but I was calmed by the thought that he liked us—that's what Bill had said, right? Bill sat in the seat to the right, Jack in the middle, and I sat in the remaining seat. I wanted to pull it back a little bit to get a little farther away from the desk.

Little Bill sat down and immediately began sorting through some papers. Finally he looked up. I remembered right away what his stare was like: sharp and penetrating.

“As I understand it, from speaking to Bill and reading the report, you two have managed to get inside Camp 30 on a daily basis,” he said.

“Yeah, but it's not like here,” I said. “We're not breaking in or anything.”

“That's good to hear. We did so hope you'd limit the number of highly sensitive military installations that you
have
managed to infiltrate covertly. Bill tells me that you have been hired to pick up the mail, take it to the compound and distribute it to the prisoners.”

“We don't really distribute it,” I said. “We just take it into their office building and give it to a guy named Hans.”

“Hans Mueller.”

“I don't know his last name,” I said.

Little Bill tapped the sheet he was holding with the index finger of the other hand. “I do.”

“We really didn't mean to cause everybody so much trouble,” I blurted out. “We know you have more important things you should be doing, and you shouldn't be wasting your time dealing with us. If you want us to quit delivering the mail we will. We'll even get fired if you want us to.”

“We had considered that as one option,” Little Bill confirmed. “I had even wondered if it might be necessary to relocate your family again, but felt that was unwarranted … at this time.”

I went from worried to relieved to concerned, all in one sentence. “At this time” could only mean that there still was a chance we would have to move again.

“I imagine you are familiar with the character of the prisoners being held at Camp 30. They are among the most important prisoners captured in the war.”

“Like Otto,” I said. “I mean, Captain Kretschmer—he asked us to call him Otto,” I explained. “He talks to us all the time, and he's taken us to the kitchen and given us ice cream.”

“It sounds as though he's befriended you boys.”

Suddenly I felt guilty. Was it wrong to have ice cream with a German prisoner? Was it like being a traitor to think he was nice and be friendly with him?

“He talks to us all the time,” Jack said. “Mainly we just listen. We try to keep our eyes and ears open.”

“Always a wise strategy. The captain is a prime example of the high-ranking prisoners in the camp. Do you know why these prisoners are being held in Canada?”

“So they can't escape,” I said.

“To make it more difficult to escape,” Little Bill corrected me. “There is always a possibility.”

“Like that one guy who almost got to Mexico,” Jack said.

“Hans Krug,” Little Bill said. “I see you really are keeping your eyes and ears open. I should never be surprised by what you boys know. You are very adept operatives.”

Little Bill took a sip from a teacup sitting on his desk. “For some time we have wanted to place an agent within the camp to monitor the prisoners' activities.”

“To try to figure out if anybody's trying to escape?” Jack asked.

“Oh, we're certain they're trying to escape. That's not a question. The questions are
who
and
how
and
when
. The difficulty for us is devising a plan to put an agent into the camp. Obviously they are not going to discuss matters with the guards, and it isn't as though any outsiders have access to the compound.”

“Except us,” I said.

He smiled. “Do you remember the last time we talked?”

“The last time you talked to me was in my hospital room after the car crash,” I replied.

“And do you remember the last thing I said to you, George?”

“Goodbye?” I asked hesitantly, and both Bill and Little Bill started laughing.

“I know,” Jack said.

“But you weren't even in the room,” I said.

“But you told me. I remember.” He turned to Little Bill. “You said to remain ready because you might need us again.”

Little Bill nodded his head.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“
WE
'
RE READY
!” Jack exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. “Tell us what you want us to do and we'll do it!”

“Right now I want you both to just sit and listen,” Little Bill said.

Jack sat back down.

“First off, I need to know how you're both feeling. Are there any lasting consequences of the injuries you received?”

“Except for this arm,” Jack said, holding up his cast, “everything is fine. And the cast is coming off really soon—I'll be as good as new.”

“And you, George?”

“I got headaches for a while, but not any more.”

“I'm pleased. Next, I need you boys to have all the information, to fully understand the nature of your assignment, before you volunteer your services.”

“It doesn't matter,” Jack said. “We'll do whatever you want.”

“Hold on,” I said. “
I
want to know what you want us to do. I want to know
everything
before I agree to
anything
.”

“Don't be such a—”

“Jack,” Little Bill said, cutting off my brother before he could finish his insult. “Please be aware that any operative worth his salt wants to know all available information before agreeing to any assignment.”

Jack closed his mouth and looked down at his hands. I felt a bit sorry for him.

“It's the duty of all prisoners of war to attempt to escape,” Little Bill said.

“Both Captain Kretschmer and Colonel Armstrong told us that,” I said.

“Yet there have been no attempts within the last few months,” Little Bill continued. “Do you know what that probably means?”

I shook my head.

“It means that maybe something really big is being planned,” Jack suggested.

Little Bill nodded his head in agreement. “We fear that there is a major operation afoot—a mass breakout, perhaps employing a tunnel.”

“At least Captain Kretschmer won't be escaping through a tunnel,” I said.

“Why would you say that?” Bill asked.

“He told us he doesn't like being in confined spaces any more,” I said. “You know, like a submarine or a tunnel.”

“He said that?” Little Bill asked.

“The submarine part,” Jack said, “but I asked about tunnels.”

“And what did he answer?” It was one of the first times I'd seen Little Bill look surprised.

“He made a joke about digging out with the spoons we were using for our ice cream,” I said.

“Do you think they're trying to tunnel out?” Jack asked.

“That's the most common means of mass escape,” Little Bill confirmed. “All precautions are being taken to detect any tunnelling that is taking place.”

“But you still think it might be happening?” I asked.

“Hitler would consider it a major propaganda victory if he could reclaim some of his commanders. We want you two boys to tell us what you see and hear.”

“We could do more than that,” Jack said. “Captain Kretschmer has this briefcase that he carries around sometimes, and I think if I could get into his office and have a look, then—”

“Actually that's the sort of thing I
don't
want you to do. Far too risky. Just watch and listen. Jack,
sprechen Sie Deutsch
?”

“I speak some German,” Jack answered. “I understand more than I speak.”

“Do any of the prisoners know that?” Little Bill asked.

“I don't think so,” Jack said.

“Maybe Otto … I mean, Captain Kretschmer,” I said.

“But he asked you to call him Otto, right?”

I nodded.

“Then keep calling him that. The closer he feels to you boys the better.” Little Bill paused. “Actually, he's going to try to get as close to you as possible, so he can get things from you.”

“What sort of things?” Jack asked.

“It could be information.”

“Information about what?”

“He'll be looking for details. It all might seem relatively harmless, but the information would benefit them if they did get past the fence. He might ask things like: Have you been to Toronto lately? How long did it take to get there? What roads did you travel?” He took another sip from his drink. “It could also be more than information. Perhaps they will request maps, or ticket stubs for the train to Toronto or—”

“We wouldn't say or give them anything,” Jack said. “You can count on us.”

“I wouldn't be discussing any of this with you boys if I didn't feel certain that I could count on you,” Little Bill said.

It made me feel good to know he trusted us.

“But I'm actually counting on you to give him what he wants,” Little Bill went on.

“I don't understand,” I said.

“Me neither,” Jack said. “You want us to
help
them escape?”

“Let me explain. If they request a map, then you report it to us. We will arrange for you to have a very special map. One that distorts distances, doesn't quite show where things really are, that will actually provide
mis
information instead.”

“I understand. So whatever they want or whatever we're asked about, you want to know, so you can figure out what they might be up to,” I said.