Echobeat (3 page)

Inside, Captain Sullivan stopped Duggan in the corridor with his hand out. ‘You got the money for the tickets?’

Duggan gave him one of the pound notes he had borrowed from his father and a ten-shilling note and two half-crowns. ‘You got a date for me?’

‘Yeah,’ Sullivan smirked. ‘Carmel’s friend Breda. You remember her? We met them in the Carlton after that Charlie Chan picture a few weeks ago.’

‘Yeah.’ Carmel was Sullivan’s girlfriend but Duggan wasn’t sure he could remember her friend Breda.

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ Sullivan said. ‘It’s not a real date. She doesn’t fancy you.’

‘Fine,’ Duggan laughed. The feeling was obviously mutual: she hadn’t made much of an impression on him either.

‘She wants you to know that. She’s only going with you because she wants to be there with Carmel and she’s not doing a line at the moment.’

‘Okay, I get the message.’

But Sullivan hadn’t finished yet. ‘Actually, she thinks you’re a bit stuck-up.’

‘She said that?’ Duggan tried harder to remember her. Not a great looker, more than a bit standoffish, judgemental. Or maybe he was assuming that now. He couldn’t really remember anything about her and would be hard put to recognise her in the street. They’d only met for a few minutes and he’d been hurrying away. ‘Give me back half the money,’ Duggan put his hand out. ‘She can pay for herself.’

Sullivan laughed and walked away.

Duggan sat down at his desk, closed his eyes and stretched his neck and joined his hands behind his head. It’d been a long day, another interminable train journey back from his parents’, a scramble to finish the report on German agents, which wasn’t what they wanted after all, and then the meeting with Ó Murchú.

‘Thanks for that note from the man in Dundalk,’ a voice said behind him.

Duggan opened his eyes and twisted around. Captain Liam Anderson was standing in the doorway, as if the room was out of bounds to him. Anderson was a few years older than Duggan, a red-haired Northerner. Duggan only knew him to see, had never had a real conversation with him. ‘You had no problems with him? With Murphy?’

‘No. The train was very late but he was still there.’

‘He’s a reliable man,’ Anderson nodded. ‘Very interesting info.’

‘Yeah?’ Duggan sounded surprised. ‘It all seemed a bit vague. Except for the list of damaged ships.’

‘He doesn’t exaggerate or speculate. Like a lot of people in this business.’

That’s true, Duggan thought, thinking back to Murphy’s refusal to go beyond what he had heard. ‘Vague stuff about the British troops. Americans in Derry.’

‘You lads in here only deal in hard facts?’

‘Fair point,’ Duggan conceded. ‘It sounded frustrating though.’

‘The important point is that these Americans were not in uniform.’

‘Under cover.’

Anderson nodded. ‘And the Brits have brought in another battalion. We’ve had corroboration from another source.’

‘Not rotating?’

‘No. Reinforcing.’

‘Jesus,’ Duggan said.

‘Don’t be too hard on the Jerries,’ Anderson pointed a finger at him. ‘We might be needing them yet.’

The day was dull and cold, a mass of threatening grey clouds pressing down on the city, dampening spirits. There was snow on the tops of the Dublin Mountains, melding them into the clouds, as Duggan cycled up Rathmines Road. The drone of a heavy aircraft grew louder and louder and passed almost overhead, hidden in the cloud, and faded away towards the mountains. A bomber, he thought, from the weight of its noise. Probably lost.

Timmy Monaghan opened the door himself. ‘Hardy day,’ he said. ‘You’re in time for the dinner.’

‘No, thanks,’ Duggan said. ‘Love to stay but I can’t.’

‘On duty?’ Timmy gave him a sideways look as he led him into his study. A fire blazed and the large table he used as a desk was littered with papers. He lowered his bulk into the armchair to the right of the fire, his back to the window, and Duggan sank into the other one. ‘So, this is an official visit?’

Duggan shook his head. ‘Not really. I just hoped you might be able to help me with something.’

‘Or else?’ Timmy gave him a hard stare.

‘Or else nothing,’ Duggan felt flustered, taken aback by Timmy’s
hostility. Gone was the avuncular, smiling, back-slapping host of Christmas Day. The usual Timmy, in fact. ‘It’s to do with work but …’

‘Ah, always happy to help you lads,’ Timmy said, changing his demeanour, and pulled himself up by the arms of the chair. ‘You’ll have another one of those cigars your father gave me.’

‘No, thanks.’ He’s just trying to knock me off my stride, Duggan thought, unsettle me. It might’ve worked in the past but not anymore. I’m up to his ways. ‘Too strong for me.’

Timmy took a cigar from the open box of Don Carlos Imperiales on the desk, sat back down and made a production out of lighting it. ‘So,’ he said through a cloud of smoke, ‘the penny has dropped, has it?’

‘Which penny?’

‘That our neighbours will be paying us an unwanted visit any day now.’ Timmy gave a crooked smile, liking his own metaphor. ‘Coming in the back door without as much as a by-your-leave.’

‘That’s not my area.’

‘It’ll be everyone’s area soon enough.’

‘It’s a complicated situation.’ Duggan shifted in his chair and lit a cigarette.

‘Nothing complicated about it. You saw Churchill’s speech. As plain a message as anyone could ask for. You don’t have to be in intelligence to read it.’

‘So why would they send such a plain message if they planned to invade?’ Duggan said, immediately regretting allowing himself to be dragged into a Timmy-style debate.

Timmy gave him a congratulatory nod, recognising a debating point. ‘To soften us up. Prepare the ground in America.’

‘The point is,’ Duggan tried to get the conversation back on his track, ‘that we don’t want to give them any excuse.’

‘When did the Brits ever need an excuse to fuck up Ireland? I
marked your cards for you months ago. But you didn’t want to know, for some reason.’

‘Any excuse,’ Duggan went on, avoiding the invitation to rehash old conversations, ‘that they could use in America. That might work in America. To justify their action.’

‘Like what?’ Timmy demanded with the air of someone confident that there was no answer to his demand.

‘Like German activities here.’

Timmy waved his cigar in the air, dismissing the idea as if it was as insubstantial as the trail of smoke left behind.

‘The more reasons they have, the more likely they are to invade,’ Duggan went on. ‘Especially if they can point to German plots.’

‘Hah. It didn’t work the last time,’ Timmy said, referring to the Easter Rising and British attempts to portray it as a German plot.

‘Doesn’t mean it won’t work this time. Especially with an American president who’s dying to get into the war on the British side.’

‘His party won’t let him. We’ve still got a lot of clout there.’

‘Not enough clout to make him sell us the weapons we want,’ Duggan shot back. ‘And need.’

Timmy conceded the point with a small nod and drew heavily on his cigar. ‘You know where you could’ve got the weapons you need. Offered to you on a plate but you wouldn’t take them.’

‘Your party leader turned down the Germans’ offer,’ Duggan reminded him. The government had rejected a German offer to supply the Irish army with British weapons captured in France.

‘On the advice of you lads,’ Timmy snorted. ‘Are you still working with that fellow McClure?’

Duggan nodded, knowing what was to come.

‘I warned you about him, too. A Prod. Father in the British army. Whose side do you think he’ll be on when they come over the border?’

‘On our side,’ Duggan said. This wasn’t going at all as he had planned. ‘Listen,’ he added, going straight for Timmy’s weak point, his desire to be involved in every political conspiracy. ‘We need your help. There is a very delicate situation at the moment.’

Timmy tried and failed to keep the flicker of curiosity from his face. Inside information was life’s blood to him.

‘I can’t go into details,’ Duggan went on, ‘I’d love to and I know that you’d appreciate just how dangerous the situation is. But I’m under orders not to. The fact is that there are things happening which will make a British invasion inevitable. And the Germans will come in on our side. And then the whole country will be a battleground like France was or Greece is now. And thousands and thousands of our people will be killed and the country, this city, laid waste. It’s that serious. It’s one thing wanting Germany to win the war so that we have the country reunited. I understand that totally. People are entitled to support whomever they want. But having the country turned into a battleground is another thing entirely. Everybody knows this war isn’t like any other. It’s all about killing civilians – women, children, everybody.’

Timmy studied him as if he was seeing him for the first time as an adult, not just his sister-in-law’s young fellow. Duggan returned the stare, hoping he hadn’t overplayed his hand: he hadn’t meant to end up appealing to Timmy’s better nature. It was doubtful if such a thing existed.

Timmy finally looked away to toss his cigar into the fire. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘Remember last summer,’ Duggan suppressed a sigh of relief, ‘you ran into a man called Robinson at a party in Herr Hempel’s house?’

Timmy gave him a sly eye. So he knows now that Robinson was really Hermann Goertz, Duggan thought. ‘Have you ever run into him again?’

‘Seemed a decent type,’ Timmy said, playing for time. ‘Should be left alone. Not doing us any harm.’

He does know, Duggan thought. Maybe more than I know. ‘I’m not trying to track him down. I just want to know if he’s been talking to Herr Hempel or his staff again.’

‘And why wouldn’t he talk to Herr Hempel or anyone he wanted to? It’s a free country.’

‘I’m not saying he couldn’t. I just want to know if he has.’

‘You’re not trying to catch him anymore,’ Timmy gave a satisfied nod. He’s heard the rumours too, Duggan thought. That Goertz’s ability to evade arrest was not an accident. That he was being allowed to remain at large for political reasons. As another conduit to Germany, should the need arise. ‘That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard in a long time.’

Duggan waited, hoping he was about to get what he wanted.

Timmy’s face was a study in concentration, whether searching his memory or running through different scenarios Duggan couldn’t tell. ‘I haven’t seen him since then,’ he said at last.

‘He wasn’t at any other receptions in the German legation?’ Duggan tried to hide his disappointment.

‘I haven’t put a foot inside Hempel’s house since then.’

‘What about the legation itself?’

Timmy shook his head.

‘Have you seen him at any other things?’

Timmy pursed his lips. ‘Somebody told me that they had met him at something. A few months ago.’ He thought for a moment. ‘At a meeting of the Irish Friends of Germany. In the Red Bank. You know the Red Bank?’

Duggan nodded. He had never been in the restaurant in D’Olier Street but he knew from reports that it was the regular meeting place for the Friends of Germany, a small group of fascist supporters.

‘Any of the German diplomats there too?’

‘I don’t know. Somebody mentioned that they’d run into a few people there, including Robinson. Didn’t know who he really was, of course. That’s why it stuck in my memory.’

‘When was that?

‘Not that long ago. Early November maybe. Around the time they celebrate the Munich beer hall stuff.’

‘Have you been to their meetings?’

‘Some of them lads are off the wall,’ Timmy avoided the question and waved at the pile of letters on the table. ‘They keep sending me invitations. They’re having something on New Year’s Eve.’

‘You going?’

‘Mona’s dragging me along to something else. But I might be able to look in for a few minutes. If you want me to.’

Duggan made a non-committal noise. He wanted information from Timmy but the last thing he wanted was to have Timmy insinuate himself into G2’s operations.

Duggan climbed the stairs to the Adelaide Agency, hoping he was timing his arrival right. It was almost lunchtime and he was banking on Gerda Meier’s boss going out to eat to allow them to talk without hindrance. At least she hadn’t gone out: he could hear a typewriter clacking as he approached the door and knocked.

She stopped typing as he came in and she said ‘good afternoon’ in a businesslike voice and put her finger to her lips.

He nodded and said, ‘I was wondering if you’ve got anything new on your list this week.’

‘I’m typing it now,’ she said. ‘There is something in Donnybrook that may suit you. Morehampton Road.’

She began to flick forward the pages of a notebook, taking her time over each page of shorthand squiggles. The door behind her opened and Montague came out, muffled against the cold with a scarf tucked into his overcoat as well as a hat. He glanced at Duggan and then glanced at him again and nodded to him; maybe he was a potential customer after all.

Gerda let the pages of her notebook fall closed after he left. ‘You can’t come here every week,’ she said when his footsteps had faded down the stairs.

‘I could meet you somewhere during your lunch break,’ Duggan nodded. ‘But it’s better if we’re not seen together.’

‘Come here at one thirty then. He won’t be back until one forty-five.’

‘Okay. So, how did it go?’

‘There were only three Germans there. A Luftwaffe crew who had to land when they ran out of fuel, Mrs Lynch said. She knew them well. One officer and two others. One of the others had an Irish girl with him and they were going to see a film. The officer reminded him to boo if there were any British newsreels, especially if they mentioned the RAF. The Irish woman said she would too.’

‘Did they talk about anything else interesting?’

‘No. Most of their talk in German was about the crewman’s girlfriend. Not nice things.’

Duggan was about to ask her what they said but stopped himself. He could imagine.

‘She didn’t speak German?’

Gerda shook her head. ‘Her boyfriend spoke some English. Not very good. When they left, the other two didn’t talk much. A little about their families and what they do every Christmas. Did.’

Nothing much there, Duggan thought. Maybe this was a waste of time.

‘Mrs Lynch told me there are usually more of them. She thought there might be something on somewhere else.’

‘Like what?’

‘She didn’t say.’

‘Do you know who the Irish woman was?’

‘Her name was Patricia. That’s all I know.’

‘How did you know one of them was an officer?’

She gave him a withering look. ‘I don’t need to see a uniform to know a Nazi,’ she snapped.

That wasn’t the question, he thought. And being an officer didn’t
mean he was a Nazi. Especially in the Luftwaffe. But he let it go. ‘Did Mrs Lynch know their names?’

‘She didn’t say.’

‘Did they talk to anyone else?’

She shook her head. ‘There was a man who tried to talk to them but they ignored him.’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs Lynch said he is an artist. From England.’

‘An Englishman?’

She nodded.

‘He’s a regular?’

‘She said he came last week the first time, just before Christmas. Asked her if he could hang some of his paintings on her wall. To sell them. She said no.’

‘Did she know his name?’

‘Glenn.’

‘Is that his Christian name or his surname?’

‘His family name. His first name is Roderick – Roddy.’

Duggan nodded. ‘And what happened when he tried to talk to the Germans?’

‘I couldn’t hear,’ she said. ‘He was by himself at a table beside the window. I noticed him because he seemed to be nervous. He was playing with his cup. Twisting it,’ she indicated with her two hands. ‘Looking around a lot, like he was expecting somebody. Then he went over to them and said something. They didn’t look pleased. Told him to go away.’

‘You heard them?’

‘No. But it was clear what they meant.’ She gave a dismissive wave in illustration.

‘Was he being abusive?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t near the table.’

‘He knew they were Germans?’

‘Oh yes,’ she nodded. ‘They don’t keep their voices down.’

‘He shouted at them?’

‘No. He tried to say something. But they pushed him away.’ She gave the dismissive wave again.

Duggan thought about that for a moment. Something to be filed away. Maybe. But very little real information overall. ‘Okay,’ he said, masking his disappointment with a cheerful smile. ‘Thank you very much for doing that. You’ll go again next Saturday?’

‘Yes.’ She reached under her desk and came up with a purse, took two halfpennies from it and held them out in the palm of her hand. ‘They left me a tip.’

‘That was all? A penny?’

She nodded. ‘You take them.’

‘No. You keep them. You earned them.’

‘I don’t want their money.’ She mocked a spit at the coins.

‘I thought—’

‘I changed my mind,’ she interrupted. ‘Here.’ She pushed her palm forward, making it an order. He took the coins. ‘They left their coffees too.’

‘Why?’

‘It tastes like piss.’

‘You sound like a Cork woman,’ Duggan smiled and she laughed.

On his way back to headquarters Duggan dropped the two coins into a tin cup held out by a heavily shawled woman sitting at the base of the Pillar. He typed out a brief summary of what Gerda had told him and went to McClure’s office to leave a copy on his desk. McClure was standing by the window, staring out at nothing, smoking a thoughtful cigarette.

‘Well?’ he turned from the window, breaking his reverie.

Duggan gave him a synopsis of what he had written.

‘What about the other matter?’ McClure asked.

‘Nothing more. I’ve gone through the reports of the Friends of Germany meetings for the last few months. Back to June. No mention of Robinson. Or any of Goertz’s other names. Or anybody that might’ve been him.’

‘You went through the Special Branch reports too?’

Duggan nodded. The Branch carried out surveillance outside the meeting while G2 had an informant who was a member of the organisation. Duggan didn’t know who he was and didn’t ask but had read his reports. They assumed the Branch also had its own man or woman among the Friends but that information was not shared with them.

‘I’d be surprised if Goertz ever goes near them,’ McClure said. ‘Can’t see that he’d have anything to gain. They’re of no significance militarily or politically.’

‘Some of them expect to get positions of power if Germany wins the war.’

McClure stubbed out his cigarette and went behind his desk and slumped into his chair. ‘Herr Thomsen’s visit to Dundalk was of no use to us either. He went to visit a German woman who’s been married there for nearly twenty years.’

‘Isn’t that unusual? That he’d go all the way to see her? Instead of her coming to the legation, I mean.’

‘Not in the circumstances,’ McClure sighed. ‘He went to tell her that her sister was killed in a bombing raid on Hamburg.’ He paused. ‘We’ve got nothing more for Ó Murchú.’

‘The Branch have nothing on IRA men meeting the Germans?’

McClure shook his head. ‘Not that they’re sharing with us. Their priorities are different anyway.’

‘Can we pick up Goertz?’ Duggan asked.

McClure leaned back in his chair and fixed him with an inquisitive look.

‘I mean,’ Duggan continued, fearing that he was going out on a limb. While McClure never treated him as an underling and encouraged him to speak his mind, he was moving into unexplored waters here. ‘There are rumours. That Goertz is being allowed to remain free. That it’s no accident that he’s always one step ahead of us.’

‘Tell me more,’ McClure ordered.

‘Just that,’ Duggan said. ‘That that’s why he keeps giving us the slip. Why he’s never in the place that’s raided. Has always just left.’

‘Someone’s tipping him off.’

Duggan nodded, relaxing a little. ‘More than that. That the powers that be want him on the loose. As an unofficial channel to the Abwehr, the Wehrmacht. In case we need it.’

‘If the British invade?’

‘Yes.’

McClure put his hands behind his head and stayed silent for a few moments. ‘How widespread are these rumours?’

Duggan shrugged. ‘I’ve heard it hinted at a few times. Nobody saying it directly.’

‘Around here?’

Duggan nodded.

‘And outside?’

‘I don’t know,’ Duggan said, restraining himself from pointing out that he spent little time outside the army or even G2.

‘Your uncle?’

‘I think so.’

‘Meaning? What did he say?’

Duggan searched his memory for what Timmy had said. ‘Nothing directly,’ he said. Typical Timmy. As slippery as an eel. Everything was nods and winks. ‘But the idea didn’t seem to be a surprise to him.’

‘So, it’s in the political system too.’ McClure straightened up behind the desk and lit himself another cigarette. ‘It could work,’ he said after a moment.

Duggan waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. Instead he picked up the phone and asked for the Department of External Affairs. McClure nodded to dismiss him while he waited to be put through.

Duggan was almost at the door when McClure said, ‘By the way, the colonel says it’s not true. We’re not just going through the motions looking for Goertz.’

Duggan was hardly back in his office when McClure called and told him they were going to External Affairs. A gentle flurry of small snowflakes settled on the windscreen as he drove, turning into drops of water so quickly that they seemed like an illusion. Government Buildings was more alive this time, lights everywhere, sounds of typing behind closed doors, the corridors feeling used. Ó Murchú, however, looked like he hadn’t moved since they had seen him last, still at the edge of his pool of light. He didn’t bother with the perfunctory handshake this time.

‘The Secretary is meeting the Germans in a couple of hours,’ he said as they sat down. ‘Fortunately, it’s the German Minister himself, Herr Hempel. A much more civilised man to deal with. However, he’s going to be looking for the details they requested. When they can fly their men into Foynes. So …’ He held out a hand, palm up, passing an imaginary baton to McClure.

‘As I said on the phone,’ McClure accepted the baton, ‘I believe that Hermann Goertz could be used as a counterweight to their demands.’

Ó Murchú nodded. ‘Let’s go through it. See where it takes us. You are sure, for a start, that this man Goertz is a spy?’

‘Without doubt. He served a sentence for spying in England during the 1930s. We’ve found irrefutable evidence here of his activities.’

‘And that he has been in contact with the German legation?’

‘Yes,’ Duggan said. ‘We know he attended their victory celebrations last June in Herr Hempel’s own house. Shortly after he arrived here.’

‘And since then?’

‘We don’t know. But it would seem probable.’

‘So we are bluffing if we complain about him?’

‘To an extent, sir,’ McClure said. ‘Herr Hempel must know that Goertz was in his house, even if he didn’t meet him himself. Which is unlikely. And he must know of their other contacts with him. So, he can’t deny any knowledge of him. And he can’t know what else we know.’

‘Okay,’ Ó Murchú nodded to himself. ‘Where do we go from there?’

‘Some people appear to believe that we’ve deliberately allowed Goertz to remain free. We can presume the German legation has heard those rumours and may believe that too. So we could suggest to Herr Hempel that we can no longer tolerate Goertz’s activities. He’s compromising our neutrality. And interfering in our internal affairs by fomenting subversion through the IRA.’

‘So we must arrest him. As we can do at a moment’s notice?’

McClure nodded.

‘Really? We know where he is?’

‘No, sir. But we can make an all-out effort to find him.’

‘Another bluff.’

McClure conceded the point with a slight nod.

‘What if they call our bluff?’

‘It’s unlikely. We make it clear that we must arrest Goertz and put him on trial. Which means his contacts with the legation and with the IRA will be made public. Cause a major diplomatic problem. Even justify abandoning neutrality. On the side of the Allies. Or give the British an excuse—’

A look of horror crossed Ó Murchú’s face and he raised his hand for McClure to stop. ‘Whoa,’ he said. ‘Hold your horses.’ He steepled his hands on the desk and leaned his chin on them and ignored McClure and Duggan for what seemed an age. Then he sat back and placed his left hand, palm down, on the desk. ‘Their request to strengthen the legation,’ he said. He put his right hand, palm down, on the desk, leaving a wide gap between his two hands. ‘Our concerns about Dr Goertz’s activities,’ he nodded, looking from one hand to the other. ‘Side by side on the table. No linkage. And,’ he looked up at McClure, ‘no threats.’

‘No, sir,’ McClure accepted the reprimand.

‘Thank you gentlemen,’ Ó Murchú dismissed them. They stood up to leave but Ó Murchú changed his mind. ‘It may help you to know how sensitive this matter is,’ he said. ‘They have now spoken of serious consequences if we don’t make the arrangements they require.’

They waited. ‘Serious consequences?’ McClure prompted.

‘They have hinted at breaking diplomatic relations,’ Ó Murchú paused to let the implications sink in. ‘It is possible, but not likely, that they are trying to engineer such a breach. Which would be very serious and probably be a prelude to military action. They insist they want us to remain neutral but who knows what their real plans are.’

McClure and Duggan remained halfway to the door. Ó Murchú ran a hand down over his face, looking tired and dropping his diplomatic demeanour. ‘I don’t need to remind you these are dangerous times. And of your obligations under the Official Secrets Act.’

‘No, sir,’ McClure said. ‘Of course not.’

‘I’m telling you this information so you understand the importance of what’s happening. Keep it to yourselves as far as possible.’ He switched back to his formal self. ‘Keep me informed of any developments.’