Night Journey (5 page)

“Younger than I thought,” he said in English. “Much younger. Maybe that's no matter. Mustn't look a gift horse in the mouth, eh, Andrews?” His thin lips parted in an unsatisfactory smile. “See anything of the British Navy? Damned good job they didn't sink your old tub.”

“I've been explaining the position to Dr Mencken,” said Andrews softly. “He will meet Captain Bonini to-morrow morning. Smoke?”

“Not one of your damned poisonous weeds. Smell like something out of the Sargasso Sea.” He continued to assess me. “You have my sympathy, old man. Hope you'll finish the course. Big things may depend.”

“I'm a beginner at this work,” I said despondently. “Don't expect too much.” I felt their attitude was too light-hearted and casual and, indeed, callous. It was not how I understood conspiracy.

“The British Intelligence,” said Andrews, “always expects too much. That's how it gets results. Major Dwight has arrived from Rome on this job, by the way. He'll be in Milan during the conference and you'll be able to get in touch with him if things go wrong.”

The other man noticed the expression on my face. “ That's me, y'know. Dwight by birth; Berczik by adoption. Major in either event. Dragon Guards, to be truthful.” He was filling his pipe, a worn old briar, but stopped and coughed, a loose rustling cough. “I've news for you, Andrews. The name of the German scientist who's attending the conference. Dr von Riehl.”

“Von Riehl,” said Andrews. “He's been in Italy a fortnight already. Have you heard of him, Mencken?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “But I question where the ‘von' has come from. He was Professor of Chemistry at Bonn five or six years ago. Since——”

“Did you ever meet him?” Dwight asked sharply.

“No, no. But I know he was promoted by the Nazi Government to be one of their top scientific advisers. I did hear that he was among the chief advocates of biological and chemical warfare.”

Dwight smiled, if you can call it a smile when only skin and not flesh is involved. “A worthy representative of the Reich. He'll get the Iron Cross, no doubt.”

For some minutes they discussed the ways of Germans with bitterness and acidity. I wondered if they had ever heard of Goethe or Beethoven, Freud or Schweitzer or Einstein. I had a curious presentiment that Andrews would never like me, because of my Austrian blood. I am not a man given over quick antipathies, and this feeling surprised me.

“What's the man been doing in Italy for over two weeks?” Andrews said. “He brings a Fräulein to Garda, apparently for what people do go away with Fräuleins for, and then almost every day drives off with his secretaries: to Milan, to Turin, to Genoa, leaving the girl behind.”

Dwight said: “ Von Riehl is conferring with the various industrial and economic boys; he's been sent to get what information he can and report to his government on the exact condition of Italian war production, especially its most urgent needs in raw materials and ersatz products.”

“Ah … that makes sense.”

Dwight made a wet noise with his pipe and looked at me over the top of it. “ Things are shortly going to move in Africa, Dr Mencken. Italy has to act more vigorously than she has done so far, to justify her rating as a major partner. All Germany expects it. But war wastage will be high and Italy is cut off from her normal markets. Also things are not well with either her war machine or her supply system. Von Riehl has been sent to find out what's wrong. Next Tuesday, near the end of his stay, he's attending this conference of scientists under Professor Brayda. From what you say, it sounds as if that's really more his like of country than reporting on inefficiency and bottle-necks, but maybe he's a man of all-round ability.”

“He's that,” I said. “He is the breed of scientist who is much better at organising a department than doing original research. Where is the conference to be held?”

“At the big experimental laboratories attached to the Faroni works.”

“Oh, I know where that is.”

“What sort of a memory have you?” Andrews asked.

“Poor for most things. But good on my own subjects, I suppose.”

“You see, you'll have to play this as it comes. You may be allowed to take a few notes—I don't see why not—but it'll depend a lot on how well Bonini supports you. You'll be there after all as his secretary. Have you ever done any photography?”

“Afraid not.”

“Pity. We've a nice little job that looks just like a gold wrist watch. You pull your cuff back to see the time and
click
.…”

“No,” said Dwight. “That would be a non-starter in inexpert hands—and dam' dangerous. Let's be content with Dr Mencken's report. We don't want him to fall at the first jump.”

He began to cough again, and got up to change his position. He coughed till the veins stood cut on his narrow shiny forehead. Pulmonary oedema, most probably.

“Blast,” he said. “ Where was
I
? Oh, the camera——”

“Chlorine or phosgene?” I asked.

He stared at me. “Phosgene,” he said after a moment. “Thiépval, 1916. I'd forgotten you were a doctor chappie.”

“Not really. But I had a cousin in Vienna. He had got it fighting on the other side.…”

Andrews waved this irritably aside. “ Do you know where the Fondamenta Vittoria is, Mencken?”

“Not for certain. In this area?”

“Near the Arsenal. You'll find Captain Bonini at number five. Be there at eleven to-morrow. He'll be expecting you. Give in your name but don't state your business until he comes. Report back here about six to-morrow. In the meantime I'll have your passport. I'll get it visaed for entry into Switzerland.”

I put out the end of my cheroot. “ You expect me to return that way?”

Andrews took my passport and stared at it. “ Not
expect
. We'd like you to return the way you came. But Switzerland is the nearest neutral if anything goes wrong.”

Walking back to the hotel, I thought that I did not find either of my helpers congenial men. If only one of them had been like Colonel Brown. But charm is not essential for a secret agent; ruthlessness may be. In neither of these men, I thought, would scruples be a serious handicap.

All the same I wished they had been more secretive, more serious about it all. They might have been talking a trade; they seemed casual, careless. I hoped this was a misconception, that they would be careful with their own lives and specially careful with mine.

The Fondamenta Vittoria is, as its name suggests, a row of houses overlooking a canal. Its view must have been very pleasant on a sunny morning, but to-day there was heavy rain. I had come by gondola to save getting wet and the gondolier, having demanded four times the proper fare and received only double, made a play of complaint and annoyance. The servant who came to the door let me in and closed it again to shut out his guttural tenor.

Yes, Captain Bonini was in. What name? Would I be pleased to wait? She showed me into a handsome hall with a baroque marble staircase worthy of Longhens. I stood admiring this, and then turned nervously at the sound of slippered foorsteps, to see approaching a man almost as handsome in his own way as the staircase. The noble beauty of the young Italian is sometimes enough to take the breath away. This man was ten years beyond his best and was now putting on weight; in another five the flowering would be over; but he still impressed, with his glossy hair, pale olive skin, magnificent eyes. Of course none of this way any guide to his character: the Borgias probably looked the same.

“Captain Bonini?”

“You asked for me.”

“I was admiring the carving of the balustrade, sir. It is distinguished.”

“Early eighteenth century. After the style of the Trinita dei Monti. What do you want?”

So it seemed that he wished to hear my prepared story. “I approached you with diffidence, sir. We are related through my cousin Edda, who married your brother-in-law. I have lately come from Portugal where I was in the silk trade. I was to have joined the forces but yesterday I was rejected on medical grounds. It occurred to me that in your capacity on the naval staff you might—might hear of some clerical work that I could do.”

He felt in the pocket of his brightly stripped silk dressing-gown and fitted a cigarette into a long white holder. He did not offer me one. I wondered why the interview was in this public place and it occurred to me that he wanted to try to over himself in case of trouble. If he could bring witnesses to his first meeting …

“
What
relation are you to Edda? She has never mentioned you.”

“Her mother and mine are sisters. Her mother married a Rosselino and mine a Catania. My family still lives in the Via Montevecchio, Turin, where I was born.”

He lit the cigarette. “We have no room for the unfit in Italy. You had better have stayed in Portugal.”

So he was to have his little unpleasantness.

“I wanted to help,” I said humbly.

“No doubt, no doubt.… What can you do?”

“I can type and write shorthand. I can speak German. Also a little French. I have had some training in office methods.”

“So have many others. I'll keep your case in mind, Catania, but I can promise very little. Where are you staying?”

“At the Hotel San Moisé.”

“Very well. You will excuse me. I am busy now; I have important matters to attend to.” He walked to the bell and pushed it. Throughout the interview he had hardly looked at me; his manner was detached, cold; if It had been snore personally involved it would have been hostile.

The maid appeared. “ Show this gentleman out.”

“Thank you,” I said, “I shall hope to hear from you.”

“Don't rely on it. Take something else if you can get It.”

The interview was at an end. It did not seem quite to have turned out as arranged, but I was in his hands.

As I got to the door he said: “Stay,” and came padding across with his vigorous, sightly flat-footed walk. “Did you say you could speak German?”

“Yes, sir, I know it well.”

“To be able to interpret for me if necessary?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.”

“Oh, then I might be able to offer you a temporary post. I wonder. My own secretary has been taken ill and may be off two or three weeks. I haw important business to attend to in Milan and need someone I can trust. I will put the matter before the Admiralty and see if I am permitted to use you temporarily.”

I tried to change from hang-dog to eager dog. “That is most kind. Thank you. I shall look forward to working for you, sir.”

He stood with the holder firm between his strong white teeth. “We would have to get a security clearance. I don't know if it would be possible in the time, but come and see me to-morrow morning at eleven. I shall know then. But don't build on it. The decision will be out of my hands.”

The maid was holding the door open. “Thank you. I'm greatly indebted. Most obliged.”

He didn't reply but turned away in a whisk of bright silk dressing-gown as I went out into the rain.

Venice is not an unfriendly city even in bad weather; and I bought an inexpensive umbrella and spent the rest of the morning in company with many other umbrellas shop-gaging in the Merceria. I had lunch at a trattoria and then spent a pleasant half hour in St. Mark's Cathedral—though nothing inside it can compare with the old painted Byzaatine beanty of the exterior. I walked back to my hotel wondering what had happened to Bonini's own secretary. How did one conveniently arrange for someone to be ill, if that someone were not in the secret?

In the afternoon the rain stopped and I went another walk, fed the pigeons and at five-fifteen found myself an the Campiello di Giovanni.

Andrews had said about six, but this seemed near enough for an inezact appointment, so I climbed the dingy stairs, threading between three children playing on a lower flight, tapped on Andrews's door. There was no answer. He would be out.

I tapped a second time just to be sure, and instantly the door was open and Andrews stood there.

He bulked. He took most of the light somehow. There was not much room for anybody in the doorway but him. I resisted—and slightly resented—an inclination to step back.

“Well?”

“You told me to call round this afternoon.”

“Not at this time.”

“About six.”

“It's not yet nearly six.”

“I'm sorry,” I said stiffly. “I will come back.”

“Hell, no. Come in. It won't do to be up and down the stairs all day.”

He moved aside and I went in, swallowing offence. I was clearly in the wrong. “I'm sorry. Next time you want me at six don't say ‘about' six.”

He picked at his teeth. “ There'd better not
be
a next time. What have you to report?”

I told him.

“Good. What do you think of the animal?”

“Bonini? Handsome but dangerous. I don't trust him. He might any time try to save himself by turning King's Evidence.”

“Duce's Evidence, you mean. He would if he could. But all espionage is based on probabilities; certainties don't exist. How do I know that you are not a German Nazi at heart? How do you know that I am not paid by the Italians as well as by the British?”

I stared at him, half angry, half doubtful. He seemed to enjoy taunting me; yet logically my brain acknowledged that he was right.

“I think if you'll give me my instructions——”

The door on the left of the room opened and a young woman in a dressing-gown came in.

“What I'm surprised about——” she began in English, and then saw me. She looked at Andrews. Clearly I was adding to her surprise.

Andrews picked something out of his discoloured bottom teeth with a finger nail. “Come in, my dear. This is Robert Mencken, recently from Portugal; you've heard me speak of him. This is Jane Howard, an Australian with American connections.”