The Secret Generations (11 page)

Steinhauer worked with Ulhurt, going over maps and charts with him, making the man learn the geography of Great
Britain and, in particular, the layout of the major naval dockyards. He also insisted that Ulhurt study drawings of all capital ships belonging to the Royal Navy, the procedures at harbours and dry docks, the way the Navy worked aboard ship, and the ritual traditions of that Service.

They also went through many
everyday things, such as travelling on English trains and buses, shopping, living in English hotels. Soon, Steinhauer knew, the time would come for his sailor to make some kind of familiarization visit to England. The man had, of course, been to most of the great ports of that country, but he had never had the opportunity to spend time there.

With this in mind, Steinhauer began to seek out ways and means of getting Ulhurt into England. He spent one evening with the captain of the merchant ship Mowe, and to his delight discovered that not only could he place him in England for the best part of a month, a little later in the year, but also
– on the same trip – give him a week in Ireland.

Steinhauer had faith in Ireland as a very useful proving ground for spies, as the rebellious elements in that country
’s society had long been approaching Germany for arms and ammunition to aid their cause.

*

Giles Railton heard the story of James’ escapade some ten days later while lunching with John at the Travellers Club.

‘
He’s right, John,’ he chuckled, the usually cold eyes creased around the edges. For some reason which John could not fathom, Uncle Giles found the whole episode amusing. ‘He’s absolutely right. Aeroplanes are going to be of great military importance, though I wish your boy could come over and din that into the heads of people like Douglas Haig. Anyway, you didn’t ask me to lunch merely to tell me about young James, did you?’ Giles already knew why John had sent the invitation on House of Commons paper, and by the hand of a special messenger.

John looked about them as though he did not wish to be overheard,
‘No,’ softly. ‘No, there are other matters. Uncle Giles, I always knew you were involved in secret work, but I did not realize how deeply.’

Giles shrugged.
‘What d’you mean, deeply?’

John then told him his own news. Two days before, he had been summoned to Downing Street to a private meeting with the Prime Minister.

Asquith did not beat about the bush. ‘Railton, though I announced my Cabinet immediately after the election, I wish to make an addition. I want you in the Cabinet…’ holding up his hand, as John opened his mouth to offer a word of thanks. ‘I need you –
you
in particular – in the Cabinet for a special reason.’

When John gave him a puzzled look, Asquith enigmatically said,
‘The Committee of Imperial Defence.’

‘
Oh?’

‘
Oh, indeed,’ the Prime Minister nodded. ‘For some time your uncle, Giles Railton, has been actively concerned in one aspect of the Committee’s work. As either myself, or some member of the Cabinet, is required to sit on that Committee, I want you to do it on a full time basis. What is more important, I shall require you to be a member of the special sub-committee, chaired by your uncle. The General Staff has nominated Douglas Haig – bright enough fellow, but a grievous thorn in Giles Railton’s side. My desire is to outflank him – with Railtons if need be,’ the Prime Minister gave a dry laugh.

When he took the news to Sara, John had other things to tell her as well
– that Charles’ wife, Mildred, was pregnant, and Charles had therefore decided that they would not require the Cheyne Walk house for at least a year. ‘So, you have no great upheaval there as yet.’ He put his arms around his young wife, watching the pleasure grow in her face. Secretly, she was delighted. The danger had passed. David Lloyd George had kept his promise.

Now John had sought out Giles, before the new post was made public, to reveal that they would be working together.

‘This intelligence business, how important is it?’ he asked of his uncle.

Always economical with words, Giles attempted to imbue John with his own passion.

As he came to the end of his monologue he pensively said that he had dined with his neighbour, Winston Churchill, on the previous evening.

‘
And how was he?’ John appeared preoccupied, as though Giles’ talk of intelligence matters had taken his mind elsewhere.

‘
Winston? In a black mood. He fears for Europe – in fact for all mankind.’

‘
Prophecies of doom? Winston has a tendency to look on the worst side at times.’

‘
He believes we are on the brink of disaster.’

‘
What nonsense.’

Giles raised an eyebrow,
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. He can be persuasive. Winston says that the King, the Kaiser, the Czar, not to mention the President of France, and other heads of state and royal families – and their governments – are all fiddling while Europe is about to become a tinder box.’

‘
Too much brandy. Still worried about the Balkans, is he?’

‘
Not just the Balkans,’ Giles did not smile. ‘He is convincing about the great gap between the aristocracy of Europe, the middle classes, and the real poor; the high rate at which countries are arming themselves; the instability of currency; the smell of revolution. He believes we’re heading for some great and terrible conflagration.’

‘
Oh, rubbish. There’s plenty of wealth; trade is good – Oh, the Balkans have their share of trouble-makers – so has Russia. But the dockyards of Germany and Great Britain haven’t been as busy for years, plenty of work, except for the workshy. Anyway, Uncle Giles, it won’t be our concern if there’s trouble.’ John Railton smiled, a little patronizingly, Giles thought.

‘
I wonder,’ said Giles, ‘how many of the good people of Rome were making remarks like that just before the crumbling of their Empire?’

*

On the same day that John and Giles Railton met for lunch at the Travellers, a visitor arrived, unannounced, at the Manor. Dick Farthing came mainly to reassure James that Maurice Farman himself was defraying the cost of the crashed Farman III. There were no hard feelings, but it was felt that James should spend a little more time learning the rudiments of flying in a more simple machine. ‘You really had me fooled, James,’ Dick’s large brown eyes twinkled with humour, one cocking into a wink as the corner of his mouth lifted in his customary smile.

‘
Well,’ James still bore some of the bruises and marks of the crash, ‘I’ll not fool you here. Stay, at least for one night, so we can talk. I also want you to meet my wicked stepmother, she’s a real corker.’

*

After the lunch with his nephew, Giles went straight back to Eccleston Square, and up to the Hide. He had a great deal on his mind, and he set out maps and lead soldiers, ready to fight the Battle of Blenheim, in which Winston Churchill’s ancestor had so well acquitted himself.

While he prepared the opposing forces, he pondered deeply on the new involvement of John Railton in secret affairs. John was a sound man for the usual hurly-burly of politics, but Giles considered he might be squeamish when initiated into the darker arts of secret life.

As he moved the troops round the field, he thought of the other Railtons now involved – most of all he pondered on his daughter, Marie Grenot, and the news that was reaching him from his agent, Monique. Marie could be the key to success in dealing with the stubborn British General Staff. He hoped this would prove to be so – and soon.

Chapter Seven

There was order and peace in England, during that winter of 1910. Yet it was not so in other European countries. Churchill
’s comments to Giles Railton were far from unfounded. Below the placid, ordered surface of life, there was ferment, like the first sure signs of the onset of a giant earthquake.

During February of that y
ear, the German Military Attaché in Paris, and his assistant – Klaus von Hirsch – had a visitor.

The current arrival from the German capital was a military man
– a captain by the name of Walter Nicolai who was greeted with polite protocol, given a private audience with the Ambassador, Baron Wilhelm von Schoen, followed by a official luncheon. He was then left to the mercies of his military counterparts.

So it happened that, early in the evening following his arrival in Paris, Nicolai found himself sitting, over a bottle of sch
napps, with the Military Attaché and his assistant.

‘
You’ve landed yourself a pleasant duty, then, Walter,’ the Attaché lifted his glass. ‘Travel a little. A tour of our foreign embassies, so? Sounds like a holiday.’

‘
It is not a holiday. It
is
a waste of time,’ Walter Nicolai tossed back his schnapps. ‘How do
you
like bowing and scraping with foreign diplomats? Would you not rather be getting on with soldier’s work?’

‘
Ah, you soon get used to the bowing and scraping,’ von Hirsch laughed. ‘I assure you there are many compensations. Here, whatever is at our disposal is yours, and there is plenty of fun in the City of Lights. Wine, women and song. You will not find it such a free and easy life in London. You said London was your next call of duty, yes?’

Captain Nicolai gave an exaggerated sigh,
‘Yes, all those tilted noses and frigid women.’

‘
And the greasy food,’ von Hirsch wrinkled his nose.

The Military Attaché
lifted an eyebrow, glancing towards Nicolai. ‘Klaus is enamoured of a most attractive Englishwoman, here, in Paris.’

‘
And, unfortunately, she is married to a Frenchman,’ von Hirsch reminded him.

The Military Attaché
chuckled, then turned to Captain Nicolai, ‘But, Walter, tell us – why this good-will tour around the embassies? Rome last week, now Paris, then London.’

‘
A fool’s errand. Oh, work, work.’ The Captain held out his glass for more schnapps. ‘I’m a soldier, not a pen-pusher. However… he hesitated, ‘Well, now I’m here, I suppose it’s best done with. Let’s get the unpleasant talking over.’

‘
You bring unpleasantness from Berlin?’ The Military Attaché sat bolt upright.

Nicolai waved a hand,
‘Oh, not really. Not for you. Just the stupidity of generals – the High Command – who are of the opinion that, if we must have an intelligence network, that organization will be solely military: run by the Army for the Army.
Military
Intelligence. No civilians…’

‘
Except as agents, of course.’

The Attaché
intended the remark to be sarcastic, but Nicolai dismissed it as obvious. ‘It seems we have quite a number of agents already. England and France are well covered.’ He paused, as though the subject wearied him. ‘They are talking about making me Head of Military Intelligence – hence the Embassy visits. I am supposed to instruct you…’

‘
Instruct
us
?’ The Military Attaché’s voice was heavy with warning.

Nicolai made a gesture of apology.
‘I’m not yet appointed as head of this new Military Intelligence. But I am supposed to instruct you – ask you – to relay possible names back to Berlin: to the High Command.’

‘
Possible traitors? Agents?’

‘
So it would seem.’

‘
That is neither a soldier’s job, nor the duty of a Military Attaché.’

‘
I wonder?’ Nicolai left the question mark hanging in the air. ‘Look, I’ve told you. There’s an end.’

‘
Why all this?’ von Hirsch asked. ‘In time of war I could understand. But all is calm. Who would want intelligence at a time when peace is on everyone’s lips?’

The Military Attaché
grunted again. ‘It is when people begin to tell you war is impossible that you should look to your sword, Klaus.’

‘
Yes.’ All lightness had disappeared from Captain Walter Nicolai’s voice now. ‘Expansion, but not war, one hopes. However, there is still the question of that beloved old man in Austria…’

‘
Franz-Joseph?’

‘
Old, frail, sick, never leaves his own four walls. Soon Franz-Joseph will die, and who’ll take his place?’

‘
Who indeed?’ the Attaché agreed. ‘Franz Ferdinand, the Archduke?’ he gave a nervous laugh. ‘Yes, the Arch-dupe. I’ve yet to meet a diplomat or politician who likes him. But these things are no cause for war.’

Klaus von Hirsch, already slightly tipsy, raised his glass.
‘We shall have a century of peace.’

‘
Let us hope so,’ Nicolai had become his benign self again.

They drank to peace, and the M
ilitary Attaché said that it was time to go out and sample the delights of Paris. As they left the room, Nicolai put a hand on von Hirsch’s shoulder. ‘About this English lady of yours…?’ he began.

*

Monique had rented a small apartment almost directly across the street from where the Grenots lived, near the Place de L’Opera.

From her window, or even strolling nearby, she could log the comings and goings at the elegant building in which the Grenots occupied the stylish second two floors.

She posed as a young, middle-class widow, who wished to live quietly (‘And without a hint of scandal,’ – so the concierge), and was able to pass the days keeping an eye on the movements of the Grenots and their friends.

Monique certainly had suspicions regarding Madame Grenot
’s fidelity. Madame Grenot entertained – during the day, usually in the afternoon, and always at home. Her callers were men; and one in particular interested Monique – a fine-looking Prussian officer, tall, fit and with the stride and confidence of an athlete – the Assistant to the Military Attaché. He always arrived at three in the afternoon, each Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Wickedly, Monique wondered what kind of athleticism went on inside the Grenots’ apartment on those three weekday afternoons.

She was not to know that
– until now – Marie Grenot kept young Klaus von Hirsch very much under control.

‘
But why can’t we, Marie?’ The question had been asked many times. Now Klaus held her close, attempting to run a hand across her buttocks.

Marie Grenot twisted from h
im, walking to the sofa and sitting. She was surprisingly neat for a woman so long in the body, yet all her movements were sparse, economical. There was no sound to her footfall, no exaggeration when she poured tea. Her husband could verify that when she made love, his tall striking wife became feather light, as though by some strange magic she was able to melt into her partner’s body. Now, there was no mockery in her eyes as she said, ‘You stay over there, Klaus. Last week it went too far.’ Then, more kindly, ‘Give me time, my dear. You know what I’m like…’

Klaus grunted
– a schoolboy deprived of his favourite game.

‘
Oh, come along. Yes, Klaus, of course I wish to go to bed with you; but I know I would be plagued by remorse.’ She paused. ‘Do you think it possible for a woman to love two men at the same time?’

‘
A man can love two women, so I see no problem.’ Klaus knew this to be the right answer; just as he knew how much he desired her. He rose, as if to cross to the sofa.

‘
No, Marie held up a warning hand. ‘No, Klaus. In a moment. I promise. Truly. Let’s talk. Maybe we can find somewhere on Thursday. Somewhere to be alone together…’

‘
I cannot see you on Thursday.’

‘
Friday then. Why can’t you see me on Thursday? You always come here on Thursdays.’

Klaus said they had this important visitor at the Embassy. On Thursday he was detailed to accompany him to Calais.
‘He’s going on to London.’

‘
Lucky man. Imperial German Army, I suppose?’

Klaus nodded,
‘You must tell nobody, but this man is to be the new chief of Military Intelligence.’

‘
Intelligence? Spies?’ As though thrilled by the glamour.

Klaus spread his fingers, pushing the palms downwards, as if telling her to lower her voice.
‘It’s not yet official, but there’s little doubt. They wish to get rid of any civilian influence, so Captain Nicolai has the appointment.’

‘
Goodness, how exciting. It must be important work.’

‘
In wartime, yes. But in this peaceful world…’

She laughed
– lightly, like a small glass bell, ‘In this peaceful world, Klaus, you have a war plan. You told me so yourself.’

‘
All countries have war plans. The High Command has an old one. Old von Schlieffen’s plan. But there will be no wars – it was decided last night, his head jerked back as he laughed, though Marie had the impression that there was little humour in him.

‘
Who decided?’

‘
The Military Attaché, Captain Nicolai, and myself. We decided over much schnapps and champagne. So, my dear, there will be no war. Certainly not with England, because your King Edward’s kinsmen rule most of Europe. Our countries are too close. No war. No great plan, with the Imperial Army marching through Belgium, and catching France by surprise.’

‘
Belgium is neutral.’ Marie Grenot felt her stomach turn over, and the nape of her neck go cold.

‘
All’s fair in war – and love,’ he stood, then crouched, teasing. ‘I shall make an encircling movement,’ approaching her so that she gave her glass bell laugh, called him a fool, and then surrendered to his kisses.

Before Klaus left, he extracted a promise from Marie. On Friday they would meet at a discreet
‘hotel of convenience’, where, he assured her, they would be safe from prying eyes.

Between Klaus
’ leaving, and her husband’s return, Marie wrote a private letter to her father. There was no reason to believe that any letters would be intercepted, so she wrote in plain language telling him, first, of Captain Nicolai’s arrival in England, and his proposed new duties for the Imperial Army; then of the long-suspected element within the Schlieffen War Plan – the attack on France through neutral Belgium.

Across the street, in her little apartment, Monique logged Klaus
’ entrance and exit. An hour later she noted the exit of a maid carrying a letter. Later that evening she also sat down and wrote to Giles Railton. Her letter, however, was penned in careful cipher.

She did this twice weekly; and the weeks flew past. Soon it would be spring.

Two days later, Giles received both letters and thought how best to use the information. He spent many hours, hunched over his map board, moving small soldiers and contemplating Napoleon’s strategy at Austerlitz, as he allowed his mind to run free with the secrets it contained. His beloved daughter, Marie, and his agent, Monique, were not the only people from whom he had recently received word. At last his daughter-in-law, Bridget, seemed to have taken the bait and sent him a report from Ireland. Giles revelled in the intrigue, but his sixth sense told him of danger ahead. The games he played, with maps and soldiers, in the Hide, were in his other life translated into real games which meddled with the politics of nations. Some sailed near to the wind of self-deception, and there were times, like now, when he smelled catastrophe in the air.

*

On instructions from his new military masters, Gustav Steinhauer left Berlin to visit the main agents already active in England. His duty was to indicate to them that they should be prepared to accept orders from another source as well as himself.

He went to Scotland, spending a few days along the south coast naval bases. Then he returned to London, to visit the barber in the Caledonian Road, whose shop was the hub of their work in England
– the ‘Post Office’ through which all instructions were routed.

Steinhauer was then able to lose a few days. His masters would never know it, for he had covered his tracks well; and the Embassy in London were kept in the dark about his real date of arrival and departure.

He arranged certain meetings, saw to the possibility of caching items which his man would need – explosives, detonators and the like – then he crossed to Ireland where he met a representative of the Fenians in a Dublin café.

The man was useful, a cu
t-out between the Fenian leadership and the rank and file followers, and therefore most pliable. Steinhauer fed him pleasant ideas, such as the definite probability of arms being supplied through interested dealers in Germany. But, as ever, there was a price to be paid – assistance in covert action.