Traitors' Gate (56 page)

‘
Kolossal
!’ cried the Moldavian, almost quivering with excitement. ‘Now we have really got somewhere. And the objective?’

Gregory shook his head. ‘I am still stymied on that.’

‘But the one loses nine-tenths of its value without the other.’

‘I know. But I can’t help it. I’ll get it for you within the next twenty-four hours. And listen! I’ve got for you the British Order of Battle.’

‘You have!’

‘Yes.’ Gregory produced from his pocket a list of the Divisions and Brigade Groups that were taking part in the operation. He had compiled it without aid, simply by using his knowledge obtained in the War Room of the formations which had been moved to ports. He had not dared to fake it, as he felt sure that any Military Attaché would already have a shrewd idea of the best trained, fully equipped formations available, and would probably have had his civilian informants identify by their arm flashes those which during the past fortnight had moved up to the North.

After a glance down the list, Kasdar exclaimed, ‘This is good! You have done well, my friend! But not well enough. The objective is all important. When can you let me have it?’

‘Tomorrow, I hope. Anyhow by Wednesday. And that is the day for which I have planned Sabine’s escape. I mean that night. May I count on you to send a telegram giving the word to your tug Captain on the afternoon of Wednesday the 4th?’

‘Providing that you have by then given me the objective.’

‘I understand that; but we cannot afford to postpone our preparations. You are in a position to refuse your aid at any moment, should I fail you. But the preparations must be made. On Wednesday, after lunch, at half-past two, I wish you to be at the blitzed entrance to St. Thomas’s Hospital, on the south side of Westminster Bridge. I will be waiting for you there. By then, if I haven’t given it you before, I’ll be able to tell you the objective. But, Wednesday we must definitely meet in order to reconnoitre the approach by water to the Tower, and lower
down the river; so that you can decide where you will have your car waiting to pick Sabine up that night.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Kasdar agreed. ‘All right then. Wednesday, two-thirty, outside the hospital, on the far side of the bridge.’

Having got rid of the Moldavian, Gregory went along by Underground to the Tower, arriving there about half-past nine. He went straight to the Governor’s Office to get the countersign, then again gave the two wardresses a glass of port and watched the Ceremony of the Keys with them. Soon after ten he was locked in with Sabine.

He talked to her until a quarter to twelve; then Mrs. Sutton came to the door to warn him that it was time for him to leave. He said he must have another five minutes, and when he came out he was cursing audibly at having had to terminate prematurely a most promising session of his interrogation. It was only by running for it through the dark rain-misted night that he managed to get to the wicket gate in time to save himself from being locked in.

First thing on Tuesday morning, having decided that it would be as well to let Colonel ‘Himmler’ know how the interrogation was going, he called at the M.I.5 office. That bustling and cheerful officer listened to his report with interest, then said:

‘It will take a few days to arrange for her trial, but I see no reason now why it shouldn’t be started next week.’

Gregory nodded. ‘After another two long late sessions I reckon I’ll have sucked her dry; so I should be able to make my final report to your little Major friend on Thursday. In any case I’ll be through well before the weekend.’

Having thus ensured against any sudden interference with his plans by M.I.5 during the next forty-eight hours, he walked across the Park to his office. There he learned that the El Alamein battle was still raging furiously. The Germans claimed that Rommel was winning the tank battle but the signals from General Alexander contradicted that, and in the southern sector our infantry had made an important advance, taking many prisoners.

Everyone realised that a great deal hung on the outcome of the battle, but both victories and defeats in the Western Desert were no new thing; so, from the Chiefs of Staff down to
the most junior Major, the whole personnel of the Fortress Basement had their thoughts on the Atlantic.

As super security the position of the Convoys was not even marked up on the map in the War Room; it was known only that they had taken a wide sweep out into the ocean so as to be outside the range of the Fockewulf aircraft that the Germans used to spot for their U-boat packs. But it was also known that a concentration of no less than forty U-boats was lying off the Canary Islands; and the Convoys had to go through the Straits of Gibraltar. Still worse, for some reason that even the sailors seemed unable to explain, they would have to spend no less than forty-eight hours milling round outside the Straits while they were regrouped into new formations for the assault. From the present position of the U-boats it looked as if the Dakar cover story had got through; but when those hundreds of ships had to become more or less stationary, circling round one another for two days and nights at no great distance from the Straits, it seemed almost impossible for them to remain undiscovered, and that the U-boats would not come racing north to deal death and destruction among them.

There was, too, another cause for acute anxiety. The original British plan had been to throw everything into the Mediterranean, for three landings at Oran, Algiers and Philippeville, but the Americans had baulked at the idea, fearing that if the Germans came down through Spain the whole expedition might be cut off and bottled up in North Africa.

To ensure keeping open a supply line to it they had pressed for the major landing to be made at Casablanca, on the Atlantic coast, and only a minor one at Oran. The British had argued stubbornly for landings at Algiers and Philippeville, because the prime object of the operation was to get into Tunisia as rapidly as possible and join up with the Eighth Army advancing from the East; and Philippeville was five hundred miles nearer to the Tunisian border than Oran. But the best that could be got was a reluctant consent by the Americans to a landing at Algiers, and they also continued to insist on one at Casablanca.

The decision to abandon the Philippeville landing was to prove an error of the first magnitude, as it resulted in the
Germans being able to get strong forces into Tunisia before the Allies could do so, and a most costly campaign of many months’ duration before the enemy were finally thrown out. But the matter which was causing such anxiety at the moment was the Casablanca landing. Being on the Atlantic coast the seas on its beaches were much rougher. On average there was only one really calm day per month, and on four out of every five the giant rollers were so high that they would make it impossible for the assault craft of the separate expedition, which was on its way over direct from the United States, to be beached without being battered to pieces.

Down in the Fortress Basement there was now nothing that anyone could do but await results, and there were still five days to go. The strain was almost unbearable, and like his colleagues Gregory could not help being affected by it; so he was glad when his tour of duty was up and he could concentrate solely on his own intensely harrowing problems.

That night he again reached the Tower at nine-thirty, secured the countersign from the Governor’s Office, stood the two wardresses a glass of port, and went in to see Sabine. She had frequently begged him to tell her how he was progressing with his plans for her escape, but he had refused to do so from fear that as the time drew near she might arouse the suspicions of the wardresses by showing signs of excitement. He therefore followed what had become his established routine of questioning her about leading Nazi personalities.

At ten to twelve Mrs. Wright unlocked the door to tell him that his time was up. As on the previous night he said impatiently that he must have a few more minutes. At five to twelve she came in again; so muttering angrily he began to get his papers together, but he appeared to have difficulty with the lock of his attaché case and it was close on midnight when he hurried out.

He ran the last hundred yards to the wicket entrance but, as he had planned, by the time he reached it the gate was closed. He saw the officer of the guard, but the regulations were positive. No exception could be made for him and he must remain within the precincts of the Tower for the night.

Retracing his steps to St. Thomas’s Tower he rang the front door bell and with a crestfallen expression explained to Mrs. Wright what had happened. Then he put a brighter face on
the matter and said philosophically:

‘Anyhow, it will enable me to resume my interrogation for a while; and I can sleep on the sofa in the room that the prisoner occupies in the daytime.’

Sabine had been taken up to her bedroom, but she had not yet undressed and was brought down again. For about three-quarters of an hour he put further questions to her, then he rang for Mrs. Wright. After Sabine had been taken away, the yawning wardress helped him to make up a shake-down with cushions, newspapers, a rug and his great-coat on top of them; but when she had left him he got up.

Going to one of the mullion windows that had not been boarded over, he drew aside a corner of the curtain and peered out through its small diamond panes, hoping to find out how frequently the sentries left their boxes to walk their beats. The blackout, which so often in the war had proved his best friend, would, he knew, once again do so in his attempt to get Sabine away; but now it defeated him. Not a glimmer of light broke the sombre pattern of black outside, and gusty rain further reduced visibility. With difficulty he made out the line of the embankment, but he could only guess at the positions of the cannon along it, and nearer in there seemed little chance of picking up from above a moving figure against the dense blackness of the foreground.

After straining his eyes for twenty minutes he gave it up, and praying that he would be favoured the following night with similar conditions, made the best he could of his far from comfortable couch.

In the morning, knowing that the Tower gates were opened at six o’clock he rose early, and by seven was back at Gloucester Road. This was November the 4th, his D-Day, and he had much to do on it; so he had arranged to take it as his weekly clear twenty-four hours off from the War Room.

Having bathed and had his breakfast in a dressing-gown, he rang up several boat yards along the Thames above London, enquiring if they had a motor launch for hire. At this time of the year most boats were laid up for the winter, but his fourth call was to a firm at Kew, which had one available and said that it could be ready for him by midday. Then he snatched the best part of two hours in bed.

On getting up he dressed in civilian clothes, hunted out a
fishing rod that he had not used for years, threw a few things into an old suitcase, then, taking Rudd with him, took a taxi down to Kew. The manager of the yard expressed surprise that anyone should want to hire a launch for a week in November; but Gregory told him, with some truth, that he was a chair-borne airman whose lot it was to work month in, month out, in a stuffy basement; so even if it rained cats and dogs it would not spoil for him the joy of a week’s fishing.

The man warned him that the daily allocation of petrol he was allowed to give under rationing was small, so it would not take him very far; but Gregory took delivery there and then of his seven days’ quota, which was ample for his purpose. Having paid the deposit they went aboard; Rudd, who had been brought only to jump ashore with the painter when the time came to tie-up, was in the bow, and Gregory at the wheel.

During the run down river he put the launch through her paces to make sure that her engine was not likely to break down, and soon after two o’clock they tied up at the landing stage fifty yards below the County Hall. By this short expedition Gregory had not compromised his faithful henchman, and he had no intention of doing so. He now told him to walk through to Waterloo Station and take the Underground home, then he himself walked the short distance to the south end of Westminster Bridge, where he took up a position near the blitzed entrance to St. Thomas’s Hospital.

He had not long to wait before Kasdar arrived in a taxi. When the Moldavian had paid off the cab he gave Gregory a sullen stare and asked, ‘Did you know about the diplomatic bags?’

‘What about them?’ Gregory replied innocently.

‘Why, that they had been stopped. We were notified of it only this morning. The Foreign Office informed us with regret that His Majesty’s Government had instructed the G.P.O. to hold all bags delivered after midnight on Tuesday, and that none will be forwarded until further notice. Never before has such a step been taken. It is an outrage against International convention.’

‘Really!’ Gregory raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve no contact with the Foreign Office, and it is news to me.’

‘But do you realise what this means? My message giving the date of D-Day and the Order of Battle are held up. They
will not now be passed on to Berlin until after the expedition has reached its destination. I thought perhaps …’

‘What! That I had double-crossed you? Don’t be a fool; I have too much at stake.’ As Gregory spoke he was feeling immense relief. He considered the Foreign Office to be reprehensibly soft in its treatment of neutrals and had feared that grounds might be put forward for postponing the measure at the last moment. Now he knew that his fears had been groundless and his timing all right; so he was over that hurdle.

With a shrug of his broad shoulders, the Colonel said more affably, ‘Fortunately all is not yet lost. If you succeed in rescuing Sabine, she will act as our courier.’

Gregory heard the suggestion with grim satisfaction. That was just what he had been planning for all along. He need now no longer fear that, when Kasdar had got all the information he could out of him, he would double-cross him and fail to keep his side of the bargain. For his own ends now, he had to get Sabine out of the country. But in her case too there was this nightmare problem of exact timing.