Traitors' Gate (57 page)

‘The objective?’ Kasdar shot at him suddenly. ‘I take it you have now found out about that?’

‘Yes, and I will give it you within the next quarter of an hour. This is no place to talk about it. Come along with me.’

Crossing the road they walked almost in silence through York Street and down to the landing stage where the launch was tied up. Going aboard they entered her tiny cabin, then Gregory produced a piece of paper from his pocket. On it was a rough sketch map of the western half of the Mediterranean with arrows to indicate landings place. Handing it over, he said, ‘There you are.’

After one glance the Moldavian exclaimed, ‘Then it is not Dakar! That is surprising. We have had it from several sources that it was.’

‘I thought so too,’ Gregory agreed. ‘But you will remember I warned you that it was only an idea of mine; and I was wrong. Now I’ve done my part it is up to you to do yours. Let’s go ashore and send that telegram.’

Kasdar raised no objection so they walked the short distance to Waterloo Station and from the Post Office there despatched the agreed message to the tug-boat Captain at Burnham. As
they walked back to the landing stage, the Moldavian said in a low voice:

‘It is just as well that this embargo on the diplomatic bags was not put on earlier. I was, anyhow, able to get through to the other side news of our intentions, and receive back the special recognition marks for our tug to display as soon as she is clear of British controlled waters. Otherwise she might have had the ill-luck to be sunk by the Luftwaffe or a German E-boat.’

When they were back in the launch Kasdar untied the painter and Gregory nosed her out. A quarter of an hour later, moving at a slow speed, they came opposite the Tower of London. Then Gregory said:

‘You see the big block nearly in the centre of the Outer Wall. That is St. Thomas’s Tower and Sabine is in it. However dark it is tonight you will still be able to identify it because the two turrets at its extremities will stand out against the skyline. I want you to bring this launch in under the embankment as nearly as possible halfway between the two turrets at a quarter to eleven. If Sabine and I are not on the embankment ready to come off at once, take the launch to the other side of the river and tie up there; then come over again at a quarter to twelve. If we are not there repeat the process at a quarter to one and at a quarter to two. If we have still not appeared, you will know then that I have failed, and the job is off. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly. But what of the tide?’

‘I have checked that. At low there are a few yards of imported sand beach on which children play in the day time. At high you would be able to get her right up to the river wall. Tonight will be fairly favourable. You should be able to get right in at ten forty-five, but it will already be on the ebb. Later we would have to drop in the shallows and wade out to you. In case we have to do that there is a suitcase in the cabin with dry slacks, socks and shoes in it for Sabine and myself.’

‘You intend, then, to come too?’

Gregory shrugged. ‘What the hell else can I do? There will be no disguising the fact that it was I who arranged her escape. I have got to disappear. If I remained in this country the police would get me within a week. And the charge would be treason. No! I’ll have burnt my boats; so the only thing I can
do is go over lock, stock and barrel to the Nazis.’

‘Don’t look so despondent about it.’ Kasdar clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Personally, I envy you your luck in getting out of this benighted country. And, after all, there is the little Sabine. She will owe you much. Perhaps she will console you in your exile instead of going back to Ribbentrop.’

‘I will confess,’ Gregory admitted with a half-smile, ‘that possibility had not altogether escaped me.’

Meanwhile the launch had passed under Tower Bridge. For another two miles Gregory kept her headed down-stream, then he brought her in close to the north bank, and said, ‘I thought we might find a suitable place to land somewhere along here on the Poplar water-front.’

Between the entrance to the Limehouse Cut Canal and the West India Docks there were stairs every hundred yards or so. Tying the launch up at one of them, they went ashore. At the near end of a street called Ropemaker’s Fields they found a suitable place to park a car. So it was decided that early that evening Kasdar should drive down there with his chauffeur. Then, having made certain that the man knew how to find the spot again, the chauffeur should bring the car down himself to arrive a little before eleven o’clock and wait there with it, if need be until a quarter-past two.

This settled, they returned to the launch, and headed back up river. On the return journey Gregory made his companion take the wheel and controls, so that he should get some practice in handling her. After tying up again at the stairs below County Hall, they ran over their plan again to make certain that they fully understood one another; then they clambered ashore, walked to the nearest street corner, shook hands and separated, Gregory making for the Waterloo Underground. Soon after five he was back at Gloucester Road, and a quarter of an hour later in bed sound asleep.

Rudd roused him at half-past seven, and reported that soon after six the ‘foreign gentleman’ had rung up and left a message. It was that ‘the sailor had telephoned to acknowledge receipt of the telegram’. This news heartened Gregory considerably, and he felt that he was lucky in having anyone so efficient as Kasdar to work with him. That the Moldavian might fail him that night he now had little fear; and as the creek near Burnham, off which the tug was to lie, was not
much over forty miles from Poplar, he reckoned that, if his own part of the job went without a hitch, Sabine should be aboard her soon after midnight.

He had a bath and got into uniform; then, as he had had no lunch, he ate a very hearty dinner. After it, he packed into the bottom of a suitcase a short electrically driven saw with a blade of tungsten steel and a battery he had attached to it by a yard of flex, some spare blades, a mallet muffled at one end with a cloth pad, a dozen ten-inch steel spikes, and two belts, with quick release buckles, attached to one another by fifteen feet of thin wire-cored rope. Over these he laid a rug, a dressing-gown, and pyjamas, packing among them three more bottles of port.

When he had put on his great-coat he told Rudd that he was going on a dangerous expedition and did not expect to be back for some time. Rudd pleaded to be taken with him, but he said that was not possible, and with his old friend’s ‘Well! All the luck, sir; and a safe return’ ringing in his ears, he went out into the blackout to play the last desperate hazard.

It was again dark and misting with rain. At Gloucester Road station an old newsvendor was shouting, ‘Speshul Edition! Speshul Edition!’ Gregory joined the little crowd eagerly reaching out for the man’s papers, and bought one. It had a banner headline GREAT DESERT VICTORY.

A special communiqué had been received in London that evening from General Sir Harold Alexander. After twelve days and nights of desperate fighting, Rommel’s army had broken and was now in full retreat. His disordered columns were being relentlessly pursued by Montgomery’s troops, and ceaselessly strafed by Coningham’s Desert Air Force. Nine thousand prisoners had been taken, two hundred and sixty tanks and two hundred and seventy guns captured or destroyed. General
von Stumme was among the dead and General von Thoma among the prisoners. This was no limited success but a victory of the first magnitude, which would make the words ‘El Alamein’ and ‘Eighth Army’ live in history.

To Gregory this splendid news meant even more than it could have to the people with whom he was sitting in the cold and gloomy underground train, for he knew that this was only the first phase of the great overall plan. Would the second prove equally successful? By now the armada must be off the Straits of Gibraltar. For the next two days they would be carrying out their perilous regrouping, then on Friday night, with all lights out, they would be steaming in an endless column at full speed through the narrows. By Saturday afternoon they would be within range of General Kesselring’s powerful Air Force based on Sicily; so might be subjected to ferocious aerial bombardment. Would they, in the dawn on Sunday morning—the 8th and the true D-Day—succeed in getting ashore, or would they instead have become victims of terrible disaster?

When he came out of Mark Lane Station he found the night even more murky; for down there by the river, as was often the case in November, the atmosphere was laden with fog. Thanking his gods that conditions were so ideal for his purpose, and flashing his torch now and then, he made his way across Tower Hill to the gateway of the Fortress.

When he had signed himself in, he went to the Governor’s Office. There, he stated his intention of remaining in the Tower for the night, on the grounds that having had to do so the previous night had enabled him to prolong his interrogation and extract valuable information from the prisoner, owing to the fact that she had become tired out and been no longer able to stand up to the pressure he put upon her. No objection was raised and at a quarter to ten Mrs. Sutton let him in to St. Thomas’s Tower.

She had heard the news of the desert victory, and was full of it. After they had discussed it for a few minutes, he told her that he meant to stay the night, and had brought a few things to make himself more comfortable. Unlocking his suitcase, he gave her a glimpse of his pyjamas and dressing-gown; then he asked, ‘How is the port situation?’

‘We’re nearly out, sir,’ she replied in her deep voice. ‘She’s
got the last bottle in there now; and judging by what she usually drinks it must be nearly empty.’

Gregory had expected that, as he had carefully budgeted for it. Unpacking the three bottles he had brought in the suitcase and standing them on the hall table, he said, ‘It’s just as well I brought a new supply then. Call Mrs. Wright and we’ll have our evening ration before I go in to her.’

The red-headed wardress joined them at Mrs. Sutton’s call, with three glasses and a corkscrew. Gregory took the corkscrew from her, tore the capsule off one of the bottles, pulled the cork and poured out the wine. As they took up their glasses he said cheerfully:

‘We’ll have a double ration tonight to celebrate the victory. First one to the Eighth Army and the final defeat of Rommel. Straight down the hatch; no heel taps. Here we go!’

They all raised their glasses. He had his to his lips and tilted back his head. But suddenly he set it down again untasted, explaining his act by whipping out his handkerchief and sneezing into it. The two women had already emptied their glasses.

For a moment they both stood quite still. Then their eyes began to bulge. Mrs. Wright dropped her glass, staggered and clutched at the table. Mrs. Sutton was made of sterner stuff. Her eyes glaring accusation, she let out a strangled gasp, turned, and lurched towards the telephone.

In an instant Gregory was round the table. Grasping her by the shoulders he swung her about and pushed her down into a chair. Mrs. Wright groaned and fell to the floor. Mrs. Sutton heaved herself up, reeled sideways and collapsed beside her. Both of them moved their limbs feebly for a few moments then lapsed into unconsciousness. Gregory had doctored the bottle with knock-out drops, recorked it and replaced the capsule. The Mickey Finn he had given them had done its work perfectly.

Taking Mrs. Sutton’s keys he unlocked Sabine’s door and called to her. ‘This is it! I’ve dealt with the two good women who have been looking after you. Come out and give me a hand with them.’

‘Oh, Gregory!’ she cried. ‘Can it really be true?’ Then, her dark eyes bright with excitement, she ran out to him.

Between them they carried the two stalwart wardresses into
their bedroom and laid them on their beds. When they had done so she said:

‘I’ll never forget what you’re doing for me! Never! Never! But what about yourself? These two women must know it was you who knocked them out. You won’t possibly be able to cover up the fact that it was you who enabled me to escape. Oh, my dear! My dear! What will become of you?’

He made a rather hopeless gesture. ‘I’m done for—anyhow as Wing Commander Gregory Sallust. That is not too high a price to pay, though, for your having saved me from Grauber. I learned that it was quite on the cards they would shoot you, and I couldn’t possibly let that happen. Colonel Kasdar is to pick you up outside, and it is hoped to ship you across to the Continent tonight. I had thought of coming with you. But I’ve changed my mind. Damn it all, I am an Englishman! I’d be utterly miserable living over there like a ticket of leave man—by permission of the Nazis—because I’d saved you. Somehow I’ll manage to disappear. Fortunately I’ve got plenty of money. I think I’ll try to get to Ireland and start a little war of my own. The U-boats put in at places on the south-west coast from time to time. I don’t doubt I could ferret out one of the secret landing places where their crews come ashore at night. To ambush some of the murdering swine who drown men, women and children indiscriminately would give me quite a lot of satisfaction.’

Breaking off, he handed her the key to her bedroom, and said in a brisker voice: ‘But we mustn’t waste time talking. Go up and change into those black clothes I brought you. See that there is nothing light about you that will show. You’ll need both hands to climb, so don’t encumber yourself with a handbag. Put your lipstick and toothbrush in the pockets of your coat. Get back here as quickly as you can.’

When she had left him he tore a sheet into strips and secured the two wardresses’ hands and feet, then tied them to their beds. He knew that they would be out for about two hours but, in order to postpone discovery of the escape as long as possible, he took their two pillow-cases, ripped a hole in the bottom of each, then pulled them over their heads; so that, while there was no danger of their suffocating, when they did come round their shouts would be muffled and it would be impossible for them to be heard outside the building.

Closing the door of their room behind him he walked down the corridor back to the hall. As he entered it his heart missed a beat. He halted in his tracks. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. Sabine lay there on the floor. She was as limp and motionless as if she were dead.