Artillery of Lies (26 page)

“All right. If you want to know, he was a German spy, sent by the
Abwehr
to make contact.”

She licked a finger and touched her stockinged leg. “You can be kind of pathetic sometimes,” she said. And that killed all conversation stone dead.

Docherty came into Lime Street station at a brisk run, his suitcase clutched to his chest and his legs stabbing outward because his arms weren't free to balance him, and stuttered to a halt as he searched for platform one, saw it on the other side, as far away as it could be, groaned, changed direction and ran again but only for a few yards. He turned and stared at the entrance to the station. No sign of Stephanie or Laszlo. He cursed, and his head swiveled indecisively between the entrance and platform one, and finally he cursed some more and walked back.

He found them arguing with a railway porter who was trying to tell Laszlo that he couldn't park his taxi there. He heard Laszlo say, “I tell you for the tenth time I am on urgent official business, and unless—”

“Can't leave it there, matey. More than my job's worth. If I let you—”

“Idiot! Imbecile!” Laszlo was twitching with rage. “Take the car! Have it!” He thrust the keys at the man.

“No fear.” Suspicion crowded his face. “What you up to, matey?”

“Sir, I can explain.” Docherty eased himself between them. “It's by way of being an emergency, you see, a very sick lady, every second counts, sir, if you could see your way clear …” A five-pound note, as big and white as a handkerchief, snapped and rustled in his fingers. The porter saw a week's pay before him and saluted with his right hand while he took it with his left. “Good man,” Docherty said. “Come on, let's go, you two.”

It had been an increasingly terrible morning. When they got off the ferry they had hours to kill, hours that died slowly over cups of tepid tea and plates of cold toast in seedy cafés, while the rain came and went. Laszlo had wanted to go to the station but Docherty refused. Railway stations were always well policed, he said. Laszlo sulked. Stephanie wanted to know what they would do if Eldorado didn't turn up at noon; indeed she became quite jumpy and Docherty had to take her for a walk around the block. When they got back, Laszlo was missing. They found him in a tram queue and dragged him away. He said he was going to Scotland and no one could stop him. Stephanie took his arm and squeezed his hand and persuaded him that Eldorado might have some new orders for him, and look, it wasn't long now to the rendezvous. Laszlo, furious at having been made to look a fool in front of the queue, told Docherty that if his Scottish mission failed, he would recommend to General Oster personally that Docherty be court-martialled and shot; but in the end he agreed, sulkily, with Stephanie. So they set off for the station, walking in the wrong direction, each one assuming that the others knew the way. They got utterly lost. A deaf old man sent them back the way they had come but it was still not the right way, at least not according to three snotty-nosed kids who argued amongst themselves while the rain drenched the dismal, interchangeable streets. In the end the agents took a tram, any tram, just to be on the move and in the dry. They changed trams twice. Time was running out. The third tram they got on was the right number service but traveling in the wrong direction: it was going
away
from Lime Street. They jumped off at a red light, splashing through puddles toward the curb. That was when Laszlo stole the taxi. He thrust his pistol under the driver's nose and ordered him out. The passenger saw the gun and fled. Docherty and Stephanie jumped in. Laszlo had a little trouble with the gears and even more trouble with driving on the wrong (for him) side of the road; but he compensated by driving very fast and
he was in good spirits when they parked in a prohibited place at the station.

Once Docherty had returned and solved that little problem, he hurried Laszlo and Stephanie into the station at a brisk trot. “Over there,” he said, pointing.

“No. I am going to Scotland,” Laszlo said, and headed in a very different direction.

“Bastard,” Docherty said.

“I'll get him,” Stephanie promised. “You go to Eldorado. I'll bring Laszlo as soon as I can.”

A train arrived at platform one and Luis stood up to watch it. On Spanish stations the train towered over you, and you climbed up to the coaches; here, the English built their stations so that you stood almost halfway up the side of the train, level with the doors; very quaint; more like a dockside than a station. Luis watched the locomotive wheeze and rumble by, and was intrigued by this novel view of its wheels and driving-shafts. Someone touched his elbow, and he moved to let them pass. Nobody passed.

It was an RAF chaplain, a tubby, cheery little man with a zip-top bag banging from one arm and an ash blond from the other. He put his mouth close to Luis's ear, evidently to counter the noise of the train, and said, “Are you by any chance Eldorado?”

“I wouldn't be the least surprised,” Luis said; but in truth he was quite shocked. The woman was lovely, in a fragile sort of way. How did a dumpy dog-collar get a winner like that? Then he realized he wasn't a real RAF chaplain. So she wasn't a real chaplain's wife.
Wake up, wake up,
he snarled at himself. “Who might you be?”

“Is the lady … safe?” The chaplain blinked toward Julie.

“Oh yes,” Luis said and instantly regretted it. Madrid
Abwehr
had disapproved of Julie in Madrid and had been pleased to see her depart (as they thought) for America. If they learned she was actually in England, working alongside Luis, they would smell a whole colony of rats. Too late now. The chaplain was sitting next to Julie and inviting Luis to sit on his other side. The zip-top bag was balanced on his knees. Arriving passengers streamed by in a human flood, parted by the benches.

“In here I have a pair of tennis shoes, a towel stolen from the
Hurlingham Club, and five pounds of explosive, primed and ready to be detonated. Our codenames—please remember this—are Hammer and Anvil. I am Hammer. In about five minutes from now we shall assassinate three British army generals in a first-class carriage of this train. The mission—and remember this too—is called Operation Tombstone.” Hammer spoke the two words with especial clarity, and glanced from face to face to be sure that he was understood.

“Tombstone,” Luis said. He was completely thrown by the appalling declaration; his reason rejected it; what this smiling villain proposed was impossible. “Why Tombstone?”

“Why not?” Julie said.

“I don't choose the names,” Hammer said.

“I expect it was the next on the list,” Julie suggested, and smiled when Hammer smiled his agreement. She could see that Luis was struggling to catch up with events and she was afraid he might start discussing Operation Tombstone, analyzing it, getting involved in it. That would be his instinct. It wasn't hers. Her instinct was to say goodbye to Hammer and Anvil damn fast, and call the cops. “Anything else we should know?” she asked.

“Five pounds, did you say?” Luis was waking up. “Five pounds of TNT makes a hell of a bang.
Hell
of a bang. I've seen it. Heard it.”

“Three generals take some killing,” Hammer said. “We may not survive, of course. If we do survive, we may get caught. So it's up to you to make sure that—”

“Eldorado! Saints preserve us!” Docherty overshot the bench and had to turn and come back. “What a journey! And what stinking weather! Tomcat sends his love and this item is for you to keep.” He slung the suitcase between Luis's legs and slumped beside him. “God save us, but this is a terrible town.”

High above platform one, sitting at the window of the station-master's office, Freddy Garcia and the man codenamed Gardener watched the scene through binoculars. “Now what's happening?” Freddy asked.

“Beats me, sir,” Gardener said. “The chap with the suitcase isn't part of Bamboozle.”

“Well, I've certainly never seen him before. Look: he's giving Eldorado that suitcase. What the
devil
is going on?”

Docherty was apologizing for being a minute or two late. “This awful weather, you know. And then we had a little trouble parking … The others will be along in a second.”

“Do I know you?” Luis asked.

“Weren't you expecting me? I'm Teacup.”

“Of course.” Luis told Hammer, with the casual confidence of the beginner: “Teacup is with Gardener and Blossom.”

“Am I?” Docherty looked blankly from face to face. Maybe Gardener and Blossom was a new password that Madrid had forgotten to give him. When Julie winked and nodded he said, “And why shouldn't I be, after all?”

Anvil, who had been strolling about in the background, came over to Hammer and said quietly, “You haven't finished briefing Eldorado, dear.”

“Quite right.” Hammer was no longer looking chubby and cheery; suddenly he seemed haggard and anxious. “Could we have a word in private?” He took Luis and Julie to one side. “Is that man really safe?” he asked.

“Well, he's from Tomcat,” Luis said.

“Which speaks for itself,” Julie added.

Luis gestured toward her. “All my codework is handled for me by … um … by Paperclip here.” Julie's eyes widened. He edged away from her.

“Well,” Hammer said. “If you're sure he's safe.” But he did not sound convinced. They rejoined Docherty, who was chatting easily with Anvil. “As I was saying, we can't be sure of coming through Operation Tombstone intact,” Hammer said. “That's why I set up this meeting. We depend on you to get a signal off to Tomcat, telling him we've brought it off. Right?”

“Right,” Julie said crisply. “Well, good luck.”

“We can't go yet,” Anvil said. She had a curiously attractive voice, deep and husky. “The targets haven't arrived. We don't know which carriage they'll be in.”

“What targets?” Docherty asked.

For a moment nobody answered. The platform had almost emptied; the Tannoy was silent; this end of the station was, briefly, quite calm. The members of the party stood apart from one another, as if any hint of intimacy was a confession of bad taste. They resembled (Freddy Garcia thought) an oil painting from the Great War:
Waiting for the Train to France, Victoria Station, 1916.
“Eldorado looks worried,” he said. “I suppose that's good.”

“Up to a point, sir,” Gardener said. “They all appear a bit dumbstruck, don't they?”

“Where are your blessed generals?”

“On their way. There's still a good minute to go, sir. Hello, our man Hammer's found his voice.”

It was a cautious voice. “This network operates on a policy of need-to-know,” Hammer said. “I know that Eldorado is a need-to-know, for signals purposes. On the other hand, I don't see why Teacup is a need-to-know.”

“You shouldn't have told me,” Docherty said. “Now I know I'm not a need-to-know. I had no need to know that, you know.”

“Know what?” Julie asked.

“You're right, I've forgotten already,” Docherty said. “What was the question again?”

“You might as well tell Teacup,” Luis told Hammer. He had an urgent wish to spread the bad news far and wide, in the hope that this might somehow dilute its horror. “After all, everyone's going to hear it pretty soon when the bomb goes off.”

Hammer clenched his teeth and turned away.

“I didn't hear that,” Docherty called to him. “Honest I didn't.”

“The targets are coming,” Anvil announced softly.

“Enter three generals, sir,” said Gardener. “Spot on cue at exactly twelve-oh-three.”

Freddy swung his binoculars and found the three army officers in line abreast, all in British warms, all gloved and booted and spurred, chatting as they strolled on to the platform. “Actors, are they?” he asked.

“No, no. Three genuine brasshats, sir. Bored stiff, all awaiting new appointments, they jumped at the chance of a bit of fun … Hello, hello …”

“What is that extraordinary woman playing at?” Freddy asked.

It was Stephanie Schmidt, running flat out along the platform, or as flat out as her suitcase allowed. She dodged between the generals, who momentarily checked their stride and thereby got in the way of Laszlo Martini, chasing Stephanie with the clear intention of bashing her with his suitcase as soon as he got within striking range. “And who is that peculiar man?”

“Definitely not Bamboozle, sir,” Gardener said. “Must be civilians. Drunk, maybe.”

Freddy tightened the focus and worried, and suddenly found the explanation. “No they're not!” he said. “I mean, yes they are … They're everything to do with us. Madrid
Abwehr
set
up this rendezvous, to test Eldorado. That meant having someone here to see whether or not he turned up. Right? Well, there they are. Three of them.”

“So why are they running?” Gardener asked. “And why are they trying to hit each other with identical suitcases?”

“Beats me.”

Stephanie had put on a spurt and reached the safety of Docherty's group. She recognized Eldorado at once, and felt a huge surge of relief: the first part of their mission was accomplished. “Laszlo was trying to buy a ticket,” she told Docherty, and had to pause for breath. “But I stole his wallet.” She waved it as proof.

“Well done. This is Matchbox,” Docherty told Eldorado. They shook hands. “I'd like you to meet Paperclip,” Luis said. The two women exchanged bright little smiles. “I'd also like to introduce you to Hammer and Tongs,” Luis said, “but I'm not sure whether it's allowed.” He heard his own voice but disbelieved what it was saying. He seemed to have wandered into the middle of a gentle, soft-edged nightmare. People walked in and said insane things in polite tones; others arrived in a rush and then seemed to forget their lines; here was this tubby young woman, now presenting him with yet another suitcase as if it were a prize he had won in a raffle. He took it and was startled when its weight dragged his arm down. Everything was strange. Nothing was right.