Artillery of Lies (28 page)

“Where the dickens do they think they're going?” Freddy Garcia asked.

“Could be Scotland,” Gardener said, wiping condensation off the windscreen. “Could be anywhere … By the way, sir, the police say they stole that taxi.”

“Curiouser and curiouser. Maybe they'll stop for lunch. I'm starving.”

“Ormskirk doesn't sound right,” Docherty said. “Hasn't anybody got a map? We need a road map.”

“I can't stop,” Stephanie said. “There's a bus behind me.”

“Where is it going?” Julie asked.

Docherty wiped the mist from the rear window. “Skelmersdale,” he reported. “Is that near London?”

“Just outside,” Luis said.

“Follow that bus behind you,” Docherty told Stephanie. “Don't let it get away.”

But the bus soon disappeared and Stephanie got lost at a crooked
five-way crossroads. By now Julie had found the wiper switch, and the way ahead was clear, and clearly wrong: they were splashing along a narrowing farm lane. Soon they had to slow to a crawl behind a herd of sodden cows. Docherty got out and walked with the small boy who was in charge of them. When he came back he said, “His advice is to go back to Liverpool and start again. He says there's nothing at the end of this road but the biggest heap of cow-shit you ever did see.”

“I can't stop here,” Stephanie said. “There's a tractor behind me.”

She went on and turned in the farmyard and came back. They drove for an hour, seeking the London road but never finding it. Julie managed to buy a loaf of bread in a village. “They told me that if we stay on this road we'll get to Wigan,” she said. “Eventually.”

“Is Wigan near London?” Stephanie asked.

“On the outskirts,” Luis said, stuffing bread into his mouth. He had given up trying to alter events, and he guessed that Julie felt the same. The bomb blast—even after Hammer's warning—had come as such a shock, and the consequences had been so swift and overwhelming—squads of military police, three ambulances, two fire engines, barriers thrown up, nobody allowed to leave, the station Tannoy barking order after order—that he had simply done what he was ordered and allowed authority to control him. Authority put the four of them (nobody knew where Laszlo had gone) into a small office, scrutinized their identity cards and asked what they were doing on platform one. Docherty said he and Stephanie had come to see the other two off. Everyone else agreed that that was so, and amazingly, after ten minutes, authority let them go, and they walked away. That was the good part. The bad part was that these two
Abwehr
agents still clung to them. “I expect you've got a train to catch,” Julie said brightly.

“We might, if we had anywhere to go,” Docherty said. “As it is, we're in your hands.”

“You must have a safe house we can use,” Stephanie said. “I need a hot bath and a change of clothes. Can't we go to your safe house?”

“Of course,” Julie said. She knew nothing about these
Abwehr
agents except that they were reckless and probably ruthless, which meant they might be murderous if crossed. Two
Abwehr
agents had just killed three generals. This was no time to be awkward. “We can go to Freddy's place,” she said quickly. “Freddy will know what to do.” That was when they learned about the taxi. “What a perfect solution!”
Julie said. “Aren't we lucky, darling?” She put her arms around Luis's neck and kissed him. “Act tough, for Christ's sake,” she whispered. “Or they'll shoot us both.”

The taxi ran out of fuel at the worst possible place: in the middle of a stretch of moor, with nothing but gorse and rain in sight. By now Stephanie felt that she had done her bit. “One of us should go for help,” she said, looking at the men.

“What help?” Docherty said. “We've no petrol coupons. I doubt there's a tow truck within ten miles. I vote we all go or nobody goes.”

A gust of wind rocked the car on its springs and the rain began a long drumroll on the roof. For a while they sat in silence.

“Couldn't you go and telephone someone?” Stephanie said to Luis. “Someone in your network, I mean.”

“That's exactly what I intend to do,” Luis said. “As soon as it stops raining.”

“Is it a big network?”

“Not bad. Two hundred and sixty-three agents, last time I counted.”

She sucked her breath in admiration. “All working toward the triumph of the Third Reich.”

“Mind you,” Julie said, “we lose one or two from time to time. The British are not complete fools.”

“What happens to them?” Stephanie asked.

“The usual,” Luis said curtly. “They know the risks.”

“Of course they do,” Docherty agreed. “We all do. It's like climbing mountains. Nobody would do it if it wasn't bloody dangerous, now would they? We know the odds.”

“They are heroes,” Stephanie said. “Their names will be on the roll of honor. The Reich will always remember them.”

“I wonder what the odds are,” Julie said.

“Fifty-fifty,” Docherty said promptly. “Mind you, it's far worse in Germany. The typical British spy has a ten-to-one chance of being caught. That's why so many of them give up.”

Brief pause.

“No, you lost me there,” Julie said.

“Well, it's obvious. If they give up and agree to work for the
Abwehr
they don't get shot. They keep on reporting to the British Secret Service, of course, only what they report is what the
Abwehr
tells them to report.”

“Traitors,” Stephanie said.

Docherty clicked his fingers. “That's the word I was trying to think of,” he said. “I don't suppose you have any trouble with that sort of nonsense in your network.”

“None,” Luis said.

“Our guys are like crusader knights,” Julie said. “You know, incorruptible.”

“I met the Fuehrer once,” Stephanie said. Her head was back, her eyes were looking at the roof but her mind was seeing Nuremberg. “At a rally. He touched my arm. I thought my heart would burst.”

“If I so much as suspected a man's loyalty,” Luis said, “I would strangle him with my own hands.” He held them up for display. Stephanie reached back and took one in her own hands and kissed it. “We are all pledged to the cause of the Fatherland,” she said.

“Fifty-fifty,” Docherty said. “That's not so bad, is it?”

“Who wants to live forever?” Julie asked.

“Well, exactly,” Luis said. “That's the key question.”

“On the other hand …” Docherty sniffed, and kept them waiting. “Who really truly wants to die tomorrow?” There were no immediate takers. “Or even later this afternoon?”

“For the Cause—” Stephanie began.

“Indeed, indeed. That's our great advantage over the poor, treacherous British agents who give up so easily. We have the Cause to fortify our souls, whereas they're just spying for a ramshackle Imperialist-Capitalist-Communist alliance. No wonder they swap sides!” Docherty chuckled at the thought.

“It couldn't happen here,” Luis said. “MI5 are too stupid.”

Someone knocked on a window. Luis wound it down. “Are you all right?” Freddy Garcia asked. “You look abandoned or marooned or something.”

“About bloody time,” Luis said. Suddenly all the doors were being opened by armed policemen in streaming oil-capes. “Those two are spies,” he said. “He's Teacup and she's Matchbox.”

The policemen took them out and searched them. Standing in the rain, with her arms out sideways like a scarecrow and the wind making a mess of her hair, Stephanie Schmidt was crying like a child being bullied on her first day at school. “Here, here, it's not as bad as all that,” Docherty comforted her. “One door closes and another opens. Now you can turn your coat and work for the British. That's what I'm going to do.” She tried to kick him and lost her balance. The policemen helped her up. “I hear the food's OK,” Docherty said. “And nobody's
going to thank you for dying, you know. There's no future in death. As a goal in life it's highly overrated.”

Freddy was looking inside the three suitcases. “You never sent any messages,” he said. “I was waiting for you to send messages.”

“Forgot,” Luis said. “Sorry.”

“Lovely to see you again,” Julie said. “It seems like only yesterday you went off to buy some rail tickets.”

“Long queue,” Freddy said.

“Those radio valves are all bust,” Docherty told him. “Bloody
Abwehr
rubbish. It's an absolute scandal, so it is.” They watched Stephanie being put in the back of a police car and driven away. “She's in love with a man in Madrid called Otto Krafft,” Docherty said. “That's another scandal, in my opinion. War is bad enough without love to make it worse, wouldn't you say?” Julie's eyes flickered toward Luis, who was staring down at a puddle, and she gave a small and skeptical smile. “My apologies,” Docherty said. “Sometimes I think my own valves are all bust too.” Another police car pulled up and he got in.

Operation Tombstone pleased almost everybody.

It pleased Madrid
Abwehr
when they got a signal indicating that their agents had successfully infiltrated and made contact with Eldorado. The report of the Lime Street bombing was an unexpected bonus, and led to much speculation. Evidently there was a sabotage and assassination unit operating over there. “Ask Eldorado to find out who they are,” Brigadier Wagner told Richard Fischer.

“I expect they were really after Winston Churchill. After all, that's why Eldorado was in that part of the station at that particular time, wasn't it?”

“Try not to be a complete buffoon, Fischer. I invented Churchill's visit to Liverpool, remember?”

“Eldorado might have leaked it to someone, sir. Rumor can be as powerful as fact.”

“Ah.” Wagner hadn't thought of that. “You may be right.” It pleased Wagner to think that his imagination was strong enough to prompt death and destruction in a distant country.

Berlin
Abwehr
was pleased because Eldorado could now communicate by radio and because Garlic would soon be dead. MI5's
radio section had repaired (and improved) the suitcase transmitters, and Docherty's brief message stated that Lampstand, Matchbox and Teacup were operational. Ferenc Tekeli's codename was “Deckchair,” so Docherty added “Deckchair broken,” which could mean anything.

The Director was pleased because Tombstone had made Bamboozle a success: Julie Conroy and Luis Cabrillo now believed that
Abwehr
agents were operating undiscovered in Britain.

Freddy was pleased because the Director was pleased.

Luis, once he recovered from the shock of it all, enjoyed knowing that he had captured two spies. For Julie, the whole episode had been so bizarre—a cocktail of tedium and violence, laced with farce—that she soon quit trying to understand it and was simply glad to have survived. When she asked Freddy why he had vanished in the station, he said he'd been caught up and held in a sudden security check—police looking for deserters, so they said, but personally he thought they had probably got wind of Matchbox, Teacup and Lampstand.

“So why didn't they nab them?” she demanded. “They were running around like the Three Stooges in the high hurdles.”

Freddy sighed. “No excuses, I'm afraid,” he said. “Still, you did jolly well, old girl. Very good show.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Pity about the generals.”

Almost certainly the dead general was not pleased. But then, as the Director suggested to Freddy, how could one be sure? The chap had a gammy leg and a glass eye and no great prospects of a decent appointment; at least he was able to die in action, doing service for his country.

“Any trace of Lampstand, sir?” Freddy asked.

“Teacup thinks he's making for Scotland. We're on the lookout but it's a big country. Teacup says Matchbox knows more, but the silly woman is being noble and brave and silent. Still … No money, nowhere to live, Lampstand can't last long, can he?”

Knightsbridge was a huge improvement over Rackham Towers. As soon as they got back from Liverpool, Luis and Julie were moved into a big, three-bedroom apartment with a fine view over Hyde Park. It was serviced by MIS and it was just around the corner from the office block where the Double-Cross department had its headquarters (and
where Docherty and Stephanie Schmidt were being very thoroughly interrogated). Freddy Garcia helped them move in. “Take a couple of days off,” he said. “Do the town, see some shows. Have fun.”

“Where are you sleeping?” Julie asked Luis.

“Anywhere!” he said. He was slightly manic: the after-effects of excitement. “You choose.”

“You're in here.” She threw his hat on to the bed. “I'm in there.” She went into the next room.

He bounced on the bed. “You don't know what you're missing!” he called.

“Wrong both ways. I do know, and I don't miss it.”

“I save her from those Nazi thugs,” Luis told Freddy, “and this is how she thanks me.”

Freddy said goodnight and left. Luis was still sitting on the bed, swinging his legs, when Julie came in and sat on the other side. “You didn't save anyone from anything,” she said. It was a comment, not an accusation. “Whenever I looked, you had eyes like my old teddy bear. Solid glass and out of focus.”

He reached behind him and found her hands on the bedspread and linked fingers. “I was playing a part,” he said. “It was a masterly performance.”

“You were scared shitless.”

“What rubbish. I was in total command.”

“Oh, Luis.” She pressed hard with her thumbs. “Don't you think I know you? I've seen you scared before. You were scared today, I was there, remember? I was scared, too.”