Dominion (49 page)

At Gunther’s direction, once they were through the Senate House gates, Syme parked the car beside a side door. A Wehrmacht guard stood to attention outside. They got out, Gunther taking
Sarah’s arm. He saw her eyes widen. Perhaps the penny had dropped that she was on German territory now. He thanked Syme and told him he would take matters from here. ‘I’ll
telephone you later.’

Syme’s face flushed. He leaned in close to Gunther and whispered, ‘I should be in on the interrogation. That’s what was agreed.’

‘That was agreed about the man. You need to find him, it’s urgent. You can talk to her later.’

Syme’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is a joint project.’

‘I know, but we need to find the man. It’s you that has the resources for that.’

Syme still looked suspicious. When they had broken into the house in Kenton, earlier that afternoon, he had insisted on searching the place with Gunther. They had found nothing. Gunther now
wondered whether the time was coming for Syme to be dealt with, too.

‘All right,’ Syme said. He turned back to the woman, who was looking up at the immense floodlit wall of Senate House. Her eyes followed Syme as he got back into the car, leaving her
in German hands. Gunther said, gently, ‘It’s all right, we just want to ask you some questions.’ He smiled reassuringly. She gave him a look of fear and hate.

The guard let them in and Gunther led Sarah along an echoing marble corridor. At the end was a metal door with another soldier on guard, this time wearing the black uniform of the SS. Gunther
nodded and the guard opened the heavy door. Gunther took the woman down the stone staircase to the basement. As he had told Hauser, when the Germans took over Senate House as their embassy in 1940
they had converted the basement into interrogation rooms. The busiest time had been in 1943 when the Abwehr, German Army Intelligence, had been found to include elements plotting to kill Hitler and
been purged, the loyal elements incorporated into the SS. Gunther had still been in England then; it had been a difficult time. A couple of officers he had known had been brought down here before
being shipped back to Germany.

There were, he knew, cells equipped for carrying out severe physical interrogations, but also rooms which looked like the places where police questioned suspects in British television programmes
like
Sergeant Dixon.
He took Sarah into one of these. There was a table bolted to the floor, a few hard chairs and a telephone fixed to a bracket on the green-painted wall. He said he would
have to leave her for a short time, and asked if she would like some tea. Sarah shook her head. She hadn’t spoken since they left her house. Gunther closed the door on her and walked up to
the far end of the corridor, past other closed cell doors, to where a stocky young Gestapo man in his twenties sat reading the German army magazine
Signal
. The cover showed a group of German
soldiers sitting on the edge of an ornate fountain, talking to some girls.
The Pleasures of Service in Rome
. Gunther nodded at the telephone. ‘Get me Standartenführer Gessler,
please.’

Gunther watched as the soldier dialled. Gessler had been furious, wild with rage, when Gunther telephoned him earlier to say Fitzgerald had escaped. Gessler had told him that they still
hadn’t got clearance to take Muncaster. ‘This is turning into the biggest fucking balls-up in history,’ he had screamed impotently down the phone.

The soldier passed the telephone to Gunther and he told Gessler he had Fitzgerald’s wife in custody. Gunther replaced the receiver. ‘He’s on his way,’ he told the
soldier, who quickly put
Signal
in a drawer of his desk and brought out a sheaf of forms.

‘How are things at the moment?’ Gunther asked. ‘I hear a few German Jews have been picked up.’

The boy wrinkled his nose. ‘Pieces of shit who thought they could hide in the bigger cesspool.’

Gunther shook his head. ‘They never learn.’

Gessler arrived a few minutes later. He carried a thin file. Gunther thought how tired he looked, ill, red-faced and unshaven, a complete contrast to his confident schoolmasterly manner when
Gunther had arrived. Yet he was still managing it all, just keeping control. The Gestapo boy stood to attention and saluted. Gessler turned to Gunther. ‘Where is she?’

Gunther led him to Sarah’s cell, pushing aside the cover of the little spy-hole in the outside of the metal door. Gessler bent and looked, then straightened up. ‘Have you started
questioning her?’

‘She wouldn’t say anything in the car, said she wanted a lawyer.’ Gessler laughed. Gunther smiled. ‘I thought I’d leave her here for a few minutes, let reality sink
in.’

‘She’s just sitting, staring into space.’ Gessler considered. ‘You know, Dr Zander’s in tonight. You could show her some of his handiwork. That would soon open her
mouth.’

‘With respect, sir, I’d like to try a bit of question-and-answer first. I can soon work out whether she’s had any training in dealing with interrogation. If she hasn’t,
that would indicate she hasn’t been working with her husband. If she has—’

‘We hand her over to Zander straight away.’ Gessler tapped his wristwatch. ‘Time is short.’

‘Interrogation is an art,’ Gunther said.

‘It’s a science as well,’ Gessler answered bluntly. ‘A branch of
medical
science.’

Gunther knew torture was necessary sometimes, had seen it applied in training films and in interrogations, but he could never enjoy it. In the future, once Germany’s enemies were defeated,
it wouldn’t be needed; but, he knew, they were still a long way from that.

Gessler handed over the slim file. ‘That’s what we’ve been able to find on her. Not much. Most of it comes from a Special Branch file on her father. An active pacifist before
the war, one of the ones who didn’t like us. This woman and her sister were both pacifists, too. But no record of political activities since 1940. Her sister’s husband’s got
connections in the BUF.’

As Gunther flicked quickly through the file, Gessler said, ‘A civil servant in the Colonial Office also went AWOL from his desk this afternoon. Geoffrey Drax. It’s pretty certain now
that he was the other man who visited Muncaster’s house. It does look like we’ve uncovered a spy ring in the Civil Service now. Special Branch will be keen to move in. And we
haven’t caught anybody apart from this woman yet.’

Gunther tapped the file with his fingers. ‘Who warned Fitzgerald we were in the Dominions Office? I’d like to get that Carol Bennett woman in here, too.’

‘Later,’ Gessler said. He pointed at the door of the cell. ‘Get this one to talk first, Hoth.’

‘Is someone watching the Fitzgeralds’ house?’

‘Yes. In a car a little further up the road. Our people. That won’t be so easy in daylight, people sitting in cars on suburban streets get noticed. Net curtains twitch.’

Gunther nodded. He had had a thought about that.

Gunther went back into the bare windowless cell. The woman was sitting in a chair. She hadn’t taken off her coat although it was hot down here and she looked at him with
that same mixture of fear and defiance. She had a strong face, she had probably been quite attractive once but she was beginning to age. She wasn’t trembling now, she was holding her fear in.
He laid the file on the desk and sat opposite her, smiling again. ‘I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Hoth, I’m from the German security police. I’m not a soldier, just
a detective.’

‘Gestapo,’ she said suddenly, with an utter bleakness.

He inclined his head. ‘That’s a very broad term.’

‘I want to speak to a lawyer.’

Gunther shook his head. ‘You don’t have that right.’ He continued, in the same mild tone, ‘You see, you’re at the embassy, you’re on German territory now. I
want to ask you some questions. That’s all, just some questions. Now, your name is Sarah Fitzgerald, yes?’ She just stared at him. ‘Come on now,’ Gunther laughed. ‘It
can’t do any harm to answer that one.’

She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

Gunther guessed that she knew nothing about interrogation techniques or it wouldn’t have been so easy to get her to answer. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘And you were born on
17 May 1918.’ She looked startled. He smiled again. ‘It’s on your identity card. Remember, when we took your handbag and got you to empty your pockets, at your house? I’m
sorry we frightened you then, by the way. But we couldn’t leave the lights on.’

‘You wanted me to walk into your hands. And I did.’

‘Yes.’

She stared at him, uncertainty now as well as fear and anger in her face; she obviously hadn’t expected to be treated so gently. Gunther tapped the file. ‘I see your father was a
pacifist in the thirties. Along with you and your sister. Well, I wish your people had won the day then, we’d never have had the 1939–40 war.’

‘Where did you get all this information?’ she asked.

‘The Home Office have records of people who were active in politics before the war.’ He spoke almost apologetically. ‘But according to the records your family seems to have
accepted the status quo after 1940, certainly your sister. And, after 1941, your father.’

‘The government must have files on thousands and thousands of people, then,’ she said quietly, almost to herself.

Gunther spread his hands. ‘With all the trouble from the Resistance, you can see why they think it’s necessary. The violent demonstrations, the bombings, the assassinations.
It’s as bad here now as in France. Though I know as a pacifist you wouldn’t be involved in any of that.’

She did not reply. Gunther smiled. ‘I want peace as well, you know. Germany’s sick of war. I long for the day when the world is at peace.’

‘With everyone under your thumb,’ she said bitterly.

‘I wish you could understand.’ Gunther couldn’t keep a touch of irritation from his voice. He did wish for peace; this woman, a nice educated woman, pure Aryan by the look of
her, should be happily at home caring for her husband and children. He said, ‘Where were you this afternoon, Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘I went out for the day. I went into town, to Blakeleys Stores, to the toy section, I spoke to the manager there. You can check that with him if you like.’

‘How do you know the Blakeleys man?’

‘I do voluntary work for a charity that sends toys to the children of poor people. Mr Fielding has been helping us.’

‘Ah. Something like our Winter Relief in Germany.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not like that.’ Then she thought a moment and said quietly, ‘Or maybe it is.’

‘You and your husband have no children?’

She looked at him. ‘We had a son, but he died in an accident.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gunther said.

She was clearly surprised by the catch of real sympathy in his voice. ‘Have you children?’ she asked.

‘A son, Michael. He is with his mother, out in Krimea. I miss him.’

‘Why have you arrested me?’ she asked suddenly. ‘What have I done?’

‘In a moment. Now, where did you go after visiting the shop?’

‘To the National Portrait Gallery. I had lunch before.’

‘It was after eight when you got home, Mrs Fitzgerald. The gallery closes at five. What did you do after your visit?’

She hesitated. Gunther saw that. ‘I walked.’

‘On a cold, dark winter’s day?’ She was starting to lie now, he felt it.

‘I sat in a cafe for a while.’

‘Where?’

‘Somewhere near Victoria Station.’

‘Now why would you do that? Wouldn’t your husband expect you to be home when he returned from work?’

‘Sometimes he works late.’ He caught a little bite of anger in her voice. He thought, things aren’t so good at home. She asked, ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No.’

‘Look at me.’ Gunther spoke quietly. ‘Look at me. I know you’re keeping something back.’

She was silent a long moment. He could see she was thinking. Then she said, almost in a whisper, ‘I’ve been afraid my husband was having an affair. I noticed little things, changes
in his manner, the way he behaved to me. Our son dying was a bad blow.’

‘Who did you think he was having an affair with?’

‘I – I don’t know. Women have always found him very attractive.’

Gunther saw it now. He said, ‘Was the woman concerned named Carol Bennett?’

Sarah drew in her breath sharply. Her eyes widened.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’

‘How do you know?’

‘We had information that your husband might be involved in illegal activities. We questioned some people at his work today, those who knew him well. Miss Bennett’s name came
up.’

Sarah said, ‘She wasn’t having an affair with him. She’d have liked to, but he – didn’t. I spoke to her this evening, you see. I went round to see her, that’s
where I went. I wanted to confront her.’

Gunther smiled. ‘I believe you. Tell me,’ he asked, ‘how long have you been married?’

‘Nine years.’

‘My wife left me after seven. She didn’t like the hours I work.’

She looked at him curiously. ‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’

‘I studied in Oxford. Then I worked here at the embassy for several years.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re one of those who believes it all, aren’t you? All the Nazi poison.’

‘Remember where you are, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ he said, an edge to his voice.

She gave a little humourless laugh. ‘I’m not likely to forget, am I?’

‘Were you expecting your husband to be at home when you returned? From Miss Bennett’s?’

‘Yes. I’ve no idea where he is. Nor why you want him.’ She paused. ‘He always told me political action was useless, we had to get along with the system. All these years
he’s said that.’

‘He was protecting you, perhaps.’ She didn’t answer. ‘The evidence is pretty conclusive, I’m afraid. It seems your husband was part of a larger ring of spies inside
the Civil Service. You’ll know his friend, of course, the one he went to university with. Geoff Drax.’

‘Geoff?’ There was real surprise in her face.

‘Yes. They both disappeared from their offices this afternoon. They were going to be arrested, but somebody warned them.’ Carol Bennett, he guessed, but he didn’t say.