Dominion (59 page)

‘In a few days we hope. Then we have a plan to get you all away. I can’t say more than that for now, Mrs Fitzgerald.’ He smiled again, that patronizing smile. ‘You have
to trust us.’

Jackson and Meg left shortly after. Dilys took Sarah into an adjoining room, with peeling wallpaper and a big, dirty unmade bed, and sat her down at a dressing table. Sarah had
flinched a little as she realized she was in a prostitute’s bedroom, but Dilys was friendly, a relief after Meg. She put a hairdresser’s cape around Sarah’s shoulders.

‘I’ll cut it short first, then dye it. You’re going to be a redhead, dear.’

Sarah smiled bravely at her in the mirror. ‘Well, my life’s been turned upside down already; I suppose a different hair colour won’t make much difference.’

She sat still as Dilys cut her hair, quickly and efficiently. Sarah wondered if she had been a hairdresser once. ‘I’ve met your husband, you know,’ the woman said.
‘Careful, dear, don’t jerk your head. Mr Jackson used to meet his civil servants in the flat next door. And your husband came yesterday, after he went on the run. He’s a nice
chap, isn’t he, good-looking, too. I like dark men. I asked him if he had any Maltese blood.’

‘He’s Irish. I know you wouldn’t think it to hear him talk.’

‘He’s got a nice voice. Like Mr Jackson, but not so pompous.’ They both laughed.

‘So you have to move,’ Sarah said.

‘We have to change houses quickly sometimes. I’ll miss the woman who used to stay at the old flat. East European, very smart. She’s a painter, she was a bit upset at having to
leave her pictures behind. I saved a couple, in case I ever saw her again. There’s one over by the wall there. I knew it was her favourite.’

Looking in the mirror Sarah saw the painting, snow and mountains and what seemed to be fallen soldiers in the foreground: grey figures with red splotches of blood.

‘So this woman knew David, too,’ Sarah said. A whole world of people she had had no idea about.

‘Yes.’ Dilys smiled reassuringly. ‘But don’t worry; I could see your husband’s the loyal type.’

Loyal
, Sarah thought. And Jackson had called him trustworthy. They didn’t see the irony, though they must all have known that he had lied and lied to her, for years.

D
RESSED IN A BATHROBE
, Gunther stood looking through the window of his flat, into the smog. It was horrible, poisonous, greasy stuff; it had appeared in
the middle of the day and got steadily worse. Walking home from Senate House he had had to feel his way, one of thousands of shadowy figures groping along the dark streets, his throat smarting
painfully. He had just watched the weather forecast on television and it was going to continue; some expert had appeared and talked about high streams of warm air trapping cold air underneath, the
effect of millions of coal fires in the Thames valley. This will make our task even harder, Gunther thought.

He turned away, tiredness and a sense of failure in his very bones. At the embassy, Gessler was a pale shadow of his old self; Gunther often found him sitting staring blankly into space,
helpless. After the events of the past week it was an easy state to fall into. Five days, five days since the lunatic Muncaster was lifted from the asylum, and they still had nothing. Every enquiry
had drawn a blank.

Gessler had been very different on Monday, when the news came through that Muncaster had been taken. He had raved and shouted, full of angry panic. Gunther, though, had stayed
calm, the remote calm that often came upon him in a crisis, though inside he felt a sinking in his stomach, as though he were in a lift whose descent went on and on.

‘This is a hunt now, not an enquiry,’ Gessler had said when he calmed down a little. ‘If only we’d got Muncaster out before! It’s not my fault, I won’t be
blamed!’

‘The important thing now, sir, is to find him.’

Gessler flicked him an angry glance. ‘I
will
be blamed, you know, and so will you. If he gets away – we’ll be shot. Scapegoats for Berlin’s failure to get
him.’

More likely we’ll both be sent to some dangerous posting out East, Gunther thought. That was what he had craved anyway, an honourable end to his lonely life, though something in him
resisted the idea now. He wanted, very much, to find Muncaster, to complete his mission. He said, ‘If we’re to find him, and those who took him, we’ll need to bring Special Branch
in fully now. We’ll have to let them have everyone involved in the Civil Service spy ring.’

‘I know. I’ve spoken to Berlin.’ A note of self-pity, then a sharp glance. ‘I’ve had to tell them about the mess-up at the Fitzgerald house.’

‘Yes,’ Gessler replied. On Saturday afternoon, Gunther had learned how the SS man, in plain clothes, had got to the old air-raid shelter, broken in, and then spent hours watching the
house through binoculars. As nobody entered or left, and no lights came on as it got dark, the man realized there was nobody there. Then a police car came and some men went up to the house, then
round the back. The SS man ran across the little park to the house and knocked on the door. An angry policeman answered. Behind him another uniformed officer was lying dead in the hall. Sarah
Fitzgerald was gone, had been before their man arrived.

Gessler said, ‘I was hours on the phone yesterday. I couldn’t get hold of the right people, nobody was available, the senior people are all in meetings. Something big’s
happening over there. But there’s nothing we can do about it. More hours wasted.’ He drew himself upright in his chair. ‘They confirm that from now on it’s full co-operation
with the British Special Branch. I don’t know what the information is that Muncaster has, only little hints, but if the British police find out—’ He shrugged. ‘It’ll
be up to Berlin to sort it out with Beaverbrook. And forget what I told you about eliminating Syme if he got hold of anything from Muncaster. As I say, full co-operation. The Branch are being asked
to devote major resources to finding Muncaster. A nationwide manhunt. You and Syme will work on the Fitzgerald angle. Dabb and Hubbold and the Bennett woman are being arrested tonight and brought
here. You and Syme are to question them, then chase up everyone connected with Fitzgerald and Drax. Everyone.

‘They’re clever, our enemies. The Bolsheviks and Jews,’ Gessler continued, with quiet anger. ‘We always knew that, we knew how hard the fight would be.’ He shook
his head. ‘The Jews were going to be moved to the Isle of Wight today, but this damned smog’s put paid to that.’

‘It won’t last, sir. And we will win,’ Gunther said. But, along with relief that he would not have to kill Syme, doubt was flickering inside him now, about the possibilities of
success for the mission and what was happening in Germany; it was eating him up, exhausting him.

When he met Syme in his office, late on Sunday, Gunther expected the Special Branch inspector to be full of himself, triumphant that the Branch were taking the lead. But he
wasn’t. Syme was angry that Muncaster had escaped, that, as he put it, ‘the bloody bastard Resistance had scored’. And killed a policeman, one of their own. Gunther could
understand that.

‘We’ll get that fucking loony,’ Syme said viciously.

‘I’m glad you feel like that.’

Syme gave him a hard look. ‘You should have taken Muncaster earlier.’

‘I know. We met with all sorts of political difficulties.’

‘We think we’ve found the identity of the attendant, the one who left with Muncaster. A Scottish Communist, we’ve been after him for years. We think they gave him a new
identity and a new trade when things got too hot for him up North. He was already working at the mental hospital so they used him with Muncaster. Some of the things that Scottish bastard’s
done –’ he shook his head ‘– even before he got involved in politics – you wouldn’t believe the sort of scum they recruit.’ Syme continued, ‘It seems
likely Fitzgerald and Drax were already working as spies and then were brought into this because they knew Muncaster.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘According to Fitzgerald’s personnel file there’s some old uncle in Northampton. I wish we could get hold of his father, too, but he’s beyond our reach. I’m told
the Dominions Office people we spoke to last week are being brought here for joint interviews with us tomorrow. Let’s scare them a bit.’

Gunther said mildly, ‘Will you let me take the lead on the interviews?’ He thought, Syme might go at them too hard, especially the woman.

Syme smiled grimly. ‘All right.’

The old Dominions Office Registrar, Dabb, was first. He was fetched into the interview room where Gunther had interrogated Sarah, by one of the young SS jailers. He was
terrified, sweating so profusely Gunther feared he might have a seizure.

‘Please.’ Dabb stared at them with desperate appeal. ‘I’m just a clerk. I’m nobody. I don’t know anything, I don’t have any politics – you
shouldn’t have politics in the Civil Service. That Fitzgerald, he’s nothing to do with me. He’s one of Archie Hubbold’s protégés,’ he added with sudden
viciousness.

Gunther asked, ‘And Miss Bennett?’

Dabb lost control completely now, shouting out a string of obscenities: ‘Fucking traitorous whore! Eyeing Fitzgerald like a bitch in heat – don’t think I encouraged it, I
didn’t, I was always watching them—’

‘It seems you did not watch carefully enough, if Fitzgerald got access to the room with the secret files.’

At that Dabb collapsed. ‘I did my best. All my life, I just tried to do my best at my job. Just my best, my best . . .’

Soon Gunther realized there was nothing more to be got out of the ridiculous old man; he had never even heard the name Muncaster. He was taken back to his cell and Archibald Hubbold was brought
in. In contrast to his colleague, Hubbold stepped into the room quite coolly, took a seat and stared at Gunther and Syme with an air of injured innocence. Gunther thought, he’s got courage,
the limited courage of the stupid. He didn’t realize what they could do to him if they wanted. Behind his thick glasses Hubbold’s eyes moved like slow, heavy fish.

‘Have you ever heard the name Francis Muncaster?’ Gunther asked, mildly.

Hubbold frowned, thought a minute, then shook his head. ‘He’s not Dominions Office Establishment.’ He set his lips. ‘Is he another traitor, in some other
department?’

‘Fitzgerald never mentioned the name to you?’

Hubbold thought again. ‘Never.’

Syme said, with a grin, ‘Old Dabb told us Fitzgerald was one of your protégés.’

‘I liked Fitzgerald, yes,’ Hubbold said, his tone pompously sorrowful. ‘I brought him along, gave him more responsibility. He seemed conscientious, loyal. Clever, too. He
lacked ambition, but clever people don’t always have that.’

‘It sounds like an almost filial relationship.’

Hubbold’s face darkened a little. ‘I thought it was, almost. I trusted him.’

‘Did you know about his friendship with Carol Bennett?’

‘There was some gossip within the office. I don’t take notice of petty gossip. I valued Fitzgerald’s work,’ he added heavily.

Syme said, ‘Took some of the load off you, did he?’

‘He was a hard worker.’

‘And you never had any inkling he might be a spy?’ Gunther asked.

‘No. Why should I?’ Hubbold set his lips hard, smoothed a hand over his white hair. He leaned forward, and then said in a voice trembling with anger, ‘A civil servant betraying
his minister, it’s the worst treachery. I will help you any way I can.’

Hubbold told them everything about David’s work then, his routines, the occasional social meetings with the wives. It was all quite useless: Fitzgerald had taken Hubbold in completely.
Gunther wondered, does he realize his career is over, early retirement’s his best hope now? We could make things much nastier for him than that, in here, right now; Gessler probably would
have, just from frustration, but what was the point? When he was sure Hubbold had told them all he knew Gunther said, ‘I think that’s enough for now. Do you agree, William?’

Syme nodded wearily.

Hubbold frowned, turned to Gunther. ‘I wish to help you all I can.’

‘I know.’

‘Fitzgerald didn’t just betray his department, he betrayed me personally. That’s what hurts most,’ he added. ‘I’ll be frank. I don’t always approve of
the things my government is doing. But they’re my government. What Fitzgerald did – his betrayal of a post of responsibility – I find it unspeakable.’ He clenched his hands
in anger.

He wanted vengeance; Gunther wasn’t interested. ‘Thank you, Mr Hubbold. Good morning,’ he said, dismissively.

Hubbold rose, suddenly uncertain.

‘Do I – can I go to the office tomorrow?’

Syme gave him a wolfish grin. ‘No, mate. Doubt you’ll be going there any more. You stay at home. The Branch will be wanting to talk to you again.’

Hubbold looked stricken. He’d realized, at last.

The SS man who showed Hubbold out gave Syme a telephone message. He showed it to Gunther. A Special Branch man had driven up to Northampton to speak to Fitzgerald’s
uncle. He turned out to be a crotchety old man in his eighties who couldn’t tell them anything about his great-nephew. The old man had said David Fitzgerald and his wife had airs and graces,
David had forgotten his Irish roots. Then he had started insulting the English. The note ended with the words, ‘Reprimand issued.’ Syme laughed. ‘That means our man gave him a bit
of a smack. It doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘We don’t want any unnecessary attention, so be careful in future, please. Now, let’s have Miss Bennett in.’

Carol Bennett came into the interview room looking dishevelled and frightened, her big eyes staring. Gunther had decided to be direct and sharp. He leaned back, folded his
hands over his stomach and said, ‘Your foolishness has landed you in a mess, Miss Bennett. That is, if it was indeed just foolishness. If you’ve actually been helping the Resistance
you’d be better off confessing everything now, and appealing to your government for mercy.’

‘I haven’t.’ She looked terrified. ‘Dear God, I haven’t.’ She took a deep breath, tried to collect herself. ‘Please, when I was arrested this morning I
had to leave my mother. She’s ill, she might go wandering the streets. Can’t you at least let me arrange someone to look after her?’