Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (67 page)

“Sir Stewart.”

“Hmmm?”

The knocking continue again.

“Sir Stewart.”

The head of MI-6 summoned himself from the depths of his dreams with great reluctance, the previous evening’s entertainment, in the company of Percy Hollander, having broken well into the new morning.

“Yes…what?”

“Sir Stewart, there are two gentleman to see you, Sir… said it’s extremely important… wouldn’t take no for an answer, Sir Stewart. One is a colonel, the other a naval officer…I’m sorry, Sir, but they were most insistent.”

Sir Stewart Menzies looked at the bedside clock and frowned.

“I’ll be there directly, Squires.”

“Very good, Sir Stewart. I took the liberty of installing the gentlemen in the terrace area, and of providing them with tea, Sir Stewart.”

“Right ho, Squires.”

Menzies swung out of bed and headed for the sink, intent on blasting away with the cobwebs with cold water.

It didn’t help much, but would have to do, the reason behind someone… two men, he corrected himself… hunting him down at the club at this early hour was intriguing him. More to the point, decidedly bothering him.

Menzies slipped back into his uniform and checked himself out, and finding his appearance on the right side of satisfactory, he descended to the terrace.

“Good grief, Val… Sir Roger,” he nodded, “What on earth has got you two out of bed at such an early hour?”

Valentine Vivian, second in command of MI-6, gestured towards a concealed table, laid with the accoutrements of an early morning breakfast.

Dalziel poured three teas as Vivian handed over a hand written report.

“Rush job?”

“Yes, Sir… you’ll see why.”

Menzies read the first message.

“Good grief! The blazes they are! The Swedes? They’re brokering a peace deal? Why on earth ha…”

“Sir, the second report, Sir.”

Vivian helpfully reached forward and pulled at the edge of another document.

“From Tørget, Sir Stewart.”

The message from the head of Swedish Military Intelligence made all things clear.

“Good grief. I mean… good lord, Valentine.”

“Quite, Sir.”

“Thoughts? Sir Roger?

Dalziel opened the palms of his hands outwards.

“Quite clearly, we have, on one hand, a document that states that Sweden intends to offer its services to broker peace talks between the Allies and the Soviet Union as soon as is practicable… on its own soil… guaranteeing safe passage et al. And then, on the other hand, we have our friend Tørget informing us that this whole idea is a Soviet one, and that Sweden is agreeing to appear to propose it, so as not to weaken the Soviet bargaining position.”

“But if the Soviets are proposing it, that must mean they are in a dire position… much worse than we believed… otherwise…”

“Otherwise why would they make such a proposal, Sir?”

“Indeed, Valentine.”

They sat in silence, sampling the tea, thinking of the ramifications of the proposal… and the requirements of their profession.

“If we inform our politicians, they’ll reveal what we know. They won’t be able to help themselves. Is that a problem?”

Vivian answered Menzies’ question with a question of his own.

“How could we not inform our leadership, Sir Stuart? Their negotiating position will be much stronger if they know it was the Soviets who suggested these talks.”

Dalziel added his own views.

“Sir Stuart, clearly there are none of our assets to protect, just Tørget’s wish that we are discreet with the information because of his own issues.”

Vivian chuckled and spoke to no one in particular.

“Discretion and politicians do not mix.”

Menzies smiled and raised his cup in acknowledgement.

“I understand Tørget’s concern. He’s protecting his country’s reputation… maybe even possible that he has an asset of his own… but mainly to protect Sweden from any accusations.”

Dalziel set his cup and saucer down gently and made a suggestion.

“Sir Stewart, perhaps it might be prudent to inform solely the Prime Minister at this time. He can decide how best to let our American cousins in on the secret, which, I suspect, would be directly to their president. Between them, they would decide the position that the negotiators would take. No need to advertise the knowledge of the Soviet weakness openly.”

“My thinking exactly, Sir Roger.”

Breakfast arrived.

‘Blasted kippers!’

“We took the liberty of ordering breakfast for you, Sir Stewart. I remember you enjoyed the kippers at Rossahilly House.

‘No I bloody well did not!’

“Thank you, Sir Roger. Splendid choice.”

They hammered out the details of what would happen next over buttered kippers, poached eggs, and toast.

‘Blasted kippers!’

“Sir?”

“Inches?”

David Inches, Churchill’s butler, had interrupted the Prime Minister and his wife at their breakfast, something that was not done lightly, certainly not at Chequers.

“Sir, Madam, apologies for disturbing you at your breakfast. Sir, I have taken an urgent message from Sir Stewart Menzies. He is coming to see you here, this very morning, Sir.”

Winston frowned, remembering that he had an appointment with the same man later that afternoon, so something had clearly upset the apple cart.

“Did he say why, Inches?”

“No, Sir, nothing at all, but he did sound somewhat… err… enthusiastic… actually quite excited, Sir.”

“Thank you, Inches.”

The butler closed the door with due reverence.

‘Menzies excited?’

“Pass the conserve, please, my darling.”

He accepted the raspberry conserve from Clementine, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

‘Last time he was excited, Adolf had shot himself.’

“Sir, Sir Stewart Menzies.”

“Thank you, Inches. Do come in, Sir Stewart.”

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Prime Minister.”

Churchill chuckled.

“My butler felt that you bore exciting news, so how could I not, Sir Stewart.”

Menzies sat in the chair Churchill indicated.

“A moment, if you please.”

On cue, the door opened and Inches delivered a small tray containing the makings of a cup of tea.

“Shall I pour, Sir?”

“No, Inches, I need the exercise. Thank you.”

Churchill poured two cups and passed one to the head of MI-6.

“So, what great news has brought you here in advance of schedule?”

As Menzies spoke, there was no visible reaction from his political master.

Remaining uncharacteristically silent, Churchill almost froze in place as the incredible and most unexpected development was slowly unfolded.

Menzies fell silent, but still Winston stayed quiet, sipping his tea with great studiousness, almost as if the resolution to the turmoil taking place in his brain could only be found within the brown liquid.

“And this is all confirmed, Sir Stewart?”

“The information comes from a wholly reliable source, Sir.”

“Wholly reliable?”

“Yes, Sir. I have no doubt that the Swedish offer to mediate will be delivered to you by the Ambassador from the Court of Bernadotte this very day.”

“And the other matter that you have yet to inform me of? What is that, Sir Stewart?”

Menzies smiled, not realising that he had been quite so transparent.

“Your nose for matters has not failed you, Prime Minister. I have information, from the most reliable of sources, that changes everything but, I hasten to add, Sir, that my source has asked that his report be limited to the very highest echelons of the Allied leadership.”

“I understand. Proceed, Sir Stewart,”

“Sir, my source states that the whole move towards a peace conference is not authored by the Swedes, but by the Soviets themselves.”

“Good grief.”

“Quite. He’s asked that we do not reveal that we know it is a Soviet driven initiative, to avoid embarrassing the Swedes, who , I have no doubt, intend to secure some rather splendid agreements and concessions from the USSR for their part on the process.”

“Your contact is Swedish, of course, and is it possible that he might be the contact that has previously been of great service to the Allied cause, Sir Stewart?”

“It is indeed, Sir.”

“Then I agree, but it will have to be shared with the leaders. The President, De Gaulle, even Speer, they have to be told so they can understand the strength of our bargaining position.”

“I understand, Sir, but I must request that they are informed personally, and asked to adhere to the strictest secrecy on the matter.”

Churchill nodded by way of agreement.

Standing, the Prime Minister indicated that the meeting was over and that his drive to get moving had taken over.

“I will inform the President immediately. Thank you for bringing this to me in timely fashion, Sir Stewart.”

“My pleasure. Thank you, Sir.”

By magic, the door opened and Inches appeared.

“Sir, an urgent message has just arrived from the Foreign Minister’s office.”

Churchill and Menzies exchanged smiles.

Inches waited, expecting the head of MI-6 to leave, but Sir Stewart held his ground as Churchill tore open the envelope with undisguised anticipation.

After a moment’s silence, he looked up with a beaming smile and nodded, confirming its contents to the spymaster.

“Thank you again, Sir Stewart. Inches, please see Sir Stewart out and have my appointments for this afternoon cleared between three and four.”

As he moved into the hall beyond, Menzies caught the words, knowing they were as much for him as Inches.

Picking up the telephone, Churchill arranged for a line that connected him directly to Truman.

He calculated that the time in Washington was just after five in the morning and prepared an apology for waking up his American friend.

The apology was unnecessary.

Tørget had sent a message to his own American contact, Sam Rossiter, who, in turn, had given his boss the heads-up.

Major General William Donovan, head of the OSS, had woken Truman some thirty-two minutes before Churchill’s call disturbed the President’s train of thought.

“Mr President… apologies for the early morning call. I have some news that simply couldn’t wait.”

“I was just about to ring you, Prime Minister. You have the same news as I, I don’t doubt. It seems that our Swedish friends have pulled one out of the hat.”

“Yes, Harry. Can I assume you know the other bit?”

“You certainly can, Winston.”

“So how do you wish to proceed, Harry?”

“Well, I’m going to be on the first flight I can get organised after I’ve met with the Swedish ambassador. I assume you will be seeing the ambassador in London?”

A negative noise stopped Truman’s flow.

“No, Harry, he’s forced himself into my afternoon schedule at Chequers.”

“When is that?”

“Three o’clock.”

“Ten o’clock here. Coordinated delivery. So, I think we meet up in Versailles… apprise the leaders… I’m thinking De Gaulle, Franco, your Dominion leaders, as tight a group as possible.”

“Speer?”

“Don’t suppose we have a choice on that one, do we?”

“I don’t think we do, Harry.”

“So, we get them all in a small room and tell them… and tell them they can’t talk about it to anyone… and then politicians being politicians, the whole shooting-match is through their delegations within the hour, and probably in the press within the day.”

“I understand that only too well, Harry, but we have no choice in the matter. We cannot exclude our major Allies, otherwise the new alliance, for which we striven so hard, will be placed at risk.”

“You’re right, but I still have an itch about the Germans.”

“We have no choice, as I see it. After all, if we’re to take advantage of this, we need them to know the full situation, which will also encourage them to give operations their fullest commitment.”

“Operations, Winston?”

“Harry, we have to. The Soviets are weak and vulnerable… coming to the table has revealed that, as we know that they, not the Swedish, have commenced this process. Something we have done has precipitated this. We must find out what it is and exploit it fully. Clearly, General Eisenhower and his staff must be consulted and, equally clearly, some of them will be included in the circle that know the full situation, but we simply cannot pass up on the opportunity that now presents itself.”

“Attack them… yes, I do see… yes, you’re right. Where?”

Churchill took a deep puff on his cigar, something that Truman detected despite being thousands of miles away.

“Everywhere, Mr President. Everywhere.”