SS-GB (42 page)

‘Sorry, Harry. But no one wants us.’

‘What do we do then?’

‘I’ve got a key to Barbara Barga’s house. It’s not too far and she’s just going out. At least it will be somewhere to sit down and collect our wits.’

‘Are you all right?’ Harry asked the King, crouching beside the wheelchair and speaking into his ear. There was no response. ‘George,’ said Harry Woods, ‘we’re taking you somewhere you can warm your hands.’ Standing up again, Harry met Douglas’s glare of astonishment. ‘Well, what have I got to call him?’ said Harry defensively. ‘Even “sir” sounds bloody conspicuous when you are bending over a shabbily dressed old gentleman in a wheelchair.’

‘I’ll push him for a bit,’ said Douglas, taking the handles of the chair. Harry noticed the King lifting an arm weakly and he bent over to listen to him, his ear close to his mouth. Douglas halted the chair and waited while the King murmured something inaudible and Harry nodded and gripped his arm in reassurance. Douglas realized that the two men had already established some sort of relationship which he did not share. A social cripple, sometimes he felt desperate at the way in which he was unable to get close to anyone, man or woman.

‘I think he’s trying to tell us that the empty ambulance will be reported to the police.’

‘I know it will,’ said Douglas.

‘What will Kellerman do?’ said Harry. They began walking in the direction of Barbara’s mews house. They went across Green Park. It was virtually deserted and here under the trees the fog was so thick that they could see no more than ten yards ahead.

‘He’ll put out a number eighteen to all Divisions.’

‘Bring us in for questioning? That would be a bit drastic.’

‘He’ll say he was worried for our personal safety.’

‘Why bother until he’s sure we’re not just sick?’ said Harry.

‘Kellerman will guess that something important is happening. He might even guess that the King is no longer in custody. He has his Leibstandarte honour-guard at the Tower, and even if the army confined them to barracks this morning while we made our collection, they will soon discover that something has happened. The Abwehr people are party to the conspiracy but if they have to save themselves, they’ll throw Mayhew and us to the dogs, Harry.’

So this is what they were reduced to, thought Douglas. Two policemen and a crippled King, in a land that was no longer their own. They lost their way in the park and turned left until they saw the gas lamps of Constitution Hill. Beyond that were the ruins of Buckingham Palace. Douglas looked down to see whether there was any sign of recognition from the King but there was none. He was a pathetic figure, sitting with his shoulders hunched and head tilted forward over the thin clenched hands. Douglas remembered the last time he’d seen the King. It was a Royal visit to Scotland Yard soon after war began. He remembered the King in the fingerprint department, giving a sample of his fingerprints and leaving the card there as a souvenir of the visit. He was a
handsome figure, with an easy smile and informal manner that had endeared him to all. It was difficult to reconcile that scene with their present predicament but Douglas vowed that he would die before relinquishing his King; whatever the logic of it.

‘There will be a checkpoint at the Arch,’ said Harry.

Inside Wellington Arch, Hyde Park Corner, there is a room for the Metropolitan Police. Lately army patrols had used it as a control post. If Kellerman had put out a number eighteen warning, his SS men might be there looking at identity papers.

‘We’ll detour,’ said Douglas. ‘We’ll take one of the backstreets, and cut up into Curzon Street and across Park Lane into Hyde Park.’

‘You’ll be all right,’ said Harry in the King’s ear. ‘Douglas knows what he’s doing.’

They could hear the phone ringing while Douglas was putting the key into the door of the mews house. Douglas went into the living-room and answered.

‘Miss Barga?’

‘She’s not at home,’ said Douglas.

‘Who is this?’

Douglas recognized the voice. ‘Is that you, Colonel Mayhew?’

‘Archer! I’ve been trying to find you. I
hoped
you’d contact Miss Barga.’

‘The ambulance –’

‘Enough said. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Are you all together and quite safe?’

‘All three of us are here.’

‘I’ll give three short rings at the doorbell.’

‘It was Mayhew,’ Douglas told Harry after putting down the phone.

‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Harry. He was lighting the gas fire. Douglas helped the King get closer to it. Then he went into the kitchen to make tea.
He could not hide the pleasure he got from handling Barbara’s possessions, and from being here in her home. Harry saw this and was pleased too. ‘There’s nothing like a cup of tea.’ He went to ask the King, ‘Do you take sugar, Your Majesty?’ reverting to a more formal relationship now that there was no longer a danger of being overheard.

Mayhew had phoned from his house in Upper Brook Street. He had used the Underground railway to get back from Barnet. It was almost unaffected by the fog. It did not take him very long to get to Sloane Yard Mews. The three men went into the kitchen to talk out of the King’s hearing.

Mayhew made no comment about Douglas’s conversation with Sir Robert Benson. He leaned forward, holding his hands to the heat of the stove, and rubbing them together. He waited until Douglas had completed his story and then he said, ‘They must have found the ambulance a few minutes after you abandoned it. The Constable on the beat reported it, and the police station told Scotland Yard. General Kellerman put it on the teleprinters immediately. A stolen ambulance, it said, no explanation of why or where or when. But it meant that the London Feldgendarmerie had it in writing. That in turn meant that the GFP, and finally the Abwehr, had to cover their backsides.’

‘Which is what Kellerman wanted,’ said Douglas.

‘Yes, he must have guessed what was really happening. It was a brilliant piece of deduction.’

‘Or a well-placed informant,’ said Douglas. Harry poured tea.

‘Yes, we can’t rule that out,’ said Mayhew. ‘Is this my tea? Thank you, Harry. Is His Majesty still dozing?’

‘He’s been like that since we collected him,’ said Harry. ‘I think we should have a doctor look at him.’

Mayhew nodded, drank his tea and pushed the King to the back of his mind. ‘Yes, it forced the army’s hand. They had no choice but to respond to the Scotland Yard teleprinter messages.’

‘What happened?’

‘Grossfahndung,’ said Mayhew. ‘The whole works; the King escaped this morning, the vehicle has been found abandoned in Central London. Confidential to Divisions, for the time being, but they won’t be able to keep the lid on this one for very long.’

‘Names?’

‘No names so far.’

‘Grossfahndung,’ said Harry. ‘What is it?’

‘The highest category of search,’ said Douglas. ‘Alerts to all departments of the armed forces, police, security units, auxiliary police units, docks, airports and railways police, SS, training camps, DAF, RAD, Hitler Youth, Uncle Tom Cobley and all.’

‘Grossfahndung,’ said Harry.

‘Kriegsfahndung for one hour,’ said Mayhew. ‘It changed status at one-thirty.’

‘I was in the Reform Club with Sir Robert.’

‘Well, something happened to make them change their mind.’ Mayhew finished the hot tea and got to his feet. ‘I think we must get you all out of here. Eventually they will check all aliens’ addresses, including Miss Barga’s. My car is outside.’

‘Do you think we could take one of Miss Barga’s blankets?’ Harry asked Douglas. ‘For the King.’

‘The spare bedroom is upstairs,’ said Douglas. ‘Take one.’

‘Kellerman is the unpredictable factor,’ said Mayhew. ‘At present he believes that you and Harry are totally loyal to him: you because the Resistance have tried to kill you, Harry because he’s frightened to death of being re-arrested. But how long that confidence will
last no one can be sure. Sooner or later your absence will be noted and they will suspect you are not away working for Huth, but away working with us.’

Douglas nodded. From overhead there came the sound of Harry having trouble with the bedroom door. Douglas was about to tell him that door sometimes jammed but decided against revealing how knowledgeable he was about the bedrooms. There was the sound of Harry moving a heavy weight and Douglas wondered if he was taking extra blankets from a suitcase in the cupboard. Then Harry came down the stairs. It was a short flight of stairs and Harry came down them so fast that he almost fell into the sitting-room.

‘Easy there, Sergeant,’ said Mayhew, holding his arm to steady him.

‘What is it, Harry?’

‘Miss Barga,’ said Harry.

Douglas looked at him for a moment before he realized what he meant. He pushed past Harry to get to the stairs. But Harry was too quick for him. ‘Stay here, Doug…listen to me a minute.’ He clasped Douglas in a bear hug, and try as he did there was no escaping from this huge man. ‘Don’t…bloody…go up there, I say.’ Harry was panting with the exertion of holding him.

‘All right,’ said Douglas the breath almost squeezed out of him.

Harry released him. ‘She’s upstairs, Douglas. She’s dead; I’m sorry.’

Douglas felt giddy.

‘Sit down a minute, Archer,’ said Mayhew.

But Douglas remained standing. For a moment he thought he would faint but he reached for the panelled door and supported himself. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure, Doug.’

‘How?’

‘She’s been knocked about. It’s better you don’t go upstairs. Looks like she disturbed a burglar and he hit her harder than he meant to.’

‘Burglar!’ said Douglas. He heard his own voice disembodied and far away. He saw the faces of the two men, stretched, tight flesh across their cheekbones, eyes staring at him. ‘Badly knocked about? Poor Barbara.’

‘We’d better leave right away,’ said Mayhew. ‘Get the King, Harry.’

‘And we were sitting here drinking tea,’ said Douglas. ‘While she was…’

‘For God’s sake pull yourself together, Archer. It’s terrible for you, I know. But there is no time for grief.’

Douglas blew his nose and then poured the last of the warm tea into a cup and drank it down with plenty of sugar. My God, he thought, the number of times he’d fed hot sweet tea to grieving relatives during his time as a policeman. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

‘That’s more like it,’ said Mayhew.

‘My son,’ said Douglas. ‘I’m worried about him.’

‘Leave that to me,’ said Mayhew. ‘Whatever happens, your son will be cared for, that I can promise you.’

‘Ready to go,’ called Harry from the other room.

‘We’re a little behind schedule,’ said Mayhew. ‘But everyone, all along the line, will be waiting for you. They are specially selected men. There will be no slip-ups.’

‘How soon will the Germans be forced to make it public?’ Harry asked.

‘The King’s escape?’ said Mayhew. He sniffed and stared at the door as he thought about it. ‘Midnight tonight at the earliest…noon tomorrow at the latest. I can’t believe they’ll leave it later than that, or rumours will be circulating all over Britain.’

‘How will your Abwehr friends explain why it wasn’t put on the BBC news as soon as they knew?’

‘They’ll say they were hoping to recapture him,’ he smiled. ‘Capture him before the news of his escape became headlines in the newspapers of the neutral countries. But now that Kellerman has let the cat out of the bag, Berlin will be demanding a scapegoat.’

‘And the army will be offering Kellerman as the scapegoat?’ said Douglas.

‘That’s the betting in Whitehall, but Kellerman has a reputation for romping home against the odds.’

‘How far will we have to take the King?’ Harry asked.

‘All the way, I’m afraid,’ said Mayhew. ‘We’re running six hours late. My people have no curfew passes, and their travel papers will be out of date at midnight. Your police passes will get you through.’

‘Until Kellerman puts our names on the teleprinters,’ said Harry.

‘Now that doesn’t sound like the Harry I used to know,’ said Mayhew. ‘If Scotland Yard adds your names to the Situation Report I’ll hear immediately.’

‘Unless they send it straight to the BBC, for the news bulletin,’ said Harry.

‘That’s right,’ said Mayhew cheerfully. ‘Now let’s clean the fingerprints off these cups, and so on, and get going. My car is quite close by. Did you leave any prints upstairs, Harry?’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Harry.

‘It will be bloody cold where we’re going, Archer,’ Mayhew promised. ‘That raincoat’s not warm enough. I have a duffel coat in the car.’ Mayhew consulted his pocket watch. ‘Ready, Harry?’ he called.

Douglas said, ‘Can you warn the people at the other end that we’re running a few hours late?’

Mayhew gave a brief smile. ‘You’re going to meet
some more Americans, Archer. They’ve come a long way, and they’ve chosen a night that will give them low tide at twilight, with a forecast of a calm sea and a full moon. By tomorrow’s dawn they’ll be gone – with or without the King.’

‘This is Bringle Sands.’ The accent was unmistakably that of Boston, Massachusetts. The US Marine Corps Captain tapped the map, so that the transparent protective covering flashed in the light of the yellow bulbs. ‘Your boats will hit the beach at dusk. The tide condition will be low enough to expose fully any underwater obstacles. You Marines will be crossing about three hundred yards of tidal flat…’ he hurried on with the briefing, lest his audience dwelled too much upon that danger. ‘…But it gives the engineers a chance to clear and mark a lane. And it also means that, at high-water, the boats will be coming in real close to pick you up.’

He looked at the men, packed tightly together on the metal folding chairs so incongruous in the seventeenth-century style gold and white panelling that the French Line had chosen for their passenger ships. He turned and touched the map of the Devon coastline but the men had eyes only for their Captain’s face, trying to see there some pre-knowledge or premonition of success or disaster. The mouth of the River Frane, Exeter, Yorkshire, Timbuktu; it made no difference to them, these were just forgotten names out of schoolbooks. Most of these Marines were farm boys from America’s Midwest with no ambition to see Europe. The lawyers had insisted upon them all being discharged from the USMC and re-enlisted (as Canadians) in the British service. To support this deception, they wore small Union-Jack badges on the sleeves of their uniform jackets, but
a wise decision of the Marine Corps planners had enabled them to keep their Browning automatic rifles.