The Ian Fleming Files (52 page)

The sunset over the city on the last day of
August had been dramatic and unusal enough in its multi-hued display to wrench
Willy from his desk and indulge in the stunning view which he chose daily to
keep his back to while he worked. He stood at the tall bay windows and shifted
his dark eyes from the burnished sky's cauldron of colors to the stretch of
Prinz-Albrecht Straße immediately below, idly evaluating the comings and goings
with a steady ocular scan east-west from Wilhelmstraße. Elm trees lined the
left side of the road, their limbs starting to shed leaves, the colors fading,
Willy thought, like  an old man's skin. Children played hopskotch on the corner
where a shiny new black BMW was parked. A milk van trundled down the avenue.

Willy flexed his neck across the tight collar
of his immacualte field grey tunic. When he spoke, his voice was neutral and
controlled. "Any subterfuge from England I must know about before High
Command. On this point, I feel I have been quite clear, have I not, Officer
Glebb?"

He was addressing SS-Assault squad leader
Hannah Glebb who  stood before Willy's desk with her beady hazel eyes fixed
forward, unmoved by the spectral delight of the enchanting sunset over Berlin.
She was a tall, statuesque girl, with a crooked mouth and small sharp teeth.
Twenty-four, blonde and blue-eyed, her sensational figure was encased in a
striking sky-blue uniform consisting of an Italian-style garrison cap, an
A-line skirt with the hem below the knee and a form-fitting jacket with
twin-lightning bolt SS shoulder flashes.

She spoke rapidly and wasted few words.
"NID wants to frighten Uncle Sam into joining forces with Great
Britain," she rattled off. "One step closer to a united front against
us."

Willy spun round, his features contorted.
"We know this! What is their progress?"

"A meeting is to take place two days
from now with Room 39 and three American delegates."

Willy paced the short length of his office.
"A meeting? Yes... I see the plan now... No doubt Admiral John Godfrey and
his lapdogs intend to make an impression: Feed the Yanks something important,
something disturbing. Pertaining to naval weaknesses most likely. Britain
patrols the Atlantic ergo it will be Pacific vulnerability."

Hannah jutted out her chest. "Tell me
what I must do."

Willy roved his eyes over her form. "Sit
down, please, officer Glebb."

Hannah obliged and sat with an erect back.

Willy lingered behind her and inhaled.
"There is a useful English expression my lieben, 'Give a man enough rope
to hang himself'." He moved away from her and resumed his pacing.

A rare look of bewilderment darkened Glebb's
face. She looked at Willy quizzically. "
Bitte
?"

"It means..." Willy searched for
the right word and then gave up. "It means Americans love meetings and
nothing will come of it."

"I see," said Glebb.

Willy forced a smile. "Would you like
some coffee?"

"No, thank you,
Oberführer.
I
find it excites me."

"
I believe that is the point. Perhaps some whiskey? I have a
bottle of American bourbon?" Glebb seemed reluctant but did not want to
refuse a second time. She nodded and smiled. He went to a cabinet and opened
it, found the bottle and glasses, poured two fingers.

Glebb took her drink from him and raised it
to meet Willy's. They drank. Willy winced as he felt the liquor scorch his
throat. Glebb looked like she had just downed a glass of water. "There is
one NID operative who may be a problem," she began, treading cautiously,
"a very pushy man. Ian Fleming, underling to Rear Admiral Godfrey."

Willy poured more whiskey. "Pushy, eh? I
don't like pushy."

"He has a counterpart on the American
side: Max Leighter."

"Two pushy men!" Willy sat at his
desk and steepled his fingers.

Glebb raised her glass and knocked the
whiskey back in one. Willy paused, brought his glass to his mouth and sipped
half.

"Together these two men could cause
ripples," he said, coughing from the drink. "I hate ripples, Officer
Glebb." He turned and spoke into the intercom nestled in a side nook.
"Heinrich? Is the devil here?" He listened to the male voice from the
other end then picked up the receiver. "Tell him to get in place. What was
that? Ja, ja. Tell her I am busy." He clicked off in annoyance, looked at
Glebb. "My wife sleeps with my best friend and then wonders why I don't
take her calls." He looked at her as if expecting a response. There was a
quiet insanity in his voice.

Glebb, rarely lost for words, allowed herself
this one moment of being tongue-tied. Willy crossed to the wall of the
adjoining office and slid a panel open revealing a large mirror. There was a
rustling sound behind the glass, as if someone were getting into place in a
hidden cavity on the other side.

"Alzo, Officer Hannah Glebb. Your
mission is simple. Eliminate Ian Fleming and his pushy American counterpart
before the NID convinces Uncle Sam to help them in their hopeless fight against
the Third Reich."

Glebb nodded, her eyes fixed curiously on the
glass.

"Dismissed!"

Glebb snapped her heels together and saluted.
"Heil, Hitler."

Willy lazily flopped a hand up. "Ja, ja.
Heil Hitler."

He waited until she had goose-stepped out
before turning to the mirror with a wicked grin.

"You can come out now, Caspar."

The two-way mirror dislodged as it was pushed
forward from the other side. From the secret viewing booth emerged a thin
Gestapo officer in a black silver threaded uniform with a face that looked like
it had been sewn together by a medic in the dark, his mouth so badly scarred
that it was impossible to say where his lips were until he started to speak. He
seemed to have no hair whatsoever, though it was possible a few tufts lurked
beneath the black SS cap with the leering death's head.

Willy had beheld the ghastly visage too many
times to recoil. He looked Caspar Beckmann in the eyes and asked, "What
did you think of your silent partner?"

Caspar crinkled his eyes. He reached into
Willy's pocket for a cigarette, shuffled to his desk and found a box of
matches. "A woman, Willy? Have you lost your mind?"

"You are to be her guardian angel. Watch
over her. And be sure to step in if she needs asistant or in the event she
should fail. I shall call this little mission of ours 'Operation Beauty and the
Beast.'"

"Have you slept with her, Willy?"

"What has that to do with
anything?"

"No," said Caspar, lighting his
cigarette. "Good. I can have some fun then."

Willy's face turned cold. "Don't touch
her. Stay focused on the task, preventing a British American meeting of the
minds."

"I don't take orders from you, Willy.
Remember. I help you as a favor."

"And in return I don't tell Himmler of
your penchant for painkillers."

Caspar was silent. He took a deep drag of his
cigarette and blasted the smoke into the window revealing slanting shafts of
sunlight with thousands of dust particles floating through them.

"You would live on percodan if you had
to endure these wounds."

"I understand completely. But would
Himmler?"

Caspar strode to the sunset and turned to
face Willy. The bright light behind him brought out the full horror of his
disfiguration.

"A woman is not suitable for this job.
She will fail."

"If she fails, you do. How many other
officers are willing to give you such choice assignments? See to it that she
doesn't."

CHAPTER THREE              FRIDAY               SEPTEMBER
2    

The old black Bentley took Fleming and
Godfrey quietly and quickly northwards across the strip of Whitehall from
Trafalgar Square to Chelsea.

Godfrey sat stiffly in the back perusing the
material from Mu's mail tube. He folded the maps and returned them to Fleming,
his creased, ashen face as expressionless as ever. "Hawaii is vulnerable
but which base? There are over nine spread out across the islands."

"The most populous by far is Pearl
Harbor, sir."

"Time to bring in an American. William
Donovan. He's the man you need to meet." 

"Wild Bill Donovan?"

"You know him?"

"Colonel William Donovan. Succesful
divorce attorney and Columbia law school classmate of Roosevelt. Won a jacket
full of medals in World War I."

"Spare me the Who's Who. I don't need
his bloody biography."

"Rumor is Roosevelt's about to appoint
Donovan to the newly created office of Coordinator of Information acting as an
adviser to the President on all matters concerned with intelligence, propaganda
and special operations."

"That's no rumor. Hoover's jealous of
course so he's ruined Donovan in the American Press. Wild Bill's over here,
begging some higher ups to see the sense in sharing intelligence with him and
his nascent BSC rather than the established and frankly uninterested FBI. He's
a lot like you, actually, Fleming."

"Meaning?"

"Disgraced, on the outside, trying to
get in with the big boys."

"Why am I disgraced?"

"Must I remind you? Not many people can
say they've been expelled from Eton and Sandhurst."

Fleming smiled thinly. "Thank you, sir.
Where do I find Wild Bill?"

"He's going to a bond drive at Viscount
Rothermere's estate this weekend. Your other girlfriend should be able to snag
you an invite. The reporter at
The Mail
. I say, just as well your
popular with the ladies otherwise we'd be in trouble on this one."

Fleming was peeved. "Is there anything
about my private life that you aren't privvy to?"

"I told you, you don't have a private
life. And don't drag your heels on this. I want a game plan for the Yanks by
tomorrow. Did you see today's papers?" He flapped
The Times
at
Fleming. "Another black bordered edition blaring tragedy. The P.M.'s
breathing down my neck."

"We have to crack Enigma," Fleming
said impulsively.

"Thank you for stating the obvious.
Kindly focus on America. Get to Donovan and together figure out what I can say
with authority to the Yanks to light a fire under their arses, sorry
'asses.'"

The car elegantly came to a stop outside
Admiralty Quadrangle. Fleming got out and held the door for Godfrey who didn't
budge.

"Meeting with Hargreaves at The Stork
Club," he told Fleming and the door shut leaving him there.

Fleming turned and traipsed into work.

***

The skinny scarlet-haired stenographer June
Hayes was sitting on the sofa in her boss's office with her spiraled notepad
and sharpened number two pencil at the ready, looking more attractive than
usual in a light blue blouse and cream cloth skirt with wide-buckled belt, her
flowing copper locks pulled back off her plain but sweet face with an Alice
band, giving her a slightly fresh and innocent schoolgirl look. A two page
diary entry later would detail how her new hairstyle and pricey outfit went
tragically unnoticed by the object of her secret affection, the reason behind
her makeover, who despite his usual heightened sensitivity to such minor
disruptions in his universe like the changed appearance of his secretary was
wholly preoccuppied with the bulky typewriter-like device taking up a large
space on his desk, a newly arrived mock-up of an Enigma machine assembled by
Q-Branch.

Fleming stared at the threads of blue twine
meant to represent the impossibly complex, circuitous and repeated changes of
electrical paths that run through an Enigma scrambler as if the power of his
penetrative stare would somehow unlock its mysteries and reveal its hidden
secrets to him.

The strange contaption had three sets of keys
and several rows of lights, each with a different letter of the alphabet. Where
the typewriter carriage normally would be located, three cylindrical rotors
were mounted crosswise to the way the roller would have been installed. The
letters of the alphabet were inscribed around the rim of each rotor.

"You'll never make sense of that you
know," June said. "There's a whole floor of people trained in
cryptanalysis working on enigma."

Fleming was undeterred. "I'm not trying
to break it, just understand it. It's eight o clock. Don't you have a fella to
go to?"

"No, I don't have a boyfriend."

She looked at him but he was engrossed in a
display on the corkboard behind his desk. A board of maps with red string
everywhere, held in place with tacks, linking Hawaiian bases and islands to
various possible Japanese attack launch points from land and sea. 

"Besides," she continued. "I
don't feel right leaving you alone."

"Blast!" He shook his finger,
having pricked it on a tac. "There's always someone here, June. I'm a big
boy, I can walk myself home. You need your beauty sleep."