Volk (24 page)

But there was one thing they could do. Ernst went into the town of La Linea, just north of the Gibraltar isthmus. “I am looking for Jorge,” he said in Spanish. “I think he has something for me.”

It was surprisingly easy. Jorge regarded himself as a trader. He took Spanish goods to Gibraltar, trading them for British money, which was valuable to some parties in Spain. Twice a week he loaded up his small boat and rowed down to the west shore of Gibraltar where he delivered Spanish wines, exotic condoms, rare expensive canned food, dirty pictures, spices, and items of female apparel not seen on the street. The British authorities knew about it, but ignored him as long as he smuggled no dangerous drugs or weapons. Ernst could understand why: such trade served as a certain relief valve for bored military men, and helped keep the internal peace. “I have many officers as customers,” Jorge confided. “They don't come in person, but I know them by their tastes. I have the only brand of tea they really like, and the herbs to make women wild for sex.”

“I don't believe that,” Ernst said.

Jorge eyed him cannily. “But
they
believe, and that is what counts. What is it that you believe in?”

In other words, what did he want badly enough to pay an outrageous price for it. “I believe you could smuggle someone to or from Gibraltar, and back again on your following trip.”

“You believe too much! They would have my head!”

“Who?”

“The British! They watch that rock like hawks. They look the other way when I trade, but if I ever tried to bring anyone else there, they would shoot me.”

Ernst nodded. “Surely they would. And what do you think the Spaniards would do if you brought a Britisher from the rock to Spain?”

He became canny. “The Spanish don't care. They sell me the goods I trade. Anyone who comes from the Rock is here for a good time, with much money to spend. There are no women there, now; the British expelled them all. The local women know how to get it all from a man, and leave him happy.”

So he did conduct some British to Spain. “And the Germans? What do you think they would do to such a visitor?”

“Oh, the Germans do not know about this.”

“Are you sure?”

Jorge looked at him, beginning to catch on. “Who are you?”

“I am Captain Osterecht of the Abwehr.”

“What do you want with me?” Jorge asked, alarmed.

“I want information. I want you to tell me of any future British you bring here.”

“But if you take them, my business will be destroyed! I must bring them safely back, or I will not dare show my face at the Rock again.”

“Let me explain what I have in mind. You will inform me of any Britisher you bring here. I will encounter him by seeming coincidence, interrogate him, and let him go. You will be blameless and he will not be harmed. Your business will not be affected.”

“But why should I tell you? My business will be safer if I protect the business of my clients.”

Ernst slowly drew his service pistol, the one that had impressed and horrified Quality. He hoped it would have similar effect here.

“Because your business will be in trouble if you do not.” He paused, letting the man's fear build as the threat sank in. “And because I will pay you generously for your cooperation.”

Jorge's expression changed from fear to greed. “You will pay?”

Ernst put away the pistol and brought out a packet of bills. The threat had been a bluff, but the bribe was not. “This now, and the same again, for each one you tell me of.” It was the stick and carrot approach, normally quite effective.

So it was that the deal was made. With luck, they would have a Britisher to interrogate about the defenses of Gibraltar. They had a drug that would make a person talk fairly freely, and forget what had occurred.

A week later Jorge contacted Ernst by calling the number he had been given. “There is one.”

Ernst went immediately, taking pesos. Jorge told him where the Britisher was dallying, and Ernst gave him the money. Then the agents of the Abwehr closed in on the target.

But it was only a seaman, fresh in port and determined to get what he usually got in port. He would not have any worthwhile knowledge. They let him go without interrogation.

The following week there was another. Again they paid handsomely for nothing. Jorge was getting far the best of the deal.

But the third week it was different. “This time an airman,” Jorge said as he took the money.

That could be good news. An airman should have seen the rock from above, and know where its main defensive emplacements were. Ernst went himself to check this one.

The man was not going to the house of the prostitutes. In fact he was not staying in town at all. He had already rented a car and was driving rapidly north. What was going on? There was nothing entertaining in that direction.

“He must be a secret agent,” someone said.

Now that seemed likely. What better way to introduce one to Spain? “We must discover what he is up to,” Ernst said. But he was the only one free to pursue the agent. He got his car and set off. Now it was not merely information on the Rock he was after, but a line on what the British were trying to do in Spain. This could be extremely important.

Ernst knew the roads of Spain, and could drive them at night. The British agent evidently did not. He took wrong turns and got enmeshed in the dead ends of bombed out roads. He got lost in obscure towns. But he seemed to be headed up the coast, toward Valencia. He also seemed to be in a hurry to get there, so was driving all night. But Ernst was able to catch up to him, before turning off so as not to give away his pursuit. He knew which car it was, so would not lose it.

The agent would not make it to Valencia quickly. Ernst knew of a bombed-out bridge that would surely catch him and force him to retrace a goodly segment of his route. The bridge was marked plainly, so there was no danger of driving off it and into space, but it would cause the man to turn around. Ernst drew up to the turnoff and parked his car sideways, blocking it. Now he would find out who the man was and what he was up to. It seemed pointless to follow him hundreds of miles until he reached a big city, where he could be lost. Better to brace him here, alone.

Ernst got out of his car and stood beside it, his hand on his pistol. It was quite possible that the agent would be dangerous when he saw himself trapped. But it was also possible that this was not a saboteur, but someone trying to infiltrate an office or simply to make an observation and retreat with his notes. Exactly as Ernst would have done, had it been feasible to reach Gibraltar. So he would not be too ready to use his pistol. He preferred not to reveal himself as German, if he could avoid it.

At dawn the lights of the agent's car appeared. They speared down to strike Ernst's car. This was the critical point. Would the man stop? Would he talk?

The car stopped. Its motor died; the driver did not want to waste petrol. The man came out in the early light.

“Who are you?” Ernst called in Spanish. A true agent would know the language.

“I don't speak Spanish.”

Ernst was amazed.
He knew that voice
!

“Lane Dowling!” he exclaimed.

“Oh my God—is that you, Ernst?”

They walked together and embraced, after each put away his ready pistol. “I thought you were a secret agent!” Ernst said.

“I thought you were a Spanish highwayman. What are you doing here?”

“Following you.” Then Ernst made a connection. “Quality! You are coming to see her! But—” He hesitated.

Lane frowned. “Have you seen her?”

“Yes. I did not know she was in Spain. I was inspecting the Quaker facilities in Barcelona, and there she was. She did not expose my cover.”

Lane's attention was fixed. “When was this?”

“July tenth. We traveled together, to see Guernica. I returned her to her station July twelfth.”

“She was well?” There was an intensity to Lane's question.

“Physically she seemed somewhat worn, but well. Mentally— she saw war, Lane. It hurt her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Why, America, I think. When I returned to Barcelona in August they told me that all the Quakers had left Spain. You did not know?”

“She did not go to America or to England. That much I know.”

Ernst gazed at him in consternation. “Then where is she?”

“That's why I came here. To find out. Only I haven't been able to get papers for Spain. So I had to sneak in, hoping to reach Barcelona without being discovered.”

Ernst shook his head. “The Quakers are not there. Franco deported them. The food trucks are not moving. She would not remain if she could not help. Perhaps there was a mistake in the listing, and she is after all in America.”

“No,” Lane said grimly. “No mistake. I checked and rechecked every report. She did not leave Spain with the Quakers.”

“Lane, I know nothing of this. She—I would not want her to be hurt. When we traveled together, it was compatible. It is easy to see why you love her. Had my mission in Spain had anything to do with her disappearance, I would have known. I must conjecture that either the Spanish authorities arrested her—”

“They tell us they did not.”

“They will say what they choose to say. But surely they had no reason. She meant no harm to them.”

“So what is the other prospect?”

Ernst sighed. “That she somehow fell afoul of—criminals, perhaps. There are many desperate people in Spain.”

“But she knew enough to stay clear of them.”

“Yes. She was competent.” Ernst did not like the thought of Quality being killed by criminals much better than Lane did. He cast about for something else. “Or—the Quakers had connections in France. If she went there—”

“Would the Vichy have arrested her?”

“Things are confused in France. It is possible. Yet they should have released her when they saw her papers.”

“Suppose it was the Germans?”

“They might hold her as hostage. Because she was working with the British, and we are at war.”

Lane grinned mirthlessly. “Don't I know it! Can you find out about her?”

“Yes. I should be able to, if she is in any Vichy or German list. But I do not know whether I could do anything to help her. If she is in a camp—they can be very strict.”

“You could surely do more than I could!”

Ernst laughed, but not with humor. “I might suggest to the commandant of the camp that she is of interest to certain parties, and must be kept healthy. But that would not get her free. At least it would help until a prisoner exchange could be arranged. But prospects for any such thing are bleak.”

“You will do what you can.”

“I will do what I can.”

“Now I am glad we met. You know it would be no betrayal of your side to help her. She's a pacifist.”

“No betrayal,” Ernst agreed.

“If you learn anything, maybe you could have news sent to the Spanish authorities.”

“I will try.”

“Then my effort here has not been for nothing, thanks to the incredible coincidence of meeting you.”

“Coincidence? I think not. It was Quality who brought us together-even in her absence.”

“Must be. But I'm glad it happened, Ernst. I never expected to see you again, when the war got going. Is there anything I can do for you, in return for looking out for Quality?”

“There is one thing. My people believe that I was in pursuit of a spy. I must make a report. Can you tell me of the defenses of Gibraltar?”

Lane paused, considering. “That question tells me your mission here.”

“I am afraid it does. But if I do not get the answer to my question, from the spy, they may choose not to let you return.”

Lane laughed. “I know how it is. Okay, Ernst, I don't think it will materially compromise our security to tell you what you already know. Gibraltar is practically invulnerable to any attack short of a major invasion. You could beat it down by shelling it from artillery based in Spain, or by continuously bombing it. But you'd take heavy losses in planes. I'm a fighter pilot, and I looked at their ack-ack. I'd never want to go up against it. I honestly believe that unless you can base your artillery in Spain, you don't have a chance. Not by land, certainly; you know the isthmus is mined. So is the harbor. So my advice to you is give it up. Don't even try to take it.”

“Can you give specifics?”

“Yeah, sure. They'll only prove my point.” He went on to do so.

“I think my people will be satisfied,” Ernst said. “They will know that I could have come by those details only by interrogating one who had seen the defenses directly.”

“For sure.”

“Then let us return to La Linea. I believe our business is done. I will follow your car, and will advise my people to let you proceed unmolested. We prefer that the British not suspect that we are observing them.”

“They already suspect. But they hardly care.”

“With reason, I think.” Ernst stepped back.

Lane relaxed. He offered his hand. Ernst took it. Then they got in their cars and Ernst drew his out of the way, letting Lane pass.

•  •  •

Ernst's report was no comfort to the Abwehr. “Nothing short of a massive assault will take it. We don't have the resources. There are no weaknesses I could find.”

“What about Jorge? If we smuggled soldiers—”

“He wouldn't do it. If he did, we could smuggle only two at a time. They could not do enough damage to make a difference.”

However, Ernst did make sketches and write out descriptions of the defenses in fair detail. He had succeeded in defining the enemy emplacements. The problem was that this only confirmed that the notion of taking Gibraltar by assault was foolish. He suspected that his report would not be forwarded to Admiral Canaris.