World War Two Will Not Take Place (15 page)

‘These are routine moves. All countries who can afford it spy on other countries. We don't want the British to think we're deeply scared our talks with Moscow will be revealed. That would give more importance to the talks than they actually have. It could lead to the British deciding to attack us now, before they might be faced with a double enemy: Germany plus Russia. They have difficult, warlike voices there – Churchill, Lionel Paterin, Vansittart. Lionel Paterin particularly, in his brutal style, has been making very aggressive speeches lately, three or four. He is in their Cabinet
and
Defence Cabinet. This is a man of big influence, and big influence not exercised in our favour.

‘The Führer wants his State visit to London next Spring. It would help bring him closer to the romantic king, Edward known as David, and therefore to the British people and their government. A king in a democracy is
only
a king in a democracy, but he has massive pull. That pull is exceptionally massive now he has browbeaten so many high-born figures into accepting his much-travelled Yank woman and letting her live in Buck House, as they call Buckingham Palace in their seemingly self-puncturing way. We will be able to forget Russia. A British–German treaty might soon follow this London jaunt by the Führer, despite the ravings of that drunken lout, Churchill, plus Paterin, Vansittart, Eden, and their noisy, Jew-sponsored clique. A spy hunt and capture here, now, in Berlin? No. The repercussions would make that State visit impossible. Mount and Eisen strung up? How could that help, Andreas? The arrests, trials and toppings would have to be publicized. Not even Goebbels and his Public Enlightenment Ministry could stop that getting out and enlightening. A profound chill would be inevitable between the two countries.'

Knecht jutted his almost Habsburg jaw, signalling determination to fix a grip on the future. His speech remained intelligible despite this jut. ‘Therefore, the British and their insider, Mount, should be allowed to continue,' he said. ‘Bilson, and perhaps Chamberlain, probably think that if they prove Germany seeks a secret arrangement with Russia, it will show Munich to be valueless. They possibly regret Munich now, in hindsight – the paltry bit of paper. Suppose we jump on Mount and Eisen, or whatever they call him, it will seem, as I've said, that the Berlin–Moscow negotiations are immensely significant and must be kept hidden. It would look as though we rushed to wipe out any possibility of an information leak about our negotiations with Moscow because those negotiations are so vital to us.

‘Yes, the contemptible war faction in Britain – Churchill, Lionel Paterin, Vansittart, others – would then find it easier to convince Parliament and the country that now, immediately, is the time to hit us, before we become too powerful, backed by Stalin. Bilson may hope for that, and so might Chamberlain, having lost his belief in Munich. And frankly, Andreas, who could blame him for that? Who would have expected Chamberlain ever to have swallowed the rubbish he was given there? I speak, of course, as between you and me only. Therefore, let the chatter with Moscow continue, as though confidentially. It gives us time and does not endanger the London trip.

‘Of course, the Russians know the Führer hopes for a state visit to London, and that he hopes, too, that a lasting alliance with Britain will result. This makes the Moscow–Berlin talks about a non-aggression pact look ridiculous. But Stalin will let them proceed because he needs time to repair the harm he's done at the top of the Red Army. Everyone seeks time. The Moscow–Berlin talks are never going to reach fruition, and Mount and Eisen will have to go on telling Bilson, and therefore Chamberlain, that it's still only an idea, an intent, a fleeting Berlin whim. This would not be enough to convince British public opinion to authorize war.

‘Mind you, Andreas, I believe – and others far above believe – that the relief after Munich was so great in Britain, so general, so cross-party, cross-class, cross-newspapers, that it could not now be revisited and rejected, even if our talks with Moscow did get pushed into the open. That would be a gamble, though, and one we do not need to take yet, if at all. Just tell those two labourers in the field, Mair and Schiff, they've done very nicely and it's recognized at distinguished levels, but that matters have now gone beyond chair receipts, and beyond the range and comprehension of industrious nobodies. They should get back into their kennels and await a call for some other dogsbody job. And remove all other surveillance, Andreas. I've told the police to ignore the woman's complaint about men watching the Steglitz apartments.'

SEVEN

M
arcus Mount saw the result of this order by Knecht, though, of course, he didn't fully know the thinking behind it. In fact, there had been all sorts of developments over the last thirty-six hours that he hadn't completely understood. But that was true of so much Section business.

Sitting alone now at the Toledo club bar, he went over in his head the core events of the last day and a half. He tabulated them in his mind for clarity. He liked tabulating. It made for tidiness. He'd handled problems by this method since childhood.

He had always greatly liked the look of the Toledo club. It had an instantly obvious degree of what must be termed class, yes, class – that is, compared with some other Berlin clubs, which could be total shitholes. No wonder that cartoonist – Grosz wasn't it? – satirized these dumps in the 1920s, showing customers as bloated, coarse, sottish, lascivious. One of his collections was called something like
The Face of the Ruling Class
. Harsh, though probably accurate. Mount thought Grosz emigrated to America just before Hitler took power; but if he'd stayed he could have still found Berlin clubs like that. Not the Toledo, however. Invariably, Mount felt more or less comfortable as soon as he walked in, and did tonight.

Chiming with the club's name, there were Spanish themes, but muted. Genuine, slightly faded yellow and red posters from last year advertising bull fights in Toledo decorated one wall, plus framed photographs of matadors at work in the ring; and there was one photo of bearded American novelist Ernest Hemingway – a great bullfight fan – beaming and brandishing his famous book about the sport,
Death In The Afternoon
. Mount disliked the title. Mawkish. Flamboyant. People and animals had died in afternoons ever since there
were
people and animals, so why make it special to bullfights? Half a dozen bright-metalled sabres were fixed to another wall of the club, as well as some photographs of fencing bouts. Toledo had a world reputation for steel manufacture, particularly its blades.

The mahogany bar was long and built with a gentle, friendly curve. It invited you to come to it and relax. It spoke to Mount of civilization. Small tables and straight-backed chairs, also mahogany, occupied the central area of the big room, with shadowy booths off, each with a table and leather armchairs. An upright piano stood on a band platform at one end, and next to it a small square for dancing was marked out with thin lines of white paint. The Toledo had order. Floral patterns in subdued colours on dark-red wallpaper gave a feeling of warmth and cosiness, despite the swords. The wall behind the bar was covered by a huge, gleaming mirror that caught all the busy to-and-froing.

Mount thought Toulmin showed taste in settling on the Toledo as right for him, and in setting up a happy arrangement with two of its girls, perhaps more, though Mount knew only the two. Most of the Berlin clubs familiar to Mount had poor furniture, little space, dark, bare walls – noisy drinking shops, nothing better. You wouldn't come across girls of Inge's and Olga's calibre in that sort of shabby pit, or at any rate not while they were still young, arses radiantly undropped. He badly needed to find Inge and Olga tonight.

The last thirty-six hours leading up to this Wednesday-night call at the club had been full of confusion for Mount: some very poor stuff, some quite good. Despite all his ins and outs at the Lichtenberg apartment, he'd failed to reach Toulmin or discover what had been going on. This was frustrating. All right, late on that Monday, he'd eventually found Toulmin; or, more like it,
Toulmin
had found
him
, by turning up at Steglitz, followed by Inge and Olga. And Toulmin's breakfast account the next morning of events at Moscow had been brilliantly full, of course, and an entirely unexpected boon. During Toulmin's unexplained disappearance, Mount had a very guarded talk with SB from a post-office telephone. ‘The business man I hoped to meet to negotiate the deal is absent from Berlin, I'm afraid.' That kind of dismally uninventive coding.

SB had said: ‘Patience. Take advantage of all local resources to complete these sales, please, Stanley.'

From this, Mount deduced that because of the emergency his work had been raised to a full, official, operational status: ‘take advantage of all local resources' meant the British embassy. SB had sounded badly concerned. Now, Mount could use the embassy's services and, if necessary, consult the Service's permanent resident there – Head of Passport Control, as he was listed, a standard cover. And, via the embassy, Mount had sent a detailed memorandum of the Toulmin report to SB yesterday, though only after a disturbing snag or two caused a few hours' delay. With the report also went, of course, a reassurance for SB that Toulmin had turned up and was safe.

Toulmin had left for work immediately after breakfast yesterday, and Mount decided to do the obvious: get to the embassy, a.m. if possible, and send a summary of the Russia stuff. It was smack-on relevant to SB's thinking. The core of the proposals discussed in Moscow, according to Toulmin, would stipulate that neither Russia nor Germany would join a grouping of powers threatening the other. The treaty should last ten years, with a possible extension for another five. The futures of Poland, Czechoslovakia and the Baltic states – Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania – were considered. Secret ‘rearrangements' for these territories would be negotiated, meaning that in a carve up Germany and Russia would have properly defined ‘spheres of influence' and each would respect these. Russia was given an assurance that Germany didn't want Bessarabia.

But first, before dispatching this, Mount had given the girls some breakfast, too. Didn't they deserve proper hospitality? Money alone might have made things seem only businesslike and cold. Neither the girls nor Mount would have liked that. Mount didn't mind paying them Toulmin's share. He felt this fell within the reasonable duties of a host. He was sure that, in the same way, if he and the girls spent time with Toulmin in the Lichtenberg apartment,
he
would have taken care of the fees – possibly using money given him by Mount for work as an agent. It was that kind of civilized social concord.

He tabulated recollections now: (1) CHAIRS.

When the girls had gone, Mount was about to set out to the embassy, but met his elderly woman neighbour again on the stairs. She said: ‘In one way, I'm happy to say, matters have greatly improved. Now, I don't see any more broken chair parts in my bin.'

‘Bad times do pass if only one is strong.'

‘But, forgive me, I speak selfishly. Are there, perhaps, pieces of chair in
your
bin?'

‘Not at all.'

‘Good.'

‘It was a temporary, very untypical matter.'

‘However, I've noticed two men of a furtive nature watching the apartments from near the service lane opposite outside. Have
you
noticed such men?'

‘“Of a furtive nature”?'

‘Shifty. Intent.'

‘Are they there now?' he said.

‘This morning they are in a car. I have reported them to the police. They might be connected to the business with the chair pieces. Is it a plot of some kind? This is a question that must be asked. What is the connection between these men and the dismembered chairs? They were not carrying anything of the sort when I saw them, but it is surely a worry that they should lurk like this. We are not used to such situations in this part of Steglitz – ruined furniture and loiterers. The police were surprised to hear of the chair fragments in such an area.'

‘Yes, I'm sure. What did they say?'

‘That they might look into it. One of them told me he would examine the log of past incidents in Steglitz over a period of years and see if any of them concerned broken chairs. They haven't called on me yet.'

‘Ah.'

‘But perhaps they will. I said the matter had to be regarded as urgent.'

‘Well, yes.' God, he might have to get rid of all the birch and metal laminated chairs in case the police did come and began to ask tenants as a matter of urgency about these fragments. They would see the resemblance between the chairs in Mount's apartment and the bits described by his neighbour. Then, all sorts of questions might start.

He had turned back on the stairs and struck his forehead a slight palm blow to signify forgetfulness. ‘Excuse me, I must return to my apartment. I've left the Berlin guide book behind. I'm going to look at Steglitz town hall today. It's been recommended to me as of great architectural interest. Although I come frequently to the apartment here, you know, somehow I've never gone to see the town hall. It's remiss of me. The book has notes.'

‘You are British, I think. In your country, perhaps, they don't have town halls of this type, this grandeur. Very handsome. Nineteenth-century neo-Gothic.'

‘That period is often underrated.'

Mount had gone back to his apartment and found the book. It would do as a prop. But, really, he'd wanted to check on the street outside. He glanced from the window and saw a parked Mercedes. It was near an old, aggressively simple election poster, stuck to one of the service lane walls. Mount had noticed it on his first stay in Steglitz years ago. Rather weathered now, it would presumably have been for the presidential contest of 1932: a Hitler mugshot on a black background with his surname in big, white, plain sans serif capital letters underneath. It didn't work for him then, but the next year, 1933, he'd made it to Chancellor and dictatorship.