World War Two Will Not Take Place (3 page)

‘Yes, Toulmin, a reliable lad, I believe,' Stephen Bilson had said at the private Section meeting with Mount earlier today. He looked as if he was pretty much recovered from whatever undermined him at Heston yesterday. Mount still found it difficult to read his face, but he'd thought it did now show the doggedness and resolution that was customary for SB, but which seemed to slip for a while at the airport. Baillie had often suggested to Mount that SB's army experience in the war shaped his psyche, or reshaped it. Of course, this might be said about many who came back from the trenches in 1918. Baillie had done some research. SB started in the ranks as a rifleman, became a no-man's-land sniper, then corporal in charge of a machine gun unit, then sergeant and sergeant major and, by 1916, had been commissioned in the field. He left the army in 1919 as a lieutenant colonel with the Distinguished Service Medal, earned as a corporal, and the Military Cross, as an officer.

Baillie, this would-be psychologist, but not a stupid would-be psychologist, reckoned that stoicism – the magnificent, unflamboyant ability to keep buggering on – was what carried Bilson forward in the war and remained his chief strength. This had been Baillie's argument after the poetry babble about Sir Henry Newbolt yesterday. There might be something in it. ‘The point about stoicism,' Baillie had said, ‘is it works well, as long as it works well. But if it weakens, or fails altogether, there's not much left. The ex-stoic may become a breakdown case, his behaviour either fallen into paralysis, or gone wild, irrational, incoherent.'

Had this happened to SB? Was the Berlin assignment for Mount wild, irrational, incoherent? ‘You're concerned about Russia? In which respect, sir,' Mount had asked him.

‘Moscow cuddling up to Adolf. A potential pact. That respect. I want to know if it's happening.'

‘Is it likely?'

‘We in our little game don't necessarily deal in likelihoods, Marcus.' He said this mildly enough, but it was severe, instructional, a right-hand jab at naivety. ‘Possibilities are our meat. We have to guess at which way things might go. We pick through these possibilities until we reach what looks as if it could be a likelihood. Or we hope we do. And
if
we do – and that's not at all guaranteed, Marcus – we then tell our leaders about it. I'm afraid we might have overlooked a possibility. Or that
I
might have overlooked a possibility. And a possibility that could develop into a likelihood. My error. A bad one. I think I know how it happened. Get over there, will you, and send Toulmin sniffing.'

‘For what in particular?'

‘This love affair I mentioned. Stalin and Hitler.'

‘An alliance between Moscow and Berlin?'

‘An alliance, a treaty.'

Mount felt left behind. ‘Excuse me, sir, but don't most people see Germany and Russia as out-and-out political enemies: one fascist, the other Commie?'

‘Yes, perhaps most people do see Russia and Germany as natural enemies. But I'd like you to ask Toulmin to find whether there've been any private dealings, or preparations for dealings, or soundings-out for preparations for dealings, or soundings-out for soundings-out for preparations for dealings, between Moscow and Berlin. That is his objective, and yours, Marcus. Discover whether a new agreement is being cooked up.' Some of Bilson's army experience poked through there. Troops had to have clear, simple objectives. Mount and, via him, Toulmin, were SB's foot soldiers. ‘This is not an unhazardous one for Toulmin,' SB said. ‘I hope we're always careful in what we ask our agents to do for us. Make it plain that we'll try all we know to protect him and get him, and any family, out of Germany if matters turn rough. And we'll up his retainer, of course. Go very cagily, Marcus. Jerry is improving his counter-us operation all the time. Matters, when they do turn rough there, turn very rough. The Third Reich is a new Reich and still feels vulnerable. Therefore, it defends itself ferociously.'

Then, Bilson seemed deliberately to move away from the perils of the operation. He said: ‘An earlier German leader, Bismark, asked those around him, “What's the secret of politics?” Answer? “Make a good treaty with Russia.” Perhaps Hitler believes likewise. You and Toulmin will, I know, find out. Off you go, lad.'

In the evening, after making himself a meal in the Steglitz flat, Mount went to the nearby huge Titania-Palast cinema, also built in that New Objectivity mode. Hitler and the Nazis disliked the style's plainness, coolness, lack of the ornate. They were Romantics – dark Romantics, but Romantics – driven by dangerous, passionate nationalism, dangerously boundless ambition, dangerous, master race,
völkisch
myth. Buildings should tally – should be something beyond the serviceable. Architecture should not just stand there and get used, it should assert, it should proclaim, the new, formidable, bold spirit of modern Germany.

There'd be no more New Objectivity architecture. In one aspect, Mount found this odd: an alternative translation of
Neue Sachlichkeit
was ‘New Sobriety', and surely the teetotal Führer should have approved.

Mount watched
Der Blaue Engel
–
The Blue Angel
– part of a Marlene Dietrich festival: the first German sound movie, and mesmeric. He'd left the apartment blinds up and the lights on. Good job Hitler had got the electric industry working well after some bad interludes. Compare Musso's success in making Italian trains run to time.

TWO

W
hen Mount returned after the film, he saw from the street that his windows no longer showed lights. But this was all right, wasn't it? This was positive, wasn't it? For a moment, he'd felt shocked. Why, though? Toulmin must be there, obediently waiting. He had lowered the blinds, reversed the signal: clever. Blinds up meant: ‘I, alias Naughton, am here in Berlin and want to see you, Toulmin.' Blinds down meant: ‘I, alias Toulmin, am here in your snuggery, Stanley, or most likely alias Stanley, awaiting your return.' Perhaps, also, he felt more secure with the glass covered, even on the second floor. Toulmin would occasionally get nervy. Well, of course he'd get nervy. He spied. Nerviness went with this game. So did a vengeful death for those who played it. All regimes detested spies and being spied on. This new-Germany regime would probably detest spies more than most, as Bilson had hinted, and would show it if they caught one, also as Bilson had hinted.

Of course, Mount, also, spied. But for him it was a profession, and a fairly decent profession, with sterling people like SB running things, some of them medalled, and Cambridge double firsts as rankers: a sought-after, pensionable, classy career, hard to get into. But spying was not Toulmin's profession or career. No. In fact, Toulmin actually spied on people
in
his profession and career: on foreign affairs deskmen who knew him as a colleague, not as Toulmin, an agent working to Mount. As Fallows had said not long ago, ‘One man's agent is another man's traitor.' Toulmin's behaviour would strike many as disgustingly corrupt and due no mercy if discovered. He'd be termed a renegade rather than a spy, although he spied for Mount. Toulmin had to live permanently among the people he spied on, bringing non-stop strain. On the other hand, Mount could go home now and then, resume normality, become simply and purely, for a time, Marcus Mount, known by friends and relatives as having ‘some tidy government job in London with a lot of travel'.

Despite these contrasts, Mount often grew very nervy, too. He felt especially anxious now, even though the dark windows could be regarded –
should
be regarded – as simply a message board, and a message board that had been considerately kept up-to-date. Was his jumpiness stupid, perverse? He thought he might have been seriously pushed off-balance by SB's seeming plunge into crazy haste. Projects built in that kind of rushed, gimcrack way often failed. Also, he felt he might have been idiotically casual, over-relaxed, in drifting off to the cinema tonight. He was here to do a job for Stephen Bilson, not to drool over Dietrich.

Mount approached the apartment gingerly.
Procedures for clandestine penetration of occupied premises
had taken two full days in his training. Plentiful caution had been preached, and that stuck with him. But determination to get into the occupied premises regardless had also been part of the instruction. Normally, it would not be one's own premises that were involved, but those of a target. The same conditions applied, though. He couldn't be thoroughly sure lowered blinds accounted for the absence of light as he gazed up at the building. The windows might be dark because the room behind was. Why would Toulmin switch off, suppose it to
be
Toulmin? And, then, suppose not – who, for God's sake?

The wariness taught for
clandestine penetration of occupied premises
focused above all on doors and how to go through them. On the face of it, that's what doors were for – to go through when open. But an open door into the wrong kind of area carried some perils. Standing in a doorway even for half a second meant you were nicely framed, a simple potshot for anyone inside and waiting for you. Techniques on how to manage doors and passing through them in these special conditions differed, depending on whether the officer had a firearm or not, and, if the officer did have a firearm, differed again depending on whether it was ‘
blatant
' – that is, in the officer's fist and visible – or ‘
latent
' – that is, holstered, handbagged or waistbanded, and out of sight. Neither the blatant nor latent approach concerned Mount. He had no gun. To draw a weapon from the armoury would have required signatures and a proper record. SB didn't regard the visit as that kind of operation. The Berlin jaunt was unofficial – unknown, except to Mount and Bilson, plus, illicitly, Fallows and Baillie. The Section had an unaudited and unauditable emergency cash store, which SB must have used for the flight costs and Mount's spending wad. So, his ticket had been taken care of, and his working cash. But no pistol.

Mount saw the Berlin flit as an untypical SB impulse, a twitch. He would have to try to compensate through special prudence and organization. But, of course, special prudence and organization couldn't eliminate every risk. He'd shown the Stanley Charles Naughton passport at Templehof, as usual, and said the purpose of his visit was business, as usual. That had seemed to be accepted by the squat little officer who let him through. And it had always been all right when S.C. Naughton had made his previous visits. Would there come a time, though, when an officer started wondering what kind of business this businessman, S.C. Naughton, did in Germany? ‘Welcome to Berlin!' this officer had said, and gave a very genuine looking smile. That disturbed Mount.

The training warned against lifts, and Mount did not use one now on his way back to the apartment. Lifts made a noise. And, when they reached your floor, and the doors automatically opened, there you were, cosily presented in a well-lit metal box for someone with an automatic. He went quietly and swiftly up the stairs. When he reached the apartment door, he didn't attempt a subtle, almost silent, use of his key. Training manuals recommended hard against this. No matter how subtle you might be, the enemy inside, if it
was
an enemy, could be expecting you and alert to the slightest sound. He would deduce from your flagrant delicacy with the lock that you expected trouble and that you were ready for it. Therefore, your enemy would act first, before you could counter. That is, you might be neutralized at once – given no chance to defend yourself. The danger would obviously be greater if the space you wanted to penetrate offered your enemy a cover of darkness – possibly like the apartment – while you were fully illuminated by your background when trying to enter, as Mount might be: this was an expensive apartment block with good amenities, including well-lit corridors. Against this, if you rammed the key in as normal, and shoved the door back heartily as normal, your enemy would think you unprepared and unsuspicious. He might marginally delay. And that could offer the opening to neutralize
him
. Or, of course,
her
.

Obviously, this bit of optimism only worked if you had a gun to neutralize him with before he neutralized you with his. But the manual and the training did cover occasions when the officer might have
no
gun, like Mount now. In such instances, key the door as noisily as you liked and swing it open as forcefully as you liked. But do not, DO NOT, attempt to go through it at this point, nor stand in the opening. Get to the side of the door space immediately, and out of sight from the hallway or room, no target. Perhaps like that you have won a fragment of surprise: he wouldn't know to which side of the open door you've gone. An unarmed-combat jugular chop blow might then be possible when he pushes his head out to see where you are, especially if he chooses to glance the wrong way first. Or she. But even if he – she – doesn't, you might have a chance, as long as you hit fast and hard, and on exactly the correct patch of neck. This correct patch of neck was, of course, also taught in training.

Mount opened the door wide and stood to its left, his back against the corridor wall. After a while, Toulmin called out in German from the living room: ‘Is that you, Mr Naughton? Come in, do. No need to be shy in your own quarters.'

Mount stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Toulmin was standing in the middle of the living room floor, plump, flushed, russet hair in retreat, fine tailoring, high-grade black shoes. Although he had sounded relaxed and jokey when he shouted just now, Mount felt some of that nervousness radiating from him, as he had occasionally in the past. But, after Mount's rigmarole with the door, perhaps
he
radiated nervousness, too. The room seemed pretty well as he had left it, but he sensed a difference, though he couldn't fix on what. Well, he knew he ought to have been able to fix on what: he was supposed to be a qualified spy, and spies were supposed to notice things.