‘Dr Muncaster,’ Churchill said evenly. ‘It seems the Germans want you as badly as the Americans.’ Frank began to breathe fast; David saw his legs were trembling slightly. He thought angrily, they’ve set all this up to shock him, the secrecy, the waiting, Churchill appearing suddenly. It’s all to scare him into talking. He put an arm on Frank’s. ‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly.
‘Leave him!’ Churchill snapped. He glowered at David, then looked at Frank again. Something in his mobile face softened and he said, more quietly, ‘Here, Dr Muncaster, come and sit down. John, bring across that chair.’ Churchill beckoned to Frank to sit. ‘I won’t harm you,’ he said with a sort of gentle impatience. ‘I merely want to speak with you.’
David realized that if Frank went over and sat down it would be very hard to get a cyanide pill to him. The two soldiers by the door had been watching them closely all the time. He would have to make a sudden dash, Frank would have to be ready. But Frank looked as though he might faint. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he stepped forward and sat opposite Churchill, staring at him with a sort of terrified fascination.
Churchill asked, ‘Do you know where you are, young man?’
Colville murmured, ‘We thought it better not to tell them, sir.’
‘Did you indeed?’ Churchill gave him a glare. ‘Bloody security.’ He turned back to Frank, and spoke proudly. ‘You are at Chartwell, in Kent. This used to be my country house. It’s my son Randolph’s now. He pretends to be working with
‘I saw the view this morning, sir,’ Frank said, hesitantly. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Finest view in England!’ Churchill smiled. ‘They tell me you have been ill. In hospital. A breakdown of some sort,’ he added gently.
‘Yes, sir.’ Frank looked down.
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I myself have suffered from depression all my life. My black dog, I call it.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes I have wanted to end it all.’
Frank looked up at him in surprise. ‘Have you, sir?’
‘I have. But the answer is action, always action.’ Churchill’s look was suddenly fierce. ‘But perhaps you do not see it that way.’
Frank took a deep breath. ‘I’ve always been too afraid to act.’
He and Churchill looked at each other for a long moment. David was conscious of a clock ticking somewhere. Then Churchill said, quietly, ‘You found something out, didn’t you? A scientific matter. My advisers believe it may be important. Some sort of breakthrough in weapons science the Americans have made.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you. I can only tell the Americans.’
‘Who know it already.’ Churchill nodded. ‘You do not wish the knowledge to spread.’ Churchill’s voice took on a stern note. ‘Even to us, your country’s friends.’
‘I’m sorry, I
‘He was promised,’ David said. ‘We were told that was what the Americans wanted. It was the only way he would come with us, sir. Frank – Dr Muncaster – feels the knowledge is too dangerous to spread.’
Churchill glared at him. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to! Damned impertinence! What are you, a junior civil servant?’
David put his hand over his pocket. If he could reach . . .
Churchill looked back at Frank. He was trembling but he looked Churchill straight back in the eye. Churchill pursed his lips. There was silence for almost a minute. David felt sweat trickling down his brow. Then Churchill said, ‘Dr Muncaster, you are an honourable man.’ He turned to Colville. ‘The agreed arrangements will go ahead. Our promise to the Americans and to this man will be kept. The submarine is still off Brighton, isn’t it? It is a debt of honour. To America, whose support under its new President is vital, and to this man. I will not have a promise I made broken, an innocent man sacrificed!’ Churchill banged his fist on the desk, glowering at Colville.
‘Actually, sir,’ Colville replied, ‘I agree with you. But a lot on the military side don’t.’
‘Bugger them.’ Churchill looked at Frank, then Ben and David. He addressed Frank, very quietly. ‘You would not let the Germans take you alive, would you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You are quite certain?’
‘Yes.’
Churchill looked at Ben and David. ‘And that goes for you all?’
‘Aye,’ Ben said, looking at Churchill directly.
‘Yes, sir,’ David answered. ‘One of us has already died.’
Churchill turned to Colville. ‘Then get them to Brighton. Right now.’ He got up, slowly, grasping his stick, and came round the table. Frank stood. Churchill gave an odd, quick, rubbery smile, as though his emotions were about to break through. Then he shook his hand. ‘Good luck to you,’ he said. He made his way over to David and Ben and shook their hands too. ‘I wish you all a safe journey,’ he said. Then he lumbered slowly to the door, which Colville opened for him, and went out. The two guards followed, leaving them alone.
Ben sat down again. ‘Jesus bloody Christ,’ he said.
David went over to Frank, who was staring across the desk at where Churchill had been sitting. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Frank said quietly. ‘I think so.’ He looked between them and said quietly, ‘Thank you.’
Ben said, ‘Can we trust him?’
Frank said, ‘Yes. I saw it, in his eyes. We can.’
A movement outside caught David’s eye. A little group of people was walking across the lawn, towards the house. Among them, he saw Natalia.
THE CAR DROVE ALONG DEEP Sussex lanes, between high banks lined with trees. They had made good time driving south from Chartwell; it was early on Monday morning and the roads were almost deserted. David remembered his first journey to Birmingham to see Frank. Only a fortnight ago, it seemed like another world. He had still worked at the Office then. He thought of its routines and customs, people like Dabb and Hubbold. He understood now how stifled and crushed he had felt without realizing it, before Charlie died even. His stomach lurched as he thought of Carol, her career over, too, and his dead friend, Geoff. He was sitting next to Natalia, her warmth pressed against him. He glanced at her and she smiled. His heart had lifted when he saw her from Churchill’s window. Now he felt desire again. Why did the sexual urge, which God knew hadn’t troubled him that much before in his life, keep returning now? Was it partly because, as Ben had said, you looked for solace in times of danger? But it was more than that, he knew; he was, like Natalia, in the end, rootless, in a time when rootlessness was dangerous: rootless and alone.
After the meeting with Churchill, they had spent a day resting at Chartwell. They had not been allowed to leave their room, so David had not seen Natalia again. Outside, they heard a constant murmur of voices, ringing telephones, sometimes running feet. At sunset the thick curtains had been drawn over the windows again.
In the evening they had a briefing meeting with an officer they had not met before. They were told that the following morning they would travel by car to Brighton. They were given yet another set of identities. The four of them – David, Ben, Natalia and Frank – were to be a funeral party, going to Brighton for the interment of an elderly aunt. They would stay in a boarding house while final arrangements were made for the American submarine waiting in the Channel to pick them up; they weren’t to be told exactly where from yet. David and Ben and Frank were all to be cousins, and Natalia David’s wife; with her accent, she could hardly pass as an Englishwoman’s niece. David supposed Frank wasn’t in a fit state to pass as anybody’s husband, and maybe they knew Ben’s secret and thought him unsuitable for the part. Sarah, they were told, was already in Brighton, and the boarding-house owners had just been contacted to say the party was on its way. Sarah would be told, but they must pretend not to know her.
They had set off from Chartwell at nine on Monday the eighth, in a big black Volvo. David realized that the reason they only phoned their people in Brighton yesterday was because, until Churchill’s decision, they might not
