it’s called, and a few suitcases full would be enough to destroy a city. He told me the basics and because I’m a scientist, too, I understood; it only took a few minutes. Just a few minutes.’ He shook his head. ‘You see, if anyone who wanted to build a bomb knew what Edgar had told me, it would save them years of research. Years and years. The Germans could do it. I remember Edgar boasted that just one of the bombs the Americans have got – just one – could destroy central London in an instant.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ David said.
‘Afterwards, he realized what he’d done and told me to forget it.’ Frank laughed, and for a moment David heard something wild, deranged in his tone. Then Frank said, his voice low, ‘That was what made me angrier than anything else, that was what made me lose control and push him away. But I pushed him so hard he went out of the window. And then I suppose I went mad.’
‘Hearing that would be enough to drive anyone mad, I should think.’
Frank smiled sadly. ‘But I was a little mad before. Not so much now.’
‘I think we’re all a bit mad in this terrible world.’
‘Perhaps,’ Frank said. ‘You can’t understand what a relief it is to tell someone everything. I know you won’t say a word. I think perhaps I’ll go and lie down for a bit.’ He laughed nervously. ‘We probably won’t be getting much sleep tonight, eh?’
‘No.’ David looked at him.
‘I’ll see you later.’ Frank hesitated, then added, ‘Good luck.’
David stood looking at the closed door for a moment, then turned back and stared out of the window. And then he saw Sarah, walking towards him up the street. She wore strange clothes and her hair was short, a different colour, red. Her strong-boned face looked exhausted, drained.
THE FOG HAD GRIPPED THE CAPITAL for three days now; it felt as though it would never end. Gunther had bought a white facemask in a chemist’s. It didn’t make much difference though; the fog made his throat and nasal passages painfully sore and he had an almost constant headache. He didn’t take painkillers, they made little difference and he thought they dulled the mind. On the evening after the news of Hitler’s death Gunther groped his way home late in the evening. Goebbels, the new Fuhrer, had made a speech extolling all that Hitler had achieved – the restoration of German greatness, her mastery of Europe, her destruction of Stalin and the settling of accounts with the Jews. The fulfilment of Germany’s historic destiny. He had spoken of the magnificent funeral that would be held in Berlin in a week’s time; in the meantime Hitler’s body would lie in state at the Reich Chancellery, where already huge crowds were starting to queue outside. But Goebbels had said nothing of the continuing war in the East. It had been left to Himmler, in a broadcast of his own a couple of hours later, to speak in his slow, toneless voice of Germany’s need to destroy each and every last stronghold of the Russian subhumans.
Every radio and television in the embassy had people crowding round it. And already SS and army people were grouping together, talking quietly. Gunther sensed that if there was to be a struggle for power, it would come quickly.
Gessler, after his initial shock at the Fuhrer’s passing, had quickly recovered control of himself, refocused. He took Gunther up to his office, sat behind his desk, confident and energetic again. He said, ‘If there’s any change in policy towards the Russian war, or moves against the SS, we are ready to strike. In the name of Adolf Hitler and his legacy.’
‘This could turn into a civil war,’ Gunther said quietly.
‘They’ll lose. The whole boneheaded upper-class stiff-necked lot of them. We’ve got a million SS forces, all the Gauleiters and most Party members on our side.’
‘Has Speer said anything?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What about Bormann?’
Gessler waved a hand dismissively. ‘Now Hitler’s dead he counts for nothing. Bormann doesn’t matter.’ He leaned forward. ‘But our mission does, more than ever now. I should have some more news very soon, about where Muncaster’s people are being picked up.’ He smiled. ‘I have a phone call booked to Heydrich himself. I will let you know the result. I am Heydrich and Reichsfuhrer Himmler’s lieutenant in this embassy now, more than ever.’
Later that afternoon Gunther had interrogated Drax again; he had told him about how they had abducted Muncaster from the hospital. He said, a note of satisfaction in his exhausted, rasping voice, that the cell system the Resistance used meant nobody in each operating group knew anyone outside their own cell. Drax told him about the woman who had accompanied them. She was from Eastern Europe and called Natalia; that was all he knew. Again, it was barely more than Gunther already had in his file; even her name was probably a pseudonym. He could see from the weary satisfaction in Drax’s eyes that he knew these titbits would not help Gunther. Throughout the conversation he had coughed, putting his hand to his bandaged chest, which obviously hurt him. The doctor told Gunther that Drax had internal bleeding and would probably not last long. They should get him across to Special Branch soon, so they could at least question him about the Civil Service spy ring before he died.
Gunther told him, ‘MI5 are unravelling the network in your Civil Service. As usually happens in a wide-ranging enquiry, they’ve found a couple of people who have caved in. One of the names they gave us was a very senior man in the Foreign Office. Sir Harold Jackson.’ Gunther saw from the flicker in Drax’s eyes that he recognized the name. ‘When Special Branch went out to arrest him at his house in Hertfordshire, he and his wife stood on the doorstep and fired at them with shotguns, then turned them on themselves. We think he was the leader of your cell.’
Drax did not respond. Gunther smiled thinly. ‘Well, that side of things doesn’t really matter to us. We’ll hand you over to Special Branch shortly and they can talk to you further about it.’
‘Why haven’t you handed me over already? Why did you question me again? You haven’t got Frank Muncaster and the others yet, have you?
‘We will, soon.’
‘You’re a quiet man, aren’t you?’ Drax said, his blue eyes bright in his deathly pale face. ‘You like to sound so reasonable. But what you did earlier, to Carol, my parents, you’re from hell!’
Gunther stood up and leaned over Drax, whose breath already stank of his approaching death. ‘Does it never occur to you, Mr Drax, that if you had spent your life getting on with your work, living an ordinary life and minding your own business like an ordinary, reasonable man, none of what happened to your parents or your work colleague would have occurred? It was your decision to betray your government, to join a bunch of murderous thugs. Yours.’ He stood up. ‘You don’t see it, do you, people like you? That all you’re doing is standing against the tide of historical destiny. Which, by the way, is about to drown you.’
He got up and walked out of the cell.
In the evening, Gessler had more news for him. Radio traffic from Sussex suggested a lot of Resistance communications there. ‘I have serious resources working on the Isle of Wight. They’ve all been turned over to me. By Heydrich, earlier.’ His thin chest expanded with pride for a moment and Gunther realized that if it came to a conflict between the SS and the army Gessler would fight to the end for the SS vision, as he himself would. Gessler said, ‘We’ll get them. We’ll get them all.’ Then he frowned. ‘Speer’s made a speech in Berlin now, by the way, about the need to slow down recruitment of foreign workers for the war industries. And he spoke about employing women – yes, women – to reduce our demands for labour from France and other countries under the 1940 Treaties.’
‘He’s trying to stem the discontent there.’
Gessler shook his head. ‘There’s more to it than that. He’s softening us up for a peace with what’s left of Russia. Him and Goebbels. Goebbels understood the Jewish threat, but never the Russian one. Well, we’ll see about that.’ He looked at Gunther. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any developments on our mission for a some hours. Then things will probably move very fast. Go home to your flat and wait for news. Try and get some sleep,’ he added. ‘You look exhausted.’
After he had groped his way home through the fog Gunther sat and watched the BBC. The newscaster spoke in respectful, sepulchral tones of Germany’s loss; although it was night and snowing in Berlin long queues had indeed already formed outside the Chancellery. The news was followed by a respectful biography of Goebbels. Gunther switched the television off and thought about the difference Hitler’s death would make in Britain. The British would hope for a stable regime under Goebbels, and no doubt for a settlement with Russia. Looking for an
