waiting on the beach?’
‘No. That’s clear from the radio intercepts,’ Gessler replied with satisfaction. ‘What few local people the Resistance have will be watching along the cliff tops. But go carefully, just in case they change their plans.’
Kollwitz asked, ‘Is six of us enough?’
‘You’re the only experienced men we can spare.’
‘We are expecting six of them for the submarine, yes?’ Borsig asked. ‘Two Resistance agents and three civilians – a man, a woman and this lunatic? And the fisherman makes six.’ He shrugged. ‘Easy.’
‘Yes.’ Gessler’s voice took on a note of bullying humour. ‘One for each of you. I think you should be able to handle them.’
‘The two Resistance people are handy,’ Syme cautioned. ‘I ran across them in the raid in London. A man and woman. But the others, yes, they’re civilians.’
‘The civil servant, Fitzgerald, when I met him at the Dominions Office he looked fit,’ Gunther said. ‘And he was in the 1940 war.’
‘They’ll have guns,’ Kollwitz observed. ‘The Resistance pair certainly, perhaps Fitzgerald and the fisherman too.’
Gunther nodded agreement. ‘Not Fitzgerald’s wife, though, I think, she’s one of these English pacifists.’ Kapp gave a grunt of contemptuous dismissal. ‘And not Muncaster.’
‘Lunatics can be strong,’ Borsig observed.
‘Not this one,’ Syme said. ‘I’ve met him. He’s a little pipsqueak, afraid of his own shadow.’
Gunther looked round the SS men. ‘But remember, he is the one that matters. Berlin wants him alive. It might be useful to have the Resistance people as well, but the all others are of secondary importance.’
Gessler stirred in his chair. ‘They may have suicide pills, so taking them by surprise is crucial. Securing their arms at once is very important. Get there early and choose a good spot. There’ll be some moonlight, the weather forecast says it’ll be a clear night.’
Gunther looked at Syme. ‘You said it’s a pebble beach?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it would be good to hide there if we can; we’re bound to hear them coming.’
Kollwitz nodded. ‘That is sound thinking. We’ve no idea where they are at this moment?’
Gunther shook his head. ‘It could be anywhere within easy reach of the Sussex coast. Rottingdean beach at half past midnight is the only place we’re sure they’ll be.’
Hauser smiled, punching a meaty fist into his other hand. ‘It’ll be like the old days in Russia. Stealing up on their Resistance groups.’
Kollwitz looked round the others. ‘How are you on firearms?’
‘I practise regularly on the range,’ Hauser replied complacently. ‘So does Comrade Kapp; I’ve seen him.’
Gunther said, ‘I practise in Berlin, too.’ Though not, he thought, as regularly as he should.
Syme said, smugly, ‘I’ve got prizes from my firearms courses.’
Gunther summed up: ‘So, we jump them, make sure they’re disarmed and remove any suicide pills they have. If you fire on them, shoot to wound if possible. And we all use English, so everyone understands.’ He inclined his head at Syme.
‘Sturmbannfuhrer Hoth is in charge,’ Gessler said. ‘He knows these people better than anyone, you obey all his orders. And remember, we want Muncaster alive.’ He tapped a finger on his desk for emphasis. ‘That’s more important than anything. That order comes directly from Deputy Reichsfuhrer Heydrich.’ He leaned across the desk and reached out a hand to Gunther. Gunther shook it. Gessler’s eyes were full of triumphant emotion. ‘Good luck, Hoth,’ he said. ‘And thank you.’
They travelled to Brighton after dark. During the day a light wind had got up in London and the fog, at last, was dispersing. As they drove out of the city in two cars, Gunther saw the streets illuminated properly for the first time in days. All the buildings shone with damp, windows and the tops of parked cars smeared with grey dirty grease. In many places women were out with buckets and mops, cleaning windows and steps. Even the icy puddles in the gutters looked dirty. By contrast the shop windows were full of Christmas decorations, fake white snow round their edges. Already a newspaper stand carried the legend:
With the fog gone they made good time. Soon they were out in the Surrey countryside. The car containing the three SS men who were to approach Rottingdean from the east took a turning towards Newhaven. There were two more cars waiting in a lane just outside Rottingdean, ready to pick them and the prisoners up later.
Gunther sat next to Syme in the back. Kollwitz drove. His blond hair was cropped and shaved a third of the way up his neck in the SS style; Gunther saw he had a spot coming. Beside him, Syme was cheerful. ‘They’re talking about that new job for me,’ he told Gunther. ‘We’re going to have a new, nationwide police intelligence service. MI5 are going to be integrated with us. About time. They’ll scream like fuckin’ stuck pigs but we uncovered the bleeding Civil Service spy ring for them.’ The Cockney accent was strong again, perhaps a sign of underlying stress in Syme, as the moment of truth approached. Gunther himself felt quite cool. Syme went on, ‘Looks like I could get promotion to superintendent, as well as a posting up North.’ He smiled, tapping the fingers of one hand up and down on his knee.
‘Well done.’ But remembering the discussion with Gessler earlier, Gunther found it difficult to meet Syme’s eye.
‘You’ll have to come back and visit me,’ Syme continued. ‘Tell you what, come over see the Coronation in the summer. How’s that?’
‘Yes,’ Gunther said. ‘Perhaps.’ Syme, for all his sharpness in other ways, had no idea that Gunther had always disliked him. Or perhaps he just didn’t care.
They stepped from the cliff path out onto the promenade; it was small, less than a hundred yards long and perhaps two hundred and fifty wide. There were no lights, only the half-moon to guide them, but their eyes were accustomed to the dark now and they saw the promenade was deserted. On the landward side there was a high concrete wall, and behind that a little grassed area sloped gently up to a large building they had been told was the White Horse Hotel. There were no lights on there. Gunther saw there was a gap in the concrete wall where a steep paved path, perhaps a hundred yards long, led up to the coast road. On the other side of the path was another concrete wall and beyond that the cliffs began again, startlingly white.
Steps led down from the promenade to the beach, a strand of pebbles. Nearby a high stone groyne sloped gently down into the sea. In the dark lee of the groyne, a tiny light flashed three times. A pencil torch. It was the prearranged signal; the other three SS men were already there. Gunther sighed with relief.
Gunther, Syme and Kollwitz walked down the steps onto the beach. The big round pebbles scrunched beneath their feet; there was no way of avoiding the noise. Borsig and Hauser and Kapp stepped away from the groyne to meet them. They were also dressed in heavy black camouflage. Kapp smiled, a brief flash of white teeth – he was enjoying this. ‘
‘All quiet?’ Gunther asked.
‘Yes. We walked along the path from Saltdean. When we got out of the car we saw a woman with a dog walking along the cliffs, looking out to sea. Probably Resistance. But she wouldn’t see or hear us on that Undercliff path. We’ve been here half an hour; no sign of anyone.’
‘Too cold for lovers,’ Kapp murmured.
Gunther nodded. Nobody in their senses would come here on this bitter night. He shivered in the breeze from the sea, a little stronger here. The tide was well in, the thin line of gently hissing white surf surprisingly close. He glanced at his watch. Five past eleven.
Syme was also looking out to sea. He said, ‘Any chance the sub could see us from out there?’
‘They’re a mile out,’ Kollwitz answered. ‘I’d guess all they can see of this through a periscope is the dark gap in the cliffs. Besides, if they did see us take Muncaster’s people they’d cut and run, they wouldn’t want to cause a major diplomatic incident.’
Borsig said, ‘We’ve found something. Come and look at this.’
He led them down the side of the groyne. Near the surf they saw a large, humped shape, covered with a heavy grey tarpaulin. Borsig and Kapp lifted the cover; underneath was an upturned rowing boat. ‘That’s big enough
