A New Kind of War

I am here merely to make you an offer. Which you have the right to refuse.’ He submitted to the man’s scrutiny for another long moment. ‘We have no demands to make on you. We merely wish to take you into protective custody for a time.’ The closer he got to something like the truth, the better he felt, and the firmer became the voice – his own voice – that he heard. ‘In due course, when we judge it to be safe, we will arrange for you to be accepted by the university of your choice. Or any other establishment – ’ He had got it exactly right ‘ – in Germany, or in England. But there is another consideration to be made in that choice, it’s only fair to add, sir.’

‘Another consideration?’

‘It will be easier to protect you in England for the time being. You will be safer with us there, sir.’

‘Ach so! Yes . . .’ Number 16 saw clear through that instantly. ‘You have your own nuclear research to think of now that the war is won – of course!’ At last he nodded, but without any hint of a properly cynical smile. ‘But . . . if I told you that my research is now dummy4

into scientific dating of ancient remains and artefacts, in which I have been engaged these last six years –

would that be acceptable?’

‘Of course, sir.’ Clinton’s exact forecast of this very question, and his research into its correct answer, kindled Fred’s confidence into flame: ‘ He has no family. Otherwise we’d have got to him much sooner –

or the Russians would have done. And most of his friends are dead too, now. All except one, you see –

eh.’ But he musn’t look at Zeitzler yet. ‘We’ve got quite a few of our own old Roman cities which have been . . . cleared by bombing, for archaeology.

Canterbury – Bath . . . and London, of course – ’ He turned casually to Zeitzler ‘ – and we still have Hadrian’s Wall for you, Professor . . . which is much the same as your “limes” isn’t it?’

Zeitzler’s mouth opened incredulously.

‘And naturally the invitation includes you, Professor Zeitzler.’ He nodded at Corporal Keys. ‘Dr Crawford of our Ordnance Survey has been one of your admirers ever since he published your “limes” articles in Antiquity ten years ago. He will be honoured to arrange for your reception – ’ Back to Number 16 ‘ – and yours too, sir.’

The two Germans looked at each other, just about as nonplussed as Clinton had said they might be, and he found himself admiring the Brigadier’s cunning.

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Because, although finding this man had apparently been TRR-2’s long-time original objective, entrusted to Clinton by the War Cabinet itself, Clinton’s own intention had been to build up an intelligence team of his own on which he could absolutely rely in this new kind of war which he –and David Audley, too – had foreseen, even before that bomb had dropped. And Clinton had used the hunt for Number 16 to gather his chosen men, and to test their efficiency in the field, and to establish his reputation for the future with them. But now, to achieve all that, he also had to use Number 16

as bait to flush out the traitor whom the Russians had infiltrated into TRR-2: now that the bomb had dropped, better a dead Number 16 than a compromised TRR-2!

‘There won’t be any problem, sir.’ The saving grace was that although Clinton wanted their traitor, he still also wanted Number 16 as planned. And that was probably why he got on so well with Uncle Luke: unforeseen complications, Uncle Luke always said, always provide matching opportunities for greater profits if you look at them in the right way! ‘You will both be very welcome, I assure you, sir.’ And ... ‘ I want him to come willingly, Fred.’ Clinton had said.

‘ One volunteer is worth a hundred pressed men.

Because, once he’s with us by choice . . . there’ll be physicists from Cambridge to pick his brains, and tempt him back to his old discipline. Because with dummy4

work as well as women, you only love truly once –

everything else is a delusion, major. So whatever he believes, he’s still a nuclear physicist, not an archaeologist.’

‘Welcome?’ The eyes were not so much pitying now as very tired.

‘Yes, sir.’ Fred continued on what he knew to be closest to the truth. ‘Our people know all about Professor Schmidt, and what he tried to do. There is ...

a certain sympathy for his intention – at least, among some of our scientists.’ He tried to blot out the rest of what Clinton had said: that with the British just beginning to follow their allies in de-Nazifying dyed-in-the-wool Nazis who were useful, there really wouldn’t be any trouble getting these two into Britain, willing or unwilling. ‘So you will be welcome – and free to continue your archaeology.’

Number 16 continued to stare at him. But it was Zeitzler who broke the silence. ‘Heinrich . . . glaubst du es ihm.’

‘W – ?’ For an instant Fred couldn’t decide whether to pretend he hadn’t understood the German words.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Number 16 held them both for an equal instant. ‘All that matters now, Ernst, is that if it is a lie, then it is a most persuasive one in our present circumstances. For we are undoubtedly caught between the Red Devil and the very deep blue British sea, I fear.

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But as I said last night, death by drowning is preferable to hellfire.’ The weary eyes softened. ‘Yet, as I also said last night ... I will not impose my fate on you, old friend.’

Zeitzler’s mouth twitched downwards as he glanced left and right, from his old trusted friend to his new untrusted ersatz British friend. But his eyes glittered behind his spectacles, as though at the enticing prospect of all those built-over Romano-British cities, which had been well-cleared by German bombs to open them up to archaeologists as they had not been open for a thousand years. ‘Do we have a choice?’

Fred so much hated the truth, which Zeitzler had reached at last, that he turned away from it in distaste, first