Germany many times…’
Lindsay cut across him again: ‘Where were you last year, in France or Berlin?’
‘Berlin.’
‘No,’ snapped Lindsay. ‘You were in Paris and then at the Chateau Kernevel in Lorient.’
He looked pointedly at his notes: ‘A senior Staff officer, one of the six in charge of operations at U-boat Headquarters. You see, I know about your work.’
Mohr was concentrating on his smile but his face felt hot and his heart was beating uncomfortably fast. He had said nothing to his men about his time at headquarters but it was an open secret none the less. After all the preparation, the briefings, one or more of them had been weak.
‘Let’s not pretend,’ said Lindsay sharply. ‘It’s your game, so tell me, what were your responsibilities at Kernevel?’
Mohr shook his head reflectively: ‘It was foolish of me to suggest it. We weren’t going to play by rules, were we? You see, I know you didn’t learn your German at a university.’
Lindsay’s neck and cheeks were a little pink and for a second he glanced down at his notepad, When he looked up again his gaze was steady and dispassionate. Without taking his eyes off him, Mohr leant forward and said in a confidential whisper: ‘I know a few of your, how did you put it, a few of your “biographical details”.’
‘Do you?’ said Lindsay shortly, and he turned smartly towards the door. ‘Guard. You can take the prisoner away.’
‘Is this goodbye?’ Mohr asked in English. ‘Goodbye so soon?’
Lindsay gave a short hard laugh: ‘Oh no, Kapitan Mohr. No.’
The corridor was empty, the house silent. A full five minutes passed before Lindsay pushed back his chair and got wearily to his feet.
He had summoned Mohr for a skirmish in the middle of the night, intent on securing his authority over him. Interrogation was a confidence trick. You had to use the five things you did know to tease the five you needed to know from a prisoner. But timing was everything and Lindsay had given away too much too soon. Mohr had wriggled free of his hook and he had been uncomfortably close to being caught himself.
He glanced down at his watch; it was half past one. The note on Mohr for the Section could wait until the morning. It would need to be carefully worded. He collected his things, then made his way down the grand staircase into the entrance hall. Lieutenant Charlie Samuels was standing by the security desk, struggling into his coat. Short, pasty-white with tight black curly hair, Samuels was every inch the Ashkenazi Jew, quiet and formidably clever. He gave Lindsay a tired smile: ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to either?’
‘I’ve just made an ass of myself with Mohr.’
‘I’m sure it’s no consolation but no one expects you to get anything from him.’
‘You’re right, that is no consolation,’ said Lindsay. ‘And you?’
Samuels pulled a face: ‘Doing my rounds — the wireless operators. I mentioned them at the briefing, remember? I could see from your face that you didn’t think it was a coincidence.’
‘A coincidence?’
‘They speak some English.’
Lindsay grabbed Samuels’ forearm: ‘Charlie, I’d forgotten. No, I don’t think it can be.’
It was too improbable. Only prisoners like Mohr spoke English. None of the petty officers or ratings Lindsay had interrogated could manage more than a few broken phrases: ‘What do you know of their histories?’
‘Please let go of my arm, Douglas, you’re torturing me.’ Samuels gave him an aggrieved look. ‘They’re too frightened of Mohr to say anything. I don’t even know how well they speak English.’
‘Work on their histories, Charlie, find out when they joined the
‘Only if you tell me why,’ said Samuels.
Lindsay gave a tired shrug: ‘They may have been brought together especially for this war patrol.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
There were only confused possibilities, questions. Samuels glanced wearily at his watch: ‘I have to be here again in seven hours.’ And taking Lindsay by the elbow, he led him into the fresh night air.
They passed through the security gate and began to walk up the gently curving drive towards the old stable block. Behind them the guards on the perimeter fence ambled heavy-footed from one pool of light to another. The house was shuttered tight as if closed for business at last. Lindsay could see from the clock in the little tower above the stables that it was almost at 2 a.m. No matter; he was tired but his mind was too busy to rest. He would borrow a jeep and make the slow journey home through the blackout.
At the stable gates he stopped and turned quickly to face Samuels:
‘A bottle of whisky says they joined the
‘Don’t touch the stuff,’ said Samuels, wrinkling up his nose.
‘But find out, Charlie. Find out. I know it’s important.’
JUNE 1941
TOP SECRET ‘C’
All intelligence sources have their peculiar merits and their peculiar blind spots; not one tells the whole story alone. Prisoner of War Intelligence is peculiarly strong in telling you what and how things are done by those who do them, while it illuminates the blind spots of other sources.
What men make good interrogators?… one would look first for a speculative mind unbound by preconceived notions and firmness of judgement in distinguishing means from ends.
17
It was only eight o’clock but Hatchett’s was in boisterous swing, the dance floor crowded with khaki and blue uniforms swaying to the hypnotic wail of Dennis Moonan’s clarinet. In the smoky gloom at the back of the room, elderly waiters weaved between tables and men without partners sipped their drinks with studied nonchalance. At one table, tired, hungry and a little cross, sat Mary Henderson in her Citadel clothes, the only woman not on the dance floor. She lifted her watch to the light from the stage. Lindsay was twenty minutes late.
It was almost a fortnight since she had seen him last. They spoke on the telephone but short businesslike exchanges that left her feeling unloved. The grey war filled their waking moments, imprisoning them in their separate secret boxes. The ‘Swingtet’ took a bow and couples began to drift back cheerfully to their tables. As the floor cleared, Mary caught sight of Lindsay at the door. He was dressed in his charcoal grey suit and looked every bit as handsome in it as he had at her brother’s party. She watched him gaze about the room before rising to wave. He saw her and smiled, then turned to speak to a short, dark-looking man in an ill-fitting brown suit who was standing at his shoulder.
‘Darling, I’m so sorry I’m late, the car didn’t arrive.’ Lindsay turned to look at the man at his side, ‘I’ve had to bring a friend.’ He must have noticed her disappointment because he leant forward to kiss her forehead and
