officer’s confession perfectly.
‘…Bruns was for executing Lange as a traitor…’
What had the British promised Dietrich? What was the price?
‘You’re trying to blame us. You’ve made a deal,’ Schmidt’s voice was very shrill. ‘You of all people.’
‘What else did you say about me?’ Bruns was close to the hidden microphone.
‘I… but I think we should…’
Dietrich’s voice was drowned by a screeching chair and a moment later Lindsay heard gasping, then a low moan. Someone had struck Dietrich hard, perhaps forcing him to the floor.
‘Stop it, for God’s sake.’ It was the
‘The British are going to hang us for murder,’ said Dietrich thickly.
‘You were frightened so you told them about us, you cunt. I’m going to kill you.’
‘…they think we killed Heine and I tried to tell them… I explained we were only trying to frighten Lange. That’s all, I swear.’ Dietrich’s voice was shaking with fear.
‘I’m going to fucking kill you. You coward. You’re no better than Lange. Betrayed your comrades and the Fatherland.’
‘Shut up.’ It was Koch again. ‘Calm down.’
No one spoke for a few seconds. Heavy footsteps, short anxious breaths and one of them was obviously standing beneath the microphone hidden in the light fitting.
‘Did they ask you about Kapitan Mohr?’
Koch must have been leaning close to Dietrich because he spoke in barely a whisper: ‘His position at headquarters?’
‘Yes, they asked me about his role but I told them I didn’t know.’
‘Good.’
‘And the mission, the codes, did you tell him about the codes?’
‘No… I…’
‘Bastard.’ Bruns must have taken his hesitation as an admission of guilt or perhaps he could not contain his anger for a second longer. But there was another sharp gasp of pain from Dietrich and the clatter of the chair falling sideways.
‘Stop it,’ shouted Koch, struggling breathlessly to restrain Bruns. ‘That’s an order.’
‘I didn’t tell them about the mission,’ Dietrich gasped from the floor, ‘or the B-Service… I’ve only heard a little, just a little…’
He cried out. Someone — Bruns — must have kicked him as he lay there. And again, and again. And there was the sound of scuffling feet. Perhaps Schmidt was wading in too. Both men were on a short fuse and Koch had given up trying to restrain them.
Lindsay pulled off his headphones and, half rising, leant across to touch the sleeve of the man beside him: ‘Let’s rescue him.’
Robbins pulled a face and shook his head vigorously. He bent towards the machine again, his hands clamped tightly over the earpieces.
‘No, we must…’
But Robbins was waving him back into his chair, a wry smile on his face. Lindsay picked up the headphones again.
‘…They don’t know that we were intercepting their signals. I’ve said nothing about the captain’s role, I swear I haven’t.’
‘Shut up…’
‘But you’ve dropped us in the shit, you swine.’
There was a low moan that ended in a grunt of air as someone aimed another kick at the prone man.
‘That’s it, that’s enough,’ said Lindsay, pushing back his chair.
‘Sure?’ asked Robbins lazily. ‘Chap’s only getting what he deserves, you know. A few bruises.’
Lindsay did not answer but pushed past him to the cell door and on to the landing. It was only a few yards to the little interrogation room. He gathered guards in his wake.
‘All right. Let me in. Prisoners back to their cells. Fetch the doctor.’
Dietrich was lying in a tight little ball beside the table, his hands over his head. The others stepped back at once. Koch was quicker than the rest. When he saw Lindsay at the door he looked surprised, then anxious as the truth began to dawn on him.
‘Rabbit in the headlamps.’ Robbins was standing at Lindsay’s shoulder, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like an American gumshoe.
‘You’d think they would ask themselves why they’ve suddenly been thrown together. They panic. Spill it all to each other. It’s always the same. Especially at…’ and he glanced at his watch, ‘one o’clock in the morning.’
The doctor was bent over Dietrich who was uncurling slowly like a leaf in spring.
‘You see, just a few bruises,’ said Robbins. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’
‘Enough, I think.’
They watched as Dietrich was helped back to his feet. He swayed drunkenly, and there was a nasty cut high on his cheek that would certainly need stitches. The doctor took his arm and began leading him to the door. He was in his sixties with a shock of white hair and a heavy Old Testament brow, none too steady on his own feet. As they passed, he gave Robbins a sharp and knowing look that suggested it was not their first encounter in the interrogation room. If Robbins noticed, he was not at all concerned.
‘And now?’
‘Mohr.’
There was no choice. It was time to chance everything. The last throw. There was nothing more he could wring from the others tonight and he had promised the Director that he would have something by the morning. If he did not break Mohr then he would have failed and there would be nothing to show for the price he had made others pay. Nothing.
‘Lindsay?’ Samuels was walking along the landing towards him. ‘What’s happened to Dietrich?’
‘Just bruises.’
‘Bruises?’ Samuels frowned, ‘How?’
‘He’s fine.’
‘Did you hit him?’ Samuels looked shocked.
‘No. I’m sorry, Charlie, I haven’t got time’, and he brushed past him to the stairs and began thumping down to the ground floor.
48
‘It’s almost a year to the day since my ship was sunk…’
‘Is that why we’re here?’
‘No. We’re here because you and your officers committed two despicable crimes.’
‘Revenge?’
