Dermot scrambled out of the Morris and away, soon disappearing behind a dip of the headland, coat-tails flying behind him. After a while, Drummond lit a cigarette, and McBride rolled out from underneath the car, stood up and brushed himself off, and joined Drummond.
'Fat lot of use he was, our Dermot,' he observed. 'Quite a good choice by our German friend. Young enough not to think of the consequences, and young enough, too, to know nothing.'
'We'll not get anything out of the Skibbereen Battalion. A dead end, if they're protecting German agents.'
'You know — I would have thrown him over if I thought that way I could have done him the favour of keeping him out of their hands — and if I could be ruthless enough.'
'Michael — you mean it, don't you?'
'Yes. Oh, you didn't know they killed my father, did you? No wonder it came as a surprise to you.' Drummond studied McBride, who was staring through the windscreen, memory racing. He could ask no more questions.
'What do you think?'
'If they want to get rid of us, then I think they must be very close to whatever they have planned. It's so out of character for those Skibbereen clowns, they're being hard-pressed by someone else. God, they think the Germans are going to help them unite Ireland! No, forget it—' McBride was talking almost to himself.' They must be scared stiff of us — not because of who we are or what we know, but just because of what they're up to! We're a danger just because we're here — now, tell me what it might be.'
Rear Admiral March was sufficiently alarmed by the debriefing of Gilliatt and Ashe that he allowed himself to be badgered into calling a consultative meeting in Room T which would consider QIC's response to the German sweeping of the St George's Channel minefield. The Admiralty's Operational Intelligence Centre had failed, during the first year of the war, to develop its resources of cryptanalysts and air reconnaissance to a degree which would provide the Intelligence Division and the Director of Naval Intelligence with an understanding of German naval intentions and planning. QIC had had to take its share of blame for the fiasco of the Norwegian operation in April of 1940, and had been among those most relieved by Hitler's cancellation of
Walsingham looked once at March, who studied the reports and pictures in front of him studiously. Each man in the room had a duplicated set. Walsingham, looking at the mostly young faces, at the insufficiency of gold braid around the uniform cuffs displayed on the table, felt a momentary qualm. This was most definitely the sixth-form debating society in terms of the Admiralty's hierarchy. How long would it take him to get from there to the headmaster's study?
The image daunted him, but it also amused and challenged him.
'Gentlemen, you've all had time to study the reports and photographs before you, albeit hurriedly. I think our first priority—' He glanced at March again — 'is to establish that the St George's Channel minefield has been swept by the Germans. Barry, your opinion?'
The young lieutenant from the Tracking Room seemed startled out of his assiduous attention to Ashe's chart. He blinked.
'Yes, sir. There are no orders for a British sweep — sorry, only that carried out by the
'Commander?' Walsingham asked.
'Yes, you've spoken to the DMS already. You know that it was swept by the German Navy, and how they did it.'
'Thank you, Commander. It would seem to be our next priority to try to understand the movement of German naval vessels as they might be affected by this sweep. Chris?'
The lieutenant commander from ASW Division said immediately, 'What you want to know is — did we spot those U-boats of yours on Guernsey, and where are they now?'
The Tracking Room lieutenant, Barry, chuckled. Walsingham nodded his head as if Chris had scored a neat point.
'Did you?'
'We did. That many heavy-duty submarines were tracked from Brest to Guernsey. But we didn't know they ever left Guernsey — this sweep was done at night, which would explain our oversight. Ask Tracking Room—'
'Barry?'
'We — don't know where they are now. When you came to see me the other day, I got onto it. If they've left Guernsey, then they did that at night, too. They haven't emerged from any other base — not as far as we can tell.'
There was a sense in the room, Walsingham was aware, that those present had been carefully, cleverly orchestrated, and that they were reciting lines long prepared, like suggestions that Walsingham might have planted in them under hypnosis.
'I have information from Guernsey which suggests that the sheds are now empty. Would the U-boats return to normal wolfpack duty, Chris?'
'It seems likely. They must be back in Brest by now, then. Neither we nor Tracking Room have registered any of those designations at sea in the past four days.'
Walsingham nodded. 'We'll go on. What, gentlemen, was the object of converting those heavy-duty U-boats — which the German Navy cannot easily spare from North Atlantic duty — to sweep that channel?'
March said, 'You're preparing your ground here, Charles. But we already know what you think. Do you want us to vote on it?' The sarcasm was abrasive, crude.
'Gentlemen, I had a suggestion earlier in the day which made me think. It was suggested — by Lieutenant Gilliatt — that perhaps two thousand front-line Wehrmacht troops could be transported in a single night from the coast of France to the coast of southern Ireland, by submarine. Is that feasible, do you think?'
Chris from ASW Division was first to speak. 'Mm. It's a small force — but it's less noisy and a lot more efficient than dropping parachutists in large numbers. I'm not a military expert. Those subs you found in Guernsey could do the job—'
'Very well. When was any one of those U-boats
Barry said, 'I checked those numbers off. Two weeks ago, U-99 was seen returning to Brest, moving on the surface at dawn. Spotted by an unarmed Coastal Command Anson. It dived, but they got the number. The others are earlier sightings.'
'And no one's seen them since then, until Guernsey, and not since then?' Heads were shaken, the commander from DMS was now intrigued, converted. March remained with his head bent over the papers on the table, unwilling to accede to the slowly mounting barometric excitement in the tall room. 'Very well, where are they, and what are they doing? My man saw them in Guernsey stripped down — even the gun was missing — and rigged for sweeping duties. Those duties, we know, were completed. Now they are no longer in Guernsey — are they in Brest, and what are they doing there?' Walsingham held up two glossy prints. 'Air reconnaissance pictures of Brest, taken yesterday. The weather was good enough—'
'These don't even show the harbour, certainly not the U-boat pens—' Barry objected. March nodded in agreement.
'No. But, if you look carefully, you will see an unusually large concentration of military equipment.' He tapped at each picture in turn. 'Other pictures record the same sort of movements —
