better insight into the way a Russian mind works than we have. This Russian attache is well connected within the Politburo at a political and family level. I trust her judgement. And we still have no word as to the whereabouts of Leonard and McGowan. We’re assuming the Gestapo intercepted them.’
Liddle hummed tunelessly for a moment as he reviewed the dossier. There was a possible redoubt beyond the Urals and no-one to verify it. He trusted Chainbridge’s views; he wouldn’t have come to him with this without due consideration.
Chainbridge and De Witte had broken several Communist rings operating within the Oxbridge universities. Now B5B section’s focus was Oswald Mosley and his bunch of thugs. Mosley could yet be a British Hitler or Mussolini in the making should a war ever break out. The section was juggling the forces of the extreme right and the extreme left, both Leviathans heading on a collision course across Europe. B5B was underfunded and understaffed, and Liddle seemed to be the only one, apart from Chainbridge and Churchill, who could foresee that Germany might disregard any kind of peace treaty.
Added to his woes, the Admiralty was vying for the counter-espionage brief and the glamorous tars seemed to have the upper hand with the current government. Liddle sighed inwardly. The shinier the brocade on the epaulettes, the more likely counter-intelligence would be moving off his desk. He was a policeman at heart, which meant hard graft and footwork, and the pain-staking gathering of evidence.
‘I’ll pass it up the chain of command, but don’t get your hopes up. Chamberlain believes he’s got Hitler where he wants him.’
Chainbridge turned to leave, Liddle rose also. The rain seemed to be increasing in volume outside, the din almost drowning out his voice.
‘Henry, as you know we’re struggling to improve the network. With too few operatives in the field that we can trust, we will need Miss Molinaar back in mainland Europe. The Polish authorities have requested that she be returned to them and that suits our purposes too. De Witte will have to remain here. I need the two of you to start putting feelers out across the country for operatives. You and I know there’s a war coming and that maniac in Berlin wants to set the world alight. We need to be prepared,’
Chainbridge nodded slowly. Liddle handed him a dossier,
‘Supplied to us by the Yanks. Mister Donald T Kincaid will be in Berlin a week from today depositing some of his considerable fortune into Hitler’s coffers. Miss Molinaar is to strike up a relationship with Kincaid as a joint mission between ourselves and the Poles, and remain with him as his companion. He has transferred an enormous amount of money lately and we don’t have the why’s, where’s or how’s. He’s an open supporter of Hitler and stands on the first amendment in all of his outbursts when questioned about it.’
Chainbridge skimmed the first few paragraphs: D.T. Kincaid, film magnate, many media interests — newsreels, newspapers, periodicals and advertising. Some of the photographs were from London where he was searching for his next big star. Amid all the doom and gloom of the papers, a man of this magnitude was bringing the Technicolor razzmatazz of Hollywood to Britain. A very, very rich man; political too.
‘I’ll talk to Miss Molinaar.’
Liddle dialled the Foreign Office extension as Chainbridge left.
‘Hello, yes, I’d like to talk to the Minister. We have a bit of an oddity here, might be worth following up on. Something our friends the Russians might be up to.’
Chapter 5
Oswald Mosley was in his element, surrounded by journalists, hangers on and well-wishers. Despite the waning fortunes of the British Union of Fascists, he still managed to be newsworthy and pull a crowd. It was more of a banquet than a rally, with long benches and tables stretching the length of the converted cellar down along the London’s docklands. It reminded Eva of a German beer hall.
A podium stood on a stage at one end, flanked by the red, white and blue flags of his party. Granite-faced Blackshirts formed a line in front of the stage, with matching black batons resting between their hands, a necessity after the last rally was broken up by rampaging Jews, Communists and Irish Dockers in protest at his extreme right wing manifesto.
Eva and De Witte were introduced to him by Diana Mosley and Eva noted that he and Peter had similarities. Mosley was dashing, rake thin and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He appraised Eva in a single glance, slowly exhaling his cigarette smoke as he did so.
'Hello again,' he smiled. 'Munich a few weeks ago? I never forget a pretty face.'
She held his gaze to Diana’s discomfort and allowed him to kiss her hand which he did as smoothly as a libertine. In his black uniform, webbing and jodhpurs, he resembled a lounging fighter pilot or suave Hollywood leading man. Eva produced her camera, a German Leica, and took a few shots. He posed gallantly, his eyes never leaving her.
De Witte cleared his throat and pushed his way through the press corps. He held a leather-bound board with blank paper clipped to it. A long stylus chained to it made grooves into the paper as he jotted in shorthand. Discreet wires running across the board allowed him to ensure straight lines as he wrote, using his thumb to tell him where to place the next line.
Mosley observed he, like most of the aristocrats attending, was sympathetic to King Edward’s plight in Spain, that he might in fact be the rightful King of England.
De Witte retorted, ‘So if war was declared, a more sympathetic monarch to the Fascist crusade may be more acceptable to the British population?’ He then followed on, ‘How do you plan to depose the current monarch? A French or Russian style revolution perhaps?‘
Ignoring De Witte, Mosley introduced his Italian and German SS guests beside him who saluted straight armed in the flash of bulbs. He told the press he believed that the United Kingdom, Germany and Italy were potential allies against the rise of Communism. His Fascist brothers from Europe were here tonight attending the dinner in solidarity with the BUF and the people of the United Kingdom. They shared his belief that Germany and England would not go to war against each other again, citing the willingness of Westminster to appease Hitler.
Then in a sudden flare of anger Mosley launched into a diatribe against the Soviet Union, the Communists and repeated the ‘fact’ that he, Hitler and Mussolini were bulwarks in Europe against this menace.
Bounding athletically onto the stage as he spoke and striding to the podium, he gripped it in white-knuckled rage. The microphone carried his voice, giving it a tinny quality. Eva removed the flash from her camera and, clipping on the customised B5b wide angle lens, took discreet photographs of those attending. The room offered sufficient light she judged as she captured the German and Italian delegates speaking to the assembled guests. Lords, ladies, businessmen, some from the munitions industries, and bankers were captured on film. Some openly posed for her, believing their faces would be in periodicals across Europe the following week.
De Witte enquired as to how the BUF was being funded, the rumour being Mussolini was their big backer. Mosley laughed this off as ‘Communist propaganda’, saying it was the British working man in the street funding them, with generous private donations.
Some of the journalists scoffed out loud and Mosley’s smile, though broad, slipped smoothly to a sneer. Eva noted that’s where the similarities with De Witte ended. De Witte again raised a question as to the whereabouts of William Joyce, whether or not he was still a party member returned to America or now living in Nazi Germany? Mosley stared evenly at De Witte who inclined his head to improve his hearing. Joyce hadn’t left the BUF but was actively liaising with the German High Command on behalf of the party, replied Mosley.
There was a growing sense of suspicion creeping into his voice in his replies toward De Witte.
De Witte continued, ‘As in the case of Ernst Rohm, right hand men have a habit of coming to a sticky end in Fascist movements. Is Joyce possibly floating in the Thames somewhere?’
Some of the press laughed again. Mosley insisted that Joyce was alive and well and working with Dr. Josef Goebbels. As he spoke, several Blackshirts moved in toward De Witte, summoned with a nod from Mosley. Eva tapped De Witte’s knee with a warning code and he flashed a smile to Mosley that was both immediately disarming and charming. Naturally it’ll be off the record, he assured him. Mosley grunted into his pewter tankard and waved the men away. They dumbly obliged.
Diana and Unity Mitford stood beside her in breathless admiration of Oswald, his coconut oiled fringe flying
