Stan followed the commander to the officer’s quarters. After climbing into a navy blanket and swallowing hot tea, Stan told the commander his story. He did not keep anything back. When he had finished, the commander said:
“We could radio in a warning, but I think High Command might appreciate it if we took no chances. We’ll put in and rush you right to Eighth Air Force headquarters. That way the Germans won’t be able to learn anything.”
“The FW that got away will report I was blasted into the sea. Anyway, I have a personal score to settle with a Nazi who is passing himself off as a pal of mine.”
“Better get in touch with the big boys first,” the commander advised.
“I’ll take care of both jobs,” Stan promised.
CHAPTER XIII
SPY HUNT
The commander of the destroyer placed Stan in the hands of a British Intelligence Officer. Having had some experience with British methods of sending all reports through regulation channels before acting upon them, Stan merely requested that he be rushed to his headquarters at once.
“Certainly, old fellow,” the officer said. “But that will be a bit awkward, you know. Everything is upset and everybody is very busy. There’s a big show in the making. I’ll do my best. Should be able to deliver you there by morning.”
“Don’t bother, if that is as fast as you can get me there,” Stan said. “I’ll find a way out to my outfit.”
“No trouble at all, glad to help you. I’ll get you a room and you can get a nice sleep. Bright and early I’ll be around with a car.” The officer made it clear he was in a big hurry to be off.
“Thanks a lot,” Stan said. “I’ll see you later.”
The officer stared at him as Stan turned and barged out of the little office where the Navy had left him. News of a big air push made it necessary for him to get into action at once. He had to report his information in time to halt the operations, or catch Egbert Minter before he reported to Berlin. Getting a report to his own flight commander seemed the quickest way.
Without his Yank officer’s uniform Stan was at a disadvantage. The destroyer commander had had his civilian suit cleaned and pressed for him and he was wearing it, having discarded the coveralls he had worn in the German shop. Standing on a street corner in the coast village, Stan realized that he was dressed as a German civilian. Getting a ride would not be so easy. Then he began to understand why the Intelligence Officer had wanted to hold him overnight. Intelligence had not been so sure the destroyer commander knew all about Stan.
Grinning broadly he hurried down the street. A few people stared at him and one man pointed him out to another. A bobby turned and stood watching him. Stan halted abruptly. The policeman was walking toward him. Suddenly Stan realized that he did not have a scrap of evidence on him to prove he was a Yank officer. The Germans had taken all identification away from him.
A man came up the street and halted the bobby. He showed the policeman something. The bobby looked at Stan, then turned back to his beat. The man sauntered on a few steps and paused to look into a shop window. At once Stan knew he was being trailed by British Intelligence. He had a hunch he would be picked up soon.
Entering a shop he smiled at a girl leaning on a counter. “May I use your telephone?” he asked.
“Over there.” The girl pointed to a small booth.
Stan went into the little room. He got a connection and asked for Eighth Air Force headquarters after convincing the operator that he was a stranded flier. A voice at the other end of the line said in a very irritated manner:
“We are accepting nothing but accredited calls until tomorrow.”
“This is vitally important. I must speak to General Gilmer. This is Lieutenant Stan Wilson speaking. I’ve just escaped from Germany. A British destroyer put me ashore.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Ramsgate.”
“Get in touch with British Intelligence there. We can’t put you through to the general.”
“Then get me Colonel Holt.”
“He is in conference. Now clear the wire.”
“Don’t hang up or I’ll have your stripes!” Stan shouted.
“Yes, sir,” the voice said quickly.
That meant the operator was a non-com which would make it a little easier.
“Get me Lieutenant Allison at Mess 187. Make it quick.”
The operator did some plugging and after a bit came back with a report.
“Lieutenant Allison has shifted to fighter group. He is at 155, Interceptor Base.”
“Get him!” Stan snapped.
The operator began plugging again and Stan waited. He saw the man shadowing him standing out at the counter drinking a cup of tea. After a long wait he heard Allison’s voice.
“Hello there?”
“This is Stan. Hold it! Listen! I’m at Ramsgate and have to get to headquarters at once. Can’t tell you how I got here, but I’m about to be grabbed by British Intelligence. I’m dressed like a German business man.”
“I say, old man, this is topping.” Stan heard him shout to O’Malley.
“Is Sim Jones there?”
“Yes, he was here. I don’t see him, but I’m sure he’s around. Want to talk to him?”
“No, but either you or O’Malley keep an eye on him. Don’t let him get out of your sight. If he leaves the mess, follow him!”
“I say, what’s up?” Allison was clearly startled.
“Do as I say, and get Colonel Holt. Tell him to pick me up here at once. Even if he has to come himself. I’m about to be grabbed by a plain-clothes man. But I’ll be at British Intelligence here at Ramsgate.”
The Intelligence man was in the door of the booth. “That will be enough talk,” he said gruffly. “Any other messages you have I’ll send for you.” He reached over and hung up the phone before Stan could say another word.
“Listen, Officer. Take me back to the Intelligence Office,” Stan said. “My commander will call for me there.”
“You are acting very strangely, my man. Why didn’t you make this call from the office? It could have been checked there.” The officer laid a big hand on Stan’s arm.
“I’ll make one from there,” Stan said. “I’ll admit I should have put this one through from your office, but I did not know I was to be followed and I didn’t stop to think how I would look in these clothes.”
“I have orders to handle this myself in case you showed any suspicious actions. I think you have acted plenty suspicious. I’m taking you to the London office. We’ll have to check this call you just made and get you identified.”
“I can’t waste all that time,” Stan protested. “I have to get out to my outfit.”
The officer smiled. “I think I’ve landed one of the boys we’re after. We have had a tip that the Germans have planted a group of the smoothest men they have over here. So far we haven’t been able to put a hand on a single man of them. But you fit the picture neatly.”
“Why?” Stan asked.
“Well, you are an escaped pilot. That’s the way they have been coming in. They are always able to slip through because they know all about the outfit they were supposed to have been with. They’re even supposed to look exactly like the officers lost over Germany.” The officer laughed. “The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that we’ve landed one of them at last. Come along.”
Stan walked beside the officer. He felt like kicking himself for bungling. If the time were not so short everything could be straightened out. But he was sure the first waves of the giant air attack were about due to start, possibly before midnight. Allison had said Minter was not around. He and O’Malley might not be able to locate the spy.
“Here’s my car,” the secret-service man said.