McKendrick looked as though he had lost a night’s sleep-while Reggie had slept and snored and dreamed, Gordon had worked-his eyes watery, his little white moustache looking droopy, every vein in his large hands standing out as he locked them together on his desk. He spoke quietly in his soft Highland accent, as though he were trying not to wake someone in the next room. But that was Gordon’s manner-he had long seemed to Reggie to subscribe to Teddy Roosevelt’s dictum ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’
‘It turns out that Hamilton had met Hess at some do or other in Germany. He’s positive the man is Rudolf Hess, not some impostor or doppelganger. And he is, to put it mildly, somewhat annoyed that Hess should think he’d have any pro-Nazi sympathies whatsoever. He got through to the Foreign Office yesterday afternoon. So happens the Prime Minister’s Private Secretary Jock Colville was there at the time. The FO put Hamilton onto Jock, and Jock relayed the message straight to the PM down in Dytchley. I gather the PM was rather cool about the whole matter. Told Jock to get Hamilton flown down as soon as possible and he’d see him there. In the meantime he’d got a new Marx Brothers film he wanted to watch, and he wasn’t going to let any Hess, real or fake, make him miss it.’
‘Oh really,’ said Reggie. ‘They’re awfully good. Is there a new one?’
McKendrick unlocked his hands, pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and ignored the question.
‘Hamilton and the PM are on their way up to London now. Later today the Foreign Office are sending Ivone Kirkpatrick up to Scotland to interrogate Hess. Kirkpatrick also met him in Berlin, so he can further identify Hess or not as the case may be. Hamilton’ll go with him. This is where you two come in. You’re to follow Kirkpatrick and watch. Do not tread on the FO’s toes, just listen to everything that’s said and be ready to step in when they get nowhere. Personally I think Hess will run circles round them, and the PM is of like mind. However protocol is being observed. We will give them their chance. But be ready-think of yourselves as… the watchers. Better still, the guardians. We’ll use “guardians” as your codename if necessary. Hess is “Mr Briggs” from now on. Be ready by seven o’clock, a car will pick you up at your hotel and drive you out to Hendon aerodrome for the flight to Scotland. Now-any questions?’
Reggie always had questions.
‘Wouldn’t Five normally handle something like this?’
‘Don’t ask me about lines of demarcation. I couldn’t honestly care less. The PM wants us to do it. Although I hesitate to tell you this, he asked specifically for you.’
Reggie hoped he wasn’t blushing with pride.
‘Where are we going exactly?’
‘Buchanan Castle on Loch Lomond.’
‘I see,’ said Reggie. ‘You tak the high road and I’ll tak the low road.’
McKendrick pinched the bridge of his nose again and seemed infinitely weary.
‘No jokes, Reggie. Please.’
‘Are we listening out for anything in particular?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well-could you sort of give us a hint?’
‘The Prime Minister has asked for confirmation of material gained from certain sources.’
This might as well have been gobbledegook as far as Reggie was concerned.
‘Confirmation of what, sir?’
‘Can’t tell you that.’
‘Well-what sources are we to confirm?’
‘Can’t tell you that either. Reggie, stop asking me damn fool questions and keep your ears pinned back. Report everything to me. If Hess confirms we’ll have no difficulty spotting it. Now. Clear your desks, the both of you. Tie up any loose ends and be at the Savoy at seven.’
‘On the matter of loose ends-what about my American?’
‘What American?’
‘Cormack-the chap General Gelbroaster put us on to. You know, the chap who worked Wolfgang Stahl?’
‘What about him?’
‘Well-we’re supposed to be looking for Stahl right now.’
‘Do we even know Stahl is in London?’
‘No, but…’
‘No buts, Reggie. This is the big one. Forget Stahl. Just concentrate on the job in hand.’
Out in the corridor Charlie said, ‘Bit of a coincidence Jock Colville being at the FO just as Hamilton calls in with the news of Hess, don’t you think?’
‘No,’ Reggie replied. ‘I don’t think. In fact, my fifteen years in the job has taught me that it pays to believe six impossible things before breakfast. Try it for half an hour a day. Begin with one impossible thing, Jock at the FO will do for starters, then work up to six.’
§ 14
On the same Monday morning Cal reported to the Embassy, a short walk from his hotel, just around the corner on the eastern side of Grosvenor Square. It had changed much since he was last there. It was changing as he watched. Teams of carpenters moved in and out with pre-fabricated partitions, carving larger rooms into smaller ones, desks were wheeled in and out on trolleys, metal chairs carried in in stacks. A face he knew met him-Captain Henry Berg. They’d been through West Point together, risen rank for rank together, and never found enough common ground to like one another. Berg was a born desk man. Cal nurtured secret dreams that, bifocal eyeglasses notwithstanding, he might be a man of action as well as a man of analysis. Even as Berg spoke the carpenters were erecting a new office around him.
‘You gonna be here long?’
‘I really don’t know, Henry.’
‘The colonel’s asked for you to have a desk in here. Take the one by the wall. It’s a pity we have to share, but as you can see, things are really hotting up. The staff has doubled since Christmas.’
Cal could see that. He didn’t recognise half the faces that had passed in front of him. And he couldn’t escape the sound of pique in Henry’s voice as he used the word ‘share’.
‘I’ve got you an In-tray and an Out-tray. I’ve issued a request for a Pending, but really nothing should be pending long enough for you to need it.’
Cal stopped listening. Any minute now Berg would show him how the pencil sharpener worked and give him a key to the executive washroom. He wondered if this hive of activity spelt out the same message to Berg as it did to him-a nation gearing up for war.
‘Can I use the phone, Henry?’
Berg pushed the telephone across the desk to him. Cal rang the Savoy and was told that Colonel Ruthven-Greene had already gone out. They didn’t know when he’d be back. Odd, thought Cal, he’d’ve expected Reggie to be raring to start.
He found himself staring into nothing across the bent back of a workman, busy hanging the door. Then the figure on the other side came into focus. A tall, gangly, middle-aged man. Frank Reininger.
Reininger grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. Only Berg’s presence saved him from the usual bear hug.
‘Good to see you, Calvin. Henry here showing you around?’
‘Yes sir-big changes, I see.’
‘You’re well? And your daddy?’
Reininger and his father went back a long way. Frank had always been a little blind to the tensions between father and son.
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Cal lied, without a clue as to his father’s well-being.
‘Come into my office. This isn’t really my show. Deke Shaeffer just wants a quick word. He’s in charge of security now-did I tell you that?’
Reininger steered Cal into another, far less makeshift room. FDR’s portrait on the back wall, Woodrow Wilson and Teddy Roosevelt on the sides. Major Shaeffer sat behind an expensive, imported, antique desk. Reininger had paid for it to be shipped from Paris. It went where he went. Plywood was strictly for the other ranks.
Cal had never known Frank to be anything but the soul of bonhomie-but he’d never known Deke Shaeffer to smile and mean it. They were like chalk and cheese, a garrulous, thin man and a surly oaf built like Tarzan of the apes, but everybody said they were a first-class team.