Rossiter held back his questions, but his expression spoke volumes.
“We have a God-given chance, one chance, to use this boy, and if we do it right, then we can affect how this war’s going to run. If we do it wrong, then there’ll be hell to pay, so bringing the British on-board means we get all the minds working on how to do this… and there’ll be no finger pointing if it goes to hell in a hand cart.”
Standing smartly, Donovan tapped the file.
“This is great work, Sam, and I want you to head up our side of this. I will brief the British in the morning, and sort out with General Menzies how we proceed.”
“Sir, if we’ve gotta share then I’d like to bring in the French too. I know a good man high up in the Bureau.”
Donovan was surprised but didn’t show it.
“Give me his name and I’ll run it past Menzies. Wait until I give you the word though, Sam.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Rossiter quickly wrote out De Walle’s name and passed it to his boss, ending with a formal salute.
Replying in kind, Donovan also extended his hand.
“Good work, Sam. Now, I need something to eat… and a shower.”
“The Sergeant will show you to your quarters, General. It’s all sorted.”
“Thank you. Good night, Sam.”
“Good night, general.”
As soon as the door closed, Rossiter flopped into his seat, still warm from its previous occupant, and reached into the bottom drawer, extracting the bourbon and a glass.
He carefully poured a good measure and threw it down his neck in one action.
“Goddamnit!”
He patted the file as he poured another.
The cover was nondescript, bearing only the names ‘Achilles’ and ‘Thetis’, as well as the insignia of a top secret file.
Ancient Greek history was a favourite of Rossiter’s, so he had chosen appropriate names for those represented in the file.
Achilles was Thetis’ son, or in real file terms, Ilya was the son of a Major General in the GRU, one Tatiana Nazarbayeva, which represented a huge opportunity for Allied intelligence.
Nazarbayev took leave of his wife and returned to his unit, his outer calm hiding an inner turmoil.
Something that was his, exclusively his, had been lost, and could never, no matter what he said or tried to think, be returned to what it was.
His mind flicked between emotions, seeking the one that caused him most pain, or the one that could give him most comfort.
Grief, betrayal, love, family, sons, betrayal, memories, betrayal… betrayal…
And then, in a moment, they were gone, and only anger was left.
[Stalin’s signature was acquired from the public domain, under this attribution - By Connormah, Joseph Stalin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons]
Knocke had remarked how Weiss looked as white as a sheet on that early December Sunday evening.
Weiss was embarrassed inside, believing that his lack of colour and tiredness was due to the efforts of his ‘removal’ of Kowalski and the woman, and subsequent close shave with the room inspections.
He started to feel genuinely unwell, and pain spread through his head and eyes, growing every second.
Without examining the folder, Agent Amethyst had surrendered to the sudden onset of lethargy, using the continued presence of French Intelligence agents to justify his inactivity.
The midnight rapping on his door was most unwelcome, the more so as it yielded Sergeant Lutz, recently returned to light duties in the headquarters, who issued an immediate and non-negotiable summons to an interview.
Two members of ‘Deux’ trawled through Weiss’ actions for the previous evening, cross-referencing with other testimonies. Sat at the back of the room was Knocke, there solely to observe. Adjacent to him was the very beautiful French Capitaine that Weiss had dreamed of conquering ever since he had arrived at the Camerone headquarters, her attention clearly focussed on recording the full interview in shorthand.
Despite the fact that the German Officer was clearly unwell, the interview lasted for nearly forty-five minutes of detail, review of detail, and intense cross-examination, only being concluded when an orderly arrived with coffee. Encouraged to take his with him, Weiss had been permitted back to his room, where he took two aspirin and immediately collapsed onto his bed.
The arrival of coffee had been the pre-arranged signal that the task was complete.
In the office, De Walle could not spare Knocke’s discomfort, so simply placed the recovered folder on the desk and invited his man to speak.
The orderly, actually a ‘Deux’ man, spoke swiftly.
“Sir, Agent Guiges and I searched the room thoroughly and discovered a bent nail on top of the wardrobe. As it was not dusty, unlike the furniture it was on, we found it suspicious.”
Nervously coughing, conscious of the fact that he was the centre of attention for two extremely unhappy senior men, he tried to continue as quickly as possible.
“Guiges quickly found the under floor hiding place, which contained that folder, a silenced pistol, his documentation, and a copy of Thomas Mann’s ‘Der Zauberberg’. We replaced all the items, unloaded the pistol, and exchanged the contents of the folder for meaningless paperwork.”
“Thank you, Denys. If that’s all?”
It was, and Denys Montabeau beat a hasty retreat, nodding to De Valois on the way out.
“Scheisse!”
None of the room’s occupants were used to outbursts from Knocke.
“So it is Weiss who killed the Russian… and the woman agent.” Knocke’s mind was working on what other damage Weiss could have brought about and immediately started wondering if the reverses of Spectrum Black had been authored in a small bedroom upstairs.
De Walle understood perfectly and offered up his own knowledge on the matter.
“This piece of rubbish was a late arrival at Sassy, Ernst. According to records, he arrived with your command on…”
The German officer completed the statement.
“On the 3rd of December.”
De Walle was impressed.
Knocke also calculated that the timing would not have permitted Weiss to betray the operation to his masters.
However, De Valois had something to say on the matter.
“Mon Général, there is a problem here.”
She produced her notes taken during a telephone exchange with the senior Deux officer at Sassy.
“Weiss left the main camp on November 28th. At his own request, his travel documents permitted him to proceed to Gougenheim via Pfalzweyer.”
De Walle snarled immediately.
“And Pfalzweyer is close enough to Phalsbourg to make no difference, and a short hop to Sarrebourg eh? In that time he could have acquired a lot of information.”
Knocke steepled his fingers in front of his face, tapping his lips with the central spire, his face growing darker by the second, so much so that his silence became oppressive and stopped De Walle and Valois in their tracks.
“Pfalzweyer.”
Knocke’s tone indicated that he had developed a greater understanding.
“Why Pfalzweyer?”
De Walle’s question was partly answered by Anne-Marie.
“He told the Sassy Transportation Officer that he wished to visit the brother of one of his Hitler Youth soldiers, who was killed in Normandy. The TO is a former 12th SS man, so gave him the necessary travel permits immediately.”
De Walle pushed further.
“Did he recall the name of the man that Weiss intended to visit?”