‘Army Group A’s role is to protect the flank of Army Group B in the Ardennes, as Army Group B drives through Belgium towards the Channel. So no blitzkrieg for General Guderian.’
‘That’s right,’ said Dieter. ‘And Guderian doesn’t like that. He thinks we should strike in the Ardennes, with him in the vanguard, of course. He’s trying to persuade General Manstein, who in turn needs to persuade the general staff and ultimately the Führer.’
‘Your chief is absolutely right,’ said Theo. ‘That section of the line is defended by the French 2nd Army under General Huntziger. They are a bunch of overweight under-trained reservists whose defensive preparations are poor. The French think the Ardennes is impassable to modern tanks; it’s the weakest point in the line.’
‘How do you know this, Theo? Is this what you are doing for the Abwehr?’
‘I know it,’ said Theo. ‘And so does OKW, although I am not sure yet whether they have drawn the correct conclusions. Your General Guderian has the right idea. The strongest French forces and the BEF are lined up on the Belgian frontier to move north and meet Army Group B in Flanders. Army Group A should make the breakthrough through the Ardennes.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ said Dieter.
‘Unofficially.’
Dieter stopped. ‘By the way, I know this might sound crazy, but I think that a man is following us. In the brown overcoat on the other side of the road.’
‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘I’ve seen him.’
‘He’s not a British spy, is he?’
‘Gestapo,’ said Theo. ‘Almost certainly.’
‘So the Gestapo spies on its own spies?’
‘It would seem so,’ said Theo. ‘Don’t worry. There is nothing suspicious in me meeting my brother.’ Though in truth Theo was worried. The Abwehr had many officers and the Gestapo couldn’t follow them all. Why Theo? Did it have something to do with Conrad and the capture of the British agents? Or were the Gestapo finally getting to grips with the army officers who opposed Hitler, just when it seemed the Nazis no longer had anything to fear from them?
They were at the edge of the woods in the Tiergarten when Dieter stopped. ‘I should head off to the station now. I’m glad I got to see you, even if you can’t make it home.’
‘Me too,’ said Theo. ‘Give my love to everyone.’ He embraced his brother and turned through the woods towards Abwehr headquarters in the Tirpitzufer.
He had only gone a few yards when an unpleasant thought struck him. Perhaps he would never see Dieter again. Theo had always looked after his little brother. In some ways Dieter’s naive patriotism irritated him; Theo felt it was his job to keep Dieter away from danger. Yet for all Theo’s worldly experience, Dieter had actually fought for his country and Theo hadn’t, at least not yet.
In a few weeks or months, Dieter would be fighting his way through Luxembourg and Belgium, and Theo wouldn’t be there to protect him.
Theo could cope with Dieter fighting for his country. He just prayed that his little brother wouldn’t die for it.
27
Police Headquarters, The Hague, 22 November
Conrad was apprehensive about meeting Theo in Holland. Just before leaving England he had received a brief cable from Denmark confirming that Theo would see him in Leiden. At least Theo hadn’t ducked it, which Conrad had half expected him to. On the one hand, Conrad knew he had to confront him. On the other, if Theo really had killed Millie, then he would have no compunction in killing Conrad too. Theo his friend would become Theo his killer. Unthinkable. But Conrad knew he had better think it.
It was a risk Conrad just had to take.
But first he wanted to find out what he could from the Dutch authorities. The man from the British Embassy in The Hague was much less friendly to Conrad than he had been when he had rescued Conrad from his Dutch inquisitors after Venlo. Conrad and his family were trouble. But despite his coolness, the official was still polite and efficient, and had arranged an appointment with the Dutch police inspector who was in charge of the murder investigation, and who might have the authority to start the process of releasing Millie’s body for repatriation to England.
Police headquarters was a suitably solid-looking building not far from the embassy, in Alexanderplein. Conrad was kept waiting for twenty minutes before he was shown into a small office, which reeked of tobacco smoke. The policeman slumped behind his desk was about fifty, short and flabby, with thick tousled iron-grey hair. He was dressed in a baggy suit. He was smoking a cigarette and two full ashtrays scattered ash like post-eruption volcanic craters amid the jumble of files on his desktop.
Conrad was taken aback. The officials he had come across in Holland so far, while not quite Teutonic, had tended to be clean, smart and efficient.
‘Do you speak German?’ he asked the policeman in that language.
The man didn’t get up, but examined Conrad through narrowed eyes. ‘Why would I speak German to an Englishman?’ he said in English, with a heavy Dutch accent. ‘Take a seat.’
Conrad sat in one of two small wooden chairs. It creaked.
‘My name is Conrad de Lancey. I am here to enquire about the murder of my sister, Millicent de Lancey.’
‘I know,’ said the policeman. ‘I suppose you have come to the right place. I am Inspector van Gils, and I am in charge of the investigation.’
‘Good,’ said Conrad, trying a smile. ‘I wonder if you could tell me about her death?’
‘Can you?’ the policeman said, his brown eyes examining Conrad.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Can you tell me anything about your sister’s death? It’s a reasonable question,’ van Gils said. ‘I am supposed to be investigating it after all.’
The bitter emphasis on the word ‘supposed’ was not lost on Conrad. ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t. I know nothing about it.’
Van Gils’s hand darted into the files in front of him and produced a slim one, which he opened. ‘Is it true you were in the Netherlands two weeks ago?’
‘Yes,’ Conrad admitted. He knew his reluctance to answer was obvious to the policeman.
‘And did you visit the little town of Venlo, in the east of our country, on the ninth of November? Take a little tour through the woods? Stop at a little café?’
‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘But I spoke to your colleagues about that.’
‘Not my colleagues. Military intelligence. Believe me, Mr de Lancey, it is not their job to solve murders. But it is mine. Your country and Germany have your war going on, I understand that, but I do not appreciate your use of my town as a substitute for a battlefield, especially when an innocent tourist gets killed. If she was an innocent tourist?’
Conrad didn’t answer.
‘Your sister spoke perfect English and perfect German. She had a French name. As do you, of course. So I suspect neither of you was an innocent tourist. Which is, of course, why you won’t answer my questions. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why I should answer yours.’
‘Actually, I don’t work for the British secret service,’ said Conrad. ‘At least not directly.’
‘So will you answer my questions?’
The policeman had a half-smile on his face. It was clear to Conrad that this was no Dutch military intelligence stooge. Nor was he a Gestapo or Abwehr agent, and he didn’t work for Stevens or the British secret service. He was just a detective trying to do his job, and his job was finding out who killed Millie on his patch.
‘All right,’ said Conrad. He shrugged. ‘Why not?’