‘Supposition, brother.’
‘What else have I got? If the Gestapo knew this was the way out they would have been all over it to make sure they did not cock up, and they haven’t. It is also true that if your chum in the Berlin embassy knew certain things, then Jerry knows too.’
‘My man knew what you were up to but not how you go about it.’
‘Did he tell you how he found out?’
‘No, and I did not ask.’
‘There’s a lot of competition in intelligence-gathering in this neck of the woods, the new boys created by the Party treading on the toes of the old police and spy agencies, like the Abwehr. Your embassy contact wasn’t the military attache by any chance, was he?’
‘Clever boy, Cal.’
‘Rumour has it there’s a turf war going on between the Abwehr and the SS, who want all counter-espionage to be in their hands, so the army boys might not be averse to queering their pitch by passing on certain bits and bobs, as you called them, to our embassy. What do you think?’
‘It’s a reasonable prognosis, but that does not explain the thugs we avoided earlier.’
‘If relations are bad between the SS and the Abwehr, they are truly diabolical between the SS and the SA. If my name and location came up as a suspect, the Brownshirts would jump at a chance to beat their rivals to it so they can claim to be the true guardians of the Nazi faith, and they spy on each other all the time. We will never know, but it is very possible that a party of Gestapo were on their way to the Reeperbahn when that truckful of club-carrying beauties alighted.’
‘And here and now?’
‘Why would the army intelligence boys tell the Berlin attache half a tale? — which backs up my theory that this escape route is unknown to the Gestapo. They have only got part of the story and that is there is a cell in Hamburg, of which I am a part, queering their pitch of stripping the departing Jews of their wealth. They would deduce we are using the Elbe to get them out with their possessions, but that only allows you to block the obvious routes, like the main dockyard gates.’
‘They could search the departing ships.’
‘It would take too long and upset the ships’ owners, who would divert their cargoes elsewhere. I would guess they have limited information about the where and when of any alternative exit, and it is obvious we must have one that does not involve normal tickets, so they would have to spread themselves around the whole area, which is huge. These docks are close to the size of Liverpool.’
‘They might also be inside on the quays?’
‘Perhaps, but again distributed very thinly and wondering what to cover, and we have to hope no idea of which vessel we will be heading for, given there are dozens of them sailing in and out of the port every day.’
‘Have you asked yourself how they came by whatever knowledge they do have?’
‘Of course, but I don’t think there’s a leak at the Jewish end. That could only come through interrogation and I am unaware of anyone being arrested who knows anything.’
‘And you would know?’
‘My Jewish contacts would know.’
‘If I was running this show from the Hun end, they wouldn’t.’
‘Is that what you’re in now, Peter, counter-intelligence?’
‘Good God, no! You know me, Cal, I couldn’t run the sock counter at Harrods.’
The absurdity of that would have made Jardine laugh at another time; now was too serious. ‘Since I am making assumptions, I must give you a choice. If you wish to go, do so now, through the tunnel; give the captain my name and he will get you out of here even if me and my party don’t manage to join you.’
‘Have I ever told you how your bloody nobility gives me a pain in my posterior?’
‘More than once.’
‘One of these days you must tell me the real reason you engage in such asinine activities.’
Jardine pocketed his Mauser, picked up the Gladstone bag and went to the door, turning the handle. ‘I would advise you not to hold your breath while waiting for a response.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see if I can draw off any watchers. Maybe if I move, so will they, because I am convinced they cannot know who is coming and from where, or if they are close to the real escape route. But for certain they know my identity, so they might tail me, which will leave the way clear for the Ephraims.’
‘And if you’re wrong?’
‘Then you will hear gunshots. After that, you must decide how to act on your own.’
‘Say they do follow you, I assume that leaves me to get these bloody people through the tunnel?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘And you, how do you get out?’ Jardine just grinned and touched the side of his nose with an index finger, which exasperated Lanchester. ‘If you do manage, Cal, for the sake of the Lord do not tell anyone I helped to rescue some Yids. I’ll never live it down.’
‘Army amp; Navy Club, Peter, two weeks from now and you can buy me luncheon. Oh, and by the way, don’t be surprised by the way our party is dressed. Can I have my scarf back? I might need it.’
Lanchester was taking the muffler off when he too grinned. ‘Does Bonny Lass speak Yiddish?’
‘No idea.’
Lanchester ran a tidying hand over his glossy black hair. ‘Might be prepared to learn if she does, don’t you know. How long does it take to get to Rotterdam?’
‘I saw the way she looked at you, Peter; for what you’re thinking about, Tokyo is not far enough.’
‘And I saw the way she looked at you, Cal, but never underestimate the charm of a true Englishman.’
The sun is slow to fall near the Baltic, but it is low in the long evenings, so it cast deep shadows between the high warehouses that lined the deserted street. Approaching the lorry, with a couple of men seemingly working to load it, moving boxes about, it was hard to appear nonchalant, even harder not to look too directly at them to see if they had the kind of coarse appearance such labourers should have.
Gladstone bag swinging in one hand, the other in his trench coat pocket holding tight the now warm stock of his pistol, Jardine did flick a glance towards them as he passed close by, throwing them a crisp ‘Guten Abend’.
His suspicions were heightened by the way they failed to respond, it being a mark of polite behaviour for Germans to do so, while the impression of faces too bland was fleeting, of hands a bit too white and teeth that seemed too even. Likewise the clothing had none of the wear that came from doing a lousy job for low pay. The hairs were standing on the back of his neck when he passed the cab, yet he dare not look back to see if they were watching him.
In such building-created canyons, sound travels, and though he could not see it, he heard the distant start of a car engine, as well as that particular whining noise one makes when reversing. As he came to the first junction, to a road running away from the dockside, he looked along it to observe it was empty; had the car been there and so obviously official-looking it had needed to be withdrawn? How many bodies did they have on this job?
His heart jumped when the lorry engine started, a deep throbbing note as it idled, then the pitch of the engine rising as it revved and moved, that mixing with the crack of his heels on the pavement. Gears and engine pitch changed twice, then the noise became a diminishing echo, fading eventually till his shoes were making the only audible sound. The combination of that car noise and a lorry, hitherto stationary too long, indicated they were either police or Gestapo. It made no odds which, they had moved because of him and that had to mean he was being tailed; good for his refugees, not so hot for him, given he had no idea of the resources they had employed for the task.
The street being long and straight, he saw the Auto Union coupe, hood up, coming towards him at quite a distance, moving slowly on the cobbles, which made it buck and sway, the jarring of its body as the springs failed to cushion it properly indicating the car was carrying too heavy a load. The first clue to it being the Ephraim family was the sight, in the driver’s seat, of the man Lanchester had called his blue-eyed boy, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead, while alongside him sat the father with a worker’s cap pulled well down, hiding his grey hair.