It was the sort of call that Erika had been dreading for some time past, as she knew her Gregory far too well to have any hope of his remaining in a safe job for the rest of the war.
After he had told her in guarded terms that he was going abroad again, she decided that she could better support the strain of his coming departure in the country than in the restaurants and nightclubs of war worn London, which now offered so little and had become so tatty; so he told her to expect him on the coming Wednesday.
Gregory had started a spell of duty at six o'clock that evening and, in order that he might dine with Sir Pellinore, a colleague who owed him a turn had taken over from him at half past seven; but he had promised to be back by eleven. As it was now close on that hour, he took leave of his host and, with a much more jaunty step than he had come, made his way through the blackout along the edge of the park, till he found the gap in the barbed wire leading to the tall bronze doors in the basement beyond which lay his office.
The following morning he arranged about his leave and at ten o'clock went off duty. As he was leaving the building he found himself alongside the old friend who had once been a Cadet with him in H.M.S. Worcester. Together they turned left and, as they passed the bottom of Clive Steps, Gregory asked:
'What brings you out at this hour of the morning?'
'My daily jaunt to the War Office,' replied the other. 'It's part of my job to attend the meetings of the I.S.S.B.'
'And what may that be? Or shouldn't one ask?'
'Oh, there's no secret about what the initials stand for. It's the Inter Services Security Board. They are the boys who check up on any leakages of information, and devise all the regulations for preventing news of what we're up to from reaching the enemy.'
A hundred yards further on they parted. The other airman crossed the Horse Guards Parade, went through the arch, over to the War Office and up to a room on the third floor, in which half a dozen officers were already seated round a table.
It was one of the Board's principal functions to scrutinize all troop movements and see to it that the public knew as little as possible about them; so, soon after any new operation had been definitely decided upon, the Board was automatically informed. That morning, Operation Torch was one of the items on the agenda, and was to remain so for many weeks to come; for the problems entailed in covering the movement of ships, men and aircraft, in preparation for the great expedition, were innumerable.
As yet they had only the outline plan, since 'Eps' as the Executive Planning Staffs in the three Service Ministries were called were still working on the nuts and bolts which would turn the plan from a broad strategic conception into a practical operation of war with the forces and supplies needed to carry it out nominated down to the last detail.
A middle aged Major of the Royal Scots who had among his ribbons an M.C. with bar, and who was Secretary to the Board, read out particulars in clear incisive tones; the 'Cardinal' Colonel, who was Chairman, made some comments, then the Admiralty representative looked across at the airman from the War Cabinet Offices and said in a high-pitched, rather nasal, voice:
'Now we shall see if amateurs like you and your new Colonel can really produce the goods.'
The airman was junior to the sailor so he replied with chill politeness, 'Given a continuance of the help always so generously afforded us by I.S.S.B., sir, I think we may manage.'
The sailor was far from popular; so a large man in civilian clothes, who was Chief of counterespionage in Britain and affectionately known to the rest of the party as 'Himmler,' tittered.
The Major with the double M.C. gave the airman a friendly smile. 'Unlike our naval member, this old horse feels no pain and grief that such headaches are no longer ours. But this little affair is going to be quite something; and naturally the Board will be right behind you.'
A youngish, good-looking Captain who was on the secretariat looked up from the notes he had been making with his left hand, and added, 'It's going to be murder if things go wrong. The Jerries can hardly fail to spot a convoy of this size and what might happen if the U-boat packs got into it does not bear thinking about.'
'That's not our worst worry,' replied the airman. 'There would be losses, of course, but not serious enough to cripple the operation if the naval escorts do their stuff. Besides, there is at least some hope that we'll be able to get them down to Gib. undetected. The real trouble will start as soon as they turn in to go through the Straits. Then any cover we have managed to give their initial sailing must be blown. Once in the Med. the whole of the Axis air force will be alerted; and, if the object of the operation leaks out, the Vichy French may prove hostile into the bargain. If the landings are seriously opposed it could be a massacre. I only hope to God we'll be able to think up some way of foxing the enemy about our 'ultimate objectives.'
The Major nodded. 'I'd say that your new master will produce a better rabbit than we would have got from old one leg Dumbo; but the two of you have certainly been given one hell of an assignment. This could be worse than Tobruk. The Order of Battle will include the best of everything the Army's got, and they'll be two thousand miles from home. There will be no getting the remnants off in small boats as we did at Dunkirk. Well, let us know how we can help, and keep your chin up.'
Had Gregory been at this meeting he would have been equally worried about the outcome of the expedition to North Africa, but at least he would have been disabused of his idea that the British and Americans intended to do nothing in 1942 which might force the enemy to withdraw a certain number of divisions from Russia. Such knowledge, had he had it the evening before, would certainly have caused his conversation with Sir Pellinore to take an entirely different turn; so it is most unlikely that the project of his going to Budapest would ever have arisen.
As it was, while the I.S.S.B. was discussing the first tentative arrangements for the security of Operation Torch, he was lying in his bath thinking of that lovely city, so justly termed 'The Queen of the Danube,' Or, to be more accurate, he was thinking of a wonderful three weeks that he had spent there three years before the war in the company of a very lovely young woman,
In the summer of 1936, on behalf of Sir Pellinore, he had been engaged in investigating international smuggling operations which had assumed large and dangerous proportions; for, in addition to big consignments of contraband goods, a number of Communist agitators were being flown in by night to secret landing grounds in lonely parts of Kent. His painstaking enquiries on the French coast had got him nowhere until one midnight in the Casino at Deauville his curiosity had been aroused by the sight of a beautiful dark-haired girl and, quite incidentally, the fact that she was in the company of an elderly man whom he knew to be a crooked financier.
She had proved to be a Hungarian named Sabine Szenty,' and it was through having got to know her later that night in unusually dramatic circumstances that he secured his first clue to the problem which had so far defeated him. Unwillingly to begin with, then in rebellion against her crooked chief, she had eventually helped him to unmask the smugglers' organization. It had very nearly cost both of them their lives and, even when the job was done, her own participation in their criminal activities left her liable to prosecution and a prison sentence. To save her from that he had performed a highly illegal act himself; but he had had no cause to regret it, for after their arrival in Budapest she had rewarded him in an entirely suitable manner.