‘Yes. I assume they are in the files somewhere.’
‘The first was, yes. The second seemed to have been misplaced. Carelessness, I was told when it was finally found.’
Memling grinned. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. The start of the war caught the old bureaucracy at Northumberland Avenue by surprise. I doubt they have adapted to it yet.’
‘They haven’t,’ the brigadier replied wryly. He paused, as if arranging his thoughts. ‘At the moment I am assigned a special task, that of co-ordinating information concerning Germany’s scientific and technical progress in one particular field, that of rocket research.’ ‘I’ll be damned.’
The brigadier ignored him. ‘I put my staff to searching for further information among various Allied intelligence agencies, and bits and pieces began to crop up, especially from Polish intelligence.’
‘Polish intelligence?’ Memling murmured in surprise. ‘Why ever in the world would they be interested in rockets?’
‘Seems that parts of Poland are being surveyed for testing sites. In any event, there were quite a few reports stuck here and there that, when assembled, suggest that more is going on than meets the eye. And none of them were duplicated in MI-Six files. I had a talk with Englesby, and he tended to dismiss their importance. When I mentioned your reports he shrugged and made remarks that gave me the impression there was a personality conflict between the two of you.’
The brigadier waited and, when no comment was forthcoming, called to the waitress for more tea. When she had gone, he fixed Memling with a steady look. ‘I am convinced there is something to this business of German rockets. What about you?’
Memling shook his head. ‘I thought so at one time, before the war. But since then, no. The rocket motors I saw in Liege were part of a put-up job to trick me into leading the Gestapo to the resistance group operating in the city.’ And with that admission came the familiar sickening despair that had always accompanied any memory of those terror-filled last days in Belgium.
‘Nonsense! There is something to all this, and your estimates of the size and range of the German rocket are not so different from those made by my own staff from information obtained through other sources. A remarkable job considering the circumstances. That is why I want you to come to work for me.’
Memling shook his head again. ‘I know damned well that whatever information you have must have been planted by the Nazis. Damn it, they tricked me, and God knows how many people died because of my stupidity.’
The brigadier regarded him for a moment. ‘There does seem to be a certain arrogance in that statement. It suggests that since you were, or thought you were, fooled, everyone else will be as well.’
‘Wait a moment…’
Simon-Benet held up a hand. ‘I know what you meant. I am afraid, however, that you must resign yourself to the fact that you are wrong. The rockets do exist and you are going to work for me.’
‘I can’t… sir. At least not until after the next mission. My section is raw and needs…’
‘One junior officer more or less is not going to affect the war effort all that much. This might. I’ll allow you the rest of the day. Report to number Eighteen Red Lion Square tomorrow morning at 0700 sharp.’
Memling toyed with his cup a moment. ‘You don’t seem to leave me any option.’
‘I can’t afford to. This isn’t a game.’
There was an uncomfortable silence, which the brigadier finally broke. ‘I suppose you will stay on with Janet? Housing is very difficult in London now.’
‘Good Lord, no!’ Memling started. ‘I can’t just move in there… I don’t even know if she’d have me.’
‘If you want my opinion, she needs you about as badly as you need her.’
‘But good God, man, I can’t just…’
The brigadier stood up grinning. ‘A damned puritan, hey? Let me tell you, boy, none of us may survive this war. If a bullet doesn’t find us at the front, a bomb might get us here in London. So if you can provide comfort to another, do so. Personally, I think prostitution and the theatre are the two noblest professions in which mankind can engage. Both offer entertainment and, best of all, relief from the outrages of the world.’
He touched his swagger stick to his cap and ducked out into the rain. The patch of blue sky, Memling noted, had disappeared, and it was coming down harder than ever.
‘October has been a busy month for us at Peenemunde,’ Franz Bethwig told his gathered staff. ‘The first wholly successful launch of the A-Four was made on the third of this month. I am proud of you all and the work you performed under arduous and adverse conditions.’
The staff applauded, and he smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’m learning how to handle them, he thought. Perhaps Heydrich was right after all. ‘Today,’ he went on, ‘we have a much tougher job to do. With the A-Four we had behind us the assembled resources of a powerful nation – even though we lacked a meaningful top priority.’ He waited for, and received, the expected laughter. ‘But we are operating under even tougher conditions with the A-Ten. We all know how demanding the SS has become, and with good reason. We must push development as quickly as possible to spare the Reich the damage of a long-term, if ultimate, victory. For that reason Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler will arrive secretly at Peenemunde this morning to witness the first test flight.’
As he expected, a low murmur filled the room. The SS was never welcome; Himmler doubly so. ‘I expect you all to conduct yourselves with the utmost courtesy and respect for his rank and that of his aides.’ Bethwig paused a moment, then grinned wickedly. ‘I myself will do my best to keep those desk commandos out of your way.’
The room remained silent, except for the muffled exclamation of a horrified secretary. No one joked about Himmler.
Scowling, Bethwig continued: ‘I am pleased to announce that the countdown is proceeding well. We are holding at the moment, waiting for the Reichsführer’s aircraft to arrive. We have also received word from our two picket submarines in mid-Atlantic. Both are on station. The count will resume in one hour. We expect to launch this evening at 1900 hours.’
Franz and his new secretary, a pretty young land service girl named Katherine, went out into the watery autumn sunshine; a driver was waiting to take them to Launch Stand XII located near the centre of the island. The car drove off, keeping to the middle lane to avoid the pedestrians and bicyclists streaming towards the canteens for the lunch break. Few of them, Bethwig knew, were yet aware of the A-10; by this evening all would know about it. The massive test stand could be isolated and guarded in its remote, marshy section of the island, and the massive first stage could be shrouded during assembly and its move to the stand. But once the engines reached full thrust and the gargantuan vehicle rose above the trees and, one hoped, streaked down range, there would be no more secrecy. Bethwig’s staff had estimated that the noise would be heard in Stettin, some ninety kilometres distant.
As the car approached the test complex they had an occasional glimpse of the massive structure rearing above the pines, and even after a year and a half Bethwig still could not shake the feeling of awe it inspired in him.
The main control centre was housed in a half-buried bunker located a kilometre from the launch stand. He made a quick series of inspections among the consoles, then went up to the bunker’s roof where the cameramen were running checks on their equipment. One or two nodded, but no one spoke. Ordinarily the crews would have been excited and expectant; but the spectre of Himmler and his SS minions had dampened their enthusiasm. The A-4, a much smaller and less-complicated vehicle, had required three attempts before a successful flight was achieved. And numbers four and five, fired since, had failed. The crews realised that this was to be expected, but no one knew how the Reichsführer, the second most powerful man in the country and reputedly not the most stable individual, would view a failure on their part. The A-4 was an army project, and they were no strangers to failure. The A-10 was an SS project, and the SS did not admit to failure. Himmler’s reputation was on the line, and all recalled how the once mighty Goering had fallen when his vaunted Luftwaffe had failed to polish off the RAF in the summer of 1940; and how the army had sunk in esteem when the Russians shoved them back from the very gates of Moscow the previous autumn.