Fred toyed momentarily with Devenish’s conventional virtue of knowing how the army worked, allied to his initiative when it came to the crucial matter of disobeying suspect orders, which had helped to save his life recently. ‘I think I know which side he’s on, Colonel Stocker.’
‘Yes . . . that sounds reasonable.’ Stocker glanced to Clinton nevertheless. ‘Although, I shall want him properly checked out now, Freddie.’
‘Mmm . . .’ The sound deepened in Clinton’s throat.
‘Of course – yes!’
‘Agreed, then.’ Stocker nodded. But then cocked his head again. ‘But who looks after young Audley? He has a way of getting into scrapes, I gather.’
The burden of his new duties began to weigh on Fred before he’d accustomed himself to them. ‘You still want him, do you?’
The head stayed cocked. ‘Don’t you, major?’
Fred thought about David Audley as he had never quite done before, not as someone too young for this sort of work, but as someone whom they’d caught young and could train for it before he was set in his ways. ‘There is a driver who is ... attached to him. But we can’t promote him.’
‘Yes – Hewitt is unpromotable, I agree.’ Stocker nodded thoughtfully.
dummy4
Christ! Stocker’s admission called Fred to the truth: This bloody gunner had all the cards in the pack marked already! So . . . all this was . . . mere window-dressing – ?
He looked down the runway, towards the nearest Dakota, which was already surrounded by the RAF’s turn-round vehicles and their crews. ‘We’re going back to Germany . . . immediately?’
‘Of course.’ The wind blew Driver Hewitt and Captain Audley away. ‘What did you expect, Major Fattorini?
We’ve got a great deal of work to do.’ A hint of that deceptive smile, which Major McCorquodale would undoubtedly misinterpret, returned. ‘In fact, our work is only just begining . . . now that we’re free of treachery.’
Infinitely far down the runway, close to the end Nissen hut, Fred caught a last glimpse of Number 16: ‘Sweet-Sixteen’ who had survived the kiss of death, and was now about to be kissed by two boffins from Cambridge, to encourage him to do for England what he had refused to do for his own country.
But Number 16 was no longer his problem. ‘What I expect, if I’m coming back with you, are answers to questions, sir. And straight answers.’ He switched to Clinton. ‘Like, who gives Otto Schild his orders?’
The Brigadier gave him a little nod. ‘I am not very pleased with Otto Schild right now.’ The blank eyes dummy4
bored into him. ‘Was it you, or the Crocodile, who put him under close arrest, Fred?’
Fred decided to repay his debt to Otto Schild. ‘It was his own suggestion, actually.’
‘It was?’ Still no emotion. ‘He didn’t try to run, then?’
Where would Otto Schild run? Fred wondered. But then he thought that Otto Schild, being Otto Schild, might well have a bolt-hole prepared; even, if the worst came to the worst, he had information to sell to the Americans – or, if not information, then the odd wild boar, anyway.
But the debt wasn’t fully repaid. ‘He didn’t try to run.
And I rather think he saved my life and Audley’s, as well as Number 16’s, as it happens.’ He felt a twinge of anger as he spoke. ‘Or is that the reason why you aren’t pleased with him? Were we all expendable, if you could get your traitor in exchange for us?’
‘Major – ’ Stocker started to speak.
‘It’s all right, Tommy.’ The Brigadier raised his hand.
This is interesting . . . What do you think, Fred?
Obviously, you’ve been doing some hard thinking.‘
That was true. ‘I think you had a plan, and it went badly wrong – because of Amos de Souza. Because you didn’t trust him.’
‘I didn’t trust anyone. Except you and young Audley.’
Clinton nodded. ‘All I knew was that our traitor – and dummy4
the Russians – wanted Number 16 very badly. And alive, too. So I made it very easy for them to get him.
But they wouldn’t have got away with him.’ He stared at Fred for a moment. ‘But . . . you’re right about de Souza.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I judged that the enemy wouldn’t want a noisy massacre. A quiet kidnapping, with you two as hostages, was more likely.
But Amos . . . Amos blundered in. So now I have him on my conscience for my stupidity – is that what you want me to say, Fred?’
Clinton was always full of surprises. ‘On your conscience?’
‘Oh yes.’ The old blank stare was back. ‘Schild was there to see that everything went according to plan.
But . . . you’re probably right: once de Souza was dead . . . Levin probably would have shot you, too.’
‘Schild was your man.’ Fred frowned. ‘But it was Colbourne who took him on, surely.’
‘He thought he did, yes.’
‘So . . . where did Schild come from?’
Stocker stirred again. ‘I really don’t see how that is important to you, major.’
‘No.’ Clinton raised his hand. ‘In the circumstances, it’s a fair question. And poor Amos de Souza put two and two together, and made them five because he didn’t know enough . . . which is a burden I must bear, dummy4
because of my incompetence. So we’ll start right now, anyway.’ He nodded at Fred. ‘My man – yes: Schild is my man.’
‘Acting on your orders?’
‘Not to kill. I wanted our traitor alive. Though . . .
perhaps Schild has saved us more trouble than he’s caused, at that.’
Now another instalment of the debt could be paid. So he shrugged. ‘He said he went for a head-shot because the RSM was wearing ammunition pouches, so he couldn’t be sure his bullet wouldn’t be deflected. It was almost the only thing he said – apart from wanting to be taken into custody.’
Clinton shook his head. ‘Thin, Major Fattorini, thin.
Gehrd Schild liked Amos de Souza, he once told me so. He said Amos would have made a good German officer –he had the Wehrmacht touch with his men, Gehrd said. And he liked young Audley too, oddly enough. So ... he disobeyed orders, anyway.’
Fred stared at him. ‘ Gehrd- ?’
‘Oh yes. Gehrd Schild is his real name. Otto the pork-butcher from Minden was his elder brother. Gehrd used to help in the shop when he was on leave, so he knew all about the family business. And so when Otto was killed at the very end – killed by one of our delayed action bombs while digging survivors out, actually . . .
dummy4
when he was killed, Gehrd quietly took over his identity as he mingled with the refugees. Quietly and prudently . . . and, of course, he was well-placed to doctor the necessary documents, even apart from his acquired pig-butchering skills, you see.’
Fred didn’t see, but waited nevertheless.
‘Gehrd was an Abwehr man.’ Clinton nodded. ‘Same rank as you, major. Division II – anti-sabotage and
“special tasks”, stationed in Northern France until the Hitler bomb-plot. And then the Sicherheitsdienst and the Gestapo moved in on the German military intelligence, of course, when they went for his boss, Admiral Canaris . . . Not that Canaris was really in on the Hitler plot. But the Nazis had been gunning for him for a long time. But . . . but our Major Schild was in the clear, having run his particular “special tasks”
efficiently – ’
‘What special tasks?’ Fred could understand very well why a German major of intelligence might want to swop identities with his civilian brother, whatever his tasks might have been. But if Brigadier Clinton was turning a blind eye to the imposture for his own purpose, and now he, Major Fattorini, was being admitted to the secret, he needed to know how deep the water was under such thin ice. ‘What was his job?’
Clinton lifted a hand again. ‘Fortunately nothing too embarrassing – nothing worse than Majors dummy4