Gunther nodded his thanks. He swore inwardly; he should have been more careful. He was conscious of how much less fit he was than the other two men, how flabby.
They had spent the morning poring over maps in Gessler’s office, assisted by a Special Branch man from Sussex, another of Syme’s valuable connections. The man knew nothing except that the Branch were working with the Germans to intercept someone the Germans wanted and who would be in Rottingdean that night. The man had mentioned that Special Branch had their own concerns just now; since news of Hitler’s death there had been several near-riots in the Jewish detention camps, and police everywhere had been put on standby in case help was needed. Along with Gunther, Syme and the Special Branch man the four SS men Gessler had chosen for the operation had also been present. Two of them Gunther had not met before; Kollwitz was a young man in his late twenties, attached to SS Intelligence at the embassy. He had a youthful, strangely unmarked face, blond hair and blank light-blue eyes. His colleague Borsig was also attached to Intelligence. He had a square, hard face with dark hair and heavy brows above eyes as sharp as a cat’s. Kapp, the eager youngster who had been at Drax’s interrogation, quick and lithe, had served in the East; Hauser, the officer in charge of the basement, was older and heavier, but still a strong, solid presence. All four were utterly loyal to the SS. Like Gunther, they wore suits for the meeting so as not to spook Syme’s Special Branch contact, though they looked uncomfortable in them. Gessler alone wore his usual black uniform and cap. As embassy staff, the Germans all spoke good English.
Syme’s colleague told them Rottingdean was small, little more than a village. Because it lay in a gap between the cliffs it had been an ancient haunt of smugglers. The Resistance were not strong there, the local people kept themselves to themselves. There was some tourist trade in the summer but the place would be very quiet on a cold December night. The local police had been told a Special Branch operation would be taking place on the beach and that they were to stay well away, even if shots were fired. However, by taking the cliff path Gunther’s party need not actually go into Rottingdean at all. They could walk along from Brighton while the other three approached from the opposite direction.
Gessler thanked the Special Branch man and he left. The others gathered round the map. The Resistance people would probably have watchers on the cliffs along the coast, looking out over the Channel to spot any unusual activity on the sea, but they would have no reason to believe the Germans would be waiting for the fugitives on the beach. Gessler told them that according to the radio intercepts, a fisherman would meet Muncaster’s party in the village and take them down to the beach, where a boat lay ready; they would then row out to sea to meet the submarine. They would have to walk from the village down a broad asphalt path to a short promenade, then down to the little pebbly beach. Gunther and Syme and the SS men would have to find cover and hide themselves on the promenade or the beach so that when Muncaster’s party came down at half past midnight they could rush them, take them by surprise.
Kollwitz asked, ‘There will only be one boatman with them? There won’t be other Resistance people there, or waiting on the beach?’
‘No. That’s clear from the radio intercepts,’ Gessler replied with satisfaction. ‘What few local people the Resistance have will be watching along the cliff tops. But go carefully, just in case they change their plans.’
Kollwitz asked, ‘Is six of us enough?’
‘You’re the only experienced men we can spare.’
‘We are expecting six of them for the submarine, yes?’ Borsig asked. ‘Two Resistance agents and three civilians – a man, a woman and this lunatic? And the fisherman makes six.’ He shrugged. ‘Easy.’
‘Yes.’ Gessler’s voice took on a note of bullying humour. ‘One for each of you. I think you should be able to handle them.’
‘The two Resistance people are handy,’ Syme cautioned. ‘I ran across them in the raid in London. A man and woman. But the others, yes, they’re civilians.’
‘The civil servant, Fitzgerald, when I met him at the Dominions Office he looked fit,’ Gunther said. ‘And he was in the 1940 war.’
‘They’ll have guns,’ Kollwitz observed. ‘The Resistance pair certainly, perhaps Fitzgerald and the fisherman too.’
Gunther nodded agreement. ‘Not Fitzgerald’s wife, though, I think, she’s one of these English pacifists.’ Kapp gave a grunt of contemptuous dismissal. ‘And not Muncaster.’
‘Lunatics can be strong,’ Borsig observed.
‘Not this one,’ Syme said. ‘I’ve met him. He’s a little pipsqueak, afraid of his own shadow.’
Gunther looked round the SS men. ‘But remember, he is the one that matters. Berlin wants him alive. It might be useful to have the Resistance people as well, but the all others are of secondary importance.’
Gessler stirred in his chair. ‘They may have suicide pills, so taking them by surprise is crucial. Securing their arms at once is very important. Get there early and choose a good spot. There’ll be some moonlight, the weather forecast says it’ll be a clear night.’
Gunther looked at Syme. ‘You said it’s a pebble beach?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it would be good to hide there if we can; we’re bound to hear them coming.’
Kollwitz nodded. ‘That is sound thinking. We’ve no idea where they are at this moment?’
Gunther shook his head. ‘It could be anywhere within easy reach of the Sussex coast. Rottingdean beach at half past midnight is the only place we’re sure they’ll be.’
Hauser smiled, punching a meaty fist into his other hand. ‘It’ll be like the old days in Russia. Stealing up on their Resistance groups.’
Kollwitz looked round the others. ‘How are you on firearms?’
‘I practise regularly on the range,’ Hauser replied complacently. ‘So does Comrade Kapp; I’ve seen him.’
Gunther said, ‘I practise in Berlin, too.’ Though not, he thought, as regularly as he should.
Syme said, smugly, ‘I’ve got prizes from my firearms courses.’
Gunther summed up: ‘So, we jump them, make sure they’re disarmed and remove any suicide pills they have. If you fire on them, shoot to wound if possible. And we all use English, so everyone understands.’ He inclined his head at Syme.
‘Sturmbannführer Hoth is in charge,’ Gessler said. ‘He knows these people better than anyone, you obey all his orders. And remember, we want Muncaster alive.’ He tapped a finger on his desk for emphasis. ‘That’s more important than anything. That order comes directly from Deputy Reichsführer Heydrich.’ He leaned across the desk and reached out a hand to Gunther. Gunther shook it. Gessler’s eyes were full of triumphant emotion. ‘Good luck, Hoth,’ he said. ‘And thank you.’
They travelled to Brighton after dark. During the day a light wind had got up in London and the fog, at last, was dispersing. As they drove out of the city in two cars, Gunther saw the streets illuminated properly for the first time in days. All the buildings shone with damp, windows and the tops of parked cars smeared with grey dirty grease. In many places women were out with buckets and mops, cleaning windows and steps. Even the icy puddles in the gutters looked dirty. By contrast the shop windows were full of Christmas decorations, fake white snow round their edges. Already a newspaper stand carried the legend: Great London Smog Ends.
With the fog gone they made good time. Soon they were out in the Surrey countryside. The car containing the three SS men who were to approach Rottingdean from the east took a turning towards Newhaven. There were two more cars waiting in a lane just outside Rottingdean, ready to pick them and the prisoners up later.