A Bitter Field (2 page)

‘So, you’re back with MI6?’

‘I am.’

‘Comfortable?’

The reply came through the curtain with some venom. ‘Salaried, old chap, which for some of us is a most compelling requirement.’

‘And your previous …’ Cal paused. ‘I hate to say “employers”?’

Having been a victim of budgetary cutbacks at the start of the decade, Peter had been recruited by a group of moneyed or politically connected individuals who were worried about the inexorable rise of the European dictators, allied to the fact that His Majesty’s Government were doing nothing to put the kibosh on them. To such people a trained and competent intelligence operative, British to the core, was just the ticket.

The assumption that he had done their bidding for a decent stipend Cal had taken as read. On the grounds of proper appreciation he never worked for nothing and he doubted Peter would either, but he did have a private income, which he knew Peter lacked, given it rarely went unmentioned when they met.

Recruited from Hamburg, where he had been involved in getting Jews out to safety with some hope of prosperity, he had been engaged to work for those same interests, tasked to buy guns and get them into Ethiopia, then being threatened with an Italian invasion.

A few surprising names apart, Cal had never been vouchsafed the identity of the well-placed members of this secret group and he was damn sure he was not about to be enlightened now. He did know they had money, political contacts or both, and the ability to employ them in places in which they could be of use.

‘Still in touch, of course,’ Peter replied, ‘and helpful it is, given there is some hope the mood might just be beginning to swing their way on reining in the dictators. Not at the top, you understand – Chamberlain is still convinced his policy is the right one – but let us say since Anthony Eden resigned the ground is shifting very slightly under the feet of those committed to appeasement.’

‘About time.’

He reappeared holding the enamel coffee pot. ‘Damn thing works on steam, I gather.’

‘Don’t fret on my account, Peter, I’ve had several cups already while I was having a bit of fun with those fellows watching my movements.’

‘I knew you were in some kind of trouble, as soon as you raised that damned paper I knew it. Took a bit of quick thinking, that did.’

‘Which does nothing to explain your presence in La Rochelle. I hope you have not come all this way to tell me to desist.’

‘Would it matter if I had?’

‘No, and since we are not at home I don’t see how you could.’

‘There are ways, old boy. For instance, I could always tip off the chaps at the old
Deuxième Bureau
, tell ’em what I suspect, though judging by the way you are being tailed it looks as if they are aware already. Weapons for Ireland they won’t give a damn about but they are hotter than we are on Spain.’

Peter shook the pot. ‘Do you know how to work this damn thing, Cal? You are, after all, practically a native.’

‘I’ve told you I don’t want coffee.’

‘Selfish to the last, as always. What about me?’ Peter replied peevishly, the cigarette jerking between his lips as he looked around the poorly furnished room. ‘Because of what you are up to I had to rent this dump. A hotel was out of the question.’

Even if it struck Cal as unusual, there was a certain logic in that; every French hotel registered their guests by their passports, names and home address, while the completed forms were collected by the local gendarmerie, leaving an undesirable record of who stayed where and when – even with false papers, for anyone involved in intelligence, it was probably better to stay out of the system if you could.

Cal stood up and took the battered blue pot, waved the smoke out of his face and went past Peter into the kitchen, to where there was an open tin of ground coffee. The filling of both the base and the metal filter he carried out while talking, also the lighting of the gas onto which the pot was placed, his mind working on a couple of nagging inconsistencies.

‘Surely you have not come all this way to have me show you how to make coffee French-style?’ he asked eventually.

‘No. The powers that be I mentioned want your services and I have been sent to rope you in.’

‘To do what?’

‘The usual, old boy, to risk life and limb for little or no reward.’

The coffee pot had to begin to make a bubbling sound before Cal replied to that, which left a very long conversational gap. It was like Hamburg all over again, where Peter had turned up with information that Cal’s activities had come to the attention of the authorities, bringing the threat of possible arrest by the Gestapo. That had led to a very hairy and hurried departure not only for them, but also for a Jewish family he was in the process of extracting. Escape had been a close-run thing in which he had only avoided being taken up by the amount of time and effort he had put into setting up more than one escape route for himself.

As he heard the water bubble he was thinking that was one thing he now lacked unless he abandoned that cargo. La Rochelle was not on the route to anywhere, it was one of those places you came to or went from, or left by sea, and if his position was threatened he had few alternatives on how to avoid anyone seeking to arrest him.

That he was in a risky business went without saying, and that was made doubly so by the nature of who those weapons were for and
the fact that there was a French embargo on weapons to Spain as well. What was irritating him now was the resemblance to Hamburg; it was just too pat and the similarities were too great.

Yet he could not just dismiss what was on offer until he knew the threat it posed to that which he was already engaged in. The men fighting against Franco’s forces in the Cantabrian Mountains needed those weapons, and job number one was to get them loaded aboard ship and on their way.

‘How’s that coffee coming along?’ Peter called.

‘Nearly there.’

‘Fetch out the old
confiture,
Cal, there’s a good chap, the old stomach is rumbling somewhat.’

‘
M
ust have been a bit hairy in Czechoslovakia, Cal, buying and shipping out your cargo with the nation mobilised for a possible war with the Hun.’

Peter had emptied the coffee pot and chewed steadily on his bread and jam to the point of swallowing half the loaf, a time during which Cal Jardine had kept off the subject and stuck to conversational generalities to allow himself time to think; now he was being dragged back to the present and what might become a dilemma. For a moment he wondered whether to answer, but given what Peter already knew it seemed harmless to oblige.

‘The order I made was placed and the paperwork sorted before the crisis blew up, but the Czechs honoured the deal, which was pretty straight of them considering they had Adolf breathing fire. Not that they were surprised; they knew Hitler was bound to come after them once he’d swallowed up Austria. How did you know
about the false End User Certificate, by the way?’

‘Our military attaché in Prague got wind of it and sent a standard report to London. That was where the Irish connection first raised questions, given how sensitive we are in Blighty about possible shipments to the IRA.’

Cal was thinking that such an explanation did not clarify why Peter was here.

‘We had to be sure, Cal, they were going to where the certificate said. I also have to admit it was a damn clever ploy, given our chaps are busy licensing the same weaponry for use by the British army and, of course, the Irish would follow suit, piggybacking on our research and approval. I hope it was worth whatever you forked out to get the Czechs to fall for it.’

If it was clever, the real reason that he had been successful in his purchase was more to do with the Czech factory having no desire to question him too closely about his bona fides: his papers were in order as far as they could see and the people he claimed to represent appeared sound.

In reality they were not looking too closely; they badly wanted his money, or to be more precise, the Spanish republican gold with which he was prepared to pay, as did a government under threat from a powerful neighbour, keen to amass foreign exchange, so extracting a false certificate from the relevant Czech ministry had been something of a formality in which no one had even demanded an illegal payment.

It was a good deal; the weapons he had bought were perfect for guerrilla warfare, a new pattern of easily portable light machine guns deadly in that kind of close combat. It was a ground and vehicle weapon, and added to that, so low was the recoil, they could be fired
from the hip while on the move, all of which Peter listened to with polite interest; if he knew Cal was stalling, which he was, he gave no indication of it.

‘You can tell the staff wallahs from me they’ve bought a good infantry weapon.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Cal, but I doubt your estimation would carry much weight with the military brass and even less if I passed it on from MI6, given the army think we are all overeducated dolts. Anyway, to cut to the chase, we’re not interested in guns; what the firm is after is your opinion of the Czechs as a nation.’

‘Do you mean the Czech Czechs, the Slovaks, the Ruthenians, the Poles, the Hungarians or the Sudetenland Germans?’

Peter sighed. ‘Do you have to complicate things?’

Cal felt he needed to make the point even if the world was less ignorant now than it had been a few months before, because Czechoslovakia was very much in the news, with German newspapers ranting daily about the ‘plight’ of their racial brethren in the border regions called the Sudetenland.

Yet, even on the front pages of the world, few appreciated how much the nation was a construct nation of peoples hacked out of the dismembered Austro-Hungarian Empire, with a dozen languages and rivalries going back centuries. Like most of his fellow countrymen, and most unfortunately the people in power in London, Peter did not appreciate the problems that produced.

If the Sudeten German minority were the most vocal in the search for concessions to their racial background they were just one of half a dozen similar problems facing the Prague Government, given every ethnic group had, to varying degrees, jumped on the federalist bandwagon. Tempted to explain, Cal decided not to
bother; the nub of the question was not about that.

‘Despite the bleating of their minorities, the Czechs are an honest bunch who run a democratic government that others of a similar ilk should support. How does that sound?’

That got an idly raised eyebrow. ‘Like a
Daily Herald
headline and easier said than done, old boy.’

‘But not impossible,’ Cal responded, his voice becoming more animated. ‘They have a reasonable military, good equipment and a fortified mountainous border with Germany that would take a serious commitment of manpower to get through, one perfect to aid an assault from the west by a combined French and British army.’

‘I’m not sure that’s actually answering the question I asked.’

‘I am, Peter, given it’s the only one that matters. They would have made a perfect partner before Hitler marched into Vienna, but sadly the border with Austria is a flat plain and difficult to defend. By being supine over the
Anschluß,
we have fatally weakened and are going to lose a useful potential ally unless we do something to stop it.’

‘That does assume Adolf wishes to go the whole hog, old boy, and swallow the country up.’

‘Something tells me you have not got round to reading
Mein Kampf
yet. I seem to recall telling you to do that with some force two years ago.’

‘Picked it up, of course, but it’s terribly turgid stuff, a perfect cure for insomnia, in fact. I have never got very far when I try. Nod off every time.’

‘Then let me precis it for you, once more. Adolf Hitler wants back all the bits of German-speaking Central Europe they and the Austrians were forced to give away at Versailles and if he can’t get them by threats he will go to war to recover them. He’s already
remilitarised the Rhineland and swallowed Austria in a coup, two things he listed in his ever-so-turgid book, both of which should have been stopped. Not many politicians keep their written promises, but he is one who will.’

Peter sighed and lit another cigarette. ‘While our lot seem to have promised there will never be another pan-European war.’

‘They don’t have the power of decision, Peter. Hitler does! Has anyone in London looked at a map and seen what possession of Czechoslovakia does to the defence of Poland?’

‘He’s after them too, I suppose?’

‘He wants to wipe out the Polish Corridor and take back Danzig, and the Poles won’t give them up without a fight.’

‘So, tell me how you managed to get them out with all that flap going on.’

‘The guns?’

‘What else?’

‘Would I not bore you?’

‘Cal, old boy, you often make me wonder what drives you to get into so many scrapes, but bore me, never!’

‘While I am wondering if you have just come to La Rochelle or were waiting for me to arrive.’ Peter Lanchester grinned and flicked off a bit of ash. ‘You were waiting for me, weren’t you? Not that you have tried very hard to hide the fact that you have this apartment for one day and possibly more.’

‘Was I?’

Cal pointed to the jar of French jam. ‘That was not opened this morning, was it, and if you only just booked into this place it would need to be.’

Peter pulled a face, the one an errant child might employ when
caught in a fib, but Cal suspected he was only playing out a game. ‘It might have been left by the previous occupant.’

‘In a rented apartment it would have been pilfered by the owner, the agent or whoever cleans the place, a fact of which you too would have been aware. So that tells me you want me to know, because, Peter, if some of the people you are again working for are as thick as two short planks, you are not.’

‘I will take that as a backhanded compliment.’

‘So?’

‘Being the servant of two masters, though not at the same time I hasten to add, has certain advantages, but it turned out that prior to my recall to the Secret Intelligence Service, certain elements in the firm became aware you were active and where.’

‘How?’

‘Various whispers, some of which I picked up.’

‘You were listening?’

‘On behalf of those for whom I worked, Cal. I have to admit a particular interest in what you are up to, given what you choose to call my “previous employers” thought we might be required to ask for your services again after Ethiopia.’

‘I could have used more of their help in Spain.’

Peter had got him the use of a freighter to ship a load of weapons to Barcelona the previous year. Once on board he was soon disillusioned as to the depth of the favour, being presented with forged documents to sign that made him entirely responsible for what was in the holds, should the vessel be stopped and searched.

‘The interests I worked for might be anti-fascist, Cal, but they are not pro-republican, while I am damn sure they have no time for anarchists. And that does not even begin to explain how little they
are enamoured by the level of Russian involvement. They are, after all, people with a visceral dislike of Bolsheviks.’

‘One of these days I look forward to you telling me who they are.’

‘While I would be fascinated to hear the tale of how you managed to buy a shipload of German weapons for the Spanish republicans and get them out through Hamburg, when the Nazis are committed to supporting Franco.’

‘That is a tale which will cost you a good dinner.’

‘Don’t you think it’s time you treated me, Cal, given you’re the one with the private income, while I am now what Karl Marx called a mere “wage slave”?’

‘So, the trade was pegged in Czechoslovakia, but where did you pick up that I was involved and, more importantly, headed for La Rochelle?’

‘SIS landed me with the job on my re-engagement, given I know you from our army days. The trade was flagged in Brno, from a contact in the arms factory paid to tell us when stuff was going out the door, regardless of to where.’

‘I should have thought of that,’ Cal said.

‘At first, given he’s pretty low level, he did not know who was buying, and naturally, given the reasons already stated, the firm was deeply curious and finally alarmed when they checked with our lot in Dublin and a false EUC emerged.’

‘That does not finger me.’

‘But then you contracted in a certain name for a ship to pick up an unspecified cargo here and that belonged to one of my previous contacts, who passed the info on to me, really to check the risk factor that it might be breaking the embargo. And lo and behold I find the vessel has been hired by a Mr Moncrief.’

Peter was looking pretty smug, but really what had caught Cal out was a chain of coincidence: British sensitivity about Irish terrorism in the six counties of Ulster, the contacts Peter had, plus the fact that he had supplied the false Moncrief identity to help him smuggle those weapons into Barcelona two years before. Then he had gone back to work for the Government and failed to keep that fact to himself.

‘And naturally you had to let your new masters know that Moncrief was me and, very likely, the cargo was not destined for Dublin?’

‘No need to take that tone, old chum, chap needs a feather or two in his cap from time to time and they were impressed. Having brought home a bit of early bacon, and knowing in part our relationship, I was given the task of looking for you.’

‘Which involved?’

‘Checking the trains that had left Brno, the goods they were carrying and their destinations, as well as who might be shifting them and to where. Dublin-based company, agricultural equipment, staggered journey with some odd stops and switches that took over a month – two and two, really.’

‘So having made four?’

‘I’m not here to interfere, Cal, but to enquire if you are planning any more little adventures.’

‘I might be.’

‘In Czechoslovakia?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘In that case, as I have already mentioned, we want your services in what is now a very interesting part of the world.’

‘You must have people there already.’

‘Shall I just say there is an official policy and one that runs
somewhat counter to that, which makes it an arena where we have to tread somewhat carefully.’

‘To avoid alerting the Foreign Office and I presume some people in MI6 itself?’

Peter Lanchester thought for several seconds before nodding, initially unwilling to acknowledge that he worked in an organisation which, quite apart from the time-servers was staffed by some very rabid right-wingers indeed, agents whose loyalties might be split.

‘And if the answer is no?’

‘I go back to London with my tail between my legs and admit to those who sent me that I failed in my first field operation, which will not do much to raise my standing.’

Cal leant forward and looked Peter right in the eye. ‘Assuming the answer is no, let me tell you what I would do if I were in your shoes.’

To avoid his eye, Peter deliberately looked at his toecap. ‘Do we share a shoe size, old boy?’

‘I would make the proposition and if I was turned down I would slip along to the
hôtel de ville
and seek out whoever it is who is in a position to alert the
Deuxième Bureau
, given there’s bound to be someone in place for that purpose.’

Peter was now looking distinctly uncomfortable, a condition that was not eased by the bitter tone in which Cal continued.

‘Then I would say to them that there is a cargo of light machine guns plus enough ammo for an extended campaign coming into town to be loaded on to a British cargo vessel, bound for Spain, and I would even provide names.’

‘That would be awfully devious, Cal.’

‘Yet I suspect I have just described your instructions from on high. I have been tracked halfway across Europe and if I am being tailed in
La Rochelle it is not by the French, it is by MI6, all for the purpose of blackmailing me into working for them. Those two following me were just to give you leverage, were they not?’