A New Kind of War (37 page)

‘Yes, David—you are quite right.’ He nodded without disengaging Audley’s eyes. ‘There is a traitor in the camp. And if you didn’t know it for sure before, then you know it now.’

Audley studied him for a moment. Then he slowly nodded his acceptance of all those words implied. ‘So you really
are
the Brigadier’s inside man?’

‘Yes.’ More than Audley’s acceptance, this was his own acceptance of that loyalty for the working day, whatever came after. ‘I am Clinton’s man. And so are you, David—no matter what. Because we have to know who the traitor is. Nothing less will do. So this is a trap, today.’

Audley continued to stare at him. And it was also slightly comical to see the boy’s hand move up uncertainly to his webbing holster, and then drop down to wipe the palm on his leg beside it.

‘Oh …
shit!’
Then Audley looked quickly across the meadow, and finally towards the vehicles up the track, where Sergeant Devenish had been walking up and down and Driver Hewitt had been leaning on the jeep, smoking one of his inexhaustible supply of dog-ends, neither able to communicate with the other. ‘What about
them?’

He had got it all, in that one brief exchange: all Clinton’s logic about the sufficiency of the bait, all his certainty about the traitor’s hard-driven determination to take Number 16 from them now, at the last, with all his murderous delaying tactics finally stretched beyond safety, and Major Fattorini here to make the final contact. So perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable that his trust, even in his own men, should weaken with these final certainties.

‘They’re all right. They’re both Clinton’s men from way back, David—’ He remembered that Audley too was in some sense Clinton’s man from way back, before TRR-2 had been called into existence ‘—from France, anyway —’

‘I know
that
, damn it!’ Audley made a face and shook his head simultaneously. ‘Hughie’s been babying me halfway across Europe—I should know
that
. Devenish too—’ The ugly features twisted as he glanced back up the track again for a moment. ‘—how does it go: “He was my servant, and the better man”—?’

Fred floundered momentarily in his turn. ‘Then … what do you mean?’

From being questioning, the look became haughty. ‘I mean, you’ve just told me exactly how the land lies. And I can accept that … because it explains a lot of things … a lot of things I haven’t quite understood. All the way from Greece, like you’ve just said—a whole lot of things, yes!’ From being haughty, the look blanked out into nothing. ‘But how much do
they
know—my men?’

It only irked Fred for a second that he had misread the original question. But then he understood that Audley was still a subaltern at heart, and a well-taught one. So it was no shame on him that he should think of his own subordinates before he risked their lives in some madcap venture. And yet, by the same token, it was time that he got his priorities right. ‘D’you think anyone’s going to catch Sergeant Devenish with his trousers down?’ The memory of Devenish on the ridge above Osios Konstandinos, and Kyri’s estimation of the man, gave him confidence. ‘You let him take his chances now, David. Just as we’re about to take ours—okay?’

‘Mmm … ’ Audley had been looking round even before he had finished condemning the other ranks to their destined fate, taking in the rocks, and the lake and the encircling forest with what must be a tank commander’s eyes, which was all the experience he had from that other August, a year ago. But with nothing to see, he had to come back to Fred. ‘So who is the traitor then, eh?’ He fumbled again with his webbing holster, unbuttoning the flap, then rubbing his hand down his leg again, as though his palm were already sweating. ‘But, of course, you don’t know, do you? Otherwise we wouldn’t be baiting the jolly old mouse-trap, of course!’ He squinted up the track, past the vehicles. ‘And I don’t even see the cheese yet, anyway … ’ The squint cleared as he came back to Fred once more. ‘
Not
the Crocodile—
that
would not only be too good to be true … it would also be too confusing. Because no one can be such an absolute
shit
, and also a traitor: that just wouldn’t be fair! And the old Croc—he just
isn’t
… is he? Or, not compared with the unspeakable Johnnie—the fifth horseman of the Apocalypse—not
him
, surely—surely?’

‘No?’ He had to make light of it, just as Audley was trying to do, and for the very same sound military reason: because, to give it its proper due would be to make it something beyond bearing. ‘Why not, David?’

‘Too unbelievable, Fred.’ The boy came back like lightning.‘And therefore too clever for comfort.’ Nod. ‘So … who—
who
—?’ He frowned finally, turning the nod into a doubtful shake. ‘It doesn’t make sense, you know.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because everyone’s been so damned carefully chosen by Clinton, that’s why.’ The shake continued for a moment, then Audley grinned. ‘Except me, of course—I was wished on him by my godfather last year, more or less as a favour, when he was suddenly short of a French-speaker. So I’m still here only on trial … or more like sufferance. But the others … he
chose
’em. And then he checked ‘em back to the cradle, so the story goes. No one forced ’em on him—and there’s no bloody “old boys’ network” from school and university with him, either. Or “ the jolly old regiment”, come to that—
definitely
not the Clinton style.‘

‘No?’ Anything about Brigadier Clinton interested Fred mightily. ‘You once said he likes … bankers, was it?’

‘He likes people with enough money not to be tempted by it. Doesn’t matter where it comes from—landed-gentry money, like Johnnie Carver-Hart’s, or a whisky distillery, like the Croc’s … “McCorquodale’s Highland Cream”—which is apparently so awful that it accounts for the Croc’s own preference for rum … and Kenworthy made his fortune from writing physics text-books, so they say.’

‘But where does Clinton come from—himself? Do you know that?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Audley cocked an eye at him. ‘No … well, nobody knows the answer to that. No regimental background that anyone can discover—or the right school, or university …
definitely
not Eton and Sandhurst, or Eton and Trinity. More like some little grammar school somewhere, my godfather thinks. And then into the army by some back-door, straight to the General List—“a self-made man”, you might call him.’

A self-made man
, Fred thought of Clinton as he repeated the thought to himself:
no class and no past
…
but also with no burden of preconceived and inbred prejudices or illusions, for or against those he had chosen
?

‘But now he’s come a cropper, and no mistake!’ Audley spoke as though to himself. ‘Because if one of us—or one of
them
—
has been on the other side all these months …
Christ
! That could mean his whole method of selection is up the bloody spout—if his Tenth Legion turns sour on him! Because—’ He stopped suddenly. ‘Oh God—
no!’

‘What—?’ Fred stopped just as quickly as he saw the boy’s immense shoulders sag. Then he realized that Audley was looking directly past him, across the meadow by the rocks and the lake. And in that very instant, the shoulders straightened again and Audley raised his arm in greeting.

‘HULLO THERE!’ Audley bellowed into the silence of the Teutoburg Forest. ‘Don’t you think you ought to turn round and have a look?’

Fred had to make himself turn, in the desolate knowledge that all this time Audley had been looking past him at someone else behind him, in the open meadow. And now, that this victory, even if they came out of it to tell the tale, would be a bitter one.

‘HULLO THERE, AMOS!’ Audley lowered his arm. ‘
Amos
, Fred—?
Amos
—
?’

As he stared, Fred didn’t want to believe it either.

‘Why not Amos?’

The silence came back for an instant. ‘I don’t believe it.’ Audley blinked at him. ‘Last night—no, the night before … it was Amos who made the plan to get Zeitzler out—he could have had him hit just as easily, as those grenades went off … or whatever they were—time-charges, were they? But, if that was a diversion, he could have done it, anyway—’ Audley blinked again, and glanced quickly across the meadow again before coming back to him. ‘And even now … it still doesn’t make sense.’

Fred watched Amos de Souza still ignore them as he completed his scrutiny of the lake, and then the meadow, and finally the towering Exernsteine rocks. ‘Why not?’

Audley thought for a moment, watching the same charade. ‘If they’re going to kill Number 16 … it doesn’t need to be done here. They can do that perfectly well with him back in the orderly room at Schwartzenburg, with Amos minding his own business, Fred. Even if he let Zeitzler go, to get at Number 16 … he’s throwing it all away by coming here now, isn’t he?
Isn’t he
?’

Once again, Clinton had been right: for his years, the boy was very quick. But, because of his years, he still wasn’t quick enough. And now, at the last, Fred needed him to understand fully what was at stake. ‘But what if they didn’t want him dead, David—Number 16? What if all the other things that have “gone wrong”, all the way from Greece, were just to delay us, so that they could get to Number 16 first? But now we’re too close to him, in spite of all they’ve done?’

The boy goggled at him, trying to catch up with insufficient understanding of what the whole race had been about, and failing miserably.

‘We don’t really need Number 16 now, David.’ He had to tell the truth, because there was no time to prevaricate. ‘We never did need him, thanks to his own conscience. And thanks to your old Professor Schmidt, too.’

‘Why not?’ Failure to understand only made the boy angry.

‘It’s the Russians who need him. And especially after yesterday —’

‘Yesterday—?’ Audley frowned at him.

‘All that marvellous German research, David—remember?’ At the last he couldn’t sweeten the pill. ‘Everything they did was better than what we did, David: better weapons than ours—better guns, better guidance systems, and better radar … And their jet-planes years ahead of ours … and rockets beyond anything we’d ever imagined? And chemical weapons they didn’t use only because they thought we’d got them too?’ Now he was straying perhaps too far into what Clinton had finally told him, as they had come to the final crunch under Hermann the Liberator’s statue yesterday. So he must stop before he went further. ‘But
we
dropped that new bomb on Japan two days ago. The Germans didn’t drop it on
us
, David—’ Now, also, he had to look away. Because now Amos de Souza had finished his survey, and was advancing towards them. Audley caught his glance. ‘So … they got it wrong—’

‘The atomic bomb?’

‘They got it wrong.’ There was just time to agree. ‘Because the one man who could have pointed them in the right direction wasn’t there to correct them. And the Russians have known that ever since von Mitzlaff joined Schmidt’s group—or even before he did, maybe. Because we got that information out of Russia, David: there was a man in Russia who warned us about Number 16.’ He looked away again, and Amos de Souza was very close now. ‘Only he got the warning out at the cost of his own life, at Osios Konstandinos. Because you already had a traitor in the Tenth Legion—’ Time ran out for them also in that second of time ‘—
Major de Souza
—Amos! I didn’t think you were scheduled to join us here? What’s the problem?’

‘I’m not here—at least, not officially, Major Fattorini.’ De Souza stared past him. ‘You’ve got your two men up there, have you, David? Devenish and Hewitt?’

‘Yes, Amos.’ Audley answered quickly. ‘As per your own orders, actually … So what’s the problem, then?’

De Souza swung on his heel, through a full circle before coming back to Audley. ‘Perhaps no problem, dear boy.’ Then he passed Audley by, to concentrate on Fred. ‘Your rendezvous is in five minutes’ time, major?’

They both knew that perfectly well. ‘Yes, Amos.’

‘Yes.’ The concentration became fiercer: this was a very different Amos de Souza from any of its predecessors. ‘And you’re quite happy about all this—’ De Souza gestured around him ‘—here?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ But he had to play the game until the last throw of the dice, so he looked at his watch. ‘Five minutes as of now—yes. But you’re not meant to be here, actually. So … is something wrong, then?’

De Souza looked round again, uneasily, until he reached RSM Levin at his back, standing stiff as a board behind his adjutant, exuding blanket disapproval of everything and everyone. ‘Mr Levin … you wanted to get those two men up there under cover, off the road—so do it, then. They’re lounging around as if they were at a vicarage tea-party!’

‘
Sah.’
The RSM straightened up an inch beyond his usual ramrod self.

‘Let me do that, Amos—’ Audley moved ahead of the RSM, half-apologetically ‘—they’re my chaps, after all—’

‘You stand fast, Captain Audley.’ De Souza immobilized Audley. ‘Mr Levin—
if you
please!’

‘
Sah!’
The RSM stepped out smartly, always as though on parade.

‘Amos—what the hell—?’ Audley exploded mutinously.

‘Shut up, David.’ De Souza quelled him flatly as he watched the RSM’s progress towards Devenish and Hewitt.

‘What do you mean, “shut up”?’ Audley only remained quelled for that single moment before erupting again. ‘Your own orders—’

‘The devil with my own orders!’ snapped de Souza. ‘But if you want an order, then I’ll give you one now: you go down by the end of the lake, where you can see round the rocks, and keep a sharp eye on the woods there. And if you see anything move, you come back and tell me. Understood?’

The boy rolled an eye at Fred, while his right hand massaged his leg nervously on the edge of his webbing holster. ‘W-w-w —’

‘Did you not hear my order, Captain Audley?’ De Souza’s voice had lost its sharpness: now it was menacingly soft.