Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (89 page)

It was a game he played, interpreting the
speed of arrival
as a marker of their import.

T
he knock on the door came a
n
unprecedented
fifteen seconds in advance of schedule.

The duty officer entered and stood breathlessly before the desk of MI5’s Director-General.

“Sir
, this message was logged in at 203
1 hrs
and marked ‘eyes only DG’.
”

That in itself was not unusual.

“It is also in Omega Code
,
Sir.”

That was extremely unusual and the reason that Jones had taken the steps two at a time from basement to fourth floor.

Omega messages started in t
he code of the day and the message had been worked on by one of the duty communications team
. However,
the decoder soon found the ‘Ω9Ω’ mark that betrayed its extreme importance and specific recipient.

“Thank you
,
Jones. You may go.”

Standing smartly, Petrie strode to his wall safe and extracted the necessary tools to unlock ‘Omega’, understanding that ‘Ω9Ω’ indicated
Fenton
, HM’s agent
in the sleepy hollow that was the Court of Bernadotte, in the presence of Gustaf V, King of Sweden.

Once the
‘Omega’
was d
ecoded,
the process of a full hour,
Petrie realised that the message had transformed from the indecipherable to solid dynamite with the capacity to destroy much of what had been saved in the war years.

The receiver virtually leapt from its cradle.

The voice at the other end seemed half-asleep, it being a Sunday evening and nothing of note happening.

“Comms room, Charlton.”

“Petrie here.
Access to duty officer’s cabinet.
Authorisation code Picton. Acknowledge.”

Charlt
on was suddenly very much awake, although not a little annoyed that a drill should be run at this time on a Sunday.

“Acknowledge receipt of authorisation code Picton. State you
r
requirements, sir.”

Jones looked up from his novel, the words attracting his attention.

“Access
secure storage. My code 1830. Acknowledge.”

Next to Charlton’s position was a heavy metal cabinet, its eight-digit numeric combination lock
built into the side
. His free hand moved the dials,
inputting fi
r
st his, then the DG’s numbers.

“1830, acknowledge.”

The
heavy lock
clicked open and he tested the sliding door.

“I have access, Sir. File access name please.”

‘Still going, are we? Stupid time for a drill, old chap.’

“
File access
‘
Hastings
’
.
Contact both
named
members immediately.
Message is ‘Effingham’.
They are to be in my office yesterday.
Acknowledge.
”

Charlton
was
totally
focussed in a mic
r
o-second,
as ‘
H
astings
’
was just a rumour, spoken of in hushed whispers
over drinks in the nearby pub.

“Access ‘Hastings’, both members to be contacted and
given the message ‘
Effingham’. To attend your office immediately.
Yes, Sir.”

His ‘Yes S
ir’ was spoken to a
dead connection
, Petrie having cut the line before dialling an outside
number
.

The phone rang unanswered.

‘Damn, of course. Should have realised.’

He dialled another number, the one he should have dialled
first,
given the time of day.

This time it was answered immediately.

“The Guards Club, Good evening. How may I be of assistance?”

“Ah Squires, just the fellow.”

“Sir David, how may I be of assistance?”

“Squires, is Sir Fabian there this evening?”

“He most definitely is
,
Sir. Presently engaging the younger members with his memories of
Mons
.”

“This is most urgent
,
Squires. Please bring him to the phone.”

“Sir.”

The phone was placed carefully down
,
and Petrie could almost hear the man limp away as fast as his shortened left peg could carry him.

A disturbance in his ear quickly told him that his man had arrived.

“
Callard-
Smith.”

“
Jack, it’s David. No time
to explain
right now. Just need to know you will be in town all week.”

“Ah David! My dear fellow.
I’m here until Thursday,
and then
I’m off to Roger’s estate for some weekend shooting.”

“Good. I may have need of you
,
so please don’t disappear, Jack.”

“I do hate mysteries
,
old chap. What’s it about?”

“Cannot say right now
,
but I think it is as big as it comes
,
and I will need you.”

“Right
y
ho David, mum’s the word then. Got to go now, it’s Percy’s round.”

Two men replaced their phones.

One, Sir David Petrie, started to work on a plan to sort out the abominable mess that had just landed in his lap.

The other, Colonel Sir Fabian John Callard-Smith MP VC, wondered what had got his dear friend in such an agitated state, and what part he was to play in the grand design.

Stirred by the faint cries of derision as Percy Hollander chalked drinks to his personal account, he stepped away from his thoughts and moved quickly to add to Percy’s tally.

Petrie finished hi
s scotch, enjoying the silence his radical suggestion had brought about.

T
he other two members of ‘
Hastings
’
,
having been summoned according to
set
procedure,
had
dropped everything to deal with what was obviously a matter of the utmost importance.

The report had not been copied
;
Omega
s never were. I
t would not survive the end of the meeting, the cold fireplace to be lightly warmed as it was destroyed within the sight of
all
the Hastings Group.

But for now, the
other
two reflected upon Petrie’s drastic suggestion.

The first reaction had been shock, followed quickly by anger.

After proper consideration, doubts had arisen.

“If we act against
this, are we committing treason? B
ecoming traitors in our turn?”

Lord Southam posed the question
s
to the head of MI5, the confusion evident in a man of sound thinking.

“No, I think not
,
Will. We are preserving His Majesty’s Government in a t
ime of National crisis. To not
act
, that
certainly would be a betrayal of our nation, and don’t forget, there is no democratic mandate for this, just the knee-jerk reaction of a frightened man.”

That may have been a bit strong
,
but Petrie didn’t care.

Major General Colin Gubbins was, for the most part, silent. He was having the most difficulty reconciling himself with the contents of the Swedish report.

“I can’t believe he would do it without Cabinet approval.”

Southam
examined
the empty nature of his glass, finding a dribble
to
test his tongue.

“Well Colin, I can assure you that not even the Minister has an inkling of this.”

Gubbins looked mortified. None the less, having offered little to the discussion but a word here and there, the Head of SOE was not one to shirk responsibility.

He made his statement with a black humour.

“If this is how it is painted then your suggestion is acceptable. I will be hanged if I will see this happen.”

Petrie nodded at Gub
bins, having expected no less, his choice of words bringing a smile.

“If, and I stress if, I were to go along with this, will Callard-Smith do the job?”

Southam was a life-long civil servant
,
and
he had learnt the political dance at an early age.

“Absolutely,” stated Petrie with utter confidence.

Southam spent a few moments in quiet reflection before extending his glass.

The head of MI5 chuckled, refilling all three in a flash.

The three stood on cue
,
and it was Gubbins that offered the toast.

“God save the King, and to hell with Attlee.”

The scotch seared their throats as they committed to Petrie’s plan.

The Swedish report had detailed the intended secret meeting between British and Soviet envoys and the circumstances of it, complete with a Soviet intelligence report detailing their knowledge.

The reasons were unknown but could be guessed at, especially if reading intelligence reports on
some of
Attlee’s private conversations
in Number Ten
.

His despair at the climbing casualty rates on land, his
horror at the losses of capital ships at sea, and, possibly the last straw, his shock at the immolation of RAF Bomber Command in
Northern Germany
.

Whatever his reasons, it was patently clear what his solution was.

Clement Attlee, Prime Minister, had taken it upon himself to
discuss the possibility of
a separate armistice with the
Soviet Union
, taking his country out of the war.

And ‘
Hastings
’ was resolved to stop it at all costs.

Valour is superior to numbers

Flavius Vegetius Renatus

             
The ‘Leopard’ sat in his chair
,
looking like the cat that got the cream.

His surprise visit to Knocke’s headquarters seemed to have caught the SS bastard on the hop and
, for once, he felt in a dominant position
.

‘Always the superior air, you SS bastard. Not today though, caught you today
,
you bastard.’

Strangely, Knocke was of little use at the moment, as the ego of a certain newly promot
ed French G
eneral needed only the slightest of massages before indiscretions tumbled
from
the man’s mouth.

As a professional, Kapitan Sergei Kovelskin of the GRU, or as he was normally known, Major Stanislas Kowalski of the 1st Polish Armoured Division, used General Molyneux as the excellent source he was. Privately, and in some ways
,
also as a professional, he had nothing but contempt for the fool, something he had in common with the man sat opposite.

With ill-concealed triumph, Kowalski revealed the depth of his knowledge.

“I already know that you have pre-movement orders for a relocation to Mühlacker, so I don’t need that information.”

Knocke’s
uncomfortable look
gave him awa
y
immediately
, something Kowalski noticed
,
whilst another part of his brain informed him that, in his arrogance, he had just made a mistake.