Cold Harbour (25 page)

Carter stayed well away from Craig as they paused at another cell door. “Inside, there’s a good chap.” Craig did as he was told as Arthur stood up and came forward. Carter spoke full into the man’s face so that he could lip-read. “Keep an eye on the Major for me, Arthur. The Brigadier and I will be back in the morning. And take care, he’s a dangerous man.”

Arthur, who was built like a brick wall, flexed his muscles. When he spoke his voice was strangely metallic. “Aren’t we all?” he said and turned the key in the door.

The grille was not one which closed and Craig looked out through the bars. “Sleep well, if you can, Jack.”

“I’ll do my best, old son.”

He started to turn away and Craig called, “Jack, just one thing.”

“Yes.”

“René Dissard? Where did he fit in?”

“We told him Anne-Marie’d had a mental breakdown. The rape story was necessary to give Genevieve the right motivation. The Brigadier persuaded Dissard it was of vital importance that he go along with that story.”

“So even her old friend René let her down.”

“Goodnight, Craig.”

Carter’s footsteps faded and Craig turned to inspect his quarters. There was an iron camp bed with a mattress and nothing else. No window, not even a bucket for the usual purposes and no blankets. The door’s construction was of the strongest. No way out there.

He went and sat on the bed which sagged alarmingly. He pulled the mattress back and saw that the heavy coiled springs had rusted with age. It gave him an idea. He took a small penknife from the pocket of his tunic and started to work.

IT WAS ALMOST
six o’clock in the morning when Anne-Marie started to scream. Craig, lying on the bed waiting for the hoped-for check-up from Arthur which had never come, got to his feet and went to the door, the heavy coil of bed spring swinging from his hand. When he peered through, he could just see Arthur’s seat. It was empty. The terrible moaning continued. Five minutes passed and then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He glanced the other way and saw Arthur coming, an enamel mug in one hand.

Craig stuck a hand out. The man turned and looked at him. “I need the lavatory,” Craig said. “I haven’t been all night.”

Arthur didn’t reply, simply walked away. Craig’s heart sank and then a few moments later, the man re-appeared, the key in one hand, an old Webley service revolver in the other.

“All right. Out you come and watch it,” he said in that strange voice. “One wrong move and I’ll break your right arm.”

“I wouldn’t be such a fool,” Craig told him as they moved into the corridor then swung on one foot, the coil
spring lashing across the hand holding the revolver. Arthur cried out, dropping the weapon and the coil spring arced, catching him across the side of the head. Craig grabbed for the man’s right wrist, hoisted the arm up behind him in an unarmed combat hold and ran him head first into the cell. He slammed the door shut and turned the key. As he went along the corridor, Arthur started to shout and beyond him in the other cell Anne-Marie’s voice rose to a crescendo, drowning him out. Craig closed the padded door at the end of the corridor, cutting off the sound and went upstairs.

But what to do now, that was the problem. The house was very quiet. He stood listening in the hall then slipped into Baum’s study and closed the door gently. He sat behind the desk, picked up the phone and asked the operator to get him the Grancester Abbey number. It rang for quite some time at the other end before it was picked up and Julie answered, her voice full of sleep.

“It’s Craig. Sorry if I got you out of bed, but it’s urgent.”

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly alert.

“You are right about something being wrong only you couldn’t imagine how wrong in your wildest dreams. Listen carefully . . .”

When he was finished she said, “What are we going to do?”

“You spell it out to Martin Hare. Tell him I need a fast passage to France. I don’t think he’ll say no when he knows the facts. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“How do you intend to come. Fly?”

“You know something, that’s quite an idea. See you soon.”

He replaced the receiver, took out his wallet and found his SOE security card. He smiled softly. It always did pay to go in hard. Nothing to lose, anyway. He let himself out by
the French window, slipped through the shrubbery to the wall, pulled himself on top and stepped across to the iron landing. A moment later, he was hurrying through the mews and turning into the main road. His luck was good. As he reached the next corner, a taxi driver, on the way to start his shift, spotted him and pulled in.

“Where to guvnor?” He grinned. “I bet you’ve had a good night. Gawd, you Yanks.”

“Baker Street,” Craig told him and got in.

HE WAS TAKING
a chance now, gambling on the fact that his dispute with Munro was still private. He dismissed the cab, went up the steps to the entrance to SOE Headquarters in Baker Street, produced his pass and was checked through by security. The place was already busy, but then, like the Windmill Theatre, they never closed. He went up the back stairs two at a time and entered the Transport Office. His luck was still good. The night duty officer, still on till eight, was a retired infantry Major named Wallace, brought back for the war. Craig had known him since his early days with SOE.

“Hello, Osbourne,” Wallace said in surprise. “What brings you out so bright and early?”

“Big flap on. Munro wants to go down to Cold Harbour. I’m meeting him at Croydon. Give me the usual authorisation for the RAF then phone through to Croydon to tell them to expect us. We’ll need the Lysander.”

“We’re trying to win the war in a hurry again, are we?” Wallace opened a file, took out the appropriate document and filled it in.

“Frankly, I think he might be more interested in the fishing.” Craig sat on the edge of the desk calmly and smoked
a cigarette. “Oh, you’d better give me a chit for the motor pool.”

“Anything to oblige.”

Wallace handed him the documents. Craig said, “Marvellous. I’d better get moving then and you’ll phone Croydon?”

“Of course,” Wallace said patiently and reached for the phone as Craig went out.

IT WAS RAINING
steadily at Croydon, but visibility was good as Craig, in the passenger seat of the jeep, was passed through the main gate. They drove straight to the usual departure point where the Lysander already waited, a couple of mechanics standing beside it. Craig dismissed his driver and went into the Nissen hut where he found Grant in his flying clothes having a cup of tea with the orderly officer.

Grant said, “Hello, old son, thought I was getting the day off. Where’s the Brigadier?”

“Change of plan.” Craig told him. “He’s going to come down later. There’s your authorisation.”

He passed it across and the orderly officer checked it. “Fine. All in order.”

“All right, old boy, might as well get going,” Grant said and he and Craig went out and ran together through the rain to the Lysander.

IT WAS NINE-THIRTY,
Arthur having been missed for his breakfast in the kitchen, when Baum went downstairs to see what was going on. He panicked then, sat in his study sweating with fear. It was ten o’clock before he plucked up courage and phoned through to the flat in Haston Place.

Munro had worked for most of the night, catching up on paper, was having a late breakfast when Carter joined him. The Captain stood looking out of the window, a cup of tea in his hand.

“What do you intend to do about Craig Osbourne, sir?”

“If the young fool won’t see sense, I’ll lock him up for the duration,” Munro said calmly as he buttered his toast. “You don’t like it, do you, Jack?”

“It’s a dirty business, sir.”

The phone rang. “Get that,” the Brigadier said.

Carter picked it up, listened, then held the phone to his chest, the slightest trace of a smile on his face. “Baum, sir. It would appear our Craig was more than a match for Arthur. He’s on the loose.”

“Dear God, that boy’s worse than Houdini.”

“What do we do, sir?”

Munro flung down his napkin. “Just tell Baum I’ll handle it.” Carter did as he was told and Munro got up. “One thing is clear. We can’t have a fuss. That would never do.”

“No, sir.”

“Get the car, Jack. I’ll change and we’ll go round to Baker Street.”

THE CANTEEN AT
Baker Street served an excellent breakfast, Wallace was still in the building and going down the stairs as Munro and Carter were coming up.

“Morning, sir,” he said. “Change of plans?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Munro demanded.

So Wallace told him.

JOE EDGE STOOD
outside the hangar at Cold Harbour and watched the Lysander lift off into the fog that was rolling in from the sea as Grant began the return journey to Croydon. The telephone started to ring in the small glass office in the hangar.

Edge called to the mechanics, “I’ll get it,” went in and lifted the receiver. “Yes?”

“Is that you, Edge? Munro here.”

“Yes, Brigadier.”

“Any sign of Osbourne?”

“Yes, sir, landed half an hour ago. Grant’s just taken off on the return leg to Croydon.”

“Where’s Osbourne now?”

Edge scented trouble, said eagerly, “Hare picked him up in one of the jeeps. Julie was with him. They went down to the pub.”

“Now listen carefully, Edge,” Munro said. “I think Osbourne may have some wild idea of persuading Hare to make an unauthorised trip to France. You must prevent that.”

“How, sir?”

“Good God, man, any way you know how. Use your initiative. As soon as Grant’s back and refuelled, we’ll be down there.”

He rang off. Edge replaced the receiver, a smile on his face, not a nice smile, then he opened a drawer, took out his Luftwaffe issue belt and holster with the Walther inside. He went out quickly, got into his jeep and drove down through the village stopping some fifty yards from the pub. He went into the back yard and peered through the kitchen window. It was empty. He opened the door quietly and went in.

THE CREW OF
the
Lili Marlene
leaned against the bar listening to what Hare was saying.

“You’ve heard the facts. All you need to know. Miss Trevaunce is in about as bad a spot as she could be, and it’s all Munro’s doing. Now the Major and I intend to do something about that, but I’ve no authorisation. If any man here feels he can’t come, say so now. I won’t hold it against you.”

“For God’s sake, guvnor, what are we wasting time for?” Schmidt said. “We’ve got to get ready.”

“He’s right, Herr Kapitän,” Langsdorff said stolidly. “If we leave at noon, we’ll be at Grosnez by six if you should wish to use the pier again.”

Craig and Julie sat behind the bar, watching. In the kitchen, Edge could hear everything clearly.

Hare said, “A daylight crossing. That’s always hazardous.”

“We’ve done it before,” Langsdorff reminded him.

Schmidt grinned. “To the gallant lads of the Kriegsmarine, anything is possible.”

Hare turned to Craig. “There you go then.”

Craig said, “I’ll take Julie up to the house. I need some things from costume and she can arrange a radio message to Grand Pierre.”

Edge was already out of the back and running to his jeep. He got behind the wheel and drove away quickly as the crew emerged from The Hanged Man.

As Craig and Julie got into the other jeep Hare smiled wryly. “Oh well, there goes my career.”

“What career?” Craig asked with a grin and drove away.

FROM JULIE’S COSTUME
store, he selected the black dress uniform of a Standartenführer in the Charlemagne Brigade of the Waffen-SS.

Julie came in. “There’s the SS identity card you wanted. I’ve made it out to Henri Legrande. Just for luck.”

Craig folded the uniform. “I prefer the black when the going gets rough,” he told her. “It always puts the fear of God into everyone.”

“What shall I say to Grand Pierre?”

“He must be at the pier at Grosnez by six and he must provide me with the right kind of military transport. A Kubelwagen—something like that.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it.”

Craig smiled at her. “You realise Munro will have you shot or something when he gets here.”

“To hell with Munro.”

The door creaked and as they turned, Edge appeared, the Walther at the ready. “Actually, old son, you aren’t going anywhere. I’ve just had Brigadier Munro on the phone and he gave me strict orders to hang on to you.”

“Is that a fact?” Craig said and swung the SS tunic on his hand, smothering the Walther. He smashed Edge’s arm against the wall so that he dropped the weapon and at the same time punched him very hard on the side of the jaw.

The pilot doubled over, Craig got him by the collar and dragged him across to the big work table. “Pass me a pair of those handcuffs, Julie.” She did so and he handcuffed Edge’s arms around one of the legs. “Leave him there until Munro and Jack Carter get here.”

She leaned up and kissed him. “Take care, Craig.”

“Don’t I always?”

He went out then, the door slammed and a moment later
she heard the jeep start up. She sighed, left Edge where he was and went off to the Communication Room.

IT WAS HALF
an hour later that she went out to the end of the garden from where she could see all the way down to the village. Fog rolled in from the sea. It was going to be a dirty crossing. As she watched, the
Lili Marlene
left harbour, the scarlet and black Kriegsmarine ensign on her jackstaff, vivid as she was swallowed by the mist like a ghost.