The Interrogator (17 page)

Mohr walked on in silence. There was nothing in his face to suggest that he felt any concern or remorse.

‘I was with the convoy, one of the escorts,’ said Lindsay with a nonchalance he did not feel.

Mohr glanced across and gave him a wan smile.

‘Did you celebrate?’ Lindsay asked.

‘Perhaps, in a small way, I don’t remember.’

The hill was a little steeper, the wood thinner. They were almost at the top when with a small cry of excitement Mohr stepped away from the path.

‘These are good.’

He bent down beside the rotting, splintered stump of a tree and began to pull with both hands at the brown flat fungi clinging to its bark.

‘What do you call this in English?’

‘I haven’t a clue. Don’t poison yourself.’

‘You have some more questions for me then?’ Mohr half turned to look at Lindsay, his hands full of the fungi: ‘You’re wasting your time.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

Mohr shrugged and turned back to the tree stump. ‘Do you have a bag?’ he asked.

‘Why did you go back to sea, Herr Kapitän? You’d done enough. It wasn’t a challenge any more, you were on the Staff, in a position of trust, responsibility. Safe . . .’

‘It was my duty. My crew.’

Lindsay stepped from the track and walked to where Mohr was squatting by the rotten stump. Mohr looked up at him, then slowly got to his feet:

‘Here, a present. You’ll like it. Trust me,’ and he leant forward a little, offering Lindsay the fungi.

‘An important Staff officer returns to his boat . . .’

‘Important?’

‘. . . in the meantime the
112
has acquired two new wireless operators. Almost no one else has been replaced, only the wireless operators. And these two men speak English. Why?’

Mohr was standing only a few feet from Lindsay, the fungi still in his arms, his face set, expressionless, unblinking.

‘I’ll tell you then, shall I?’ said Lindsay. He sounded much more assured than he felt.

‘It was a special mission and it was important to have a senior commander, an experienced commander. Was it you or Dönitz who thought of the idea?’

Mohr was still looking at him, quite impassive, silent. Lindsay continued:

‘It’s only a detail. The plan was devised by the Staff. It was considered promising enough to justify sending one of Dönitz’s most trusted officers back to sea, with all the risks that entailed – you might be taken prisoner . . .’

Mohr gave a small tight-lipped smile.

‘. . . and you were given two of the Navy’s best wireless operators – one from the merchant cruiser
Pinguin
. Did her captain make a fuss about losing one of his best men? I bet he did. But of course this was a special mission.’

Lindsay paused for a moment and, turning from Mohr, walked a few feet away, head bent in thought. He stopped to lean against the grey trunk of a beech tree and began prodding the carpet of leaves
and husks with his shoe. He could sense that Mohr was watching him closely, waiting patiently, quite unruffled. It was warm, the sky a cloudless blue and almost nothing stirred in the wood; even the canopy above them was still.

‘The thing is, Kapitän, I am worried, very worried,’ and Lindsay turned to look at him again as if to offer proof of sincerity. ‘You see, I haven’t spoken to your wireless operators. My colleague, the Jewish one, he’s spoken to them and he’s convinced they’re spies, that you were going to land them and they were to report on shipping in and out of Freetown.’

Mohr bent down and placed the fungi at his feet. When he lifted his head to look at Lindsay again there was a small but disconcerting smile on his face.

‘I don’t agree, in fact I’m convinced it’s nonsense,’ said Lindsay.

‘Ha! Jews!’ Mohr shook his head theatrically.

‘You don’t believe me? You don’t think we make mistakes? What touching faith you have in us. We’ve hanged at least five men in the last six months. I’m certain one of them was innocent.’

‘And I’m certain you did your best to save him.’

Lindsay ignored the scepticism in Mohr’s voice: ‘No. He could and should have proved his innocence. Things are not what they were. We’re fighting for survival. You’ve taken tea with the First Sea Lord. I’m sure he was impressed, but if I shoot you, here, now, would he care? Of course not. The Red Cross would be told, “Shot while trying to escape.” It’s the same with your wireless operators. When people open their newspapers at breakfast they will read of two more spies hanged at Wandsworth Prison and they will say, “Thank God for our intelligence people”.’

‘And you want me to help you prove they’re not spies by telling you what?’ asked Mohr.

‘I want you to tell me what they were doing.’

Mohr shook his head slowly as if incredulous that Lindsay should think him so naive.

‘I know they’re innocent, I know why they were there,’ said Lindsay. ‘You needed English-speaking wireless operators so you could intercept and decode our signals.’

Mohr glanced down and for just an instant Lindsay saw a heavy
frown cloud his face, but the timbre of his voice when he spoke was as steady and confident as ever: ‘That’s what the Americans call a hunch. Not a good one. Not even your Jewish friend seems to believe you. Perhaps he doesn’t trust you?’

‘Don’t you want to help your men?’

‘Of course,’ said Mohr with a short barking laugh. ‘Of course, I understand. None of your comrades trust you.’

He was so pleased with himself that he did not notice he was trampling the fungi he had placed at the bottom of the rotten trunk. ‘They don’t trust you because they think you’re German,’ he said in English. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You’re German.’

‘No.’

They walked on in silence until they reached the crest of the hill where the ride forked west towards Sassoon’s obelisk. Through the trees they could see the house below them and a small group of prisoners kicking a football about on the lawn by the lake.

‘My men,’ muttered Mohr.

Beyond the Park the quiet ordered streets of Cockfosters and Southgate were lost in a summer haze. At the edge of the wood Lindsay stopped. The other arm of the ride led down the hill across the old golf course to the lake; it would take them just twenty minutes to walk back to the house.

‘How long have you been reading our signals for?’ he asked Mohr suddenly.

‘Are you still trying to break me?’

‘How long have you been reading our signals for – more than six months, less?’

Mohr did not reply.

‘More than six months?’ said Lindsay forcefully. ‘More or less?’

‘You must have a low opinion of me.’

‘Some of my colleagues are more direct. They might use other methods.’

Mohr laughed harshly: ‘No walks in the park?’

‘I am very, very serious. It would be better for you to answer. More or less?’

‘I know . . .’

‘More or less?’

‘I know your cousin Martin . . .’

Lindsay tensed a little. So he knew; well, there was nothing more to say. He had been half expecting something of the sort. It was awkward but in a way it changed nothing. He was not going to persuade Mohr to talk to him. But he knew he was right, right about the codes, quite sure.

‘There’s a certain something, an expression you share. And Martin often spoke of a cousin in the Royal Navy reserve. You were close, weren’t you?’ There was a discreet but unmistakable look of satisfaction on Mohr’s face: ‘Martin laughed about it, a small joke. He would laugh now if he could see us here together. What a coincidence.’

Lindsay wondered if he should refuse to listen, but it was too late and he had to admit he was curious.

‘We shared a mess for a time. The
U-bootwaffe
was very small before the war, as I’m sure you know. Martin is a good officer.’

Lindsay nodded.

‘But you, Lieutenant, you could have been fighting alongside us.’

‘No.’

Mohr smiled.

They walked on in silence again and were soon at the lake. It was lunch-time and small groups of uniformed Staff were talking and smoking on the north terrace. As they approached, Charlie Samuels stepped from the shadow beneath it and began scurrying across the lawn to meet them. ‘I’m to take the commander back, Douglas. The Colonel is waiting for you in his office.’ His forehead was wrinkled with anxiety.

‘Fine,’ said Lindsay airily. He was conscious that Mohr was following their exchange. He nodded curtly to him: ‘Goodbye, Herr Kapitän.’

‘Goodbye, Lieutenant. I hope we meet again soon.’ Mohr turned to speak to Samuels, ‘The Lieutenant and I have so much in common . . .’ Samuels looked surprised. To Lindsay’s great relief Mohr made no effort to explain.

‘Good luck, Douglas,’ said Samuels. Lindsay guessed that the words ‘You’ll need it’ were on the tip of his tongue.

Checkland’s office was on the first floor of the house, near the Map Room. A pretty Wren, very young, very well spoken, was keeping the
door. She smiled warmly at Lindsay: ‘Colonel Checkland is expecting you, sir. Would you wait just a minute?’

She slipped out from behind her desk, knocked gently and opened Checkland’s door. Lindsay caught a glimpse of him at his desk before the door closed behind her. She reappeared a moment later, swinging her navy-blue hips, the room full of her perfume: ‘The Colonel will see you now.’

Checkland was not alone. Henderson was standing by the fireplace. Lindsay stepped smartly into the room and stood to attention before the head bent over the desk. The door clicked behind him. Checkland carried on writing.

‘Sit down, Lindsay.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Lindsay followed the steady course of his pen across the sheet of headed paper. He held it like a weapon. There were few personal touches in the room; some photographs of ships – presumably ones Checkland had served in – and the King, charts, the usual Service furniture and cream paint. He turned to look at Henderson who was gazing out of the window to the hill Lindsay had just climbed with Mohr, his face set hard, itching for a fight.

‘Did you get my message this morning?’ Checkland’s head was still bent over his letter.

‘Sir?’

Checkland looked up at him and very deliberately put down his pen.

‘Don’t play the idiot. James has spoken to Chief Wren Sherlock.’

Checkland’s face was a little red but his voice was calm and measured. He had a certain easy authority and had been a fine interrogator in his day. The Germans had caught him spying before the Great War – bobbing about in the Baltic with pen and notebook. He knew what it was to be a prisoner.

‘You were to find one of us at once.’

‘I was going to find you, sir . . .’

‘But not before you’d interrogated Mohr again.’

‘No, sir.’ There was no point in lying. ‘I was hoping to speak to him yesterday but he was at the Admiralty . . .’

‘You know of course that I’ve spoken to Samuels. You were under
strict orders not to question Mohr, not to question any of the prisoners about codes but that’s what you’ve done.’

‘Did Lieutenant Samuels tell you what he’s dragged from the wireless operators?’ Lindsay’s voice was quiet and controlled too. It was one of the first things Checkland taught newcomers to his Section: never lose your temper because anger will cloud your judgement. ‘We’ve proof that our codes have been broken.’

Henderson snorted sceptically. ‘Proof, what proof?’

Checkland half raised a hand to silence him. ‘Samuels did tell us they spoke English and that they were brought together for the
112
’s patrol to Freetown. That isn’t proof our codes have been broken. Which code is broken, which cipher – one or all of them?’

Lindsay shook his head. ‘That’s what I was trying to wring from Mohr, sir.’

‘Did you succeed?’

‘No.’

Checkland gave a long, exasperated sigh. ‘You have no proof but by questioning Mohr about codes you may have done a great deal of harm . . .’

‘How much proof do you need, sir?’ said Lindsay. ‘They were . . .’

But Checkland cut across him sharply: ‘What do you know of disguised indicators? Do you know anything about the sub-tractor system or onetime pads, reciphering tables and typex machines?’

Lindsay flushed a little. It was true, he knew very little about the mechanics of code making and breaking: ‘I just know that . . .’

‘You think you know that the Germans are into one or more of our codes. Yes, you’ve said.’

Checkland paused to consider his next words, then said with careful emphasis: ‘You know, there are people who understand these things and they have better sources than us. You have put some of those sources at risk. You were instructed not to question the prisoners about codes and ciphers. You broke a direct order. You are a lieutenant in one small section of Naval Intelligence and yet you think you know better than the Director of the Division, his Staff, and me. It’s a pity, Lindsay, you were a promising interrogator but with a little too much to prove . . .’

23

F

‘You’ve come at the perfect time, Douglas. Tell me, what should I do with this? The girls won’t give me a sensible answer.’

Lieutenant Graham’s little audience giggled appreciatively.

‘Would you like it?’

More laughter. Graham was a history don in Civvy Street, a greying thirty-six with pince-nez spectacles, a slight lisp and a taste for the bizarre. He was indulging it now, swinging the French letter like the pendulum of a clock.

‘You’re a member of the master race, of course, but I’m sure it will fit.’

It took Lindsay most of the afternoon to two-finger-type a presentable copy of his report. Two flimsy sheets. He sat back in his chair and stared at the lines above the ribbon:

To conclude: the U-112 was on a special mission to African waters under the command of one of Admiral Dönitz’s most trusted officers. The mission required highly trained English-speaking wireless operators. Evidence and SR transcripts taken during the interrogation of other U-boat crews suggests the enemy is obtaining intelligence from wireless traffic. Kapitän zur See Mohr may have been using this intelligence to co-ordinate attacks on convoys in and out of Freetown. One or more of our codes has been broken
.