End of Spies Alex Gerlis (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

for me to plug into. Everyone here at the Service is talking about what job they’ll be doing now the war’s over: this could be a role for me. The younger chaps are learning Russian; I fear I’m too old for that.’

‘I think it will take us more than a week or two to find this Ferret,’ said Prince.

‘And in any case, it doesn’t make sense…’ Hanne was shaking her head as she spoke.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Going to Munich makes no sense.’

‘In what way, Hanne?’ Tom Gilbey had turned to face her.

‘If this man is on the run and was caught in Munich before being released, then surely the last place in Europe where he’ll now be is Munich? He’ll know it’s too dangerous for him.’

Both Gilbey and Prince nodded.

‘I see your point, but I thought if you rode into the city and let your dogs have a good run around the place, then sooner or later you’re bound to pick up his scent.’

Prince turned to his wife. ‘Mr Gilbey is using hunting metaphors. I’ll explain later. In any case, sir, I agree with Hanne: we might not only be wasting our time in Munich, but given the nature of the city, we could alert people that we’re searching for this man’s real identity. Odd to have nothing but a nickname to go on – maybe it’s an indication of how important he is.’

‘You said the last place we know where he was during the war was Amsterdam: is that right?’

‘Yes, Hanne. You could go there.’

‘And before that it was Paris?’

Gilbey nodded.

‘Maybe if we start off in Paris… There are bound to be plenty of people there who’ll be able to help us.’

‘Don’t overestimate the gratitude of the French, Prince.’

‘I still think that will be a more productive place to start.’

‘Fair enough, and I suppose you do have a perfect cover story, don’t you?’

‘What’s that, sir?’

‘Your honeymoon!’

‘You look confused, Richard – as if you’re not sure.’

They were on the train back to Lincoln and had a compartment to themselves. Before they left, Tom Gilbey told them that as they were now on a new mission, they could start claiming expenses, so they’d decided to travel first class.

‘I’m not confused. I just thought we’d want time to think about it. We’ve got Henry to consider too, remember. And also – well, I am surprised at how keen you are to go. After all, we’ve only been married for a week, and what… four months ago you were in a concentration camp. I’d have thought running round Europe after Nazis would be the last thing you’d want to do.’

‘But that’s the point, Richard.’

‘What is?’

‘That I was in a concentration camp until May. I nearly died. I saw suffering and cruelty I could never have imagined – the way prisoners were shot for just looking at an officer, and the dreadful medical experiments. I suffered terribly myself and yet I was one of the lucky ones. Before the war, and for part of it, I was a senior police officer in Copenhagen, as you know. Although I knew I was taking a risk when I became a British agent, I never envisaged I’d see what I did. I’m haunted by what I encountered and I know I’ll continue to be unless I do something about it – and this is my opportunity. That’s why I am so keen to go on this mission. We are both highly experienced agents, Richard. You know we can catch this Ferret. And it will be an opportunity for revenge.’

‘Revenge is not necessarily the best motivation.’

‘Ha!’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘It’s the best one I can think of. At my lowest points in the camp I would motivate myself by thinking of what I would do to those bastards after the war. I lost count of the number of women whose hands I held as they slipped away, with me promising them that they wouldn’t be forgotten and their death would not be in vain…’

‘Yes, but…’

‘…and this is my opportunity to be true to my word.’

Chapter 7

England, September 1945

He’d been released from prison at the end of 1943, though for six months after that he’d been obliged to stay at a boarding house in south London, just down the road from the police station where he was required to report once a day.

The duty sergeants were invariably hostile to him, making it clear they knew who he was and what he’d been imprisoned for. They’d make him wait for up to an hour, alongside the filth, the cheap criminals and the strays of the district. Most days he’d hear the words ‘traitor’ or ‘Nazi’ and look up to see heads turned in his direction. And it was quite common for them to use his rank when they loudly called out his name, the word ‘Admiral’ laced with as much sarcasm and malice as they could muster. Often as he approached the desk the sergeant would remark, ‘Defence Regulation 18B, are you?’ and then no one would be in doubt as to who he was: a person of ‘hostile origin’, as the hateful regulation called it, ‘concerned in acts prejudicial to the public safety or the defence of the realm…’

More than once he’d been followed from the police station, and it was only his guile that kept him out of trouble. But he’d avoided the pubs and cafés in the area and spent most of his time in his tiny room, which smelt of gas and mice, marking off the days on a cheap calendar, just as he used to do at boarding school, a constant draught whistling in through a cracked window pane.

One July afternoon in 1944, a letter was grudgingly thrust at him when he checked in, and he was instructed to open it there and then. It told him he was now free to return home: once there, he’d have to report to the local police station twice a week. There was a