‘That all?’ Giles did not look at him.
‘All? Sir, the Official Secrets Act has got to be changed; or the German Intelligence people active in the United Kingdom will have a field day at our expense.’
Giles grunted, looking at the rapidly closing mist. ‘Agreed. I shall lobby everyone. We’ll get an amended Act onto the statute books.’
‘I sincerely hope so.’
Until this Helm business they had all been confident that MO5 had the German agents, working in Britain, wholly under their thumb. Now Kell voiced serious doubts. Watchers were doubled; the letters, instructions, and cards which moved to and from Karl Ernst’s Shop, were subjected to greater scrutiny, checked by top cipher men – brought from the DID’s office at the Admiralty – and not allowed to pass until either Kell or Charles Railton gave the word.
Until the law was changed, a sense of bitterness hung over MO5’s offices.
*
At Christmas there was a new name on some of the presents under the Christmas tree at Redhill Manor – another William Arthur Railton, son of Charles and Mildred.
On Boxing Day morning, the hunt met as usual, and James, looking splendid in uniform, rode beside Miss Margaret Mary Mitchel of Challow Hall – another fact to be much commented on, by family, servant, and townsfolk alike.
So 1910 came to an end. Happier than it had started; but with some troubled minds in secret places.
*
Two years later, just before Christmas, 1912, James, now officially a 2nd Lieutenant of the Hampshire Regiment, was married, in Haversage Parish Church, to Margaret Mary Mitchel.
Both young people had matured, and took their devotion for one another with an amused seriousness. As some older members of the family commented, it was good to see two members of the younger generation who did not spend all their time at house parties, or dancing the night away.
In fact, James and Margaret Mary revelled in each other’s company. When they were apart, they wrote letters daily. James, under his wife’s guidance, had begun to enjoy books outside of those called for by his profession; he was also beginning to taste the delights of serious music. In some of his letters he wrote poems. One read: Across the hidden places of my heart,
You search me out;
Following the tracery of my daily life
So Death can never conquer
The secret generations of our souls.
The newly-weds spent a happy three weeks in Paris, giving up three days to Marcel and Marie Grenot – though Margaret Railton, as she now was, knew nothing of the sealed package that James had passed over, in private, to Marie. Much lay behind the delivery, not least the great turning point in James’ own life, which had certainly paved the way for their marriage.
It had happened very early in 1912, just after he had returned to the Royal Military College.
James was aware that many changes were afoot. Over the previous Christmas, Andrew, now promoted to Commander, had been beset by questions concerning the sudden controversial appointment of Winston Churchill as First Lord of the Admiralty.
Churchill had arrived, like a strong breath of sea air, at the Admiralty, as First Lord, in October 1911. His Navy Board was announced in the November, and stories concerning new plans and proposals began to run like wildfire.
‘I don’t suppose my old chief will last for long: Andrew told Giles, John and Charles. ‘Come to that, there’s talk about giving the Intelligence Division a new title. Instead of a DID we’re to have a Director of Naval Intelligence. And you know he’s appointed old Jacky Fisher as his adviser?’
‘I had heard,’ Giles said dryly. ‘So, Fisher’s himself again, and given up growing roses?’ Then he chuckled. ‘We shall see great changes, when Winston’s at work. The man’s a human engine.’
James overheard this conversation, and more, though he was not prepared for change to touch him quite so quickly. In January, within a week of being back at Sandhurst, he received a personal message from the Commandant, waxed and sealed, asking James to call on him at the unusual hour of ten in the evening.
He arrived at the Commandant’s quarters and his superior beckoned him into his small, private study, showed the young man into a chair, and offered him both a drink and a cigar.
Finally, the Commandant settled himself and began to speak. ‘I’m sorry about the lateness of the hour, young Railton,’ he began. ‘But it’s for the best. There are reasons why our meeting should be kept quiet.’
Puzzled, James waited for more.
‘First,’ the Commandant gave him an unusually benign smile, ‘I should tell you there’s no question concerning your commission. You’ll be gazetted in the summer. Now, I presume you’ve some preference regarding a regiment?’
James sipped his brandy. ‘There’s been talk of a Flying Corps, sir. That’s what I really want.’
The Commandant smiled, then bluntly suggested that he should apply for a commission in the 2nd Battalion Hampshire Regiment.
James opened his mouth, and was about to say that he did not see himself in the Hampshires, when the Commandant cut in. ‘My own regiment actually. Now, listen carefully. The Hampshire Regiment would welcome you, though I’m not certain that you’ll actually ever serve with it. I can say no more. Perhaps it will be this Flying Corps; or something else. My invitation to you comes from a special source. It will have side benefits which should interest you even more. Still keen on marrying old Mitchel’s gel, are you?’
‘Very much, sir.’
‘Good. The first proposition is the Hampshires. The second has a more urgent bearing. If you take your commission with the Hampshires, this summer, I can promise that you’ll be posted back here. On the staff of the Royal Military College. Now that,’ he spoke slowly, ‘would make me effectively your commanding officer, and I’d gladly give my immediate blessing to your marriage.’
‘I would be an officer on the staff here?’
‘We think a lot of you, Railton. Mull it over. Be grateful if you could let me have your decision before the week’s out.’
James did not have to give the matter any thought. That, he imagined, was the end of it: marriage at Christmas, with his commission, and a wonderful posting to Sandhurst.
All this came to pass; yet, beneath the surface, other things began to happen. A few weeks after his conversation with the Commandant, James received a letter from his uncle. The letter was disarmingly simple.
My Dear James,
I know that you can arrange to be free on most Saturdays, and I wonder if you would be good enough to visit me, in London, on Saturday next, to discuss some rather important family business.
It would be best, under the circumstances, if you did not come to Eccleston Square, or my club. So I would be grateful if you would meet me, at twelve noon, outside the Duke of York’s Theatre in St Martin’s Lane.
Please do not reply to this. I shall wait for you until 12.30 pm, and trust you can be there.
With all my best wishes,
Yr. affect. Uncle,
Giles Railton.
*
James had too many of the Railton characteristics not to be intrigued by Giles’ letter. A hundred armed guards would not have stopped him going to this meeting. On the appointed day, he even arrived outside the Duke of York’s Theatre ten minutes early.
There was no sign of Giles. People passed by; the traffic flowed in its orderly chaos. Then, on the stroke of noon, a cab drew up, and two well-dressed men alighted.
One remained by the cab door, while the other came straight over to James.
‘Mr Railton?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr James Railton?’
‘Correct.’
The man produced a small card which he quickly handed to James, barely giving the young officer cadet time to read what was written on it in Giles’ most legible hand: James – trust me. Go with these mene. They will take you to someone very important. Listen well to what he says. Yrs G.R.
The
man almost snatched the card back, saying, ‘This way, sir,’ and taking James’ arm.
As James allowed himself to be led to the cab, the second man moved round the vehicle to the far door, so that once James was in, he found himself restricted: sandwiched between the two.
The blinds were quickly pulled down, and they rumbled off fast, the cab taking constant twists and turns. The first stranger apologized for the blinds being drawn and the uncomfortable speed. ‘It’s not really advisable for you to know where we’re going. For your own sake. In our business we have to do many peculiar things.’ He had a flat, unaccented voice betraying no particular class.
They rode, in silence, for the best part of an hour, and when the cab finally came to a stop, it was suggested that James remain in his seat.
The second man got down, leaving the door open. In a moment he was back, giving an ‘All clear.’
The first man addressed James. ‘When you leave the cab, move quickly. There’s a house directly in front of you. Go up the steps, and through the green door. We’ll be with you all the time.’
James did as they told him, seeing a large grey house to his front. There were railings and area steps, while a further six broad steps led to the green-painted front door, standing slightly ajar.
The door closed behind them. They were in an uncarpeted, and virtually undecorated, hallway.
‘Right. Up the stairs, please.’
‘May I ask…?’ James began.
One of the men merely gave him a friendly, but firm nudge. ‘There’s someone waiting to see you. Can we go?’ Then they took him through the house, along corridors and across bare rooms, until they stood in another, wider, passage, with a large door to their right. The first man tapped at the door, and a hearty voice called, ‘Come.’
‘Mr Railton, sir, announced the leading man, and James found himself in a pleasant room, facing a man he judged to be about fifty years of age, seated in a comfortable leather chair behind a large, military-style desk.
‘Good. Well done, lads,’ the man behind the desk beamed up at James’ two guards. ‘You may leave us alone. I’ll signal if I need you.’ He motioned for James to be seated on an old stuffed armchair.
The man was big and friendly, dressed in an elegant grey suit. The round face was slightly weatherbeaten, as though, at one time or another, he had spent many hours facing wind and weather. James privately identified him as Royal Navy. He had that clear-eyed confidence observed in many of his uncle Andrew’s colleagues.
‘I would like some kind of explanation, sir,’ James began. ‘My uncle…’
‘The admirable Giles Railton.’ The naval man gave a gentle laugh. You could feel the charm ooze from him. A great hit with the ladies, James thought.
‘Giles Railton,’ he continued, ‘put me on to you. I’m looking for chaps with spunk and spirit. Men with a taste for adventure.’
‘Sir, with respect, before we continue, might I ask to whom I am speaking?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he appeared genuinely mollifying. ‘Just call me C. Most people do. I assure you, young Railton, your Uncle Giles, who happens to be a good friend, would not have put me on to you if he thought our meeting a waste of time. Now, do you object to a few questions?’
Rarely, James later discovered, did anyone resist this mystery man. He was used to being obeyed, yet had a knack of quietly charming that obedience. In spite of the friendliness there was a distinct touch of steel beneath the velvet.
C began to go through James’ academic training, his background, time at Sandhurst, and the arrangements for his future. ‘You appear to know all about me, sir.’
C gave a full and hearty laugh. ‘I should know all about you. I more or less arranged the Hampshire Regiment business and the posting to the Royal Military College, in the hope you’d fall in with a little plan of mine. Now, your French and German…’
They established James’ proficiency in both languages, then C smiled warmly, saying that he understood a marriage had been arranged.
‘In confidence, sir. If all goes well, we’re to marry at Christmas.’
‘Capital. Now, what about the flying?’
They talked on for a good hour and half, C quizzing James about many things such as his view of world politics, the ins and outs of military tactics, then switching to flying and the possible uses of aeroplanes in war.
At one point he said, ‘You’ve a fertile imagination. Let me put this to you. Assume we are at war. Suppose there is information to be had by dropping a spy behind the front lines. That a possibility?’
‘As long as you pick the right place. Somewhere quiet where you can land and take off with some degree of safety. And not get spotted, of course.’
C nodded, looking pleased; and they continued to talk.
At last, C sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘Right, James Railton. Let me tell you that I like the cut of your jib. Sorry about all the deception in bringing you here, but we have to be careful in our trade. We’ve had our eyes on you for some time now. After our talk today, I can tell you that we’d be glad if you served with us. I’d like to offer you an appointment. We can use you, if you’ll come to us.’
‘Sir, who exactly are you?’
C revealed that he was in control of all intelligence matters outside British territory. ‘I deal with agents, and possible agents – spies, if you will – in all foreign countries.’
‘The Secret Service?’
‘If that’s what you want to call it. Yes, you could say that I’m head of at least part of the Secret Service. James, I’d like you to join us. Do a spot of training first, of course.’
So James was quietly and painlessly introduced into what was to become his life’s work. He returned to Sandhurst; was commissioned that summer; and suddenly discovered a shadowy world just under the surface of normal life.
At a moment’s notice he would receive orders, usually by hand, which took him into what would become the new reality for him, a twilight place with a different set of values, and a fresh language.
He learned codes, wireless telegraphy, methods of surveillance; he studied street plans of all the great European cities; and was taught about methods of communication.
It all sounded exceptionally simple: almost like a child’s game. The truth, as he was soon to discover, was very different. On his honeymoon, when he handed the package to Marie Grenot, James was carrying out his first assignment for his new commanding officer, C.
Giles Railton, unknown to James, had needed to pass information quietly to his daughter who had been officially warned off seeing her German military contact in Paris.
So, between the first pleasures of his married life – the delicious bouts of lovemaking and pillow-talk – James Railton was blooded into the hidden world of his family.
*
And, in Berlin, Gustav Steinhauer retained his desk at the Wilhelmstrasse, but was a constant visitor to Number 8. There, he often saw the beautiful young woman who had been introduced to him on his first visit. His experience in matters clandestine suggested to him that the girl was being prepared for some other dark operation spawned from Nicolai’s furtive imagination – certainly the new Chief of Intelligence appeared more concerned with devious plots than the day to day running of his Military Intelligence officers.
It was now that Steinhauer felt the moment was right to send ‘The Fisherman’ into action – to put him ‘in place’ as the next generation of the trade would say.
It took five days to brief him. The docks and naval bases would be his first concern, though there were also other things.
‘Never stay in the same place for more than a few weeks at one time,’ he cautioned the big man. ‘Keep moving, remain in touch, using all the methods we have taught you.’
Steinhauer had received the descriptions of the way ‘The Fisherman’ had axed the Irish traitor to death. He could never admit it, but Ulhurt frightened the bowels out of him.
‘The Fisherman’ travelled, by va
rious routes, to England. He then went to Scotland for two weeks; renewing his acquaintance with Mrs MacGregor of Invergordon, before moving south to London. He absorbed background. In the event of hostilities, Hans-Helmut Ulhurt would be fully operational.
Chapter Eleven
The man whom James Railton knew as ‘C’ was, of course, the naval officer, Captain Mansfield Smith-Cumming: in charge of the new intelligence service’s foreign department, eventually to become the Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6; just as his opposite number’s – Vernon Kell’s – department would be designated MI5.
Giles Railton was in constant contact with these departments, and shared many secrets with them. Both were passing through the fledgling stage, learning their trade in a somewhat leisured fashion. By recruiting men like James, C was preparing himself against the day of possible war.
The seasons of the following year, 1913, ran their usual course. By mid-summer, it became known among the family that James and Margaret Mary had lost no time. There was to be yet another Railton.
In the world of the secret trade, Patrick Quinn had retired, his place as head of the Branch being taken by the astute Basil Thomson – a professional of military bearing and ruthless instinct, yet a man who could charm when necessary. Also, to Vernon Kell’s particular relief, appropriate changes had been made to the Official Secrets Act.
It was during the summer of 1913 that Giles again turned his attention to his daughter-in-law, Bridget, in Ireland, deciding to visit her, and meet in the most clandestine way possible.
He knew the risk, and conveyed it to Smith-Cumming and Vernon Kell. They were all three aware of the precarious situation surrounding their agents working in Ireland.
Parliament was set to push through the Home Rule Bill; but division within Ireland itself appeared to become more clear cut as each day passed. In Dublin, the Bill’s third reading in the House of Commons was hailed, in January 1913, as a great national triumph. In Ulster, however, it was a different tale. Nine months later, almost a quarter of a million Ulstermen were to sign a ‘Solemn League and Covenant’ in their own blood, swearing to resist Home Rule at all costs.