Dominion

  Gunther nodded, then smiled. ‘Yes, it’s ideal. Who goes under?’

  ‘You and Syme and Kapp,’ Borsig suggested. ‘Kapp and Syme are the thinnest, and if you dig away some of the pebbles you’ll get a view of them coming down, then you can give the command signal. We’ll all hear them coming, once they’re on the beach, so when they arrive at the boat I suggest you knock on the side and we push it over onto them, you from below and us from behind. They’ll be completely startled. Then we all jump out and grab them, one each, before they can move.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that sounds right.’ Gunther looked at Borsig and Kollwitz. ‘You’ve planned ambushes before.’

  ‘Yes. In the East.’

  ‘I have too, in the Gestapo. But only in cities, usually against civilians. I’ll be guided by you.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, let’s lift the boat up.’

  ‘It’ll be a bloody cold wait,’ Syme observed.

  Kollwitz answered. ‘This is nothing. Try waiting in ambush in the Russian winter.’

  They took off the tarpaulin and lifted the boat. It was big and heavy but Borsig and Kollwitz lifted it easily enough. Kapp and Syme slipped under, moving the oars that had been placed under the boat to one side. Gunther felt his muscles protest as he lay down and scrabbled underneath.

  ‘I’ll give the side of the boat a kick as a signal,’ he said. ‘It’s heavy. You three push hard.’

  Gunther dug away at the pebbles until he managed to make a small space between them and the bottom of the boat, enough for him to see through if he lay flat on his stomach. He looked up towards the path to the beach, a dark gap in the promenade. Under the boat it was pitch dark and there was a strong smell of seaweed. Already Gunther’s feet felt like ice. Next to him Syme shifted his bony form, an elbow digging into his ribs. Always some part of Syme had to be twitching or moving. Gunther said, ‘Keep still, for God’s sake. They’ll hear the pebbles if you move about.’

  ‘All right. Sorry.’

  Gunther took off his watch to lay it next to his face. The luminous dial read 11.45. Three quarters of an hour to go until Muncaster’s party arrived.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  THAT AFTERNOON, FOLLOWING the meeting with Bert, David went downstairs, back to the empty lounge. Jane, sitting at her desk in the hall, gave him an anxious smile as he passed.

  He sat in an armchair and looked out of the window. What was he going to do? Sense and decency and old, bone-deep affection told him he belonged with Sarah. But would she have him now? And it was Natalia who offered him excitement, the chance of something new. More than that, she was someone who understood his past, his true origins.

  After a while he went back upstairs, to the room he shared with her. He turned the handle, but the door was locked. He had a feeling Natalia was in there, but there was no sound, no answer to his knock. Then Sarah’s door opened and she stood there, looking at him.

  ‘Sarah.’

  She turned and went back into her room, but left the door open. He followed her in. She sat on the bed, looking at him bleakly. ‘Please don’t say you’re sorry again. I don’t think I could stand that.’

  He closed the door and stood with his back to it. ‘What else can I say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘About my being Jewish. I had to keep it quiet after 1940. All the more after Charlie came along—’

  ‘You should have told me, David. It would have been a shock, a surprise, I’m not pretending otherwise, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. And I could have supported you.’ She looked at him. ‘But that was just the start of the lies.’ Her eyes bore into his. ‘Whatever love you felt for me ended when Charlie died, didn’t it?’

  ‘No. But somehow his dying just – pulled us apart. I don’t know why. And then, when I joined the Resistance – I felt guilty for lying to you again, and that just made it all worse.’ He put two fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezed hard. ‘I was a spoiled child and I’m a selfish man.’

  She answered quietly, ‘You believe in duty, self-sacrifice. I always admired you for that. But I don’t want you to stay with me out of duty. And I don’t know if I could ever trust you again.’

  He thought of his other secret, the last one. Natalia. She hadn’t guessed about that. Poor Sarah, even now she didn’t see it all. He took a deep breath. ‘You haven’t said if you still love me.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s enough any more.’

  He closed his eyes. She sighed, then stood up. ‘David, we mustn’t discuss this now. That’s what I wanted to say. Jane’s worried. Whatever happens afterwards, now we have to concentrate on getting through tonight. We owe it to the others.’

  ‘Duty.’ David smiled, a sad twitch of the mouth.

  ‘Yes, duty. And now I think you should go.’

  He left the room. Natalia’s door was still locked. So he went back down to the lounge and sat once more staring out at the empty street. It struck him then that for the first time in their relationship Sarah was in charge.

  At eight o’clock Jane called them down for dinner. Sarah had been lying on her bed, reading an Agatha Christie novel to try to keep her mind off everything. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to go downstairs. The other four – David, Frank, the Scotsman and the woman with the Slavic accent – were already sitting round one of the tables. Bert was with them, reading a copy of the Daily Express. As Sarah approached Ben said jokingly that their next meal would be American food, on the sub.

  Jane had made a beef stew, with potatoes and Brussels sprouts, tasteless like all the food Sarah had eaten in the hotel but hot and filling. Bert looked up from his paper. ‘It says here Goebbels is calling a conference of all the senior army officers. Himmler and Heydrich aren’t invited. Looks like divisions among the Nazis are really starting.’

  ‘And they’re reportin’ that in the Express?’ Ben said, surprised. ‘Beaverbrook’s paper. Normally they cannae tell us enough about how strong and united our German allies are.’

  ‘Well, this government wants Goebbels to stop the Russian war. Even Mosley knows it’s unwinnable.’

  ‘Do you think that could actually happen? Some sort of civil war in Germany?’ Frank asked.

  David had been quiet, but now he looked up. ‘Yes. Hitler held all the reins of power himself. There was always the risk everything would fall apart when he died. He said the Third Reich would last a thousand years and people believed him, but what Empire has ever lasted that long? Even the Roman Empire didn’t. A few hundred years, that’s the most any Empires have, and many a lot less.’

  ‘Like the British Empire,’ Ben said quietly.

  ‘Yes.’ There was sadness in David’s answer, even now.

  Ben asked Bert, ‘I suppose there’s still nothing in the paper about the Jews?’

  ‘No. But the word I’ve heard is that plans to deport them to the Isle of Wight and then on to Germany are cancelled indefinitely now.’

  ‘But Goebbels and Himmler both hate the Jews, as much as Hitler did. That’s the one thing those bastards are united about.’

  ‘The British government are waiting to see what happens,’ Natalia said. ‘If Germany breaks down, and Britain wants to move closer to the Americans, better to have the Jews alive. A bargaining counter. Pawns. The fog was an excuse to cancel the transports, it came at the right time.’

  Sarah looked at her. She didn’t like Natalia, she thought her hard and cold. So she was surprised when she went on to say, with feeling, ‘For now they’re abandoned in those detention camps. They must be so cold in this weather, so cold.’

  Jane had come in with a tray, heavy with large bowls of steamed pudding and custard. As she served them she said, ‘They’re not the same as us, they don’t have the same loyalty to England.’

  Bert glared at his wife. ‘I thought you’d got that nonsense out of your head years ago, woman. When have the Jews ever been disloyal to this country? And saying they’re not the same as
us – you mean they haven’t got pure English blood?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, I just . . .’ Jane’s words tailed off.

  ‘I’ve nae English blood,’ Ben said, stressing his Glasgow accent, trying to lighten the tone.

  Bert said, ‘Sorry, I should have said British, not English—’

  ‘Dinna worry,’ Ben laughed. ‘I don’t lose sleep over what mix of blood I’ve got. Though a Scot Nat would’ve been at you fast enough for saying English not British. Worrying about blood and ancestry, that’s what’s got Europe intae all this shit.’ He looked pointedly at Jane.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m glad they’re not being deported. That’s bad.’ Jane looked at Natalia. ‘And you’re right, the poor beggars must be cold out in those barracks or wherever they’re being held. It’s just – I was brought up disliking Jews.’

  Natalia said, ‘It’s colder still where they get sent to, in the East. Though they’re not cold for long.’

  Frank looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I believe the rumours they kill them in extermination camps are true.’ Natalia looked at David. A look passed between them. He met her eye. And then Sarah knew, she knew that David had told Natalia he was Jewish and she saw in their faces exactly what lay between them. She looked down quickly at her plate but she couldn’t pick up a spoon, couldn’t eat. She stood abruptly. ‘I don’t feel very well. I’m going upstairs.’

  David said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I feel sick. I think it’s just nerves, giving me a bit of a gippy tummy. I’ll be all right if I lie down for a bit.’

  The last secret. The end. Sarah wished she could have run out of the hotel, back to London, back to Irene and her mother and father. She thought of her empty house, had a sudden horrible vision of Charlie there as a tiny, lonely ghost, wandering lost through the empty rooms. She cried and cried, but silently so that the others wouldn’t hear.

  To her surprise, perhaps because she was so exhausted, Sarah fell asleep. When Ben knocked on her door it was dark. He told her they were to go downstairs for a last briefing. It was almost ten o’clock. They gathered in the office behind the counter. David gave Sarah a smile, but she couldn’t return it. Frank and Ben, noticing, exchanged glances. Natalia was watching David and Sarah carefully, her face expressionless. Sarah thought, she’s worried there’ll be some sort of outburst between us. But there mustn’t be, I have to hold on.

  Bert and Jane reported that everything was still quiet in Rottingdean, the rendezvous was still on. The weather forecast said it would be clear and cold. Then Bert went to a safe on the wall and brought out two pistols. Sarah shuddered at the sight of them. They made her think of her father, the pistol he would have carried in the Great War. Bert handed one to Ben. Natalia said, ‘You know I have one already?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bert looked at David. ‘You can handle a gun?’

  ‘I was in the Norway campaign, remember?’ He picked up the pistol and examined it. ‘I can use this.’ Then he grasped it firmly and put it in his pocket.

  Bert turned to Sarah. He said quietly, ‘What about you, Mrs Fitzgerald?’

  She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. Anyway, I wouldn’t know how.’ She took a deep breath, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the pellet David had handed her earlier. She held it out. ‘But I’ll use this, if I have to.’

  ‘We all must,’ Ben said quietly.

  ‘Is there anything else we need to discuss before we leave?’ Natalia asked. She looked round them all, her gaze lingering on Sarah. ‘Because from now on we have to be completely focused on our escape, on getting away.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I know.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I’m ready.’

  They left the hotel at half past ten, in the car. They drove out of Brighton, past the Pavilion, its domes outlined against the starry sky. Natalia was the driver, Ben beside her. David sat in the back, Frank between him and Sarah.

  They drove north out of Brighton, into the empty, frosty countryside. For a while there was silence. Then Ben said, ‘The news says the fog’s gone in London. But the casualty departments are full of people with asthma and bronchitis, animals died at the Smithfield cattle show. There was more about that than what’s happening in Germany. They just say Goebbels is in charge. There’s windy weather coming in tomorrow apparently, there’s going to be heavy snow in Scotland.’

  ‘I went to school there,’ Frank said quietly.

  Sarah turned to him. He looked very pale and frightened. But he was calm, not really like a lunatic at all though there was something odd, off-key, about him. She spoke to him gently. ‘And after that you went to Oxford, met David?’ She could imagine David looking after Frank, protecting him.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry I’ve got you both in this mess.’

  ‘You got caught up in this by chance,’ David said. ‘Though it’s just an extension of the madness the whole country, the whole world, has ended up in, isn’t it?’

  Frank turned and looked at David. ‘You’re the best friend I ever had in my life,’ he said, suddenly.

  ‘Come on, Frank,’ David said jokingly. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

  Frank turned back to Sarah, his eyes glinting in the dark interior of the car. ‘No, it’s true, and this may be my last chance to say it. Your husband is a good man. He looks after people, protects them. There’s not one in a hundred like him.’

  Silence descended again. After a while they turned south, heading back towards the sea.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  THEY DROVE INTO ROTTINGDEAN, past some large houses to a village green with a pond in the centre, a skin of ice on its surface, and a tall war memorial, a stone column topped with a cross. On a hill to the right Frank saw a large windmill, outlined against the starry sky. To the left the ground rose up to an ancient church. Frank remembered the kind, brave vicar in London; if it hadn’t been for him, he knew, he would have wandered about in the fog until he was caught, and then – he took a long, deep breath.

  A few cars were already parked outside the large houses surrounding the green, and Natalia drew quietly to a halt between two of them. They stepped out into the freezing air. There were a couple of streetlights, but nobody was in sight and the windows of all the houses were curtained and dark.

  Natalia told them not to talk, just follow her, as quietly as possible. Frank felt his heart begin to pound as he walked beside David. Sarah and Ben were behind him and Natalia in front. They turned into a narrow street with shops on either side, some Christmas decorations in the windows. Beyond the end of the street, moonlight shone on the sea.

  Frank remembered his talk with Natalia, when he had asked to see her that afternoon. In her room he had asked her, haltingly, to give David the chance to rebuild his marriage.

  He had thought she might be rude or contemptuous, but she only said, in a kindly but definite tone, ‘You don’t understand.’

  He answered, ‘I suppose that’s true in a way. But I can see Sarah loves him, even though she’s so angry now. And he has feelings for her, I’m sure he has.’

  Natalia lit a cigarette, inclined her head. ‘What if he feels more for me than for her?’

  ‘If he just abandoned her in America, think of the guilt he’d feel. David doesn’t forget people. He didn’t forget me, remember, when you asked him to get me out of the asylum.’

  Natalia smiled sadly. ‘You are so like my brother. Your problem is not that you don’t understand things, it’s that you see too much. But you must leave me and David to decide what to do.’

  ‘I know,’ he answered quietly. Natalia looked out of the window, her arms crossed, her pose thoughtful, then turned back to face him.

  ‘Don’t say anything to the others, please. We all have to concentrate on our escape now.’

  Frank said, ‘I won’t.’ He took a long, deep breath. ‘But there was something else I wanted to ask. About tonight.’

  Natalia turned into a tiny street of little cottages fronted with dark flint. She a
pproached the second cottage. Like all the other buildings they had passed it was in darkness. But when she went up to the door it opened a crack; someone had been watching. She whispered the mission password, ‘Aztec.’

  The door opened wider and Natalia went in, the others following. For a moment they were in complete darkness. Then a light was switched on and they saw they were in a small room with battered furniture, photographs on the mantelpiece. A stocky man in his forties in a heavy blue jersey stood in the middle of the room. His face was lined and weatherbeaten, stubble on his seamed cheeks, but his small, dark eyes were sharp and alert as he looked them over. ‘Any problems?’ he asked quietly. His deep voice had a strong country accent.

  ‘None,’ Natalia said.

  ‘Anyone about?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘We’ll go through to the back.’

  They followed him into an untidy kitchen, smelling strongly of fish. He drew a pair of dirty curtains shut and waved them towards a wooden dining table where hard chairs and a couple of stools had been drawn up. ‘Sit down.’ He joined them at the table, gnarled hands clasped together.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Give me your first names.’

  They told him. ‘I’m Eddie. I’m a fisherman,’ he said. ‘I’m going to row you out to the submarine. I’ve a big old rowing boat, I’ve left it down at the beach. Some of you will have to help me row, we’re going out about a mile. I’ve got the bearings and a red torch to flash out to sea, when we get near. You’ll see the sub as we approach; it’s big. They’re expecting us at one a.m., we need to get rowing out by twelve thirty. It’s only just gone half past eleven, we’ve plenty of time.’ He nodded to the darkened kitchen window, and gave them a gap-toothed smile, his first sign of friendliness. ‘You need to know exactly where you’re going if you’re in a boat, there’s an old submerged pier out there. I’ve fresh clothes for you here, heavy dark clothes. You’ll need them, it’s going to be very cold out at sea. Understand?’