"If I may continue, my Fuhrer."
"Please, but I have limited patience this evening."
"We now know much more about the giant concrete and steel structures being built at several points around England. We now know they are code-named Phoenix. We also know that when the invasion comes they will be towed across the English Channel and sunk off the coast of France."
"Sunk? For what possible purpose, Captain Vogel?"
"For the past twenty-four hours, our technical analysts have been poring over the documents stolen in London. Each of the submersible units contains quarters for a crew and a large antiaircraft gun. It is possible the enemy is planning to create a huge coastal antiaircraft complex to provide additional cover for their troops during the invasion."
"Possible," Hitler said. "By why go to so much trouble to construct an antiaircraft facility? All your estimates indicate the British are desperately short of raw materials--steel, concrete, aluminum. You've been telling me that for months. Churchill has bankrupted Britain with this foolish war. Why waste precious supplies on such a project?"
Hitler turned and glared at Goring. "Besides, I'm afraid we must assume that the enemy will enjoy supremacy in the air during the invasion."
Hitler turned back toward Vogel. "Do you have a second theory, Captain Vogel?"
"We do, my Fuhrer. It is a minority opinion, very preliminary, and still open to a great deal of interpretation."
"Let's hear it," he snapped.
"One of our analysts believes the submersible units might actually be components of some sort of artificial harbor, a device that could be constructed in Britain, towed across the Channel, and installed along the French coast during the first hours of the invasion."
Hitler, intrigued, was pacing again. "An artificial harbor? Is such a thing possible?"
Himmler cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps your analysts are misreading the information provided by the agent, Captain Vogel. An artificial harbor sounds a little far-fetched to me."
"No, Herr Reichsfuhrer," Hitler said, "I think Captain Vogel may be on to something here." Hitler paced the room violently. "An artificial harbor! Imagine the arrogance, the audacity of such a project! I see the fingerprints of that madman Churchill all over this."
"My Fuhrer," Vogel said hesitantly, "an artificial harbor is only one possible explanation for these concrete units. I would caution against putting too much emphasis on these early findings."
"No, Captain Vogel, I am intrigued by this theory of yours. Let's take it to the next level, just for argument's sake. If the enemy is actually engaged in an attempt to build something as elaborate as an artificial harbor, where would he put it? Von Rundstedt, you first."
The old field marshal rose, walked to the map, and tapped at it with his baton. "If one studies the failed enemy assault on Dieppe in 1942, one can learn valuable lessons. The enemy's primary objective was to seize and open a major port as quickly as possible. The enemy failed, of course. The problem is this: the enemy knows we will deny him the use of ports for as long as possible and that we will cripple those ports before surrendering them. I suppose it is possible the enemy might be constructing facilities in Britain that would allow him to reopen the ports more quickly. That makes sense to me. If that is the case--and I stress that Captain Vogel and his colleagues have no conclusive proof it is so--I still believe it is Calais. An invasion at Calais still makes the most sense militarily and strategically. This cannot be ignored."
Hitler listened carefully, then turned to Vogel. "What do you think of the field marshal's analysis, Captain Vogel?"
Vogel looked up. Von Rundstedt's icy gaze had settled on him. He knew he had to proceed very carefully.
"Field Marshal von Rundstedt's argument is extremely sound." Vogel paused as von Rundstedt nodded in acknowledgment. "But for the sake of discussion, may I offer a second interpretation?"
"Do so," Hitler said.
"As the field marshal has pointed out, the enemy desperately needs port facilities if he is to build up supplies quickly enough to sustain an invasion force. We estimate that would require at least ten thousand tons of supplies each day during the first phase of the operation. Any of the ports on the Pas de Calais could sustain such a massive buildup--Calais, Boulogne, Dunkirk for example. But as Field Marshal von Rundstedt pointed out, the enemy knows we will demolish those ports before surrendering them. The enemy also knows those ports will be heavily defended. A frontal assault on any one of them would be very costly."
Vogel could see that Hitler was fidgeting, growing impatient. He hurried things along.
"Along the Normandy coast there are a number of small fishing ports, none of them large enough to handle the necessary buildup of materiel and heavy equipment. Even Cherbourg might not be large enough. Remember, it was designed as a passenger terminal for transatlantic liners, not for discharging cargo."
"Your point, Captain Vogel," Hitler said, an edge to his voice.
"My Fuhrer, what if it were possible for the enemy to build up his supplies and equipment on open beaches rather than through a port? If that were indeed possible, the enemy could avoid our strongest defenses, land on the less heavily defended beaches of Normandy, and attempt to supply an invasion force through the use of an artificial harbor."
Hitler's eyes flickered. He was clearly intrigued by Vogel's analysis.
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel was shaking his head. "A scenario such as yours would be a recipe for disaster, Captain Vogel. Even in spring the weather along the Channel coast can be extremely hazardous--rain, high winds, heavy seas. My staff has studied the patterns. If history is a guide, the enemy can expect periods of good weather for no more than three or four days at a time. If he attempts to build up his forces on an open beach, with no harbor and no sheltered water, the enemy will be totally at the mercy of nature. And no portable device, no matter how ingenious, will survive a springtime gale on the English Channel."
Hitler stepped in. "A fascinating discussion, gentlemen--but enough. Obviously, Captain Vogel, your agent needs to discover more about the project. I assume the agent is still in place?"
Vogel proceeded carefully.
"There is a problem, my Fuhrer," Vogel said. "The agent feels the British security forces may be closing in--that it may not be safe to remain in England much longer."
Walter Schellenberg spoke for the first time. "Captain Vogel, our own source in London says quite the opposite--that the British know there is a leak but have been unable to plug it. Your agent is imagining the danger at this time."
Vogel thought, Arrogant ass! Who's this great source the SD has in London? He said, "The agent in question is highly trained and exceptionally intelligent. I think--"
Himmler cut Vogel off. "Surely you don't assume Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg's source is less credible than your own, Captain Vogel."
"With respect, I have no way to judge the credibility of the brigadefuhrer's source, Herr Reichsfuhrer."
"A very diplomatic answer, Herr Captain," Himmler said. "But clearly your agent should remain in place until we know the truth about these concrete objects, wouldn't you agree?"
Vogel was trapped. To disagree with Himmler would be like signing his own death warrant. They could manufacture evidence of treason against him and hang him with piano wire like they did the others. He thought of Gertrude and the children. The barbarians would go after them too. He trusted Anna's instincts, but to pull her out now would be suicide. He had no choice. She would remain in place.
"Yes. I agree, Herr Reichsfuhrer."
Himmler invited Vogel for a walk around the grounds. Night had fallen. Beyond the sphere of arc light the forest was very dark. A sign warned not to stray from the footpath because of mines. Wind stirred the tops of the conifers. Vogel could hear a dog barking; it was difficult to tell how far away because the new snow reduced all sound to a dull muffle. It was bitter cold. During the tense meeting he had perspired heavily beneath his tunic. Now, in the cold, it felt as
if his clothes had frozen to his body. He craved a cigarette but decided not to risk offending Himmler further for one day. Himmler's voice, when he finally spoke, was nearly inaudible. Vogel wondered if it was possible to bug a forest.
"A remarkable achievement, Captain Vogel. You are to be commended."
"I'm honored, Herr Reichsfuhrer."
"Your agent in London is a woman."
Vogel said nothing.
"It was always my impression that Admiral Canaris distrusted female agents. That he believed they are too susceptible to emotion for clandestine work and lack the necessary objectivity."
"I can assure you, Herr Reichsfuhrer, that the agent involved has none of those shortcomings."
"I must admit I find the practice of inserting female agents behind enemy lines a bit distasteful myself. The SOE persists in sending women into France. When they are arrested, I'm afraid the women suffer the same fate as the men. To inflict such suffering on a woman is regrettable, to say the least." He paused, cheek muscle twitching, and breathed deeply of the cold night air. "Your achievement is even more remarkable because you succeeded in spite of Admiral Canaris."
"I'm not sure what you mean, Herr Reichsfuhrer."
"What I mean is that the admiral's days at the Abwehr are numbered. We have been unhappy with his performance for some time. He is at least an incompetent. And if my suspicions are correct, he's a traitor to the Fuhrer as well."
"Herr Reichsfuhrer, I've never--"
Himmler cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"I know you feel a certain loyalty to Admiral Canaris. After all, he is personally responsible for your rapid rise through the ranks of the Abwehr. But nothing you can say now can possibly change my opinion of Canaris. And a word to the wise. Be careful when coming to the aid of a drowning man. You may be dragged under as well."
Vogel was stunned. He said nothing. The barking of the dog faded slowly away, then was gone. The wind rose and blew snow across the path, erasing the border with the forest. Vogel wondered how close they laid the mines. He turned his head and glimpsed a pair of SS men trailing softly after them.
"It is now February," Himmler resumed. "I can predict with some certainty that Admiral Canaris will be dismissed soon, perhaps even by the end of the month. I intend to bring all the security and intelligence agencies of Germany under my control, including the Abwehr."
Vogel thought, The Abwehr under Himmler's control? It would be laughable if he wasn't serious.
"You are obviously a man of considerable talent," Himmler continued. "I want you to remain at the Abwehr. With a considerable promotion, of course."
"Thank you, Herr Reichsfuhrer." It was as if someone else said the words for him.
Himmler stopped. "It's cold. We should start back."
They walked past the security men, who waited until Himmler and Vogel were out of earshot before falling in quietly behind them.
Himmler said, "I'm glad we were able to reach agreement on the matter of leaving the agent in place. I think it is the prudent course of action at this time. And besides, Herr Vogel, it is never wise for one's personal feelings to cloud one's judgment."
Vogel stopped walking and looked into Himmler's desolate eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
"Please, don't treat me like a fool," Himmler said. "Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg spent some time in Madrid on another matter this past week. He met a friend of yours there--a man named Emilio Romero. Senor Romero told Brigadefuhrer Schellenberg all about your most prized possession."
Vogel thought, Damn Emilio for talking to Schellenberg! Damn Himmler for sticking his nose into places it doesn't belong! The SS men seemed to sense tension, and they drifted silently forward.
"I understand she's very beautiful," Himmler said. "It must have been difficult to give up a woman like that. It must be tempting to bring her home and lock her away. But she is to remain in place in England. Is that clear, Captain Vogel?"
"Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer."
"Schellenberg has his faults: arrogant, too flashy, and this obsession with pornography--" Himmler shrugged. "But he's a clever and resourceful intelligence officer. I know you're going to enjoy working more closely with him."
Himmler turned abruptly and walked away. Vogel stood alone, shivering in the intense cold.
"You don't look well," Canaris said when Vogel returned to the car. "I usually feel that way after conversations with the chicken farmer. But I must admit I do a better job of hiding it than you."
There was a scratching at the side of the car. Canaris opened his door, and the dogs scampered inside and settled at Vogel's feet. Canaris rapped his knuckle on the glass divider. The engine turned over and the car crunched over the snow toward the gate. Vogel felt relief wash over him as the glare of the compound receded behind them and they returned once more to the gloom of the forest.
"The little corporal was very proud of you tonight," Canaris said, contempt in his voice. "And what about Himmler? Did you stick the dagger in me during your little moonlight stroll?"
"Herr Admiral--"
Canaris leaned over and put his hand on Vogel's arm. There was a look in his ice blue eyes Vogel had never seen.
"Be careful, Kurt," he said. "It is a dangerous game you are playing. A very dangerous game."
And with that Canaris leaned back, closed his eyes, and was immediately asleep.
39
LONDON
The operation was hastily code-named Kettledrum--who chose the name and why Vicary did not know. It was too complex and too sensitive to be run from his cramped quarters in St. James's Street, so for his command post Vicary procured a stately Georgian house in a terrace in West Halkin Street. The drawing room was converted into a situation room, with extra telephones, a wireless set, and a large-scale map of metropolitan London tacked to the wall. The upstairs library was turned into an office for Vicary and Harry. There was a rear entrance for the watchers and a pantry stocked with food. The typists volunteered to do the cooking, and Vicary, arriving at the house early that evening, was struck by the aroma of toast and bacon and the lamb stew bubbling on the stove.
A watcher led him upstairs to the library. A coal fire burned in the fireplace; the air was dry and warm. He struggled out of his sodden mackintosh, hung it on a hanger, and hung the hanger on the back of the door. One of the girls had left him a pot of tea, and he poured himself a cup. Vicary was exhausted. He had slept poorly after interrogating Jordan, and his hope of catching a little sleep in the car had been dashed by Boothby, who suggested they ride back to the office together so they could use the time to talk.
Overall control of Kettledrum was Boothby's. Vicary would run Jordan and be responsible for keeping Catherine Blake under surveillance. At the same time he would try to discover the rest of the agents in the network and their means of communication with Berlin. Boothby would be the liaison to the Twenty Committee, the interdepartmental group that supervised the entire Double Cross apparatus, so named because the symbol of Double Cross and the Roman numeral for twenty are the same: XX. Boothby and the Twenty Committee would produce the misleading documents for Jordan's briefcase and integrate Kettledrum into the rest of Double Cross and Bodyguard. Vicary did not ask about the nature of the misinformation, and Boothby did not tell him. Vicary knew what it meant. He had discovered the existence of the new German network and traced the leak back to Jordan. But now he was being shoved into a supporting role. Basil Boothby was fully in command.
"Nice digs," Harry said, as he entered the room. He poured himself a cup of tea and warmed his backside against the fire. "Where's Jordan?"
"Upstairs sleeping."
"Dumb bastard," Harry said, his voice lowered.
"He's our dumb bastard now, Harry. Don't forget that. What have you got?"
"Fingerprints."
"What?"
"Fingerprints, latent fingerprints from someone other than Peter Jordan, all over the inside of that study. On the desk, on the exterior of the safe. He says t
he cleaning lady was never allowed to go in. We should assume those latent fingerprints were left by Catherine Blake."
Vicary shook his head slowly.
"Jordan's house is ready to go," Harry continued. "We put so many microphones in that place you can hear a mouse fart. We evicted the family across the street and established a static post. The view is perfect. Anyone goes near that house gets their picture taken."
"What about Catherine Blake?"
"We traced her telephone number to a flat in Earl's Court. We took over a flat in the building opposite."
"Good work, Harry."
Harry looked at Vicary a long moment, then said, "Don't take this the wrong way, Alfred, but you look like hell."
"I can't remember the last time I slept. What's keeping you going?"
"A couple of Benzedrine and ten quarts of tea."
"I'm going to have a bite to eat, then try to get some sleep. What about you?"
"Actually, I had plans for the evening."
"Grace Clarendon?"
"She asked me to dinner. I thought I'd take the opportunity. I don't think we're going to have much free time the next few weeks."
Vicary rose and poured himself another cup of tea. "Harry, I don't want to take advantage of your relationship with Grace, but I'm wondering if she could do me a favor. I'd like her to run a couple of names quietly through Registry and see what comes up."
"I'll ask her. What are the names?"
Vicary carried his tea across the room and stood in front of the fire next to Harry.
"Peter Jordan, Walker Hardegen, and anyone or anything called Broome."
Grace never liked to eat before making love. Afterward Harry lay in her bed, smoking a cigarette, listening to Glenn Miller on the gramophone and the clatter of Grace cooking in her tiny kitchen. She came back into the bedroom ten minutes later. She wore a robe, loosely tied at her slender waist, and carried a tray with their supper on it: soup and bread. Harry sat up against the headboard and Grace leaned against the footboard. The tray was between them. She handed him a bowl of the soup. It was nearly midnight and they both were starved. Harry loved to watch her--the way she seemed to take such pleasure from the simple meal. The way her robe parted to reveal her taut, perfect body.