Peter pushed through the barrier at the Consular Services office with several decoded messages. He sat down at his desk and looked up at Bridget, who had just put down the phone.
“Kramer’s dispatches are providing Berlin with the loads on those SKF shipments to Britain. I think they’ve spotted our supply weakness in ball bearings and may target BOAC flights.”
“I thought London had solved the problem,” Bridget said.
“They have a fast blockade runner, the Gay Viking, on route for Lysekil on the west coast.”
“The Gay Viking?” Bridget laughed. “What a funny name!”
“Yes, it is. They sailed last night into the Skagerrak (the strait between Norway and Denmark) and are scheduled to return to the Humber in two days with a full load. Let’s just hope they succeed.”
Bridget thought about Peter’s other life in the merchant marine and realized that he would know about ships and their speeds on the water. He would be at home on a ship like the Gay Viking. He wasn’t the typical English diplomat with a superior air who couldn’t hold a screwdriver.
“It’s a converted gunboat with a speed of 28 knots,” Peter noted, “so it should bring home a substantial load of ball bearings for the war effort.”
“But don’t the Germans have faster S-boats in the Skagerrak?”
“Yes, they do. The Schnellboots go up to 43 knots, ergo the night mission. How did it go with H?”
“At first she didn’t want to take the money,” Bridget said, “but Elsa convinced her.”
“Good.”
“She says K is off to Berlin next week and guess who he’s meeting in Berlin? Schellenberg and Schmidt.”
Peter raised an eyebrow at this revelation.
“How does she know this?” Peter asked.
“The names are in K’s agenda.”
“Well, isn’t that something? H is becoming an incredible asset, Bridget.”
“She’s very courageous. I don’t know how she gets up the courage to snoop in that drawer.”
“London thinks that the Abwehr is on its last legs. The Gestapo has it in for Canaris. Schellenberg may be trying to recruit K for his SD Ausland service.”
Suddenly, the door to the outer office swung open and Michael Tennant barged in with a copy of the Stockholms-Tidningen paper.
“Have you seen this?” Tennant said, grinning.
He showed Bridget and Peter the front page. Under the headline, ‘GESTAPO SPIES IN STOCKHOLM’, was Bernie’s photograph of the man on the roof.
“A marvellous prank,” Michael said.
“I never would have thought,” Peter laughed.“I sent it to Anders to see what he might do with it and he goes and puts it on the front page.”
“You sent it, Peter?” Bridget asked.
“Well, it wasn’t doing us any good sitting in a file in the basement, so I thought we might have a bit of fun with the Swedish authorities.”
“Well, we have that,” Michael said gleefully. “The director of the Säpo called the angry rabbit this morning. I hear they practically begged for Mallet’s forgiveness.”
“You’re pulling my leg?”
“No, it’s true. It looks like Berlin was outraged by the photograph, and the Swedish authorities are getting an earful.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Bridget added.
“The Säpo has promised to stop their surveillance of British Legation activities,” Michael said. “Mallet is overjoyed and I am hearing good things from London. Bye now.”
Michael waltzed out of the office with the newspaper.
“It’s quite astonishing. I don’t think Anders is the kind of chap to make a mistake like that,” Peter said.
“You think that he knew the identity of the man in the picture?”
“Of course he must have. He thought he could get more traction from the picture by allowing the mistaken identity and he was right.“
”He doesn’t look all that devious,” Bridget said.
“Oh, but he is. Anders is a very clever chap.”
Bernie and Peter were on their way to a second nightly meeting with the mysterious Colonel Saarson. They drove through the narrow streets of Gamla Stan, doubling back occasionally to check for tails. They arrived at the Turkish café and Peter crossed the road while Bernie remained in the car. It was dark in the street so Bernie pulled out his Webley MkIV revolver and laid it on the dash.
In the café, Peter sat down opposite the colonel in a dark corner and dropped an envelope on the table. He watched Saarson count the money.
“Mr Faye, this is not enough,” Saarson complained. “I gave you some very sensitive material. There are risks involved. Lives are at stake, as you say in English.”
“Look, Colonel, I sent the document to London, but they are not offering any more money. My superiors are highly sceptical of black market information. Give me better material and perhaps I can come up with more cash the next time.”
“I can get you anything you want, sir. Top-secret material, anything you like, but I need to pay my sources.”
“I understand,” Peter replied.
“Do you?” Saarson asked.
“Of course I do,” Peter said. “The best way to proceed with London is to keep improving on the quality, and they’ll pay handsomely. That’s all I can say. I am simply the messenger, but I’m sure you know how it works.”
Saarson was hoping for a big score but was clearly disappointed by the result. He stood up quickly, dropping coins on the table.
“OK, Mr Faye. We’ll do it your way. I’ll bring you better material, but I’ve got to go now.”
Saarson and Peter left the café, but Saarson quickly pulled Peter back inside. A car had just pulled up in the street. Two rough-looking men got out and headed towards the café. From across the street, Bernie saw the two men and started his car, slowly driving away.
Peter and Saarson left the café through the back door, which opened onto an alley. They ran down it to a side street just as Bernie caught up with them with the car. They jumped into the back of the Legation car and Bernie whisked them away.
“Crikey, that was a close call,” Bernie said. “Those two bully-boys are Russian.”
“How can you tell, Bernie?” Peter asked.
“From their faces and clothes, guv. They’re Ivans.”
“They’re NKVD,” Saarson said dolefully. “We must be very careful.”
Saarson said nothing else until they dropped him off at a street corner near the city centre.
“Good night, Mr Faye. Thanks for the ride. I will contact you again through the journalist in a week or two.”
“Good night, Colonel.”
Bernie drove away, heading back towards the British Legation.
“Why is the NKVD after Saarson, do you think, Bernie?”
“They like to beat up Baltic tossers. Finns, Estonians and their like. Throw them in the canals as sport.”