‘Well, he certainly didn’t look like that when we saw him,’ Sergeant Green said.
The photos from the journalist’s camera were spread out across the table in the conference room back at the Station Z offices. The three photographs that Blithe had held back till last were arranged together off to one side of the others.
Leo Davenport picked up one of the pictures, examining it closely. ‘And these were developed in the normal way?’
Miss Manners nodded. ‘Mr Blithe assures us that’s exactly how they were taken.’
‘The film was still in the camera and no one’s tampered with it,’ Sarah said.
‘Curious,’ Leo said.
‘That’s one word for it,’ Green agreed.
Leo put the photo back down with the others. Each of them showed a general view of the reception J.D. Sumner had held. At the edge of one of the photos, Sarah herself appeared – half in and half out of the shot.
The common factor was that each of the three pictures showed the Ubermensch. In one, he was half hidden behind several other people at the back of the room. In the second he was visible between a waiter and one of the guests. In the third shot, the Ubermensch was off to one side, but very much in the foreground.
And in all three pictures, it was clear that the man wasn’t human.
The clothes the creature was wearing looked normal enough. But in place of hands and head, there was a web-like network of interconnected lines, as if these areas had been scribbled over by a small child.
‘Some sort of nervous system, do you think?’ Miss Manners said.
‘Or the fungus stuff that seems to replace the internal structure of the body,’ Davenport said.
‘But I don’t understand why he looks like that here in the photos when we saw him as a normal human being,’ Green said.
‘Maybe it’s to do with the way film works,’ Sarah suggested. ‘I don’t really know much about it, but isn’t it to do with light levels?’
‘It is,’ Miss Manners said. ‘Perhaps the infected skin reflects light into the camera lens in a different way from other solid objects.’
‘Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,’ Leo said quietly. ‘Hamlet,’ he added for anyone who was interested. ‘There is another explanation. Well, probably several, but one that springs to mind.’
‘Oh?’ Sarah prompted.
‘I assume your photographer used a flash gun?’
‘You think this is due to exposure to the flash?’ Miss Manners asked.
‘Anyone close by would be blinded for a split second. The split second in which the Ubermensch was visible in this form. Well, as I say, it’s just a possibility.’
‘The important thing is we have a way of recognising them,’ Green pointed out. ‘We should tell the colonel.’
‘He’s rather out of touch at the moment,’ Miss Manners pointed out. ‘But it’s certainly worth telling Elizabeth Archer. She may have some ideas.’
‘Hang about,’ Green said. ‘She’s got the body of one of these things in her collection.’
‘It’s badly damaged, almost charcoal the way it was burned,’ Leo said.
‘Even so, it might be worth taking its picture,’ Green said. ‘See how it turns out. With and without a flashgun.’
‘Dr Wiles might have some ideas too,’ Sarah said.
‘I’ll phone Bletchley,’ Miss Manners said.
‘Good idea,’ Leo agreed. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to arrange to send a telegram. A friend of mine got married a few days ago, and I need him to know that my invitation never turned up.’
‘Perhaps you weren’t sent one,’ Sarah said.
‘Oh I’m sure I wasn’t. And I couldn’t have gone anyway as it was in America.’
Green laughed. ‘You mean Cary Grant?’ The actor’s marriage to Barbara Hutton had made most of the papers.
‘I do indeed,’ Leo said. ‘Seems only right and proper to send my congratulations to the happy couple.’
‘Hasn’t Cary Grant become an American citizen now too?’ Sarah asked.
‘He has. But with all due respect, my dear, I don’t feel that is quite such a cause for congratulation.’
* * *
Dr Wiles was intrigued by Miss Manners’ description of the pictures when she phoned him. She promised to send up a set of prints for Wiles to see.
‘Not really that clued up on photography,’ Wiles confessed. ‘But Douglas dabbles a bit, I gather. He may have some thoughts. Send them up marked for my attention and Debbie can make sure they get to us.’
‘Her name is Eleanor,’ Miss Manners pointed out.
‘Whose name?’
‘Your assistant.’
‘What, Eleanor? Well, of course it is. What are you talking about?’
‘I sometimes wonder,’ Miss Manners muttered.
‘Actually, I had a note to contact you today anyway,’ Wiles went on. There was a pause, and Miss Manners could hear the sound of papers being shuffled. ‘Yes, here it is. “Call them,” it says.’
‘Does it say what about?’ she asked with enforced patience.
‘Oh, doesn’t need to, I know. It’s about Crete.’
Miss Manners leaned forward at her desk, telephone receiver pressed tight to her ear. ‘What about Crete?’
‘I know the colonel’s interested in Crete, he asked me if we had any data about the island.’
‘And did you?’
‘Not that I haven’t already passed on, which is mainly to do with UDT tracking. But that’s because it isn’t somewhere we were really watching. Well, I’m sure someone is, but we weren’t, if you see what I mean. Anyway, I made arrangements for us to receive any unusual communications data from the area. The first batch came in yesterday. We’re still analysing it, but recently there’s been a lot of radio traffic that the Y Stations put down to interference or bad reception.’
‘UDT transmissions?’ Miss Manners guessed.
‘Almost certainly,’ Wiles confirmed. ‘Quite a lot of activity. We’re going back through whatever we can find in the historical data to see when it started. Don’t know yet, I’m afraid. It might have been going on for years, of course.’
‘Thank you. Let us know if you discover anything more.’
‘There was some Ultra traffic that was passed to me this morning. Not sure if that’s any use, but it seems that Colonel Brinkman isn’t the only one interested in Crete.’
‘There’s a large German occupying force there, we know that. Over thirty thousand men, I believe. Not surprising given the strategic importance of the island.’
‘This was a movement order, or news of one,’ Wiles said. ‘Probably nothing, but apparently there’s a team from the Ahnenerbe heading for Crete. Whoever they are.’
Miss Manners frowned. She knew exactly who they were. ‘The Ahnenerbe are part of the SS now. It’s a group Himmler set up to look into ancient history and establish the Aryan origins of the German race.’
‘Ancient history,’ Wiles echoed. ‘That can’t be a coincidence.’
‘No,’ agreed Miss Manners. ‘We have to warn Colonel Brinkman he may have company in Crete.’
‘And how will you do that?’ Wiles wondered.
‘I have no idea,’ she confessed. ‘But I need to come up with something fast.’
* * *
A possible answer arrived that afternoon in the form of David Alban. He perched himself half sitting on the edge of Miss Manners’ desk, smiling at her glare of disapproval.
‘I’m not stopping,’ he promised. ‘Just wanted to let you know that my colleagues at SOE tell me Brinkman and Pentecross arrived safely in Crete. Well,’ he qualified, ‘perhaps “safely” is an exaggeration.’
Sarah had looked up from her desk at the mention of Guy’s name. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘Are they all right?’
‘They are now,’ Alban assured her. ‘But there was a storm. They lost their kit in the sea. Lost their guide too, apparently, poor blighter. But they’ve met up with their contact, and signalled on his scheduled radio transmission.’
‘So we can get in touch with them?’ Miss Manners said. ‘There’s a few things we have to pass on.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ll tell you in a minute. There are some photographs you need to see.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Alban said. ‘But getting the information to Brinkman won’t be as easy as that, I’m afraid. Radio contact is infrequent and unreliable. Tell you what, though, the colonel asked for some replacement equipment. SOE agreed to send a plane in to make a drop in a couple of days. There’s just about time to get a letter across to Cairo and have them include that with the gear.’
‘A letter may not be the best way to communicate this,’ Miss Manners said. She peered over the top of her glasses at Sarah, on the other side of the room. ‘But I think, with your help, we can arrange something a little more appropriate and a lot more useful.’
Alban smiled. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting,’ Miss Manners said, ‘that I find where Leo Davenport has got to, while Miss Diamond works out a flight plan.’
Alban nodded. ‘I’ll talk to SOE. They won’t like it, of course. But that always makes for a more satisfying conversation. I’ll be in touch directly.’ He paused at Sarah’s desk on the way out. ‘Bring me back an olive, would you? I’m rather partial to olives. Especially in a good Martini.’