As the tall, flat-chested woman came towards Gregory, he noticed subconsciously that the clothes she was wearing had once been good but were baggy from long use and that she had a generally uncared-for appearance. That fitted with the theory that she had been hurriedly released from a concentration camp. Suddenly, he realised that he was staring at her with apprehension. Swiftly he strove to compose his features and adjust his thoughts to this perilous situation.
Everything he had meant to say to her must remain unsaid. Instead, he must do his utmost to convince her that he really was an officer on leave, interested only in fishing. In making use of a Jewess the Germans, as was so frequently the case, had underestimated the intelligence of their enemy; but, even alerted as he was to his danger, how could he at such short notice explain his having said that he had come from Sweden, or give an account of his recent activities which could not immediately be checked up and found to be false? And, even if he could succeed in fooling her, for the Nazis to have sent her there meant that they must have seen his letter. That made it certain that Gestapo men in plain clothes were among the people at the nearby tables, covertly watching him, ready to pounce instantly should he attempt to bolt for it.
Knowing that his only hope lay in keeping his head, he succeeded in acting normally. Coming to his feet he clicked his heels and bowed sharply from the waist in the approved German manner, rapping out as he did so the one word ‘Bodenstein’.
Searching his face with her large eyes, which were grey and unsmiling, she extended her hand. He took and kissed it, murmuring, ‘Frau von Altern, it is a pleasure to meet you; and most gracious of you to enliven a lonely soldier’s leave by coming to take lunch with him.’
‘That we have mutual friends is quite sufficient,’ she replied. ‘It is in any case a duty to do anything one can to make our men’s leave enjoyable. But you looked quite surprised at seeing me.’
Her voice was deep and she spoke German with a heavy accent, so Gregory was able to say, ‘It was your appearance that took me by surprise. I—well, I had not expected you to be a foreigner.’
‘How strange,’ she remarked as she sat down in the chair he was holding for her, ‘that our friends did not tell you that I am Turkish by birth. I married Ulrich von Altern when he was at the Embassy in Ankara. Perhaps, then, you also do not know that my beloved husband was killed six months ago on the Russian front.’
That von Altern was out of the way for good, so could not become a complication, was good news for Gregory, but he hardly gave that a thought so great was his relief at the earlier part of her statement. For a German while stationed in Turkey to have married a Turkish woman was in no way abnormal. Her Near-Eastern origin explained her features and their semi-Asiatic cast made her in Western Europe easily mistakable for a Jewess. Since she was not, there was no longer any reason to suppose that she had been planted on him by the Gestapo. Freed from his fears, he swiftly recovered himself, beckoned over the old, lame waiter and asked her what she would like to drink.
With quick, nervous gestures she fished a cigarette out of her bag, lit it and ordered Branntwein—an unusual drink before lunch—but Gregory made no comment and, as the waiter limped away, sought to make a new appraisal of her. At closer quarters he judged her to be in her middle thirties. She wore no make-up and her skin was sallow, merging into almost black shadows beneath her fine grey eyes. An untidy wisp of hair protruding from under her scarf now showed him that it was red. He decided that as a girl, when her nose would have been less fleshy, she must have been good-looking, but lines running from her nose and about her mouth now furrowed her features.
Although relieved of his sudden fear that he had fallen into a trap, he was still on delicate ground; for he had yet to make certain that it was she who had sent the information about Peenemünde to Sweden. So, having commiserated with her on her husband’s death, he went on cautiously, ‘It is not for us to question the Führer’s wisdom, but one cannot help feeling that the sacrifices he demands have become almost unbearable.’
‘You are right, Herr Major,’ she agreed bitterly. ‘Had my husband been killed while marching against France that would have been one thing; but for him to have died last winter in the snows of Russia is quite another. In Mein Kampf the Führer declared that never again should the German people be called on to fight a war on two fronts, and in that he betrayed them.’
To declare that Hitler had betrayed his people was a very dangerous thing to do, particularly when speaking to a person one had only just met; so Gregory assumed that she was giving him a cue and replied:
‘Hitler having gone into Russia before he finished with Britain can end only in our defeat. Personally, I take the view that anyone who now does what he can to thwart the Nazis, so that war may be brought to an end before Germany is utterly ruined, would be acting in the best interests of our country.’
His words amounted to unequivocal treason, and S.O.E.’s briefing was not always reliable. If, after all, she was not the source from which they had received information, and her outburst had been caused only by resentment at the loss of her husband, she might quite well denounce him.
The forged papers he carried were adequate for all ordinary purposes, but the identity he had assumed could not stand up to investigation. German thoroughness in keeping records would soon disclose that there was no such person as Major Helmuth Bodenstein. If she turned him over to the police his mission would be at an end before it had properly begun. But he had known that sooner or later in their conversation, if he were to get anywhere with her he must offer her a lead and take the risk that he had been misinformed about her. Having made his gamble, with his heart beating a shade faster, he waited for her reaction.
For a moment her grey eyes remained inscrutable, then she said in a low voice, ‘I was right then in assuming that you did not wish to meet me only to enquire about fishing?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. There are other matters of interest up here in Pomerania about which I am hoping you may be able to tell me.’
At that moment the waiter brought her drink. She swallowed half of it at a gulp, then asked, ‘Such as?’
‘Such as that about which some weeks ago you sent a report by a Polish officer to Sweden.’
She gave a little gasp and looked round nervously. ‘How … how do you know about that?’
‘Through a certain Embassy.’
‘In your letter you mentioned having friends in the Turkish Embassy, but it could not have been through them?’
‘No. I put that in only to act as cover for both of us should my letter have fallen into wrong hands.’
Fumbling for another cigarette she lit it from the one she was smoking; then her voice came in a whisper, ‘You are, then, a British agent?’
Gregory nodded. ‘Yes, I have been sent here specially to contact you and ask your help in securing more exact particulars about these, er, long cigars.’
With a swift movement she gulped down the rest of her brandy, then she said, ‘Can I have another? I must have time to think.’
Catching the waiter’s eye, Gregory pointed at their empty glasses. Turning back to her, he said very quietly, ‘In this our interests are mutual. You cannot wish the war to go on until millions more Germans are killed on the battlefields or blown to pieces in their homes by bombs; and I, naturally, am most anxious to prevent millions of British men, women and children from being obliterated by these ghastly secret weapons. If the two countries make it a fight to the finish there will be nothing worth having left to either side. Hitler has made his great gamble and lost it, but for this one thing. If you and I can prevent his using it peace will come while both nations will be little worse situated than they were in 1918 and a few years should bring full recovery to them both. It is a choice of that or destruction so terrible that those of us who are left will be living like pariah dogs in the ruins for decades to come.’
‘I know it,’ she murmured, ‘but to secure this information you seek would be extremely difficult and entail great risks.’
‘Naturally. But I have considerable experience in such matters; and, as far as risks are concerned, it will be for me to take the major ones. All I ask of you is to give me any lead you can and, if possible, provide a base from which I and the companion I have brought with me, who is posing as my soldier servant, can get to work.’
Her second brandy arrived at that moment. Taking it eagerly, she again drank half of it, then she said, ‘I should like to help you, but I cannot give you an immediate answer. I must first consult my father.’
He gave her his friendliest smile. ‘Thank you. How soon can you do that?’
‘Petrol is precious. Having come in here I must not lose the opportunity to make a round of the shops for cigarettes. But if my father agrees, the sooner you leave Grimmen the better; so immediately I get back to Sassen I will speak to him then telephone to you.’
She finished her second drink and they went in to lunch. Over the meal, he learned that the von Altern estate covered several thousand acres. Before the war it had been farmed by her husband’s cousin. When he had been called up she had taken over and still ran it with the assistance of one of the tenant farmers. It meant a lot of hard work, but had its compensations, as it enabled them to live very much better than people in the towns and cities.
Gregory tried to draw her out about herself, but she proved very reticent. All he could get out of her was that she had married von Altern during his first year in Turkey as Military Attaché, that to her great regret they had had no children and that her father, who was a doctor, had come to live with her at Sassen soon after the war broke out. For the remainder of the time they talked about the war situation, but exercised care not to express any opinions which, if overheard by anyone at the nearby tables, would draw unwelcome attention to them.
Shortly after two o’clock Gregory escorted his tall, somewhat untidy-looking guest to the entrance to the hotel and bowed her away.
At first he had been at a loss to decide what had attracted a Prussian aristocrat like von Altern, who also must have been a Nazi, to her; for she was both a non-Aryan and, he felt convinced, had had only a middle-class upbringing. But while sitting opposite her at lunch he felt still more certain that when a younger woman she must have been decidedly attractive.
During the meal she had eaten little but had chain-smoked all through it and, although he had offered her wine, she had stuck to brandy, even drowning her ersatz coffee in it; so he thought it probable that grief for her husband’s death had caused her to take to drink. If so, that would account for the deterioration in her looks and her scruffy appearance. That she had proved intensely serious and had shown not a trace of humour gave him no concern, for he knew it to be safer to work with such a woman than one who was inclined to be light-minded and flirtatious; but he could have wished that she had a more pleasant personality.
Sending for Kuporovitch, he told him the situation and that he had better not leave the hotel that afternoon; then he settled himself in the lounge with his book to await Frau von Altern’s telephone call.
She did not ring up till past five, but what she said was entirely satisfactory. ‘My father is quite angry with me for not having asked you out here at once. He says it is unthinkable that we should leave an old friend of my husband’s at an hotel and that you must spend as much of your leave with us as you would care to. Later we will make plans for you to get some fishing. Please be ready with your servant at half past six and I will come in to Grimmen to pick you up.’
Gregory politely protested that he did not wish to be a bother to them but accepted for a night or two anyway; then rang off. Kuporovitch was summoned and they went upstairs to pack. Now that they had a third suitcase Kuporovitch was able to put his few things in one while Gregory retained the other and that which contained the wireless transmitter. By twenty past six Gregory had paid their bill and they were standing on the steps of the hotel with the suitcases beside them.
They were not kept waiting long. As Frau von Altern brought the farm truck to a halt Gregory stepped forward, saluted, bowed and, indicating Kuporovitch with a negligent wave of his hand, said, ‘This is my servant, Janos Sabinov. He is a Ruthenian, but speaks enough German to make himself understood.’
The Russian made an awkward bow, murmured, ‘Küss die hand, gnädige Frau,’ put the suitcases into the back of the truck and scrambled in after them. Gregory climbed in beside the driver and they set off.
As soon as they were clear of the town and had entered a winding lane that ran between broad, flat fields, his companion said to him, ‘I must now tell you something more about us. My husband’s cousin, Willi von Altern, who ran the estate before the war, returned in the autumn of 1940. During the invasion of France he was blown up by a shell and seriously injured. He lost a leg and, although he was fitted with a false one, so can now get about quite well, he is no longer capable of running the place because his mind was also affected. We make use of him for simple tasks, but his memory is quite unreliable. He was never particularly well disposed towards me and my father and if his brain were still capable of taking in our sentiments I think he would betray us. But, fortunately, there is little danger of that.’
‘All the same, I will say nothing of our business in front of him, just in case he might repeat it,’ Gregory commented.
‘Such caution is wise,’ she replied. ‘We, too, observe it. We are also careful in front of the farm hands and servants. They are peasants and I believe all of them to be loyal to the family. But, like most Germans, they still look on Hitler as a god; so to criticise him in front of them would be dangerous. I am thinking now more of your companion than yourself, as he will have to mix with them.’
‘You may rest easy about him. Janos and I have done this sort of thing before, and both of us know that by failing to guard our tongues we would risk our necks.’
‘It is a great comfort to me that you should be so experienced,’ she sighed. Then, after a slight hesitation, she went on, ‘Lastly, there is Herr Hermann Hauff. He does not live with us but he comes frequently to the Manor. On his own account he farms one of the largest properties on the estate, but he also acts as our bailiff and handles matters for me that I would find difficulty in dealing with myself. He is shrewd and ambitious. He was among the first in this part of the country to join the Partei; so has for long been the chairman of the local Committee in Sassen and holds the rank of Sturmbahnführer in the S.S. He is also a member of the area committee at Greifswald. Most of these Nazi officials make their Party work a full-time job, but to produce as much food as possible has been so important since the war that he was encouraged also to continue as a farmer. Having such an influential Nazi in our employ is a great asset to us. To him we owe it that we get top prices for our produce, a much bigger allotment of fertilisers than we are entitled to for our acreage and in winter of cake for our cattle; also he sees to it that no investigation is ever made into the amount of meat, butter, eggs and so on that we keep for our own use.’
‘What a friend to have in these times,’ Gregory remarked drily. ‘And does he do all this simply out of devotion to the memory of your late husband?’
‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘He does it because he hopes to marry me.’
‘Then I congratulate you on your conquest.’ There was no trace of sarcasm in Gregory’s voice, but she immediately took him up:
‘Were I as I was half a dozen years ago you might have some reason for supposing that I had made a conquest, but you surely cannot think that I now have any illusions about my looks? Herman wants me for his wife only because that would make him master of Sassen.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Gregory murmured. ‘In that case, the situation must be awkward for you.’
‘Not at the moment. Fortunately, he has a wife already. But it would become so should he succeed in getting rid of her.’
‘Could he do so legally, or do you mean …?’
She nodded. ‘His wife is an invalid, so more or less at his mercy. Habit has made these local Party chiefs like Hauff completely unscrupulous. They think nothing of having Jews and people against whom they have a grudge beaten up so savagely that they die from their injuries. Anyone who holds life so cheap is capable of hastening the death of an unwanted wife.’
‘That’s true. But you told me your father is a doctor, and presumably in a small place like Sassen there is no other; so he attends Frau Hauff. Surely he would become aware of it if Hauff gave his wife an overdose, or something of that kind. And even Nazis cannot murder their wives with impunity.’
‘My father is not a general practitioner. He is something of a recluse and goes out only twice a week to hold a clinic in the village. For that he is much respected because he is a very able physician and treats everyone who comes to the clinic free of charge. But he never visits patients unless called on in an emergency.’
They fell silent for a few minutes, then she said, ‘You must do your best to gain Hauff’s good will. Flatter him and imply that you have important friends in Berlin who might further his career if you put in a good word for him. In doing that lies your best hope of finding out what you want to know. Like most of these Nazi officials he is very vain and likes to make out that he is more important than he really is. That leads him to become boastful and, at times when he has had a good drop to drink, indiscreet. Everyone about here has known for years that there was an experimental station at Peenemünde, and more recently that there has been a great increase in the activity there. But the area is very closely guarded; so hardly anyone knows what the scientists are working on, and it was from Hauff that I learned about the rockets.’
‘I’ll certainly do as you suggest,’ Gregory agreed, ‘and, as I have met both Goering and Ribbentrop, I should have no difficulty in leading Herr Hauff to believe that they are good friends of mine.’
Ten minutes later they entered Sassen and, having driven through it, turned into a courtyard flanked by the backs of tall barns, at the far side of which stood the manor house. It was a large, two-storey building about a hundred and fifty years old and typical of the homes of the Prussian Junker families.
Leading the way into a low hall, on the wooden panels of which hung a number of motheaten stags’ heads and foxes’ masks, Frau von Altern rang a brass hand bell. An old, bald-headed servant answered her summons and she said to him:
‘Friedrich, here is our guest, Herr Major Bodenstein, about whom I spoke to you. His servant will take his bags up to his room. Show him the way and to the room he is to occupy himself, then take him down to the kitchen quarters.’
The old man shuffled away, followed by Kuporovitch, while she took Gregory into a long, low living room. The furniture was German Victorian and hideous. Evidently aware of that, his hostess remarked, ‘As my husband was an Army officer he came here only for the shooting, so he would never spend any money on the place, but I hope you will not find your bed too uncomfortable.’ As she spoke, she opened a pinewood chiffonier and added, ‘We have just time for a drink before the evening meal.’
The choice was limited to Branntwein, schnapps and parsnip wine, so Gregory chose the brandy and water. His hostess had only just poured the drinks when a tall, flaxen-haired man of about thirty-five limped into the room. He was a strong-limbed fellow and had the ‘barber’s-block’ good looks so often seen in the Teutonic male, but they were sadly marred by a terrible scar high up across his forehead.
Gregory guessed at once that he must be Willi von Altern and when they had been introduced the German said slowly, ‘A friend of my cousin’s? No, I do not remember you. But you are welcome.’
His pale blue eyes then wandered to his cousin’s wife. Screwing up his face he stared at her for a minute with a puzzled expression then, evidently remembering why he had come into the room, he exclaimed in a sudden burst of anger:
‘Khurrem, your drinking always makes you late for meals. To keep them waiting is not right. They have had a long day’s work and are hungry. Come now!’
Frau von Altern merely shrugged her thin shoulders; but she tossed off her drink, waited for a moment until Gregory had hastily swallowed his, then led the way through a long corridor, in which the walls were stained with damp, to a barn-like hall with a timber roof at the back of the house. In it about a dozen women, three elderly men and a few young boys were standing on either side of a very long, solidly built table. Their mistress took her place at its head, with Gregory and Willi on either side of her, and said a brief grace; then, except for some of the younger women who scurried into the adjacent kitchen to return with steaming dishes of food, they all sat down.
Gregory had been aware that at large farms in the more sparsely populated parts of Europe some families who had lived on them for generations still followed the ancient custom of feeding with their farm servants, and he noticed with interest that an empty space of several feet had been left between himself and the nearest labourer; for it was there that in mediaeval times would have reposed the dish of salt. Kuporovitch, of course, was below it, but had placed himself between two fresh-complexioned, if bovine, land girls.
The food was plain but good and plentiful; the dishes with the best pieces being offered first at the top of the table. Willi filled his plate high with masses of meat and vegetables and gorged himself throughout the meal in silence. Khurrem von Altern barely touched her food but carried on a desultory conversation with Gregory about crops and the farm problems with which she was called on to deal.
He later learned that her first name was Turkish for ‘Joyous’, but few appellations could have been less suited to her. In the present company she seemed particularly out of place, as she never even smiled, whereas at the other end of the table the clatter of knives and forks was constantly punctuated by giggles at some farmyard jest and bursts of uninhibited laughter. With the exception of Gregory, too, everyone else at the table was a Nordic, so Khurrem’s dark-complexioned face contrasted strangely with the apple cheeks, blue eyes and corn-coloured hair of the other women. Had she had black hair the contrast would have been even more strongly marked. That it was red Gregory put down to her having had a Circassian mother, but that in no way disguised the fact that she was an Asiatic.
When they had finished eating, Willi bade them an abrupt ‘Good night’ and went up to bed. Khurrem apologised to Gregory that time had not allowed her to suggest that he might like a wash before the meal, then took him upstairs and showed him first an eighteen-foot-square bathroom which had an ancient bath in one corner, in another an unlit wood stove and in a third a small basin; then, some way down a gloomy corridor, the room he was to sleep in. There she left him.
The furniture was in keeping with that downstairs, the principal item being a big, brass-headed double bed having only one blanket but two huge, square, down-filled cushions—such as were commonly seen in German houses in the last century—taking the place of an eiderdown. Dubiously he explored it to find, as he had expected, that instead of a spring mattress it had only a thin one of horsehair and below that a criss-cross of thin iron bands.
Kuporovitch had already unpacked for him, so, having made certain that the suitcase containing the wireless was still locked, he collected his sponge bag and walked along to the bathroom for a cold wash. Twenty minutes later he went downstairs and joined Khurrem in the long, low sitting room.
She had started a gramophone and was listening to a Beethoven symphony; so without remark he sat down opposite her. Once again she had a glass in her hand and by this time any normal woman must have shown signs of the amount of brandy she had drunk. That she did not he put down to the probability that she was an habitual ‘soak’.
He thought it a little strange that, having consulted her father before agreeing to receive himself and Kuporovitch at Sassen, she had not yet presented them to him. But as she had said that the doctor was something of a recluse that would account for his taking his meals in solitude rather than in the communal dining hall; and it might be that he spent his evenings in study, so was averse to being disturbed.
For the moment Gregory was amply satisfied with the progress he had made. To have spent a night at the Königin Augusta in Grimmen without arousing the least suspicion that they had entered Germany clandestinely, to have successfully made the most promising contact in the area that S.O.E. could suggest and found her willing to co-operate, to be established already as a welcome guest in the home of a deceased Prussian aristocrat and have a lead to a Nazi official who must know quite a bit about what was going on at Peenemünde, was considerably more than he could have reasonably hoped for in so short a time; so, as the shadows fell, he settled down to listen to the records Khurrem put on until it should be time to go to bed.
But his experiences for that day were not yet over. Soon after darkness had fallen Khurrem suddenly got up, switched off the gramophone, stood as though listening for a moment, then said, ‘My father now wishes to see you and your companion.’
Without waiting for him to reply she went out into the hall, rang the hand bell for the old houseman and sent him to fetch Kuporovitch. Immediately the Russian joined them she threw open the front door and beckoned them to follow her. As they crossed the courtyard she satisfied their curiosity at her having left the house by saying:
‘We have not far to go; only a few hundred yards up the road to the old Castle in which the von Alterns lived before they built the Manor. The greater part of it is now a ruin. But my father likes solitude so we made a few rooms in it habitable for him and he is looked after there by his own servant.’
The moon had not yet risen, but, as they advanced, they saw a little way off the road, silhouetted against the night sky, the jagged outline of a crumbling tower and below it a huddle of uneven roofs. Leaving the road, they followed a winding path through some tall bushes until they came out into a small clearing adjacent to one side of the ruin. The light was just sufficient for them to make out a low, arched doorway mid-way between two arrow slits. Stepping up to it, Khurrem grasped an iron bell-pull and jerked it down. A bell jangled hollowly somewhere inside the ancient ruin. Almost at once the heavy door swung open and a swarthy hunchback of uncertain age silently ushered them in.
Without exchanging a word with him she led them down a dimly-lit stone-flagged passage and opened another heavy door on the right at its end. Momentarily they were dazzled, for the room into which they followed her was brightly lit by a big, solitary, incandescent mantle which, from its faint hissing, appeared to be powered by some form of gas.
The burner stood on a large desk in the middle of the room. Behind it a man was sitting, but the bright light prevented his visitors from making out his features until he stood up and came forward. They then saw that he was tall and gaunt, looked to be in his late fifties and had a marked resemblance to Khurrem; but his hair was black flecked with grey, his nose more hooked but thinner, his complexion darker and his full mouth more sensual. His eyes were black and slightly hooded, but his smile was pleasant as Khurrem said, ‘Herren, this is my father, Dr. Ibrahim Malacou.’
‘Major Bodenstein.’ The doctor held out his hand to Gregory. ‘I congratulate you on your safe arrival here. In our unhappy country it is a great joy to welcome men like yourself and your friend Mr. Sabinov who have the courage to come to our assistance in outwitting the evil men in whose hands Germany’s future now lies.’
When he had also shaken hands with Kuporovitch, and Gregory had made a suitable reply, he motioned them to chairs, then went on, ‘My daughter has told me that our report about the experimental work at Peenemünde reached those for whom it was intended and that as a result you have been sent to secure more detailed particulars. That will not be easy; but in your endeavours I hope to aid you. Although I live mainly as a recluse I have certain means which are not at the disposal of others by which I can smooth your path. For one thing I have a far larger-scale map of the areas in which you are interested than any you can possibly have seen and a careful study of it will certainly repay you.’
As Dr. Malacou finished speaking he stood up and, turning, pointed to the wall behind him. Gregory had already noticed that, whereas the two sides of the room were lined with shelves of old books, the far one was blank except for two large maps. While Khurrem remained seated, Gregory and Kuporovitch joined her father in front of the maps as he went on:
‘That on the left is of the von Altern property; the one on the right delineates the northern half of the island of Usedom. On it you will see marked the fords by which the creek separating it from the mainland can be crossed at low water. One moment, though. I will adjust the light so that you can see better.’
While they remained standing within a foot of the wall he stepped back behind them. Next moment his voice rang out sharp and imperative.
‘Do not move! I have you covered. Put your hands up above your heads. I have dealt with spies before, so I shall not hesitate to shoot if you disobey me. Khurrem, they are certain to be armed. Relieve them of the temptation to play us any tricks by depriving them of their weapons.’