Dominion

Chapter Fifty-Five

GUNTHER WALKED STEADILY along the path that led from Brighton to Rottingdean, under the high chalk cliffs. His shoes, rubber-soled like those of Syme walking behind him and the SS man Kollwitz ahead, barely made a sound on the concrete path. They walked in silence as close as possible to the cliff itself, in case any Resistance people were watching the sea from the cliffs above. All wore heavy dark coats, thick black roll-neck sweaters, black gloves and balaclavas. They had blackened their faces, too, with charcoal. Kollwitz, one of the four SS men accompanying the operation and a veteran of covert actions in Russia, said it could make all the difference in an ambush. Three other SS men were approaching Rottingdean from the other side, where the under-cliff walk continued on eastwards: Kapp, who had assisted with Drax’s interrogation, Hauser from the basement, and Borsig, another veteran of Special Operations in Russia and like Kollwitz attached to SS Intelligence at the embassy. The two groups would meet at Rottingdean Gap, where there was a small pebbled beach connected to the village above by a path.

It was bitterly cold, a light but knife-like breeze blowing off the Channel. The tide was coming in, quietly and gently, for the sea was dead calm. In the moonlight Gunther could see the little white wavelets where the surf broke, not far below the path. A half-moon was high in a starry black sky, casting a long silver reflection on the sea. He remembered Michael talking about swimming in the Black Sea, how beautiful the shore looked with the mountains in the distance. He stumbled for a moment, catching his foot on a lump of chalk that had fallen from the cliff face. Syme reached out and grasped his arm in a firm grip, helping him right himself.

Gunther nodded his thanks. He swore inwardly; he should have been more careful. He was conscious of how much less fit he was than the other two men, how flabby.

They had spent the morning poring over maps in Gessler’s office, assisted by a Special Branch man from Sussex, another of Syme’s valuable connections. The man knew nothing except that the Branch were working with the Germans to intercept someone the Germans wanted and who would be in Rottingdean that night. The man had mentioned that Special Branch had their own concerns just now; since news of Hitler’s death there had been several near-riots in the Jewish detention camps, and police everywhere had been put on standby in case help was needed. Along with Gunther, Syme and the Special Branch man the four SS men Gessler had chosen for the operation had also been present. Two of them Gunther had not met before; Kollwitz was a young man in his late twenties, attached to SS Intelligence at the embassy. He had a youthful, strangely unmarked face, blond hair and blank light-blue eyes. His colleague Borsig was also attached to Intelligence. He had a square, hard face with dark hair and heavy brows above eyes as sharp as a cat’s. Kapp, the eager youngster who had been at Drax’s interrogation, quick and lithe, had served in the East; Hauser, the officer in charge of the basement, was older and heavier, but still a strong, solid presence. All four were utterly loyal to the SS. Like Gunther, they wore suits for the meeting so as not to spook Syme’s Special Branch contact, though they looked uncomfortable in them. Gessler alone wore his usual black uniform and cap. As embassy staff, the Germans all spoke good English.

Syme’s colleague told them Rottingdean was small, little more than a village. Because it lay in a gap between the cliffs it had been an ancient haunt of smugglers. The Resistance were not strong there, the local people kept themselves to themselves. There was some tourist trade in the summer but the place would be very quiet on a cold December night. The local police had been told a Special Branch operation would be taking place on the beach and that they were to stay well away, even if shots were fired. However, by taking the cliff path Gunther’s party need not actually go into Rottingdean at all. They could walk along from Brighton while the other three approached from the opposite direction.

Gessler thanked the Special Branch man and he left. The others gathered round the map. The Resistance people would probably have watchers on the cliffs along the coast, looking out over the Channel to spot any unusual activity on the sea, but they would have no reason to believe the Germans would be waiting for the fugitives on the beach. Gessler told them that according to the radio intercepts, a fisherman would meet Muncaster’s party in the village and take them down to the beach, where a boat lay ready; they would then row out to sea to meet the submarine. They would have to walk from the village down a broad asphalt path to a short promenade, then down to the little pebbly beach. Gunther and Syme and the SS men would have to find cover and hide themselves on the promenade or the beach so that when Muncaster’s party came down at half past midnight they could rush them, take them by surprise.

Kollwitz asked, ‘There will only be one boatman with them? There won’t be other Resistance people there, or waiting on the beach?’

‘No. That’s clear from the radio intercepts,’ Gessler replied with satisfaction. ‘What few local people the Resistance have will be watching along the cliff tops. But go carefully, just in case they change their plans.’

Kollwitz asked, ‘Is six of us enough?’

‘You’re the only experienced men we can spare.’

‘We are expecting six of them for the submarine, yes?’ Borsig asked. ‘Two Resistance agents and three civilians – a man, a woman and this lunatic? And the fisherman makes six.’ He shrugged. ‘Easy.’

‘Yes.’ Gessler’s voice took on a note of bullying humour. ‘One for each of you. I think you should be able to handle them.’

‘The two Resistance people are handy,’ Syme cautioned. ‘I ran across them in the raid in London. A man and woman. But the others, yes, they’re civilians.’

‘The civil servant, Fitzgerald, when I met him at the Dominions Office he looked fit,’ Gunther said. ‘And he was in the 1940 war.’

‘They’ll have guns,’ Kollwitz observed. ‘The Resistance pair certainly, perhaps Fitzgerald and the fisherman too.’

Gunther nodded agreement. ‘Not Fitzgerald’s wife, though, I think, she’s one of these English pacifists.’ Kapp gave a grunt of contemptuous dismissal. ‘And not Muncaster.’

‘Lunatics can be strong,’ Borsig observed.

‘Not this one,’ Syme said. ‘I’ve met him. He’s a little pipsqueak, afraid of his own shadow.’

Gunther looked round the SS men. ‘But remember, he is the one that matters. Berlin wants him alive. It might be useful to have the Resistance people as well, but the all others are of secondary importance.’

Gessler stirred in his chair. ‘They may have suicide pills, so taking them by surprise is crucial. Securing their arms at once is very important. Get there early and choose a good spot. There’ll be some moonlight, the weather forecast says it’ll be a clear night.’

Gunther looked at Syme. ‘You said it’s a pebble beach?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it would be good to hide there if we can; we’re bound to hear them coming.’

Kollwitz nodded. ‘That is sound thinking. We’ve no idea where they are at this moment?’

Gunther shook his head. ‘It could be anywhere within easy reach of the Sussex coast. Rottingdean beach at half past midnight is the only place we’re sure they’ll be.’

Hauser smiled, punching a meaty fist into his other hand. ‘It’ll be like the old days in Russia. Stealing up on their Resistance groups.’

Kollwitz looked round the others. ‘How are you on firearms?’

‘I practise regularly on the range,’ Hauser replied complacently. ‘So does Comrade Kapp; I’ve seen him.’

Gunther said, ‘I practise in Berlin, too.’ Though not, he thought, as regularly as he should.

Syme said, smugly, ‘I’ve got prizes from my firearms courses.’

Gunther summed up: ‘So, we jump them, make sure they’re disarmed and remove any suicide pills they have. If you fire on them, shoot to wound if possible. And we all use English, so everyone understands.’ He inclined his head at Syme.

‘Sturmbannführer Hoth is in charge,’ Gessler said. ‘He knows these people better than anyone, you obey all his orders. And remember, we want Muncaster alive.’ He tapped a finger on his desk for emphasis. ‘That’s more important than anything. That order comes directly from Deputy Reichsführer Heydrich.’ He leaned across the desk and reached out a hand to Gunther. Gunther shook it. Gessler’s eyes were full of triumphant emotion. ‘Good luck, Hoth,’ he said. ‘And thank you.’

They travelled to Brighton after dark. During the day a light wind had got up in London and the fog, at last, was dispersing. As they drove out of the city in two cars, Gunther saw the streets illuminated properly for the first time in days. All the buildings shone with damp, windows and the tops of parked cars smeared with grey dirty grease. In many places women were out with buckets and mops, cleaning windows and steps. Even the icy puddles in the gutters looked dirty. By contrast the shop windows were full of Christmas decorations, fake white snow round their edges. Already a newspaper stand carried the legend: Great London Smog Ends.

With the fog gone they made good time. Soon they were out in the Surrey countryside. The car containing the three SS men who were to approach Rottingdean from the east took a turning towards Newhaven. There were two more cars waiting in a lane just outside Rottingdean, ready to pick them and the prisoners up later.

Gunther sat next to Syme in the back. Kollwitz drove. His blond hair was cropped and shaved a third of the way up his neck in the SS style; Gunther saw he had a spot coming. Beside him, Syme was cheerful. ‘They’re talking about that new job for me,’ he told Gunther. ‘We’re going to have a new, nationwide police intelligence service. MI5 are going to be integrated with us. About time. They’ll scream like fuckin’ stuck pigs but we uncovered the bleeding Civil Service spy ring for them.’ The Cockney accent was strong again, perhaps a sign of underlying stress in Syme, as the moment of truth approached. Gunther himself felt quite cool. Syme went on, ‘Looks like I could get promotion to superintendent, as well as a posting up North.’ He smiled, tapping the fingers of one hand up and down on his knee.

‘Well done.’ But remembering the discussion with Gessler earlier, Gunther found it difficult to meet Syme’s eye.

‘You’ll have to come back and visit me,’ Syme continued. ‘Tell you what, come over see the Coronation in the summer. How’s that?’

‘Yes,’ Gunther said. ‘Perhaps.’ Syme, for all his sharpness in other ways, had no idea that Gunther had always disliked him. Or perhaps he just didn’t care.

They stepped from the cliff path out onto the promenade; it was small, less than a hundred yards long and perhaps two hundred and fifty wide. There were no lights, only the half-moon to guide them, but their eyes were accustomed to the dark now and they saw the promenade was deserted. On the landward side there was a high concrete wall, and behind that a little grassed area sloped gently up to a large building they had been told was the White Horse Hotel. There were no lights on there. Gunther saw there was a gap in the concrete wall where a steep paved path, perhaps a hundred yards long, led up to the coast road. On the other side of the path was another concrete wall and beyond that the cliffs began again, startlingly white.

Steps led down from the promenade to the beach, a strand of pebbles. Nearby a high stone groyne sloped gently down into the sea. In the dark lee of the groyne, a tiny light flashed three times. A pencil torch. It was the prearranged signal; the other three SS men were already there. Gunther sighed with relief.

Gunther, Syme and Kollwitz walked down the steps onto the beach. The big round pebbles scrunched beneath their feet; there was no way of avoiding the noise. Borsig and Hauser and Kapp stepped away from the groyne to meet them. They were also dressed in heavy black camouflage. Kapp smiled, a brief flash of white teeth – he was enjoying this. ‘Heil Hitler,’ he said quietly. In Berlin, Goebbels had just commanded that Hitler’s name was to continue to be used as the National Greeting for all time. Nonetheless, Kollwitz added quietly, ‘And Heil Himmler.’

‘All quiet?’ Gunther asked.

‘Yes. We walked along the path from Saltdean. When we got out of the car we saw a woman with a dog walking along the cliffs, looking out to sea. Probably Resistance. But she wouldn’t see or hear us on that Undercliff path. We’ve been here half an hour; no sign of anyone.’

‘Too cold for lovers,’ Kapp murmured.

Gunther nodded. Nobody in their senses would come here on this bitter night. He shivered in the breeze from the sea, a little stronger here. The tide was well in, the thin line of gently hissing white surf surprisingly close. He glanced at his watch. Five past eleven.

Syme was also looking out to sea. He said, ‘Any chance the sub could see us from out there?’

‘They’re a mile out,’ Kollwitz answered. ‘I’d guess all they can see of this through a periscope is the dark gap in the cliffs. Besides, if they did see us take Muncaster’s people they’d cut and run, they wouldn’t want to cause a major diplomatic incident.’

Borsig said, ‘We’ve found something. Come and look at this.’

He led them down the side of the groyne. Near the surf they saw a large, humped shape, covered with a heavy grey tarpaulin. Borsig and Kapp lifted the cover; underneath was an upturned rowing boat. ‘That’s big enough for six. There are oars underneath. This is the boat they’re going to use,’ Kapp said, triumphantly.

‘Yes.’ Gunther looked back up the beach, to the path where the British party would descend onto the noisy pebbles.

Borsig said, ‘If three of us get under the boat, and the other three crouch down behind it under the tarpaulin, between the boat and the groyne, when they arrive they’ll walk right into our hands.’

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.