The Unlikely Spy(113)

Silence, while she tells him there's no need to apologize.

"I missed you very much. I thought about you the entire time I was away."

Silence, while she tells him she missed him terribly and can't wait to see him again.

"I want to see you too. In fact, that's why I'm calling. I booked us a table at the Mirabelle. I hope you're free for lunch."

Silence, while she tells him that sounds wonderful.

"Good. I'll meet you there at one o'clock."

Silence, while she says she loves him very much.

"I love you too, darling."

Jordan was quiet when it was over. Vicary, watching him, was reminded of Karl Becker and the dark mood he slipped into whenever Vicary forced him to send a Double Cross message. They killed the rest of the morning with chess. Jordan played a precise mathematical match; Vicary engaged in deception and subterfuge. While they played they could hear the banter of the watchers and the clatter of the typists downstairs in the situation room. Jordan was beating Vicary badly so Vicary resigned.

At noon Jordan went to his room and dressed in his uniform. At twelve fifteen he walked out the rear door of the house and clambered into the back of a department van. Vicary and Harry settled into their places downstairs in the situation room while Jordan was driven at speed up Park Lane like a high-security prisoner. He was taken to a secluded rear door of SHAEF headquarters in Blackburn Street and went inside. For the next six minutes, no one from Vicary's team saw him.

Jordan emerged from the front entrance of SHAEF at 12:35. He walked across the square, a briefcase chained to his wrist, and vanished into another doorway. This time his absence was ten minutes. When he reappeared, the briefcase was gone. From Grosvenor Square he walked to South Audley Street and from South Audley Street to Curzon Street. During his journey he was quietly shadowed by three of the department's best watchers, Clive Roach, Tony Blair, and Leonard Reeves. None of them saw any signs that Jordan was under surveillance by the opposition.

At 12:55 Jordan arrived at the Mirabelle. He waited outside, just as Vicary had instructed him to do. At precisely one o'clock a taxi braked to a halt in front of the restaurant and a tall, attractive woman stepped into view. Ginger Bradshaw, the department's best surveillance photographer, was crouched in the back of a department van parked across the street; as Catherine Blake took Peter Jordan's hand and kissed his cheek, he quickly shot six photographs. The film was rushed back to West Halkin Street, and the prints were sitting in front of Vicary in the situation room by the time they had finished lunch.





When it was over Blair would say it was his fault; Reeves said no, it was his. Roach, being the senior man, took responsibility himself. All three agreed she was a cut above every other German agent they had ever followed: the best, bar none. And if they ever made a mistake, got too close, fingers would surely be burned.

After leaving the Mirabelle, Catherine and Peter walked together back to Grosvenor Square. They stopped on the southwest corner of the square and talked for two minutes. Ginger Bradshaw took several more photographs, including one of their very brief kiss good-bye. When Jordan walked away, Catherine flagged down a taxi and climbed inside. Blair, Roach, and Reeves jumped into the surveillance van and followed the taxi east to Regent Street. The taxi then headed north to Oxford Street, where Catherine paid off the cabbie and climbed out.

Later, Roach would call her stroll along Oxford Street the best demonstration of streetcraft he had ever seen. She paused in at least a half dozen storefronts. She doubled back twice, once so quickly that Blair had to dive into a cafe to get out of the way. At Tottenham Court Road she descended into the underground and purchased a ticket for Waterloo. Roach and Reeves both managed to get on the train with her--Roach, twenty feet away in the same car, Reeves in the next one. When the doors opened at Leicester Square she remained still, as if she were going to continue on; then suddenly she stood up and stepped onto the platform. Roach had to squeeze through the closing doors to stay with her. Reeves was stuck on the train; he was out of the game.

She melted into the crowd on the staircase and Roach lost her momentarily. When she reached street level she quickly crossed Charing Cross Road and took the stairs back into the Leicester Square Station.

Roach could have sworn he saw her climb onto a waiting bus, and for the rest of the afternoon he berated himself for making such a stupid mistake. He rushed across the street and jumped onto the bus as it pulled away from the curb. Ten seconds later he realized he had the wrong woman. He got off the bus at the next stop and telephoned Vicary at West Halkin Street to tell him she had given them the slip.





"Clive Roach has never lost a German agent before," Boothby said, glaring at the watch report that evening in his office. He looked up at Vicary. "The man could follow a gnat through Hampstead Heath."

"He's the best. She's just damned good."

"Look at this: a taxi, a long walk to check her tail, and then into the underground, where she buys a ticket for one station and gets out at another."

"She's extremely careful. That's why we've never caught on to her."

"There's another explanation, Alfred. It's possible she spotted the tail."

"I know. I've thought about that possibility."

"And if that's the case, the entire operation is blown even before it's started." Boothby tapped the thin metal attache case containing the first batch of Kettledrum material. "If she knows she's under surveillance and we give her this, we might as well publish the secret of the invasion in the Daily Mail under a bloody banner headline. They'll know they're being deceived. And if they know they're being deceived, they'll know the opposite is true."