The Unlikely Spy(161)

Harry said, "All the major roads are sealed. They have to hit one of the roadblocks at some point."

"Maybe they're not coming this way after all. Maybe I've made a dreadful miscalculation. Maybe they went south from Hampton Sands. Maybe the signal to the U-boat was a ploy and they're heading to Ireland on a ferry."

"They're coming this way."

"Maybe they've gone to ground, called it off. Maybe they're holed up in another remote village, waiting for it all to blow over before they make their move."

"They've signaled the submarine. They have to go."

"They don't have to do anything. It's possible they've spotted the roadblocks and the extra police about and decided to wait. They can signal the submarine at the next opportunity and try again when things have quieted down."

"You're forgetting one thing. They don't have a radio."

"We think they don't have a radio. You took one from them, and Thomasson found a destroyed radio in Hampton Sands. But we don't know for certain they don't have a third."

"We don't know anything for certain, Alfred. We make educated guesses."

Vicary paced, looking at the telephone, thinking, Ring, dammit, ring!

Desperate to do something, he picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him to the Submarine Tracking Room in London. Arthur Braithwaite, when he finally came on the line, sounded like he was inside a torpedo tube.

Vicary asked, "Anything, Commander?"

"I've spoken with the Royal Navy and the local coastguard. The Royal Navy is moving a pair of corvettes into the area as we speak--numbers 745 and 128. They'll be off Spurn Head within the hour and will commence search operations immediately. The coastguard is handling things closer to shore. The RAF is putting up planes at first light."

"When is that?"

"Around seven a.m. Maybe a little later because of the dense cloud cover."

"That may be too late."

"It won't do them any good to go up before then. They need light to see. They'd be as good as blind if they went up now. There is some good news. We expect a break in the weather shortly before dawn. The cloud cover will remain, but the rain is expected to ease and the winds diminish. That will make it easier to conduct search operations."

"I'm not sure that's such good news after all. We were counting on the storm to bottle up the coast. And better weather will make it easier for the agents and the U-boat to operate as well."

"Point well taken."

"Instruct the Royal Navy and the RAF to conduct the search as discreetly as possible. I know it sounds far-fetched, but try to make it all look routine. And tell everyone to mind what they say on their radios. The Germans listen to us too. I'm sorry I can't be more forthcoming, Commander Braithwaite."

"I understand. I'll pass it up the line."

"Thank you."

"And try to relax, Major Vicary. If your spies try to reach that submarine tonight, we'll stop them."





Police constables Gardner and Sullivan pedaled side by side through the dark streets of Louth, Gardner big, buff, and middle-aged, Sullivan thin and fit and barely twenty years old. Chief Superintendent Lockwood had ordered them to ride to a roadblock just south of the village and relieve two of the constables there. Gardner complained as he cycled. "Why do London's criminals always manage to end up here in the middle of a rainstorm, would you tell me that?" Sullivan was thoroughly excited. This was his first big manhunt. It was also the first time he had carried a weapon while on duty--a thirty-year-old bolt-action rifle from the weapons room at the station was slung over his shoulder.

Five minutes later they arrived at the junction where the roadblock was supposed to be. The place was deserted. Gardner stood, legs astride the frame of his bike. Sullivan laid down his bike, broke out his torch, and shone it over the area. First he saw the tire marks, then the shattered glass.

Sullivan shouted, "Over here! Quick!"

Gardner climbed off his bike and pushed it over to where Sullivan was standing.

"Christ Almighty!"

"Look at the tracks. Two vehicles, the one they were driving and ours. When they turned around, the tires were muddied on the apron of the road. They've left us a nice set of tracks to follow."

"Aye. You see where they lead. I'll ride back to the station and alert Lockwood. And for heaven's sake, be careful."





Sullivan pedaled along the road, holding his torch in one hand, watching the tracks gradually fade away. One hundred yards after leaving the site of the roadblock, the trail was gone. Sullivan rode for another quarter mile, looking for any sign of the police van.

He rode a little farther and then spotted another set of tire tracks. These were different. The tracks became more clear and defined the farther he pedaled. The vehicle that made them had obviously come from the other direction.

He followed the tracks to their point of origin and found the small path leading into the trees. He turned his torch down the path and saw the pair of fresh tire tracks. He turned the beam horizontally down the tunnel of trees, but the light was not powerful enough to penetrate the darkness. He looked at the track--too rutted and muddy to handle his bike. He climbed off, leaned the bike against a tree, and started walking.