Eye of the Needle(108)
At last she smiled at him, and he felt the warmth. “You’re very kind,” she said.
She stood up and carried her child out of the house.
“Kind?” Bloggs muttered to himself. “God, what a woman.”
He went upstairs to the radio and tuned it to the Royal Observer Corps frequency.
“Storm Island calling, over.”
“Come in, Storm Island.”
“Patch me through to London.”
“Hold on.” There as a long pause, then a familiar voice. “Godliman.”
“Percy. We caught the…smuggler. He’s dead.”
“Marvelous, marvelous.” There was an undisguised triumph in Godliman’s voice. “Did he manage to contact his partner?”
“Almost certainly not.”
“Well done, well done!”
“Don’t congratulate me,” Bloggs said. “By the time I got here it was all over, bar the tidying up.”
“Who…?”
“The woman.”
“Well, I’m damned. What’s she like?”
Bloggs grinned. “She’s a hero, Percy.”
And Godliman, smiling on his end now too, understood.
38
HITLER STOOD AT THE PANORAMIC WINDOW, LOOKING out at the mountains. He wore his dove-grey uniform, and he looked tired and depressed. He had called his physician during the night.
Admiral Puttkamer saluted and said good morning.
Hitler turned and peered closely at his aide-de-camp. Those beady eyes never failed to unnerve Puttkamer. “Was Die Nadel picked up?”
“No. There was some trouble at the rendezvous—the English police were chasing smugglers. It appears Die Nadel was not there anyway. He sent a wireless message a few minutes ago.” He offered a sheet of paper.
Hitler took it from him, put on his spectacles, and began to read:
YOUR RENDEZVOUS INSECURE YOU CUNTS I AM WOUNDED AND TRANSMITTING LEFT HANDED FIRST UNITED STATES ARMY GROUP ASSEMBLED EAST ANGLIA UNDER PATTON ORDER OF BATTLE AS FOLLOWS TWENTY ONE INFANTRY DIVISIONS FIVE ARMORED DIVISIONS APPROXIMATELY FIVE THOUSAND AIRCRAFT PLUS REQUISITE TROOPSHIPS IN THE WASH FUSAG WILL ATTACK CALAIS JUNE FIFTEENTH REGARDS TO WILLI
Hitler handed the message back to Puttkamer and sighed. “So it’s Calais, after all.”
“Can we be sure of this man?” the aide asked.
“Absolutely.” Hitler turned and walked across the room to a chair. His movements were stiff and he seemed in pain. “He is a loyal German. I know him. I know his family—”
“But your instinct—”
“Ach…I said I would trust this man’s report, and I shall.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Tell Rommel and Rundstedt they can’t have their panzers. And send in that damned doctor.”
Puttkamer saluted again and went out to relay the orders.
Epilogue
WHEN GERMANY DEFEATED ENGLAND IN THE QUARTER-FINAL of the 1970 World Cup soccer tournament, grandpa was furious.
He sat in front of the color television set and muttered through his beard at the screen. “Cunning!” he told the assorted experts who were now dissecting the game. “Cunning and stealth! That’s the way to defeat the damned Germans.”
He would not be mollified until his grandchildren arrived. Jo’s white Jaguar drew up on the drive of the modest three-bedroom house, and then Jo himself, prosperous-looking in a suede jacket, along with his wife Ann and their children went in.
Jo said, “Did you watch the football, pop?”
“Terrible, we were rubbish.” Since he’d retired from the Force and had more leisure time he had taken an interest in sports.
“The Germans were better,” Jo said. “They play good football. We can’t win it every time—”
“Don’t talk to me about bloody Germans. Cunning and stealth, that’s the way to beat them.” He addressed the grandson on his lap. “That’s the way we beat them in the war, Davy—we tricked them proper.”
“How did you trick them?” Davy asked.
“Well, see, we made them think—” his voice became low and conspiratorial, and the little boy giggled in anticipation—“we made them think we were going to attack Calais—”
“That’s in France, not Germany—”
Ann shushed him. “Let your grandpa tell his stories.”
“Anyway,” grandpa continued, “we made them think we were going to attack Calais, so they put all their tanks and soldiers there.” He used a cushion to represent France, an ashtray for the Germans, and a penknife for the Allies. “But we attacked Normandy, and there was nobody much there but old Rommel and a few popguns—”
“Didn’t they find out about the trick?” David asked.
“They nearly did. In fact, there was one spy who did find out.”
“What happened to him?”
“We killed him before he could tell.”
“Did you kill him, grandpa?”
“No, your grandma did.”
Grandma came in then, carrying a teapot. “Fred Bloggs, are you frightening the children?”