Eye of the Needle(82)

“None whatsoever, sir,” Godliman said.

“You think he’s got away?”

“We chased him to Aberdeen. It’s almost certain that he left there two nights ago in a stolen boat—presumably for a rendezvous in the North Sea. However, he can’t have been far out of port when the storm blew up. He may have met the U-boat before the storm hit, but it’s unlikely. In all probability he drowned. I’m sorry we can’t offer more definite information—”

“So am I,” Churchill said, and suddenly he seemed angry, though not with Godliman. He got out of his chair and went over to the clock on the wall, staring as if mesmerized at the inscription, Victoria R.I., Ministry of Works, 1889. Then as if he had forgotten that Godliman was there, he began to pace up and down alongside the table, muttering to himself. Godliman was able to make out the words, and what he heard astonished him. The great man was mumbling: “This stocky figure, with a slight stoop, striding up and down, suddenly unconscious of any presence beyond his own thoughts…” It was as if Churchill were acting out a Hollywood screenplay that he wrote as he went along.

The performance ended as abruptly as it had begun, and if the man knew he had been behaving eccentrically, he gave no sign of it. He sat down, handed Godliman a sheet of paper and said, “This is the German order of battle as of last week.”

Godliman read:



Russian front:

122 infantry divisions





25 panzer divisions





17 miscellaneous divisions



Italy & Balkans:

37 infantry divisions





9 panzer divisions





4 miscellaneous divisions



Western front:

64 infantry divisions





12 panzer divisions





12 miscellaneous divisions



Germany:

3 infantry divisions





1 panzer division





4 miscellaneous divisions





Churchill said: “Of those twelve panzer divisions in the west, only one is actually on the Normandy coast. The great SS divisions, Das Reich and Adolf Hitler, are at Toulouse and Brussels respectively and show no signs of moving. What does all this tell you, professor?”

“Our deception and cover plans seem to have been successful,” Godliman answered, and realized the trust Churchill had placed in him. Until this moment, Normandy had never been mentioned to him, not by his uncle Colonel Terry or anybody else, though he had deduced as much, knowing as he did about the artificial buildup aimed at Calais. Of course, he still did not know the date of the invasion—D-Day—and was grateful that he did not.

“Totally successful,” Churchill said. “They are confused and uncertain, and their best guesses about our intentions are wildly wrong. And yet”—he paused for effect—“and yet, despite all that…” He picked up another piece of paper from the table and read it aloud. “‘Our chances of holding the beachhead, particularly after the Germans get their buildup, are only fifty-fifty.’”

He put his cigar down, and his voice became quite soft. “It has taken the total military and industrial might of the whole English-speaking world—the greatest civilization since the Roman Empire—four years to win this fifty-fifty chance. If this spy gets out, we lose even that. Which is to say, we lose everything.”

He stared at Godliman for a moment, then picked up his pen with a frail white hand. “Don’t bring me probabilities, professor. Bring me Die Nadel.”

He looked down and began to write. After a moment Godliman got up and quietly left the room.





27




CIGARETTE TOBACCO BURNS AT 800 DEGREES CENTIGRADE. However, the coal at the end of the cigarette is normally surrounded by a thin layer of ash. To cause a burn, the cigarette has to be pressed against the skin for the better part of a second—a glancing touch will hardly be felt. This applies even to the eyes; blinking is the fastest involuntary reaction of the human body. Only amateurs throw cigarettes, and David Rose was an amateur—a thoroughly frustrated and action-starved amateur. Professionals ignore them.

Faber ignored the lighted cigarette that David Rose threw at him. He was right, because the cigarette glanced off his forehead and fell to the metal floor of the jeep. He made a grab for David’s gun, which was an error. He should, he instantly realized, have drawn out his stiletto and stabbed David: David might have shot him first but David had never before pointed a gun at a human being, let alone killed somebody, so he would almost certainly have hesitated and in that moment Faber could have killed him. Faber decided he could blame his recent lapse into humanity for such intolerable miscalculation. It would be his last.

David had both hands on the midsection of the gun—left hand on the barrel, right hand around the breech—and had pulled the weapon about six inches from its rack when Faber got a one-handed grip on the muzzle. David tugged the gun toward himself, but for a moment Faber’s grasp held the gun pointed at the windshield.

Faber was a strong man, but David was exceptionally strong. His shoulders, arms and wrists had moved his body and his wheelchair for four years, and the muscles had become abnormally developed. Furthermore he had both hands on the gun in front of him, and Faber was holding on with one hand at an awkward angle. David tugged again, more determinedly this time, and the muzzle slipped from Faber’s grasp.