Andrew Williams - The Interrogator

‘It was my duty. My crew.’

Lindsay stepped from the track and walked to where Mohr was squatting by the rotten stump. Mohr looked up at him, then slowly got to his feet:

‘Here, a present. You’ll like it. Trust me,’ and he leant forward a little, offering Lindsay the fungi.

‘An important Staff officer returns to his boat…’

‘Important?’

‘…in the meantime the 112 has acquired two new wireless operators. Almost no one else has been replaced, only the wireless operators. And these two men speak English. Why?’

Mohr was standing only a few feet from Lindsay, the fungi still in his arms, his face set, expressionless, unblinking.

‘I’ll tell you then, shall I?’ said Lindsay. He sounded much more assured than he felt.

‘It was a special mission and it was important to have a senior commander, an experienced commander. Was it you or Dönitz who thought of the idea?’

Mohr was still looking at him, quite impassive, silent. Lindsay continued:

‘It’s only a detail. The plan was devised by the Staff. It was considered promising enough to justify sending one of Dönitz’s most trusted officers back to sea, with all the risks that entailed — you might be taken prisoner…’

Mohr gave a small tight-lipped smile.

‘…and you were given two of the Navy’s best wireless operators — one from the merchant cruiser Pinguin . Did her captain make a fuss about losing one of his best men? I bet he did. But of course this was a special mission.’

Lindsay paused for a moment and, turning from Mohr, walked a few feet away, head bent in thought. He stopped to lean against the grey trunk of a beech tree and began prodding the carpet of leaves and husks with his shoe. He could sense that Mohr was watching him closely, waiting patiently, quite unruffled. It was warm, the sky a cloudless blue and almost nothing stirred in the wood; even the canopy above them was still.

‘The thing is, Kapitän, I am worried, very worried,’ and Lindsay turned to look at him again as if to offer proof of sincerity. ‘You see, I haven’t spoken to your wireless operators. My colleague, the Jewish one, he’s spoken to them and he’s convinced they’re spies, that you were going to land them and they were to report on shipping in and out of Freetown.’

Mohr bent down and placed the fungi at his feet. When he lifted his head to look at Lindsay again there was a small but disconcerting smile on his face.

‘I don’t agree, in fact I’m convinced it’s nonsense,’ said Lindsay.

‘Ha! Jews!’ Mohr shook his head theatrically.

‘You don’t believe me? You don’t think we make mistakes? What touching faith you have in us. We’ve hanged at least five men in the last six months. I’m certain one of them was innocent.’

‘And I’m certain you did your best to save him.’

Lindsay ignored the scepticism in Mohr’s voice: ‘No. He could and should have proved his innocence. Things are not what they were. We’re fighting for survival. You’ve taken tea with the First Sea Lord. I’m sure he was impressed, but if I shoot you, here, now, would he care? Of course not. The Red Cross would be told, “Shot while trying to escape.” It’s the same with your wireless operators. When people open their newspapers at breakfast they will read of two more spies hanged at Wandsworth Prison and they will say, “Thank God for our intelligence people”.’

‘And you want me to help you prove they’re not spies by telling you what?’ asked Mohr.

‘I want you to tell me what they were doing.’

Mohr shook his head slowly as if incredulous that Lindsay should think him so naive.

‘I know they’re innocent, I know why they were there,’ said Lindsay. ‘You needed English-speaking wireless operators so you could intercept and decode our signals.’

Mohr glanced down and for just an instant Lindsay saw a heavy frown cloud his face, but the timbre of his voice when he spoke was as steady and confident as ever: ‘That’s what the Americans call a hunch. Not a good one. Not even your Jewish friend seems to believe you. Perhaps he doesn’t trust you?’

‘Don’t you want to help your men?’

‘Of course,’ said Mohr with a short barking laugh. ‘Of course, I understand. None of your comrades trust you.’

He was so pleased with himself that he did not notice he was trampling the fungi he had placed at the bottom of the rotten trunk. ‘They don’t trust you because they think you’re German,’ he said in English. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You’re German.’

‘No.’

They walked on in silence until they reached the crest of the hill where the ride forked west towards Sassoon’s obelisk. Through the trees they could see the house below them and a small group of prisoners kicking a football about on the lawn by the lake.

‘My men,’ muttered Mohr.

Beyond the Park the quiet ordered streets of Cockfosters and Southgate were lost in a summer haze. At the edge of the wood Lindsay stopped. The other arm of the ride led down the hill across the old golf course to the lake; it would take them just twenty minutes to walk back to the house.

‘How long have you been reading our signals for?’ he asked Mohr suddenly.

‘Are you still trying to break me?’

‘How long have you been reading our signals for — more than six months, less?’

Mohr did not reply.

‘More than six months?’ said Lindsay forcefully. ‘More or less?’

‘You must have a low opinion of me.’

‘Some of my colleagues are more direct. They might use other methods.’

Mohr laughed harshly: ‘No walks in the park?’

‘I am very, very serious. It would be better for you to answer. More or less?’

‘I know…’

‘More or less?’

‘I know your cousin Martin…’

Lindsay tensed a little. So he knew; well, there was nothing more to say. He had been half expecting something of the sort. It was awkward but in a way it changed nothing. He was not going to persuade Mohr to talk to him. But he knew he was right, right about the codes, quite sure.

‘There’s a certain something, an expression you share. And Martin often spoke of a cousin in the Royal Navy reserve. You were close, weren’t you?’ There was a discreet but unmistakable look of satisfaction on Mohr’s face: ‘Martin laughed about it, a small joke. He would laugh now if he could see us here together. What a coincidence.’

Lindsay wondered if he should refuse to listen, but it was too late and he had to admit he was curious.

‘We shared a mess for a time. The U-bootwaffe was very small before the war, as I’m sure you know. Martin is a good officer.’

Lindsay nodded.

‘But you, Lieutenant, you could have been fighting alongside us.’

‘No.’

Mohr smiled.

They walked on in silence again and were soon at the lake. It was lunch-time and small groups of uniformed Staff were talking and smoking on the north terrace. As they approached, Charlie Samuels stepped from the shadow beneath it and began scurrying across the lawn to meet them. ‘I’m to take the commander back, Douglas. The Colonel is waiting for you in his office.’ His forehead was wrinkled with anxiety.

‘Fine,’ said Lindsay airily. He was conscious that Mohr was following their exchange. He nodded curtly to him: ‘Goodbye, Herr Kapitän.’

‘Goodbye, Lieutenant. I hope we meet again soon.’ Mohr turned to speak to Samuels, ‘The Lieutenant and I have so much in common…’ Samuels looked surprised. To Lindsay’s great relief Mohr made no effort to explain.

‘Good luck, Douglas,’ said Samuels. Lindsay guessed that the words ‘You’ll need it’ were on the tip of his tongue.