Andrew Williams - The Interrogator

‘Douglas Lindsay.’ He held her hand firmly in his for a moment.

Winn was fiddling impatiently with one of the pencils on Mary’s desk, clearly itching to extricate himself: ‘Lindsay’s going to take you through some of the things he’s wrung from the crew of the U-500 . One of the prisoners — the engineer — claims they can dive deeper than we thought possible — below six hundred and fifty feet.’

Without waiting for a reply, Winn turned back to his little glass office, leaving Lindsay standing awkwardly at Mary’s desk.

‘I don’t suppose Rodger offered you tea?’

‘No but no thank you.’

She watched him struggle like an ungainly spider into a chair that was uncomfortably close to the desk. Glancing up in some confusion, he caught her smile.

‘You’re enjoying my discomfort, Dr Henderson,’ he said in mock outrage, delivered with a twinkle in the primmest of prim west-of-Scotland accents. ‘I’m glad to have been of some service.’

She laughed: ‘Great service. Rodger seems impressed with your report.’

‘It’s not Rodger I need to impress,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘Our own submarine people refuse to believe us and if they don’t, the Admiralty staff certainly won’t.’ He held her gaze for an uncomfortable, unblinking moment, then glanced down at his hands: ‘Perhaps you’re wondering why the Navy bothers with interrogators if it doesn’t trust them to distinguish fact from fiction. I’ve asked myself the question every day for the last four months.’

‘My brother works for Section 11 too.’

‘Henderson?’ Lindsay shook his head a little: ‘How foolish of me — Lieutenant-Commander Henderson.’

Mary nodded. Her brother had joined Naval Intelligence a few weeks before the outbreak of war. Everyone in the family had been surprised. Their father was a gentleman farmer, prosperous, conservative, but with a keen armchair interest in the world. He was encouraged by Mary’s mother to educate them well but with James it had been, a struggle. They were not close. He was only four years older than Mary but paternalistic, insufferably so, with conventional views on women and work. And yet, remarkably, he had mentioned her name to the Director’s Assistant, Ian Fleming, and that had secured her the position in the Division.

Lindsay reached down to his briefcase and took out a red cardboard file marked ‘ U-500 .’ Placing it on the edge of Mary’s desk, he opened it to reveal a sheaf of closely typed flimsies.

‘The commander, Kapitänleutnant Fischer, was quite a decent sort, although his officers thought he was too familiar with the men — drank with them, enjoyed the same brothels, that sort of thing. There was a propaganda reporter on board but I haven’t had a chance to question him yet. The other officers were Nazis, an ignorant bunch with no knowledge of history or literature. They were insulted when I asked them if they were religious…’

Mary leant forward as if to touch Lindsay’s sleeve: ‘Why were they insulted?’

‘They are devout Deutschgläubig — German-believers. Their creed is pure blood, strong leadership — immeasurably superior to faith in a God they call a “Jewish Jehovah”.’

‘Do you ever meet prisoners who are just ordinary Christians?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Lindsay, glancing at his watch. ‘I can tell you more, but perhaps some other time.’

It sounded a little like a brush-off. Mary flushed with embarrassment. She eased back into her chair, twisting her body towards the desk and away from him: ‘I’m sorry, curiosity — it’s just that the enemy is not much more than a name and number here.’

She glanced up at Lindsay and was surprised by his playful smile. ‘No, I’m glad you’re interested and I would be happy to talk to you about the prisoners in a little more detail, if you think it would be useful. There are a few sketchy observations here.’ He rested his hand on the cardboard file. ‘But this is just the crew of the U-500 .’

Mary nodded: ‘I can’t get anything from my brother, he just grumbles about them.’

Lindsay frowned and was on the point of saying something but must have thought better of it. Instead he pulled out another file from his briefcase. This one was stamped in red, Very Secret’.

‘These are SR reports, Speech Recordings taken in the last couple of weeks at our Interrogation Centre at Cockfosters.’

‘You’ve been secretly recording the prisoners?’ she asked.

‘The interesting ones. It’s a laborious process, you have to change recording discs every six minutes or so.’

‘And they don’t suspect?’

‘They were warned not to say anything but they forget after a time. They can’t help themselves, they’re anxious so they talk. You know — ‘What did he ask you?’ Lindsay smiled a small tight-lipped smile: ‘I’m just glad we don’t have to beat it out of them.’

‘Could you?’

‘No.’

He began to leaf through the SR reports, drawing to her attention details of U-boat sailings, new commanders and ships attacked. It was routine intelligence, nothing that set Mary’s blood racing, nothing that seemed ‘Very Secret’. After a quarter of an hour he closed the file and slipped it back on the desk. One flimsy was still lying across his knees. Mary caught his eye again but this time he looked away. She watched him play with the edge of the paper, lifting it and letting it fall.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ she said at last, ‘I’ll work my way through your file and…’

But Lindsay cut across her: ‘There is one more thing.’ He picked up the sheet on his knee. ‘Commander Winn was rather cool about it,’ he shifted awkwardly in his chair as if embarrassed at the recollection, ‘but I think it’s important. Unser B-Dienst ist unterrichtet . I’m sorry, do you speak German?’

‘Not enough.’

‘B-Dienst — the B-Service — is responsible for the Kriegsmarine’s signals intelligence, code-breaking, that sort of thing.’

‘I know.’

‘We’re under strict orders not to discuss signals and codes with the prisoners, but look at this.’ Lindsay handed her the sheet of paper. It was the transcript of a conversation between three wireless operators. Prisoners 495 and 514 were from a U-boat sunk in January, but the third man was one of the wireless operators on the U-500 — prisoner 530.

Prisoner 495:We heard on the radio that the convoy had sailed on the 5 thand was probably to the south of our area. It is really amazing how well organised our ‘B-Service’ is, what it seems to know.

Prisoner 514:It was the same on my last U-boat.

Prisoner 530:Our B-men know everything. They know when the English convoys sail and when they arrive for sure. They’re very clever. They know how many ships are in the convoy and the number of escort destroyers.

Mary read it again and then for a third time. She could sense that Lindsay was watching her carefully and he wanted her to be impressed. She was impressed. A few short sentences but it might be something of real importance. Of course, it was just one prisoner and only a petty officer. Perhaps it was idle talk or a ruse de guerre .

Lindsay’s chair screeched as he pulled it closer and their knees touched.

‘You don’t need to worry about people here, you know,’ she said, blushing a little. ‘They’re all cleared to read this stuff.’

‘It’s just that I’m not sure Commander Winn wanted me to mention it to you.’

‘No? Why?’

Lindsay brushed the question aside: ‘You can see what this means.’

He was leaning forward, his blue eyes bright with excitement, almost childlike. Mary was conscious of how close he had pulled his chair, really too close. A tiny charge of excitement tingled from her neck to her toes. The proper thing would be to restore a businesslike distance but instead she pretended to study the transcript on her knee.