Miller Caldwell - A Reluctant Spy

‘Portugal?’

‘Yes. You will remain there for the time being to receive messages from America. The air is clear, and so the transatlantic messages are too. You will be in touch with some of the American agents, with whom you have trained.’

‘Yes, of course. I got on well with them, particularly Nancy.’

‘Yes, I know. I received a very good report about your enthusiasm from Major Glauber. He was impressed with your ability to accomplish the rigorous training. I assure you, I have every confidence in you too.’

She was glad Eicke was so pleased with her. She wanted to appear to be eating out of his hand without him knowing she had the power, the intention and determination, to strike back.

‘Where will I be staying in Portugal?’ She took another mouthful of cake and waited to hear more about her new posting. However, that was not forthcoming yet. Eicke was getting his points across first.

‘You will receive messages from America sent in English. They have to be in English so as not to arouse any suspicion from the Yanks or British, should they intercept them. You will pass them on to the German High Command in Berlin as quickly as possible, after translating the text into German, of course. Here, this is their code and number.’ He handed her a slip of paper.

‘And will America enter the war, in your opinion?’

‘No. America won’t enter the war, they are too weary after the last one. Americans have no appetite for it. This is why this link is so useful. We do not have any foes in the USA – makes it a little easier. Now, you will have a small house at Peniche on the coast at Cape Carvoeiro. You will broadcast from there.’

‘I see. And what is my cover?’

‘You will say you inherited from your late father and decided to come to enjoy the better weather Portugal has to offer. You have decided to write a novel. That will mean many hours in your cottage, late nights with the cottage lights on, but you will not be writing novels of course. Late at night is the best time to transmit. Get to know some of the locals, eat their food and drink their wine. Try to learn some of their language if you can. They will all want to get to know you – make them feel you are becoming part of their community. Attract no attention to your real purpose, your radio activities. Moreover, make some notes about a book. You don’t have to write it.’

‘So, I am to be Hilda Campbell from today?’

‘Yes, Miss Campbell. You have your British pass?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then give me your German pass.’

She took a sip of cooling coffee and brushed some cake crumbs from her skirt, then opened her handbag, a little perplexed.

‘When I’m in Portugal, at the German High Commission, surely I should have a German pass to show them?’

‘No need. They know you are coming – you are expected. They will support you as much as they can.’

‘But won’t I need it when I return to Germany?’

‘When you return to Germany, we will arrange that.’

‘But how can I return, now war has been declared? I need to see Otto and my family.’

Eicke gave a lip-curving smile. He was pleased to answer her question and put her mind at ease. ‘A U-boat will be provided, or perhaps a light plane from Portugal. Or maybe we shall next meet in Britain?’ He laughed, but there was no humour in it. Hilda felt uncomfortable. ‘The options are numerous,’ he went on. ‘It depends what suits us.’

This made Hilda uneasy, especially since Eicke was staring at her in a way which suggested he was looking right through her soul. She looked him in the eye, and he turned away, embarrassed. A small victory, she thought, but one not to jeopardize the position she was in. She handed over her German pass, her passport too, as he had requested.

‘Can you assure me Karl and Renate will not be troubled while I’m away?’ she asked.

‘These are matters we need not concern ourselves about at present. You have a job to do, and I know you will do it well. Your wireless skills are good, and now you have met the team who will provide the information. Are you clear about what we expect?’

‘Very clear. I shall pass on the information promptly. But to Berlin, and not yourself?’ she asked, disappointed to have had no reply about her relatives.

Eicke reflected for a moment, taking out a cigarette from its silver case. It seemed she had discovered his Achilles heel; he did not enjoy relinquishing control, especially over someone he had brought on board himself.

‘For the time being our paths will separate, but your activities will be made known to me as we make greater strides against our enemies. I am very busy cleansing Hamburg of Jews. Incidentally, I have made quite an impact. Heydrich is very pleased with what I have achieved so far. Further promotion is in the air, he tells me,’ he said in a cloud of rising smoke.

A shiver ran through Hilda. She heard the sound of an aeroplane approach the landing strip and looked out of the window. It was not a large craft.

Eicke offered his hand. ‘I will not wish you good luck. I do not believe in luck. I believe in hard work, which provides results. You can do that, Hilda.’

They shook hands, and she held his as firmly as she could. He had placed his faith in her; her allegiance lay elsewhere, but he must not suspect a thing. She gathered her luggage. The heavier bag, the one with her oboe case in the bottom, sat upright on the floor. Eicke lifted it and they headed for the plane: a Henkel He 70 Mail aircraft. The propellers were still rotating as they approached. The pilot jumped down from his cockpit, and they all raised their arms and ‘Heiled’ in unison. But to Hilda’s relief, no German insignia was emblazoned on the tail or fuselage.

‘A moment please,’ the pilot said. He ran off to the hangar and its facilities, leaving her alone with Eicke again.

‘We are at war in Europe but Europe is not all at war,’ he said. ‘Portugal and Spain will remain neutral. Spain has had its struggles and is a broken country. The Portuguese people should welcome you in their midst after you have made friends with them. Take your time, be seen, and be liked.’

‘I ought to be grateful to be sent to Portugal in September. All that sun and sea – you should be envious,’ she replied. She smiled at him, but his face was not a picture of smiles.

‘It is because of the weather that we will get good signals from America. The quality of air is good, as I said. Don’t forget your duties.’

She turned towards the aircraft and lugged her bags on board.

‘Careful, do not break the radio,’ growled an indignant Eicke.

She turned round. ‘German fabricated. Solid as a rock. I’d be more concerned for my oboe, it’s English,’ she replied.

Eicke held her arm to support her as she mounted the steps into the aircraft.

‘Get that oboe of yours to play Beethoven, Bach and Schubert, none of that Mendelssohn nonsense. You hear?’ She raised her thumb, thinking, I shall play whatever I like, not what pleases you, Mein Herr.

The pilot arrived. ‘Welcome on board. I’m Werner Metzger. Sit right behind me.’

She made herself comfortable, and Werner closed the fuselage door. She waved to Eicke who raised his arm in another salute. She wondered when she would see him again – not that she planned to do so at all.

Werner explained that the route would be due south over the shin of northern Italy, then over the Mediterranean Sea, along the north African coast and north to Lisbon, where he would land.

She looked behind her seat and saw several mailbags. ‘Are you still able to run a postal service now the war has begun?’

‘Diplomatic bags. Maybe some addressed to you?’

‘I doubt it,’ she said, thinking they would have to get her name right for a start. She’d also just been given all the instructions she needed from Eicke.