Andrew Taylor - The Second Midnight

Hugh nodded; what puzzled him was his tutor’s uncharacteristic vehemence.

A few hours later he discovered the answer. Madame Hase had dined with the Kendalls at the Palacky. She was in a confidential mood after the better part of a bottle of wine and several brandies. Hugh was puzzling his way through an illustrated magazine when he heard his tutor’s name.

‘You would not believe that Spiegel was once a friend of President Masaryk, would you?’ Madame Hase was saying. ‘Today he is nothing more than a political fossil. At one time my father believed he would succeed him as professor of history, but he destroyed his career when he wrote that pamphlet about Nazi tactics in the Sudetenland. So foolish – what did he hope to achieve? He lost all sense of proportion after his wife disappeared. Jewish, you know. She went to visit relatives in Berlin in the spring of ’thirty-eight and never came back. He spent thousands of crowns trying to find her. We thought he was going insane.’

As March progressed, Dr Spiegel’s behaviour became more erratic. He developed a craving for the news. Hugh gathered that the government had proclaimed martial law in some parts of the country; but in Prague life went on much as before.

On 14 March, they heard that Slovakia had declared itself to be an independent state.

‘The fools have changed masters,’ Spiegel said. ‘They prefer Berlin to Prague.’

Later the same day, the Czechoslovak president took the train to Berlin. The following morning, the German Army flooded smoothly across the border into Bohemia and Moravia.

As usual, Hugh reached his tutor’s apartment at nine o’clock. For the first time in their acquaintance the old man was unshaven and he forgot to shake hands. He stumbled back to his chair. The brown bottle was already within reach.

‘It is the Ides of March,’ he murmured as if to himself. ‘Today a country has been murdered.’

Colonel Dansey continued writing when Michael came into his office; with his free hand he pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

Michael rubbed his bloodshot eyes and sat down, grateful that there was no immediate need for him to make intelligent conversation. He had spent most of last night in the company of Betty Chandos, proving yet again that lack of sleep and an almost exclusive diet of champagne cocktails created a five-star hangover. Up here, on the eighth floor of Bush House, the rush-hour traffic in the Aldwych was mercifully muted.

Dansey capped his pen and used his blotter on the letter before him.

‘No news from your man Kendall yet?’

‘No, sir. I can’t understand—’

‘It doesn’t matter now. You can forget him.’

‘I don’t follow you, sir.’ Michael’s tongue seemed too large for his mouth. ‘If Hitler – I mean, since yesterday – we need …’

‘If I were you, I’d start again,’ Dansey said.

Michael flushed. ‘Bohemia and Moravia are now part of the Reich. More than ever we need all the Czech allies we can find. I admit that Kendall and Hase have probably failed, but there’s still an outside chance.’

Dansey picked up a newspaper and tossed it to Michael. It was yesterday’s Times . A small news item, ringed with pencil, announced the arrival of several unnamed Czechs at Croydon Airport.

‘Someone blundered,’ Dansey said sourly. ‘There was even a photograph in some of the papers. Not that it really matters.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Colonel Moravec and fourteen of his intelligence officers. We chartered a Dutch plane for them. They left Prague just before the Germans arrived, with the cream of their files and all the money they could lay their hands on.’ Dansey permitted himself a prim smile. ‘Which happened to be quite a substantial sum. SIS handled the operation through Gibson and the embassy.’

Michael felt himself beginning to sweat. What Dansey had told him seemed to have no bearing on Kendall and Hase.

Dansey took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. ‘Neither Z nor SIS has much interest in Czech communists at present. They’re a disorganized rabble with little access to useful information; they’re too far away for us to control with any degree of certainty; and in any case they’ll always give Moscow right of way over London. But Moravec naturally sees them from another angle. He’s spent half his career fighting the Bolsheviks and of course he wants to know what they’re doing in his own country.’

‘Do you mean we were just going through the motions to oblige Moravec?’

‘Precisely. That was the sole purpose of the exercise. Your godfather and I knew the Deuxième Bureau would have to transfer its headquarters abroad sooner or later. Moravec had two choices – London or Paris. The Hase business was designed to woo him over here. Now he’s here, he’ll find it very difficult to move on.’ Dansey restored his glasses and looked directly at Michael. ‘Which means, of course, that we have achieved our real goal – direct access to A-54.’

A-54?

Michael knew he was now expected to ask who or what was A-54. But Dansey’s reply was unlikely to be very informative: either he would yet again have the pleasure of reminding Michael of the need-to-know principle; or his answer would lead to a bewildering vista of further questions that would leave Michael no better informed than he had been in the first place.

Michael mulishly decided to say nothing. He pulled out his case and lit a cigarette with a great show of concentration. As he looked up, exhaling a cloud of smoke, he caught an unfamiliar expression on Dansey’s face, just before it vanished.

On another man’s face it might have been a smile of approval.

Dansey stood up; and Michael obediently followed suit.

‘So, Stanhope-Smith, from now on you may leave Czechoslovakia to SIS and the Deuxième Bureau. In the meantime—’

‘But, sir, what about Kendall? I recruited him and I do feel to some extent responsible. And it was my idea that he took his son.’

Dansey clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘You and I no longer have any responsibility for the Kendalls. You didn’t compel Captain Kendall to take the job. He knew there were risks: he must take the consequences.’

‘We could at least alert Gibson and the embassy. And what about—’

‘Stanhope-Smith,’ Dansey snarled with a ferocious hiss of sibilants, ‘will you be quiet? I want you to spend the rest of your valuable time this morning compiling a brief political and economic analysis of Poland, using the material in the B files. By brief, I mean about five hundred words. And make it not only succinct but simple enough for even a politician to understand. If it helps you, imagine you’re writing for the eyes of our revered prime minister. I want it on my desk by lunchtime.’

‘Poland?’ said Michael dully. His mind was still full of the Kendalls.

‘Yes, Poland. It may interest you to know that, according to A-54, Poland will be Hitler’s next target.’

On the evening of 15 March, twelve SS officers moved into the Hotel Palacky and the Kendalls moved out.

Most of the officers were young. They tipped well, smiled a lot and went out of their way to be pleasant to the other guests. Hugh secretly thought they looked rather heroic.