Len Deighton - SS-GB

‘Where’s Spode?’ said Huth, easing his hat back a fraction on his head, as though the head-band was constricting him.

‘Spode?’ A nervous smile. ‘Spode? Well you know where he is. He’s at the police station.’ Another smile that, as he watched Huth, became a frown. ‘Isn’t he? An official came this morning and asked for Spode’s home address.’ Huth raised an eyebrow at Douglas who nodded affirmation. The headmaster watched the exchange anxiously, and then continued, ‘Naturally I helped in every possible way, and don’t imagine that I pry into your way of doing things. I don’t. Before the war I had holidays in Germany. I admired the system – still do, of course, especially in Germany…or rather that’s not to say I don’t admire the system in England…’

Douglas moved across the hall to where PC Dunn was waiting. ‘Better pop back there and get that false arm, Jimmy, and the photos and stuff.’

‘Control yourself, you wretch,’ said Huth. ‘Where is this man Spode?’

‘I’ve told you, Herr Oberst. The police station phoned and wanted him. Of course I gave him permission to leave his class.’

‘Who took the phone call, headmaster?’

‘My secretary. I sent for Spode immediately and let the police talk to him. There is only the one phone, you see.’

‘How long ago?’

The headmaster looked at his watch, tapped it and put it to his ear. ‘About an hour ago.’

Huth went to the main doors, stepped outside and blew two short blasts on his whistle. Infantry doubled across the recreation yard with a loud clatter of tipped boots. They formed up before Huth as if on parade, their officer in front of them with his hand raised in what the English were learning to call the German Salute.

‘Take this fool into special custody and hold him apart from the rest.’

‘You mean the phone call was from one of his accomplices…Oh my God!’ said the headmaster. He grabbed Douglas Archer’s arm, and held on to him. ‘This man Spode tricked me,’ he told Douglas. ‘Tell them. You’re English, I know you are…Tell them I’m innocent.’

Douglas went rigid in shame. A soldier prised the headmaster’s fingers away. ‘Then at least let me phone my wife,’ implored the headmaster. But already the soldiers were hustling him away through the entrance. ‘Take all the teachers,’ Huth told the SS officer, ‘and take the older children too. We can’t be sure the children aren’t involved. We’ve had fifteen-year-olds killing our soldiers in the past few months.’

‘I’ll try and get some sort of lead as to where Spode went,’ said Douglas.

‘He’s well away by now,’ said Huth. ‘These people are damned efficient.’

‘Who’s “they”?’ said Douglas.

‘Terror fighters,’ said Huth using the official German term for the Resistance, armed or otherwise. ‘No. Go and see your son – he’s here today, isn’t he? Take him home. Explain to him.’

‘Explain to him!’ said Douglas. He knew no way of explaining the insanity of the world to his child.

‘Children are flexible creatures,’ said Huth. ‘Don’t try to shoulder all the guilt for your son being motherless.’

Douglas didn’t answer. They both watched the soldiers herding a group of teachers into the school yard. Lorries were being backed through the narrow gates.

‘We don’t need all this,’ said Douglas. ‘These teachers are innocent; they know nothing.’

‘Too late to stop it now,’ said Huth, ‘even if I agreed with you.’

There was a crash as a tail-board dropped. Then the first of the teachers climbed into the lorry. He was an old man, and needed the helping hand of a soldier. One of his colleagues gave a soft cheer and the old man smiled sheepishly. It was always like this with the mass arrests, thought Douglas. The prisoners were reassured to be together with people they knew. They felt that nothing too bad could come of it, and were always comforted by the thought that they had committed no crime. The arrest procedure became an outing, a picnic, a break from the monotony of everyday life. The soldiers knew this, and they encouraged the levity, knowing that their task would be easier, and less harrowing, if the prisoners smiled all the way to the detention centre.

‘Have you heard anything more from the girl?’ said Huth.

Douglas was disconcerted and didn’t answer.

‘I know about the Trafalgar Square business, you idiot,’ said Huth. ‘Has she contacted you again?’

‘You have me followed – but you don’t have her followed?’

Huth feigned a look of pain. ‘You touch a nerve, my friend. She was quick and clever – more clever than the man assigned to her.’

‘One man?’

‘The voice of the professional! Yes, my people have a lot to learn. They didn’t realize they were dealing with a very experienced agent.’

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