Tim Binding: Island Madness

“Major. You’re a bit early!”

“I am sorry, Mrs Luscombe. I must see your son. Is he here?”

He peered in. Through the kitchen he could see Veronica leant up against the kitchen sink, her head in her hands, crying. That boy Peter was there also, he thought. Ned came out of the kitchen, closing the door.

“Major.” He was stiff and awkward. He looked embarrassed. He must have heard the news of his dismissal.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Inspector.” The words were formal, polite. Not what he wanted at all. “I am being called away. To somewhere colder, I think.”

“Called away?” The sobs behind Ned reached a crescendo, then died away again.

“I am sorry,” the Major repeated. “I have come at a bad time.” He sighed and shut the front door behind him. “I am to be arrested. I have done something foolish. It is too complicated to explain. But there is something you must know. Something I must tell you. A secret.”

“Oh?”

“A very dangerous secret. It makes me ashamed to tell you. If I could stop it I would.”

“Stop a secret?”

He told him.

“Coming here? Hitler’s coming here?”

“That is correct.”

“When?”

“His birthday. A morale booster. For Him as well as everyone else, I think.” He grabbed Ned by the arm. “But don’t you see, Ned, He must not come! It would be a sacrilege. Last night I imagined how I might prevent it.”

Ned diverted his train of thought.

“How long have you known?”

“Yesterday. At the moment only a few have this information. Captain Zepernick, Major Ernst, they have known for longer. But this is not the point.”

Ned interrupted again. “How long have they known?”

“I do not know exactly. A month, I believe.”

“Before you came back from leave, then?”

“Yes, before I returned, why?”

“You’d better read this, then.”

He put his hand in his pocket and handed him the letter.

Lentsch’s eyes were quick, unbelieving. “This is Isobel’s hand-writing! When did you get this?”

“The day she died.”

“The day she died?”

Ned took a deep breath. “This is very difficult for me, Major. Difficult for all of us. A lot of letters get sent to you, unpleasant letters, malicieus letters, denouncing old enemies, settling old scores. They’re quite easy to spot. We have them delivered to the police station, so we can weed them out before they cause too much trouble. It’s something we’ve done all along, to protect ourselves.”

“And this came in such a consignment.”

“Yes, but hers was addressed to me, not you. That’s what made it so odd. She’d written an anonymous note to me. I recognized her handwriting straightaway of course, like you have done, but that’s what she was counting on. The point is she didn’t want anyone else to know she wanted to see me. She was frightened of something.”

The Major read the note again.

“Why did you not tell me about this before?”

“I’d have thought that was obvious. Whatever it was she wanted to see me about was something she dared not tell you. Whether it was because you were involved or because it would compromise someone close to her, I didn’t know. But I couldn’t trust you.”

Lentsch turned on him. “Couldn’t trust me? I was the only one you could trust!”

For a moment Ned thought the Major was going to strike out. He beckoned him into the armchair. The Major sat down, reluctantly.

“Look, Major. You’re German. I’m British. Whatever you might think, we’re still at war. You are my enemy.”

Lentsch flapped the letter in his hand.

“And by this stupid deception we have been looking the wrong way. I did not think we were complete friends yet, but I did not think you would try and harm her in this way.”

“Isobel is dead. It was the living I was worried about.” The refrain ran through his head again. She couldn’t tell Lentsch, she couldn’t tell Lentsch, she wrote me the letter ‘cause she couldn’t tell Lentsch .

“Don’t you see? She found out about something so terrible that she dared not tell even you, the man she was in love with. Because you were German.”

“You mean the visit?”

Ned shook his head.

“Not just the visit. Think about it. If she had found out, maybe someone else had too. An islander. A British patriot, Major. What do you think someone like that might try and do?”

“An assassination attempt?”

“Yes. She hadn’t just found out that Hitler is coming. She’d found out that someone is going to try and kill him. Someone she knew, perhaps was close to. Her father?”

“Impossible!”

“Her aunt, then.”

“This is absurd! Mrs Hallivand trying to assassinate Hitler!”

“Well, someone is, I’d bet my life on it. That’s why she was so nervous on the telephone. That’s why she wanted to see me.”

Lentsch bit his knuckle and crossed to the window. “Have you any idea what would happen if such a thing took place?”

“The war would end?”

Lentsch shook his head.

“Perhaps. Not immediately. Büt the consequences to this island would be terrible. It would be madness to try this. Madness.”

“But if it shortened the war.”

“They would destroy the island, Ned. Everyone and everything in it. Do you want that? Your mother shot. Veronica. Her mother. All of you shot!”

“No, but…”

“That is the price you would pay. Can you let that happen?”

“No. No. I don’t think I can.”

“No! Then let others try and kill him. It would be better for our country’s soul if we did it ourselves. But He must not come here, not for propaganda, not for an assassination attempt, not at all. And there is one way to prevent it. It rests on a simple equation, a strategie certainty. You are right about one thing. If the British knew he was coming here they would try and kill him. They would have to. It would be too great an opportunity to miss. And if He thought that the British knew of His intentions, He too would know they would make this attempt. Two years ago he would have cocked a snook at such a danger. But He is careful now, wrapped in suspicions of His own troubled destiny. The War needs him. Only He can win it. So He will not expose Himself to such unnecessary danger. He will stay at home, in one of his eastern bunkers with sandbags and sycophants for company.”

“I don’t follow,” said Ned.

“I have thought of a way to lay a false trail. Make them believe I have managed to escape to England with this information. I have ranted and railed against Him, cursed his folly, and now, with his birthday hour approaching, I smash his picture and before I am put under formal arrest, I disappear.”

“Hide you here, you mean?”

“Yes. At first they will think that I have gone on a drinking spree. They will search the bars and the brothels and the out of hours drinking clubs. They might imagine I have committed suicide. But tomorrow the Captain will get a letter I have already sent. In it I have explained that my conscience demands that I betray my country, that I have defected to England, and that I intend to tell them everything I know. Everything!”

“And all the time you’ll be here?”

“Of course. Just for a week, a month at the most, until the time has passed. Soon He will not be able to come. Soon fresh catastrophes will be occupying His great mind. Then it will be safe to come out of hiding.”

“Not for you, it won’t.”

“No, not for me. For the island.”

Ned stared at him, not quite believing what he was hearing. It was a mad idea.

“So you want me to hide you, is that it?”

“If you please. But in a different chimney from your radio.”