Dennis Wheatley - Traitors' Gate

After pausing for a moment, Cochefert went on. 'So, you see, I was only amusing myself when I let you produce that poor hare about a cousin of the same name. It is useless for you to flounder like a fish in a net any more. Whatever game you have been playing it is finished now; and, no doubt, after a little persuasion you will tell us all about it.'

The game of bluff was so clearly up that Gregory only shrugged and asked, 'What do you intend to do with me?'

'To enter any country on a false passport is an offence. Under Hungarian law you are liable to a term of imprisonment, then to deportation. But for the duration of the war we have somewhat different arrangements. The Hungarian State Police have the right to detain you indefinitely but should they have no particular grounds for doing so they will, on an application for your extradition, hand you over to me. I shall then send you under escort to France, and my colleagues there will extract from you any information you may possess which would help us to defeat those who, by continuing to oppose Herr Hitler, are preventing the restoration of World Peace.'

Gregory knew that there was little to choose "between the uniformed thugs whose reign of terror kept the Petain government in power and the Gestapo. They had no more scruples than the Nazis about torturing the leaders of resistance groups, or agents of the Allies parachuted into France including women who had the ill luck to fall into their hands. He was terribly tempted to tell Cochefert just what he thought of the senile old Marshal and the gang of unscrupulous politicians with which he surrounded himself.

But this was no time to air his true feelings. Russia was being hammered to pieces. If she broke it might take twenty years of war before Europe could be liberated just as it had in Napoleon's day. And he, Gregory, held the threads of a move that would hamstring the German advance into the Caucasus, put Hitler in the devil's own mess, and bring his defeat very much nearer. The fact that the real Commandant Tavenier had had the good luck to survive the St. Nazaire raid now threatened to render any chance of that move abortive. For Gregory to pretend any longer that he was the Commandant was obviously futile; yet an issue of enormous consequence hung upon his keeping his freedom.

Even had he still had his gun and succeeded in shooting his way out that, as he realized more fully now, would have been no real solution; for as a fugitive, it would be next to impossible for him to complete his mission.

There was only one chance left to him. He still had a last card up his sleeve, and he must play it. It could prove an ace, but might well be regarded as just as phony as his passport was now known to be. If so, there could be no escape from being marched off to prison and turned over as a de Gaullist agent to the tender mercies of the Vichy secret police. In any case, he was most reluctant to produce this fraudulent trump because it would tie him up with the Gestapo and, even should Cochefert accept it at its face value, unless he could get out of Hungary quickly it might have most disastrous repercussions. But there it was. It was that or the absolute certainty of being marched off to prison there and then.

He took the plunge artistically. No one hearing him could have suspected for one moment that he regarded the men of Vichy as a bunch of treacherous self-seeking swine. Drawing himself erect he clicked his heels together, bowed sharply from the waist and said to Cochefert with a genial smile:

'My congratulations, Herr Hauptmann. I have done my utmost to preserve my incognito; but you have got me in a corner from which I see no escape. Since you supposed me to be an enemy agent, such work is most commendable, and I shall not fail to see that you get a good mark for it in the right quarter.'

Staring at him with a puzzled frown, Cochefert muttered, 'What the devil are you talking about?'

Gregory had been fingering the left lapel of his jacket. With the one word, 'This,' he drew from a secret pocket he had had made under it a small square of cardboard, and laid it on the dressing table. On a dark night in the previous December he had taken it from a man whom he had first shot twice in the stomach. He had then, for his own good reasons, hacked off with a chopper the man's right hand and thrown his body into Lake Geneva. It was the card issued by the Geheime Staatspolizei to Obersturmbannführer Fritz Einholtz, and signed Reinhard Heydrich.

For a minute that seemed an age Gregory's eyes were riveted on Cochefert's carrion crow features, striving to assess the movement of every tiny muscle and judge whether he would accept it or declare it, too, to be a fake.

As the Frenchman read the card his eyes widened. When he spoke his voice had lost its cocksure sneering tone. It was lower and held an unmistakably servile note:

'I had no idea… The last thing I would wish is to interfere with the operations of the Gestapo.'

Taking the tide of fortune at the flood, Gregory instantly reacted. As though set in motion by the sudden pressing of an electric switch, he stamped hard with his right foot on the wooden floor, jerked his body erect, threw back his head, shot out his right arm at a steep angle and cried:

'Heil Hitler!'

Taken by surprise, his two visitors hesitated only a second. The Hungarian got swiftly to his feet, then both in chorus responded with the Nazi salute.

'Now,' said Gregory, 'you, Herr Hauptmann, are clearly a man to be trusted; so I propose to take you into my confidence.' His whole manner had undergone a complete change. He spoke in a sharp official voice, and as a superior who was about to do an inferior a favour. Giving a quick glance towards the Lieutenant, he added in French, 'But what of our friend here. Can he be relied upon to keep his mouth shut?'

'Yes, Colonel,' Cochefert replied in the same language. 'He is an Arrow Cross Party member.'

'Good!' Gregory reverted to German, and turned to Puttony. 'Herr Leutnant, I shall also confide in you. All that I say must be regarded as of the highest secrecy. You will report to your superiors that you are fully satisfied about the bona fides of Commandant Tavenier, and not even hint at the work I have been sent to Budapest to do. Is that understood?'

The plump, lethargic looking Lieutenant, who had so far been a silent spectator of the scene, was now standing stiffly to attention and regarding Gregory with the veneration of an athletic minded schoolboy for a Rugby Blue. Tensing his muscles, he snapped out, Ja, Herr Oberst.'

'Very well, then.' Gregory took out his cigarette case and, without offering it to either of the others, lit a cigarette. He then perched himself on the arm of the easy chair that Cochefert had been occupying and went on:

'Reports have reached the Führer that certain elements in Hungary are not putting their full weight behind the war effort. This applies particularly to the magnates. Many are still leading lives of luxury and pleasure highly discreditable to them at a time when the whole German people are making the utmost sacrifices to achieve victory. Allies should share their burdens. In Germany thousands are being rendered homeless by the bombing of our cities and the people submit cheerfully to strict rationing, while here, in Hungary, it is as though a state of war hardly existed. That is very wrong. But I should make it clear that we do not blame the Hungarian people. It is only natural that they should continue to enjoy the good things of life as long as they are encouraged to do so by the example of the nobility. It is those who set this example who must be disciplined; and I have been instructed to list the worst offenders so that the Führer can insist that the Regent should take action against them.'