Mark Mills - The Information Officer

“Why not?”

Elliott filled their glasses before raising his own in a toast. He took a moment to settle on one he was happy with.

“To all those who didn’t make it.”

“All those who didn’t make it.”

They clinked glasses tentatively, as if the weight of their shared history might shatter the crystal.

“They told me you didn’t make it.”

“I know,” said Elliott. “Remind me—how did I die?”

“You went down in a plane off the French coast,” replied Max.

“I hope it was quick.”

“They said Freddie died in the same crash.”

“What else did they say?”

“Is he alive?”

The idea that Freddie might still be walking the planet somewhere tightened his stomach.

“Not unless he sprouted wings.” Elliott paused briefly, lowering his eyes. “I threw him out of a Lodestar over the Bay of Biscay.”

“You threw him out of a plane?”

“You make it sound easier than it was. He fought me like a tiger all the way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s why I’m here. What do you want to know?”

“I thought you were a German agent.”

Elliott rolled his eyes. “Jeez, they really didn’t tell you anything, did they? I’m beginning to understand the frosty reception.”

It was true, they had told Max almost nothing. In their efforts to hush the whole thing up, they’d flown him off the island the moment he’d been fit to travel. There’d been a desk job waiting for him back in London at the Ministry of Information, but he’d recognized it for what it was: a bribe to keep him quiet and onside while seeing out the war with some modicum of respectability.

“But you shot me.”

“Only cos you were about to shoot him in the leg, and I couldn’t trust you not to hit an artery. I needed him alive.”

“What, so you could throw him out of a plane?”

Elliott shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

Elliott pulled a black hardback notebook from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table. It was old and scuffed.

“It’s all in there. Everything. Going back years. He started young. Freddie Lambert was the sickest sonofabitch I ever came across, and I’ve been around the block a few times since Malta. I haven’t lost a minute’s sleep over what I did. He went out that door screaming like a stuck pig, and that’s exactly what he deserved.”

“Judge, jury, and executioner?”

Elliott slid the notebook across the table toward Max. “Read it first. And when you’re done, burn it. You’ll want to.”

“Why did you want him alive?”

Elliott lit another cigarette before replying. “There’s only one thing more valuable than an agent, and that’s a double agent, assuming you can be sure of his duplicity.”

“You knew he’d killed three girls and you were still happy to work with him?”

“Not exactly dancing a jig, but nothing beats feeding the enemy what you want them to hear. Yes, I knew what he’d done. I also knew what he could do for us. My job demands a certain pragmatism. Not everyone has the stomach for it.”

According to Elliott, the British authorities on the island hadn’t been happy with the idea, and it had made for tension between him and Malta Command.

“You see, we knew the Germans had an agent on the island. We’d known for a while. We didn’t know who he was, but we knew exactly what he was up to, and why. I was all for finding him and using him. They were all for sitting tight.”

“Sitting tight?”

“Doing nothing. They had their reasons—good reasons.” He paused. “This isn’t public knowledge, and it won’t be for a while yet, so keep it to yourself. We’d cracked the German codes by then. Well, a bunch of your experts had. Hell of an achievement. Probably swung the war our way. It sure as hell made all the difference on Malta. We knew where and when they were running their convoys to Rommel. We knew when the Luftwaffe was leaving Sicily for the Russian front and when they were returning. Remember the Italian E-boat raid on Grand Harbour? We knew it was coming. We were ready for them. That’s why they didn’t stand a chance.”

Max remembered it clearly. It had been a rout, a predawn massacre.

“The only trouble with having the heads-up is you’ve got to be careful how you use the intelligence.”

“Because you’ll give the game away.”

“Exactly. That’s just what it is—a game. Defense Security didn’t want to risk moving on the Germans’ agent because they might have figured out we were deciphering their signals.”

“The lives of a few Maltese girls—who cares, right?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a dirty game. No one enjoys doing the math on these things. And like I said, I didn’t agree with them.”

“That’s why you helped me.”

“I gave you a few pointers.”

“You used me.”

“We were watching your back.”

“He wasn’t after me. He was after Lilian.”

Elliott glanced down at the notebook. “Read the book. You’ll find you’re wrong. You were part of the big plan too. He just never got a chance to see it through.”

“You were playing with our lives.”

“Look, I didn’t come here for forgiveness. I came here to tell you how it was. I did what I thought was right at the time, and with limited resources. You can’t legislate for everything in those kinds of operations. Like Busuttil. Smart fellow. That’s why we had to remove him. We were trying to contain the situation, and he was running around town making too many waves. Hasn’t held him back, by the way. I heard he made chief inspector.”

“I know. We’re still in touch. I even went to his wedding.”

They were interrupted by the waiter, looking to take their order. They hadn’t given their menus a second thought, so Max picked a couple of the restaurant’s signature dishes for them.

For all their talk, they seemed to have skirted the central issue: that Freddie, their friend, had been a traitor and a murderer. Elliott had obviously come to terms with that fact, but Max needed to talk about it. He was still haunted by images of that ruined church wreathed in smoke, of Freddie standing amidst the rubble of the fallen roof, arms spread wide, an almost Christlike figure. Neither his eyes nor his voice had been those of the person Max had known, almost as if he’d been possessed.

“Did you ever suspect it was Freddie?” Max asked.

“It crossed my mind, but no, I didn’t read the signs.”

“So what were you doing at the church?”

“I got a call from Mitzi. You’d just been at their flat. She was worried about you.”

“Why call you?”

“Because I’d asked her to. We’d lost track of you at that point. She said you’d been asking after Freddie, so I called the hospital at Bighi, found out where he was, figured you had too by then.” He paused. “Dear, beautiful Mitzi, God rest her soul.”

She had never made it to Alexandria. The seaplane she’d been traveling on had strayed too close to Crete and been shot down by 109s. It was something Max thought about a lot but never talked about. Now was no different.

Yes, God rest their souls , he thought.

“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t called me.”

“You would never have got to shoot me in the head, for starters.”

“A little to one side, I think you’ll find.”

“Close enough to leave a scar.”

Elliott shrugged. “A small price to pay for Lilian’s life. It was done for her.”

Max gave an incredulous laugh.

“It’s true. He said it himself—he was never going to reveal where he was holding her. My only chance was to persuade him I was on the same team and hope to get it from him that way.” Elliott crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Which I did, I might add.”