

Espionage - London

Written by John Day

Version 2.1

Edited 3-8-2020 Incomplete edit

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2020 John Day

All rights reserved.

Contents

Dear Reader, 9

England 1943 12

Peenemünde. Mid-day, June 2nd, 1943 14

Interrogation. 19

MI5. 8th June 1943 28

Alderney. 1st December 1943 30

The encounter. 40

The first day. 2nd December 1943 43

A romantic evening. 49

Raven. 3rd December 1943 52

The team. 3rd December 1943 55

The Beacon's secrets. 63

The training. 4th December 1943 68

 Raven gets the message. 4th December 1943 78

Spycraft. 5th December 1943 79

Raven reports. 5th December 1943 82

Special delivery. 6th December 1943 83

Raven interruptus. 92

Andreas and Carina. 94

Raven goes underground. 95

An audacious plan. 7th December 1943 96

To catch a shadow. 100

A rock and a hard place. 103

 Whitehall takes action. 8th December 1943 105

Gone in a flash. 9th December 1943 109

Otto returns. 14th December 1943 112

Goodbye. 16th December 1943 113

Regrets. 17th December 1943 117

S-125 causes concern. 119

The invention. 121

Breaking point. 124

Channel of hell! 127

 Raven's warning. 18th December 1943 129

Final journey. 18th December 1943 130

The net tightens. 18th December 1943 144

Safe house, London. 18th December 1943 147

The briefing. 19th December 1943 152

Davis gets lucky. 19th December 1943 154

Betrayal? 161

Scattered. 167

Code name Zebra. 170

Code name Ballerina. 172

Code name Arrow. 174

Code name Glass. 177

Change of plan. 20th December 1943 178

Compromised! 20th December 1943 180

MI5 make an arrest. 187

 The robbery. Nearly midnight 20th December 1943 191

The aftermath. 21st December 1943 200

 Message to Germany. Early morning 21st December 203

 Sundown calls Germany. 21st December 1943 206

 A busy day for Peter. 21st December 1943 209

Henryk has a date. 21st December 1943 211

Anna has a date. 21st December 1943 214

 Peter's despair. Evening 21st December 1943 217

 Anna plays her hand. 21st December 1943 220

Manipulation. 223

An unexpected twist. 224

 Henryk plays his hand. Late 21st December 1943 227

All consuming passion. 232

The morning after. 22nd December 1943 233

 Peter gets a message. 22nd December 1943 234

Fate and Anna. 22nd December 1943 238

Fate and Henryk. 22nd December. 243

 Caplin's surprise. 22nd December 1943. 251

 Anna's surprise. Evening, 22nd December 253

Contingency plans. 22nd December 1943 255

Interrogation. 22nd December 1943 259

Anna's reply. 23rd December 1943 266

Strike. 23rd December 1943 268

Captured! 23rd December 1943 270

 MI5 in turmoil. Early morning. 23rd December 1943 284

The old couple. 23rd December 1943 285

Devastated. 288

Imposter? 23rd December 1943 290

 The test beacon. Late afternoon 26th December 1943 296

London in shock. 27th December 1943 300

 Anna reads the news. 27th December 1943 301

Peter tidies up. 27th December 1943 303

The homecoming. 28th December 1943 304

Peter has a shock. 28th December 1943 317

The wedding. 3rd January 1944 319

Henryk calls. 5th January 1944 326

Ambush. 5 o'clock that afternoon. 336

Message to Germany. 5th January 1944 339

A warning to others. 5th January 1944 342

The target. 10th January 1944 345

A cosy night in. 350

Tempus Fugit. 351

Henryk & Anna 358

Straddled. 359

Alderney. 20th January 1944 361

Hitler's secret weapon found! 381

##  Dear Reader,

This is not a history of the war, or a guidebook of Alderney. It is a fictional story for the purposes of entertainment. Some events and locations fit well with the story.

I intended there would be no winners or losers on either the German or British side. Both sides are very smart and equally ruthless. People are killed or injured on both sides in war and carry out the orders and tasks they are given, to the best of their ability. They would be executed if they didn't. In this book, there are no superheroes or cowards just characters made as real as possible, for your enjoyment.

To keep the story short, fast paced with mystery and suspense all the way, great care was taken to carefully structure the book.

If you skim read, the book will be meaningless. Things are mentioned for a reason to keep you better entertained. If you jump to the ending, it will not resolve the questions that are raised and answered through the story. There is not a single ending on the last page, but several throughout the book.

To some, the fact my characters seemed obsessed with sex may seem ridiculous. Those few scenes aren't graphic expositions. Do your own research and you will understand how common promiscuity was during that war. I only include it in my story, because it was a fact of life at the time.

So, why not mention it?

Here is a starting point. https://tinyurl.com/rynqn6k

I have done my best to provide a gripping story and describe the scene in those times, to add realism.

Many readers will like it and I would appreciate your reviews and support by telling others about it.

My success depends on you spreading the word and it encourages me to write my next thriller.

Thank you so much of choosing this book.

Please post your positive reviews. They are vital to me.

##  England 1943

His time had come.

He knew it the moment he heard the echo of footsteps approaching along the narrow passage. The depressing light green painted brick walls and worn dark red concrete floor reflected the chilling sound.

There was no mistake, they were at his door.

The hollow rattle and clink of keys at the steel door as the two men opened it sent a tremor of fear through the man. He sat quietly waiting with his back to the opening door.

As the heavy door swung open, the worn hinges screeched like fingernails on a chalkboard. He was thankful he wouldn't hear that nerve-shredding sound ever again.

The two men resisted the desire to wince as they entered the poorly ventilated room. It stank of recent defecation and the cold sweat of fear.

The generous measure of whisky served fifteen minutes earlier in a white enamelled mug was gone. It was the only thing that had passed his dry lips in the last two days. Although he had no appetite, he savoured every drop. Now he felt lightheaded. The two burly men firmly grabbed the man's arms and lifted him to a standing position. There's no rush thought the man as one of them secured his wrists with a worn leather strap.

Before his mind could catch up, the men briskly propelled him out of the room and down the passage. _It's all happening too quickly_ , he thought, as the door ahead of him swung open.

Through the door, they went into a harshly lit, large whitewashed room. The restrained man paused a moment and looked around. He stood on a floor of cut timber, like a stage, but flush with the main concrete floor. Beyond the timber area sat a small mixed audience on hard wooden chairs.

None of them looked as if they would enjoy the coming performance.

The floorboards sounded hollow underfoot, as the two men pushed him towards the middle, where Albert Pierrepoint stood waiting.

With practised speed and dexterity, Pierrepoint came from behind and placed a thick black hood, reeking of vomit, over the prisoner's head. The hangman's noose slipped over the hood and a brass ring, through which the loop of rope passed, was positioned expertly under the hinge of the prisoner's jaw.

The clink of a metal buckle sounded loud to the prisoner's heightened senses, when his ankles were strapped together.

The two burly men still supported the condemned man, at arms' length, as he swayed unsteadily.

Death is close now, thought the condemned German spy.

A massive surge of adrenalin pumped through his body. His legs were trembling and about to fold under him. His almost empty bowels and bladder surged violently, and bile rose in his throat. He was freely standing now and suddenly weightless. A microsecond of unbelievable pain shot through him, as the carefully placed brass ring at his jaw yanked around under his chin, at the bottom of the drop. It forced his head back and snapped his neck.

Although his body was quite dead, his brain continued to function for a few seconds. After the initial explosion of firing synapses, he was in a state of total peace, as a permanent blackness engulfed him. Apart from a brief twitch of the legs, the show was over.

Another German spy ceased to exist, in Pentonville Prison.

##  Peenemünde. Mid-day, June 2nd, 1943

She had asked herself the same question time and time again. Was it right to kill someone? Even an evil man like him. The British agent who trained her said her target was evil and she had no choice.

Thank God, it would soon be over.

***

It was another fine summer day. Karl Strom ambled away from the Peenemünde Army Research Centre, lost in thought. As he headed through the village towards his regular lunchtime spot, a tranquil lake at Cammerer See, his stomach rumbled impatiently. He quickened his pace, eager to devour the sandwiches and lager he carried in the canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

Ingrid followed him, still agonising over her dilemma. What Strom was doing would destroy millions of innocent lives, she was told. He had to be stopped!

Karl did his best problem solving down at the lakeshore; just as well, the brilliant team of scientists and technicians working under his direction had just thrown him another challenge.

Karl and his team worked long and stressful hours in a large windowless room that served both as a laboratory and a small-scale workshop. The air in it was heavily polluted by the fumes from portable furnaces used for melting glass and metal. It mingled with the pervasive smell of machine oil from the instrument lathes and drills.

Karl knew that with the warm sun on his back and the gentle cool breeze blowing off the lake, it would re-energise him. The scent of wildflowers and the sound of birds chirping in the distance always calmed him.

He cast his mind back several weeks to his historic meeting with Adolph Hitler. There he discovered he had been personally tasked with a secret project. In Karl's opinion, it amounted to doing the impossible with next to nothing, reflecting the state of the country at this point in the war.

Adolph Hitler said Karl was chosen because of his broad electronic and mechanical engineering background. A vital amalgam of skills that brought practical form and function to his creations.

German records showed him to be obsessive and a man who thrived on challenge and problem-solving. A person who worked relentlessly until he had achieved his objective.

Hitler's advisors understood such a person was needed to drive a group of scientists and technicians to complete the task in the limited time available. Ultimately, Karl's creation had to be deployed and used in the field. They knew his remarkable ability as a spy was an essential factor. Karl understood the difficulties faced by soldiers and spies, and this would ultimately shape his design.

Within days of the meeting, Karl conceived the perfect solution.

The astounding simplicity caused advisors to question why no one had thought of it before. Perhaps they had, but technology at the time meant it was in the realms of daydreams, or even magic. Like so many ground-breaking inventions, if you know the answer the solution looks simple.

Right now, in the laboratory, the secret prototype sparked and hummed into life. The few Germans who were aware of this device, not even a weapon in its own right, believed Germany could win the war in months.

Karl strolled briskly through the small village, on his way to his usual spot by the lake. Everyone was at lunch, apart from a young woman and Ernst Huber, the 22-year-old Gestapo agent shadowing them both. The woman worked as a cleaner at the research centre.

Ernst noticed her routine over the last week coincided with Karl's lunch break. He had already reported her as seeming suspicious.

Although instinctively aware of the woman behind him, Karl was no longer an active spy and didn't need to worry about such things these days; that was Ernst's job.

The lad had taken a keen interest in spycraft and had often consulted Karl on the subject. It was because of such tips that Ernst seldom had the same appearance on two consecutive days. As Karl pointed out, most spies can spot the typical Gestapo agent from afar. If the agent is tailing someone, the spy need only follow the agent; they would all end up at the same destination, but the spy would remain undetected.

***

Over the last fortnight, the attractive 30-year-old woman following Karl had practised hard and visualised what she was about to do.

On the face of it, the task was simple, and she was convinced, by what she had been told, that there was no appreciable risk to her. After all, she had responsibilities at home, a young daughter and a husband to take care of.

Up until two weeks ago, she had only delivered sketches and hand-drawn maps to a dead drop. Then unexpectedly, she had been approached by a German-speaking man as she walked alone towards her garden gate. At that moment her fate was sealed.

"Frau Hine? Or should I say Rabbit?" The shock of hearing her code name showed as her mouth dropped open and the colour drained from her face.

The secretive man continued, "See those woods over there." He inclined his head in a barely perceptible nod. "Go there tomorrow on your day off and wait for me." His tone was clear, it was a command. He could force her to do whatever he wished; she had been spying for the British and now there was no way out.

He hurried away.

Ingrid Hine rushed indoors and urged into the sink. She was terrified. Passing documents was a lethal risk, but it had become routine. She was comfortable with it and it was sort of fun. It was harmless enough; she didn't have to sneak around in the dead of night assassinating anyone or blowing things up. It was easy money. For the British to make personal contact must mean she would be expected to do something risky for them.

She wondered, how would she hide her nervousness from her husband and child when they came home?

The next morning, she headed for the small copse and waited for the man to show up. She guessed he would be holding back, checking he wasn't going to be ambushed by the Gestapo. When he did arrive 30 minutes later, he was carrying something heavy in a bag.

The man explained the crucial timings of her mission and why they were of such importance. He also showed her the place where her mission would take place and why. She had no desire to see the result of the plan, only to make her escape and vanish, when it was done.

That was all she cared about.

To perfect the plan required considerable practise on her part, and exercises to strengthen her arm muscles.

***

Strom's walking pace varied, depending on what occupied his mind. Today he was hungry, so he walked quickly. This would challenge the accuracy of what she had to do.

There would be no witnesses, she thought. The young man keeping pace with her on the opposite side of the road would probably die along with Strom; a pity, but she wouldn't be there to see it.

As she approached the optimum position along the street, a wave of panic swept over her. This was real, there was no turning back. Her life, and the outcome of the war, were about to change.

Ernst noticed Ingrid Hine take something from her shopping bag and lob it underhand, high into the air. She instantly darted up an alley between buildings and vanished.

The heavy, fist-sized metal object thudded onto the pavement, right next to Karl.

The British hand grenade rolled past and smacked into the side of a projecting stone step, just ahead of him.

With no form of cover from the blast, Karl was certain the next few seconds would be the rest of his life.

He screamed in panic, as he dived into the deep roadside gutter, seeking the illusion of protection in the hollow. Instinctively he turned his face from the grenade, protected his head with his arms and opened his mouth to equalise internal pressure. A couple of nerve-wracking seconds of his life passed like a slice of eternity, then the grenade detonated.

The shockwave flipped Strom's concussed and shrapnel torn body like a rag doll, out into the road. The stone step had directed much of the shrapnel away from him, towards Ernst. The blast left Ernst Huber totally stunned. He was oblivious to the spray of metal fragments peppering his face and body.

Fearing the worst, he ran to help Karl.

Ernst could only stand and stare at the appalling mess, as residents appeared from their homes to see what had happened. From shoulder to buttock on the blast side was blood-drenched and shredded clothing.

Somebody ran for the doctor, who arrived minutes later and quickly checked for Karl's pulse. It was strong but irregular; fortunately, the victim was still breathing. Examining the wounds overwhelmed the poor village doctor, there were so many. Stopping blood loss was the priority, so he called for clean towels. To some extent, Karl's clothes were acting as a crude bandage. The towels would only serve as a shroud, to hide the gore.

A military ambulance soon arrived. Karl and Ernst were rushed away to the medical centre, while soldiers and Gestapo agents questioned everyone in the village.

Rabbit had gone to ground. Would the Gestapo ever find her?

##  Interrogation.

Ernst knew he was in big trouble and would be the centre of the investigation into what had happened. It was his responsibility to protect Strom. _Why hadn't he?_

Ernst decided to seek advice from his father, Franz Huber, an SS General. Their relationship had been strained and distant up till then, but he listened carefully to his son.

"Father, I am in serious trouble and I hope you can offer some advice."

"Have you made some stupid girl pregnant?"

"No father, I would not trouble you with that sort of thing. This is serious enough to have some impact on you."

"How so? We are thousands of miles apart; we have no normal familial contact and your life is your own."

"You know how high command love to gossip and the rumours soon become more credible than the truth. Fate has dealt me a bad hand and it will be twisted to involve you, by association, if nothing else."

"Tell me everything, Ernst. I'll see what I can do to help you."

"Thank you, Sir. There was an assassination attempt, less than an hour ago, on the person I was ordered to protect. I am actually phoning from the medical centre, waiting to be treated."

"So, you were there and have been wounded. Are you going to be alright?"

"It was a grenade attack, I was sprayed with shrapnel, but I am fine, no lasting damage. Thank you for asking. No need to worry mother, in case you thought to mention it."

"I am pleased you are intact; a few scars will not be a hindrance with your career or women. I have always thought you were a bit too pretty for a man. You got that from your mother.

Please get to the point."

Ernst described what happened, sticking to the facts, with no embellishments, but never mentioned who the victim was, or what part he played here at Peenemünde.

After a short deliberation to consider the facts and implications, Franz offered his wise advice.

"Ernst, there will be a formal enquiry and you need to present your account before they form their own conclusions. Right or wrong, the committee won't change their minds. You also need to take the initiative. It is to your credit that you had arranged for the woman to be investigated, two days previous. If there were indications she was a threat, why hadn't they informed you?

"Another tactic is to present a summation of the situation and a strategy for dealing with it. It has the effect of moving the focus from you onto the real issue, the security of the victim. Done respectfully, but assertively, I believe you will be exonerated.

"Finally, it is better for you that I do not intervene in any way, because it will work against you on your record.

"I wish you luck and I want you to know I have every confidence in you.

"That is all I can offer you in the way of help and advice. Now it is up to you.

"Goodbye Ernst, my thoughts are with you." As was his way, Franz Huber abruptly ended the call.

***

Later that afternoon Ernst Huber left the medical facility, heavily bandaged. Apparently, there was nothing they could do to prevent disfiguring scars on his face.

A member of staff rushed up to him with a message, he was called, to attend the inquiry. Several minutes later, Ernst knocked on the door and was summoned in.

The assembly of six high ranking officers, all of whom he knew, looked stern as they sat at the long rectangular table. They were gathered at one end, either side of the chairman SS-Oberführer Wilhelm Keppler, who presided over the meeting.

He asked Ernst to take a seat. The lonely chair at the far end of the table was a ridiculous distance away from the group and if he sat there, it was them against him. It occurred to him, he was too late; they had most likely made up their minds about blame. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, by taking the odd seat with the group. There were now three people on each side of the chairman, everything was in balance and he was now one of them.

The chairman spoke, "Ernst, we see you got caught in the blast, I hope you will heal quickly. Please tell us, being so close, why didn't you prevent the woman from throwing the grenade?

"Surely you could have shot her?"

"I was not close at all. The woman was not aware of me, or she would never have thrown it. The grenade exploded against a stone step and directed some of the blast in my direction.

You may have noticed I flagged the woman for investigation two days ago because she started following Karl Strom three days before that. On every occasion, except today, there were bystanders along the route. Had it not been for them, she would have thrown the grenade then.

"Have you received any intelligence from the agents investigating the woman?"

The chairman grunted and looked questioningly at the other members, but they looked down and shuffled their papers. Ernst could see they were caught out and inadequately briefed for the inquiry.

Ernst remembered his father's advice and continued, "There was no opportunity to shoot the woman and prevent the attack. She had her back to me when she positioned the shopping bag in front of her, so I had no way of seeing what was in her hand. The instant she lobbed the grenade, high in the air, she vanished up an alley. The best I could do was shout a warning to Karl, but by then, the grenade hit the ground and rolled past him, into the step. He dived into the roadside gutter to take cover.

"Now that I have had a chance to examine the facts, I believe there is far more to this incident than killing one man. With respect, Sir, would you all care to hear what I have to say?"

The group nodded their agreement and Ernst continued.

"The attack on Karl Strom was not random, because in exchange for his death, the British have lost a valuable asset, the woman, and the opportunity to learn more about what we do here. That tells me several things; first, they are aware of what he is doing here, to some extent, and that they have no idea where exactly to drop bombs to cripple us.

"The recent bombing runs clearly indicate they are guessing. The next best thing is to eliminate the key man by killing him and thereby halt development, for a while.

"I wondered why they chose to blow him up, and that tells me they only have the woman on the outside, spying on us. The fact that she is a woman does not mean she cannot shoot, but she is unlikely to be good enough for a distant headshot. A body shot at close range is also risky, people often survive being shot by amateurs. It is better to blow the victim to pieces and ensure success.

"I have also tried to lob a grenade as she did, and it takes practice to become so accurate, which tells me the attack has been well planned for some time. I also wondered why she lobbed the grenade high in the air and did not just throw it directly. I reasoned that she wanted the explosion to occur the moment it hit the ground, so Karl had no time to take cover. If she just pulled the pin and counted off a few seconds before throwing, I or someone like me would have had time to shoot her. Several seconds passed when it was in the air, undetected by Karl and quite unstoppable.

"This is the sort of thinking that would come from an expert. The same applies to the escape up the alley. I am convinced the woman did not know I was there, or she would have found another time or place to kill him.

"I respectfully suggest we let the woman report that Karl is dead to SIS in England. It will get them off our back for a while, believing work here is halted. We can also feed misinformation to them, through her."

From their faces, Ernst could see he had their full attention and had impressed them with his presentation. What happened now was up to them.

"Ernst, I want to discuss what you have said with my fellow officers, I will let you know what we decide if it is relevant to you. However, I can put your mind at rest, we see no failing on your part and that will be stated clearly on your record. Thank you for your thoughts.

"Now you can return to your duties."

Ernst saluted and left, greatly relieved that the matter was closed.

The following afternoon he joined a small group of officers and staff at the village cemetery for Karl Strom's funeral, a hasty affair, but understandable under the circumstances.

A week later, he received a telephone call from SS-Oberführer Wilhelm Keppler.

"Kriminalassistent Ernst Huber, I thought you would appreciate taking part in the arrest and interrogation of Ingrid Hine, known by the British as Rabbit. She will be arrested for her part in the attack on yourself and Karl Strom. I have informed your superior, so report to him immediately. It will be a good experience for you."

"Thank you Oberführer Keppler, I am honoured."

"Of course, you are, Huber. Good day." He laughed and hung up.

***

That afternoon, Ingrid Hine (code name Rabbit) heard the commotion from the many soldiers running in her direction as she cleaned the sleeping and living quarters. This block was where the menial staff and general labour resided.

She hastily removed a piece of hard chewing gum shaped like a tooth, from her pocket, and forced it into the gap left by an extracted lower molar.

She was quickly surrounded by the soldiers. An officer pushed through them and stood close to her, face to face.

Blood drained from her brain and she felt dizzy, her guts churned, and her bowel contents turned to liquid, as adrenalin pumped through her system. In seconds, her mouth and throat had become so dry, she couldn't speak.

"Frau Ingrid Hine, I arrest you for acts of spying and other crimes against the Reich," announced Kriminaldirektor Georg Koppe.

Then two of the soldiers firmly grasped her arms and manhandled her away to be stripped and searched. It was a deliberately dramatic arrest, aimed at instilling terror into everyone who worked at Peenemünde and dissuading others from acts of sabotage and betrayal.

That evening, Ingrid's husband and five-year-old daughter were arrested. They were held in a room under guard, next to where Ingrid would be questioned.

The interrogation room was cramped and intentionally depressing, with a light grey painted concrete floor and neglected, bare white walls. The picture of the Führer, high up on the wall behind Georg Koppe, glared down at the prisoner. His expression said it all; _you decided to go against me, now you pay the price_ **.**

Koppe sat behind a simple wooden table with a small sheaf of papers in front of him, illuminated in a pool of light from a basic table lamp. Alongside, in the shadowy corner sat Ernst Huber; he was there to learn and, where necessary, assist and restrain. Both men looked cadaverous and sinister, in the dim light hanging from the ceiling. It cast dark shadows across their features.

Ingrid Hine noticed the freshly bruised and scabbed face of the man seated in the corner. Although she did not recognise him in uniform, she knew it was her grenade that had done the damage. Under different circumstances, she would have felt sympathy for the lad, such a handsome face disfigured for life, but at this moment, she felt nothing for him. Instead, her mind was filled with abject terror. Georg Koppe had a reputation for brutality and was staring dispassionately at her. She decided, he had the cold detachment of a venomous snake, about to strike.

Her British contact, Whisky, had warned her of the risks when recruiting her nine months ago. She had got away with so much, spying right under the Gestapo noses, she thought she was too smart for the Germans.

She thought, what can I do to get out of this?

She realised the British would have abandoned her already and covered their tracks. She had a daughter and loving husband to take care of and they knew nothing of her secret. She could hold out for a time, she imagined, but knew she would tell all in the end.

Another thought, what if they threaten my family?

No, she could not bear that; she decided, there were only two cards to play.

Ernst Huber tried to imagine what was going on in the woman's mind as she sat there, so tense. Rabbit, her code name, was very apt just now; this rabbit was caught in the proverbial headlights and had good reason to be rigid with fear.

She had permanently disfigured him, and he hated her for that, even though he realised he was just collateral damage. As an interrogator, he had to supress emotion, or he would fail the task. It calmed him to consider their differences, she had her beliefs and acted on them. He had his and would do the same. In war, the British kill Germans, and the Germans kill the British.

He wondered what he would do as a spy if he were facing the interrogation. Ernst could not comprehend such terror, but knowing what would happen to her, he was sure he would try to kill himself. The woman was unaware of the torture she would receive before giving in or dying. It would be foolish to be brave and resist, but would she still be brave when she saw her husband and child taking the pain? I doubt it, he decided.

Ernst speculated how Koppe would start the interrogation?

It was common knowledge amongst the officers that Koppe hated the unpleasantness of torture; he only used it as a last resort, because he needed to win. He was fully aware of his terrifying reputation to outsiders and would encourage that belief to achieve results.

"Ingrid, you have a husband called Josef, and a beautiful daughter Sophie, aged five. She looks very much like you." Koppe smiled warmly.

"Oh, dear God, please don't harm them, they know nothing of this. They are not involved in any way." The sound of panic and alarm showed in her desperate plea. Until now, the spy had consciously pushed the consequences to her loved ones from her mind.

"They are both here and their fate rests in your hands. You have been arrested because you are a British spy who has also attacked my staff. And for that, the penalty is death by firing squad." Koppe looked deeply saddened.

"The British have used you to gather intelligence about what we do here, but I want you to fully appreciate the word _used_ , because that's what they have done to you. Used you, and abandoned you, now that they have taken all you could give them. They have forgotten you already. I understand all this and having regard for the young family that needs you, I can help you if you help me.

"I can hold you, until the war is over, a year or so and then you can return to your family. As I said earlier, the alternative is the firing squad.

"In exchange, I want to know everything you have told the British, so I can take countermeasures.

"Is that what you want to do?

Ingrid said nothing. She didn't believe he would let her live.

Koppe continued in a gentle tone. "If it is, you can make a start and I will bring in Josef and Sophie to see you for a few minutes."

Georg looked up at her and with the facial expression of a kindly uncle, he reached forward and placed both palms on the table, in a gesture of sincerity.

Ingrid's eyes filled with tears. She knew there was only one card she could play.

In a fit of emotional insanity, she bit hard on the softened gum in her mouth and attempted to swallow. The cyanide loaded saliva tasted like bitter salt for an instant, then her mouth and throat went numb. It took only a few seconds for the poison to be transferred through the mucosa into her blood. Then every cell in contact with it became deprived of oxygen.

She fitted and fell forward onto the floor, gasping and writhing, her visible skin turning pink in an instant. Ingrid's final gasp came fifteen seconds later. She would have been better off trusting Koppe, even if he lied, the firing squad would have been less painful.

Ernst was shocked to the core, rooted to the chair.

Koppe looked surprised, but it quickly turned to fury as he accepted, she had thwarted him. He remained seated, checked the time and wrote a brief note in the file.

Two days after her death, there were high level meetings amongst the Germans discussing the relocation of various sections of the Research Centre, to different countries.

##  MI5. 8th June 1943

In his office at MI5, Sir Philip Stern leaned forward over his large mahogany desk and picked up the telephone. He called John Caplin, one of his team leaders.

"Good afternoon John," he boomed, "Sir Philip here, how is Margaret?

"A little one on the way I understand, due in October, is that right?"

"Oh, Hello Sir Philip." Caplin injected false enthusiasm into his voice as a substitute for alertness. "I was about to call you, we have officially lost contact with Rabbit, just as you expected. As you said that proverbial well was running dry.

"I have reviewed all she sent us, and everything up to June 2nd seems reliable.

"I am not convinced one way or the other whether Rabbit succeeded in killing Karl Strom. If I were 'jerry', I would say he was dead, even if he wasn't, just to keep the other side quiet. The funeral was a simple affair, but nothing we wouldn't do.

"Operations Whitebait and Hydra will go ahead anyway on August 17th. The maps and sketches Rabbit sent from the two Polish janitors she knew, are authentic, according to IMINT."

"Spot on my boy, just what I needed to know. Thanks!" That final word, _thanks_ , contained all the hollow sincerity of a backstreet car salesman.

John Caplin knew Stern would never call to enquire after his family, it was just his way of appearing friendly and if you weren't up to speed with your caseload, he would cut you off at the knees. The man had an uncanny way of knowing breaking news before it actually broke. He knew the questions to ask and the answers to expect. It occurred to Caplin and others in MI5 that Stern had his own spies outside the department, probably British or turned Germans who kept him informed. However he performed his party trick, it worked. His team leaders had to be on top of their game or they were history.

John Caplin often wondered how long his luck would hold, in the job. Perhaps the nasty rumour about Stern, 18 months ago, was true after all.

It was Caplin's testimony alone that had quashed all charges against the man. As far as John knew, Stern had been in his office on the night in question, and that is all he claimed. Never being privy to Stern's conversations with other staff, he supposed the man favoured him for that reason.

Stern wielded immense power within MI5 and keeping on the right side of him was a career maker. So far, Caplin had hidden his self-assumed incompetence with a string of lucky breaks.

Would his luck hold much longer?

##  Alderney. 1st December 1943

The driving rain had only one upside for Karl Strom; it flattened the dark water of Braye Bay, allowing a smoother landing for the Blohm & Voss BV 138 flying boat. He was its only passenger.

Even the wind, on this vile night, was paralysed by the freezing cold air.

The sudden hiss, jerk and bounce as the hull briefly kissed the rain pitted sea, roused Strom from his ruminations. Relief swept over him as the water sprayed loudly against the thin metal hull, and he felt the prolonged deceleration of a perfect water landing.

The trimotor Junkers Jumo aircraft diesel engines spluttered lumpily, vibrating the whole aircraft, as it taxied up to the floating pontoon.

For Strom, this long flight from Germany was all he could have hoped for. Although his tired body ached, where it still had feeling, his joy came from knowing his fragile, top secret equipment was likely to have survived the smooth journey.

He was also a step closer to resolving a personal matter, close to his heart, that this mission had made possible.

The engines stopped and their noise was replaced by the roar in his head, from assaulted eardrums. It would be some time before they returned to normal and he could enjoy silence again. He tried to move, but his muscles and joints had seized, it was the equivalent of rigor mortise, for the living.

Clicking open his seatbelt, it slipped away, the ends rattling against the seat frame. Screwing up his face as he forced himself through the agony, Karl stood and walked through the plane.

Past injuries had healed, but the lasting damage was done. Rabbit's grenade attack had also left him mentally scarred; he was not the resilient and relentless man he once was. Fortunately, only he knew his limitations, but then he was a master at keeping secrets.

What was one more?

Strom thanked the young pilot for a smooth flight and was not too surprised when the man suggested there were safer explosives to transport by plane than bottles of nitro-glycerine. Strom smiled in agreement and left the aircraft. He was confident the soldiers handling the crate marked 'explosives', addressed to Herr Oberst Dedrick Schwalm, would treat it with consummate care, so he strode purposefully towards shelter from the rapidly changing weather.

He waited patiently for a staff car to arrive and carry him off to meet Schwalm. It was 20 minutes before a car pulled up near him. During that time the wind had developed into powerful gusts, and the rain fell in torrents. The driving rain penetrated his clothing and the biting wind made his exposed skin ache, before it turned numb.

For reasons of secrecy, Karl's arrival on the island was not scheduled. However, just prior to landing it was made clear by Berlin, that Dedrick Schwalm was required to see the passenger, immediately he landed.

It was that sort of exclusion from what was happening in Berlin, which made Dedrick question his role in the war. As he saw it, he was, cast away on this godforsaken island.

Strom instructed the two soldiers carrying the crate from the plane, to place it carefully on the back seat of the car. They wedged it firmly into position with his travel bag.

Karl was grateful for the relative warmth inside the car as he sat next to the driver, but in an intentional display of arrogance, Karl ignored him. Instead he stared blindly through the windshield at the torrents of water blasting over it.

The two soldiers with the crate told the driver it was nitro-glycerine for the Oberst and from that moment on, the petrified driver drove as smoothly as rolling mist.
The meeting.

The journey to Fort Clonque was short and somewhat alarming as the breaking sea was churning over the narrow causeway that led to it.

The small Victorian stone fort was perched on top of a large granite outcrop, just beyond the reach of the sea that swirled around it in the wildest storm.

Karl Strom dashed from the car, over the drawbridge into the keep. The flood of yellow light ahead offered warmth and security within.

He waited patiently inside the entrance, as the crate was gently lifted from the rear seat by the driver and a guard and carried carefully into the Oberst's dining hall. They lowered it to the floor like a priceless Ming vase. The driver promptly left, relieved to be back in his car, cold, wet and intact.

The aggressive voice of the Oberst bellowed from the dining hall, "Herman, bring in our guest, let's find out who he is and what he wants so urgently at 2.00 am in the morning."

Herman approached Karl Strom with the air of overconfidence in his position as the Oberst's personal guard and friend.

Strom remembered from the personnel files, Herman was 50, and appeared to be a very fit man, of average build and height. Here was somebody who was well organised and knew all that was going on around him, a dependable man, trustworthy and discrete. The kind of person who would be sniffing around Strom's business and knowing more than he should.

"May I have your name Sir, so I can present you to Herr Oberst Schwalm?"

"No, you may not!" Strom barked. "Here are my orders for his immediate attention."

Strom gave the affronted man a withering glare as he handed them over and walked into the Oberst's room unannounced. He waited while Herman passed the sealed orders to his superior.

Before he left Berlin, Karl had also read the files about Schwalm, his officers and immediate staff, looking for issues that might compromise his secret mission. According to records, Schwalm had personal reasons for remaining separate from the other officers who were billeted at the Grand Hotel, though they didn't say what they were.

Schwalm was familiar with Strom's type. Arrogant and well connected, probably Gestapo, although the way he was dressed gave no clue to this, or his rank.

In the tone of a friend, Schwalm said, "Thank you, Herman, you may leave and don't hover behind the closed door, my business with our unannounced guest will be strictly private. And there will be no interruptions, unless it's from Berlin."

Herman gave a salute and quietly closed the large varnished pine door behind him.

Oberst Schwalm turned to face Strom and examined the man standing patiently before him, as he slit open the orders.

About 35 years old, dark brown hair in need of cutting, calm intelligent brown eyes, youthful and handsome face, about 1.75m tall and of slim, muscular build. He had strong hands and long fingers with a distinct taper, ending in well-manicured nails, indicating a creative and sensitive person, contrary to his arrogant pose. His heavy black clothes were soaked and badly creased, but that was understandable in the circumstances. The highly polished shoes looked new, slightly spoiled with just a sprinkling of raindrops, glinting like jewels in the low light.

Karl Strom appeared to be the cool, calm and alert type, but not the sort of man who would stand out in a group.

As Schwalm would discover, only by talking with Karl socially would he appreciate his exceptional character. Quietly knowledgeable about so many things and blessed with an appropriate sense of humour. Most people would tend to look to him for leadership, perhaps even guidance with their problems.

For a first-class manipulator, winning people over was crucial in getting others to do his bidding. Karl had already started with Herman and now he would prepare to manipulate Schwalm.

Karl was aware of how others saw him as a person, but they would never be close enough to know the real man.

Deep inside, he feared people. They might discover his vulnerabilities, of which there were many. He was lonely and unable to share his true feelings, so an amicable loner was what he became. He craved the love and companionship he saw other men enjoy with women; he knew only sexual gratification. So far, he had never met a woman for whom he felt love, and he had met hundreds. He logically concluded that love was a fictitious emotion.

Now he had become embroiled in the evils of war, as a spy. A world of distrust, deceit and the cold-blooded murder of anyone, man, woman or child posing a threat to him or Germany. The only way he could live with himself was to know he was only following orders.

The British spies were no different, they had the same job to do but he had to be better than them to survive and win.

When face to face with your enemy, if you show fear, you are done for. If distracted by emotions, you are not focussing on survival. Many a time Karl had felt his guts knot up and his bowels turn to liquid, often while waiting to parachute behind enemy lines, or in a crowd surrounded by the enemy, searching for him. He soon learned how to push away the fear in his mind.

Strom also read the Oberst, while he scrutinised the brief orders.

An Aryan of the Nordic subtype he recalled, 55 years old, thinning blond hair and rectangular shaped face.

Karl knew that, in general, face shape played a large part in first impressions. Whilst identical shapes were best, his own square face would work well.

Even though the orders had come from Berlin, Karl Strom still needed Schwalm's personal cooperation to make this mission work.

The Oberst had apparently appreciated the importance of his visitor and despite the late meeting, he had redressed specially, and was immaculately turned out.

The man's keen blue eyes skimmed the orders and studied the signature, causing a momentarily raised eyebrow, and then re-read the whole document, several times.

"Glass!" He exclaimed. "The choice of codename intrigues me, though I know it is meaningless and infers nothing. Still it had to be chosen, not entirely random." Strom gave an inconsequential shrug. The man was trying to break the ice, but they would never become best friends, so let him move on.

Schwalm took the hint; he wanted to get on with the meeting and came right out with it. "Please remove your wet coat and sit with me by the stove. I see what it says here in the orders, but what can you tell me, so I am able to give you every assistance?"

The room had felt warm to Strom when he walked in, but the stove had almost gone out and now he was chilled. The bare stone walls, for all the good they were, might just as well have been blocks of ice as they drained heat from him, and from the air in the room.

He gladly dumped his wet coat over a plain wooden dining chair and dragged another from the table towards the large, but basic, round cast iron stove. He took the initiative by opening the stove door and threw bits of varnished floorboard into it, generating sparks and eager flame.

Strom knew things were desperately hard on this island but was surprised he had been offered no refreshment. By the look of the fuel for the stove, they were using floorboards and joists, with no logs in sight. As he glanced around the moderate sized room, he saw no upholstered furniture or carpets, and only the portrait of the Führer adorned the walls.

Every expense had been spared!

Karl replied to his host's question. "I am delighted to meet you Herr Oberst. What I tell you must be kept between ourselves. As the orders state, this is a highly secret mission.

Schwalm nodded his understanding.

"I have been developing a radio beacon system so that our ordnance can home in on targets with unerring accuracy. I have a crate of beacons over there." Strom pointed to the crate in the middle of the floor.

Schwalm smiled, "I am relieved to hear that! A good idea letting people believe the crate contains nitro-glycerine, no one will want to tamper with it. Marking it for me and not yourself, also reduces curiosity."

Strom smiled back appreciatively and continued. "There are three key features that make the system special. The beacon transmits very short-wave signals that include a simple series of tones. The receiver in the bomb detects the signal and recognises the tones, so it cannot be copied. Different missiles can selectively home in on their target depending on the programmed tones. It cannot be jammed at the moment, as we do with the British GEE system. It is more effective than our X-Gerät, because of the very high frequency. Also, the British have nothing that can transmit or receive on the wavelength we use.

"The high frequency has the advantage of being very directional and the transmitter only needs a short aerial. As you will know, our usual transmitters have long aerials making it difficult for them to be deployed secretly."

Schwalm summed up. "So, undetectable and uncopiable signal, highly directional and compact design."

Karl nodded and continued, "I need to train several of your best technical men. They in turn can train our agents in England to use, place and maintain the beacons in the field. Can you help me with that, Herr Oberst?"

"We have nearly 400 men and officers here. I am sure we can, Karl. We should be able to find what you need amongst them."

Karl continued, "Alderney was chosen because of its isolation, yet close proximity to England, where the beacons will be deployed. This is the last place the British will have spies. We are sure that the average radio technician can learn how to train our agents to use the beacons.

"The downside of this technology is its fragility; the circuitry and thermionic valves are very sensitive because of the frequency used and they have to be made by hand. A sharp knock can shatter or detune a beacon so it will not work."

"How do you plan to transport them to England, will they withstand an air drop?"

"An air drop is out of the question. I have thoughts on how to transport them, but I need to check the detail before I can say more, Herr Oberst."

"By the way, have you heard of Cherry Stone?"

The Oberst's irritation showed. He looked away from Strom, who noticed the pointless sideways shuffle of his feet. Yet again, Berlin had kept the Oberst out of the loop.

Diplomatically, Strom brought him up to date. There was more to be gained in good relations than keeping a secret known by everybody but Schwalm.

"As you probably know, Cherry Stone is the code name for the V-1. The first of the so-called Vergeltungswaffen series designed for terror bombing London. The V-1 will be fired from launch sites along the French (Pas-de-Calais) and Dutch coasts. We have a period of several months to get trained in England and trial the equipment. When everything is working, the beacons will be placed on or inside the chosen targets. As I am sure you know, there are always unforeseen challenges to overcome and although it looks like we have plenty of time, I doubt we have any to spare."

The Oberst was less irked now and Karl could see the man was warming to him. It is only human nature to resent exclusion. The favourable shift in attitude was due to Karl manipulatively sharing his secrets. A strong bond had been formed between them, one that would be tested over the coming weeks.

The sound of flame and crackling wood suddenly came from the stove. It momentarily interrupted the briefing as both men leaned closer to the promise of warmth. Keen to return to his warm bed, Schwalm used the break to suggest the next move.

"Thank you for telling me as much as you have, it is reassuring that you trust me, and knowing so much about your purpose will help me to help you to a greater extent.

"I suppose you will want to start your selection and training first thing in the morning. I will provide you with suitable personnel records and you can begin there. Would breakfast at 8.00 am be acceptable to you?"

"Yes, Herr Oberst that would be perfect.

"It was a long flight from Berlin, and there was no refreshment available on the flight. Perhaps you can offer me some food, drink and accommodation?"

"Under better circumstances, you would have already been offered refreshment, but we have very limited supplies and replacements are long overdue. I will have Herman take you to your room straight away. I will also post extra guards outside at every window and door.

"To keep things simple, what would you prefer me to call you?"

"How about calling me Pieter Klein, Herr Oberst? Consider me a technician and not a ranking officer. It should make working together less formal, is that agreeable to you?" Pieter gave his warmest smile and saw that it was reciprocated.

The man had already pulled a bell cord in anticipation of the meeting's conclusion and waited a moment for Herman to attend.

"Herman, meet Pieter Klein, he is a technical expert who will be staying with us for a short time and will be telling some of our men about the latest technology. Please give Pieter our best guest room, the one with the sea view. Breakfast will be in here 8.00 am sharp. Post extra guards outside to all windows and doors. Allow only myself and Pieter into this room. That means you cannot set out breakfast until I am in here at 7.30 am."

"Of course, Herr Oberst."

Herman turned to leave. "Pieter, please follow me to your room."

"Oh, Herman, please remove the excess wood from the stove, it will not be needed for heat now."

"I will return at once to do that, Herr Oberst."

Pieter felt the familiar gnawing anxiety in his guts; strange unwelcoming surroundings and people he could not trust. There was every reason to be paranoid. So far, he had only met the Oberst, a decent enough man, and Herman, still an unknown quantity. What about the others here in the fort; a new face is bound to raise questions in their minds. There was always the potential for a spy to inform the British of his arrival. The spy would dig deeper into the purpose of the visit. After all, this was the key part of Herr Hitler's Atlantic wall.

Pieter wondered if his deep depression had much further to fall, it probably did, he had not tried the bed yet and a poor night's sleep would just about finish him.

Memories of the grenade attack still terrified him, manifesting themselves as nightmares. The scar tissue down the right side of his back and buttock had many adhesions. He had told no-one how much they pulled and hurt, especially at night, because he feared he would be prohibited from active service, desk bound and marginalised.

He loved the challenge of solving an engineering problem but living on the edge as a spy meant everything to him. He didn't want to die, but that possibility kept him sharp. He also had a personal mission; one he must complete at any cost. This was his chance to accomplish it. A matter of honour, not his, but one far more important than anything else in the world.

##  The encounter.

Herman showed Pieter into the guestroom and hastily drew the curtains before switching on the light. The wind howled outside, banging the ill-fitting softwood window frames like someone breaking in. A constant draught ceaselessly wafted the thick drapes. Pelting rain driven horizontally by the storm force wind, rattled like dried peas against the single panes of glass. Rain leaked through the wood frame, ran down the granite wall and puddled on the bare stone floor. Even the wall surfaces away from the window glinted with beads of moisture, in the depressing yellow light. The room was clean, but very damp.

Herman pulled fresh bedding from a large cupboard and the two men set about making up the bed. It was a simple bed of varnished pine headboard and frame with stretched wire links to springs. This was as close to luxury and comfort as Pieter was likely to get. He was grateful that Herman had replaced the very thin and quite damp mattress on the bed, with a fresh one from the cupboard.

Herman nervously cleared his throat to gain his guest's attention. His self-confidence not yet restored. "Pieter, it is now 2.30 am, if you give me your damp clothes, I will attempt to dry and press them for the morning."

Pieter turned on the charm, now he had got some measure of the man. "Thank you, Herman, I am most grateful. Is there any chance of a dressing gown I can borrow?"

"I will loan you my new one, which I will bring when I return to collect your clothes. By the way, the bathroom and toilet are next door and there will be a fresh towel on the back of the door. Regrettably there will be no hot water, bath night will be in a week. I will remind you nearer the time. Fortunately, the weather is usually milder than this and the tap water seldom freezes."

Herman left the room. Pieter undressed, hanging up his clothes neatly, and went naked to the bathroom. As promised, the man had provided a towel and dressing gown for him.

By now, the Oberst had returned to his bedroom, undressed and slipped into bed. A young girl murmured sleepily from under the thick blankets. "I am glad you are back, Dedrick, I have missed you!"

He slid up to her warm, petite body and pressed against her.

"You are so cold Dedrick, let me warm you up again and relax you." As he rolled onto his back, the girl pushed on top and straddled him, pulling up her nightdress. It was not many minutes later, before Dedrick was warm, very happy and sound asleep.

The girl was now wide awake. Pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders she braced herself for a dash to the bathroom. The cautious pat-pat of her bare feet on the stone floor was almost inaudible above the noise of the storm, but Pieter heard it.

He slipped silently and naked from his warm bed, into the cold, to investigate. In his paranoid brain, the noise was suspicious. It was not the sound of masculine footfalls on the way to the bathroom for a pee. They were stealthy, possibly the prelude to an attack or to tamper with the crate.

As he soundlessly eased open his bedroom door, he realised he could no longer hear the footsteps. Perhaps his quarry had heard him and was hiding in the bathroom. There was no light showing.

He barged open the bathroom door and switched on the light. A startled girl stood facing him; she was quite naked. Her legs were wide apart, and she held a cloth in her hand, about to wash Dedrick's seed away.

Pieter and the girl stood squinting, as they examined each other and recovered from the shock. Before the girl could cover up or utter a rebuke, the light went out and Pieter was gone.

***

Herman woke the Oberst at his usual time, bringing coffee and a large container of hot water for washing. Then he pulled back the heavy window drapes. The morning sun streamed in, having replaced the storm.

The beautiful and peaceful island of Alderney was back to normal again.

"Good morning Herr Oberst, do you wish me to wake our guest, Pieter Klein?"

"Might be a good idea, I have a lot to do today and he will add to that burden. The sooner we start the better."

Herman left to rouse Pieter.

Helga Bunt was fully awake under the bedding and Herman had just answered the question that had been on her mind since the bathroom encounter. So, Pieter Klein was the handsome, muscular dream who had appeared before her in the night. Afterwards, she had slipped back into bed with his picture seared into her mind. She hugged her pillow, as she dreamed of them together in the bed.

After Pieter had vanished from the bathroom, he slipped back into his cold bed. His training as a spy enabled him to take in every detail of the girl at a glance. The image of her played on his mind until it was time to get up.

He cursed his weakness for young girls, he loved them all, even the less beautiful ones. It had been that way, long before puberty and he could never reason why.

As an experienced German spy, he knew this weakness could be the death of him. Sensibly he avoided emotional relationships at all costs. They made spies vulnerable. It could sway loyalties, lead to mistakes in judgement and trust in the wrong person.

It was weeks ago since he had been with a woman, so his urges were overwhelming. This petite angel was available, and he had to have her.

##  The first day. 2nd December 1943

Pieter was awake when Herman politely knocked and placed the dried and pressed clothes on a chair in the bedroom, then he left. Pieter got up and opened his drapes, remembering to step past the large pool of water on the stone floor.

The harbour was a beautiful sight. The sea was a tropical blue, the morning mist was quickly retreating to the horizon and this was an altogether wonderful spring day, but in December.

The sunbeams through the glass lit the dust in the air and warmed his naked body as he threw the steaming wood frames open, letting in a blast of chilled, fresh air.

The gulls circled and screeched as they searched vainly for food, wary these days of the starving soldiers who shot at them.

The smell of the salt air and seaweed blew into the musty smelling room, transforming his first opinion of the island to one of paradise.

Hastily Pieter carried out his ablutions, dressed and went out for a brisk run along the coast path to the harbour, and back in time for breakfast.

Oberst Schwalm had been busy with the personnel files before breakfast. He had whittled them down to a short list for Pieter to choose from.

As they sat down together for breakfast, they were joined by Helga Bunt. The Oberst introduced her to Pieter as his assistant. She blushed perceptively as she was told his name. Pieter Klein, a technician sent from Berlin.

Both Pieter and Helga pretended they had never met and ignored each other during conversation at the table. Even though Helga did not look at him, he filled her mind, making her clumsy and distracted. Pieter noticed this and knew it was just a matter of time before she came to him; the sooner the better he thought, as he drank in every feature of her sweet face and nuance of movement.

He guessed she was in her late twenties and appeared greatly favoured by Schwalm. The man was not married, according to his records, and provided he kept their relationship secret, he would not be reprimanded by Berlin. They held Dedrick in high regard, though not highly enough to avoid sending him to Alderney.

Helga's face shape was square like Pieter's, proof positive the rule of face shape and first impressions was valid. It was framed with naturally wavy fair hair, held back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. It was her natural colour according to her eyebrows and from what he remembered in the bathroom. He also remembered her pert breasts. Lustfully he imagined their hard nipples presenting under her immaculate blouse and uniform jacket.

The girl's grey eyes were bright and alert, taking in everything she could about Pieter.

Her voice was soft and sensual, even though she spoke rapidly. The sign of a quick thinker. She was eloquent and he had no doubt she came from a high-class German family.

After they had eaten a particularly meagre breakfast, Dedrick gave Helga her instructions for the morning, and she left the room. It allowed Pieter and the Oberst to do their work. Herman cleared away and left them to it.

***

Later that morning, Pieter spoke with Dedrick.

"Herr Oberst, I have looked through your choice of technical staff and have chosen six men. I would like to interview them straight away and get it down to the three I need. I must say, the men are far from ideal and I am worried none of them will meet my standards."

Dedrick smiled, he had this struggle every day here on the island. He was certain only the worst troops were sent to him. "You chose to put yourself into this game Pieter, so you must make the best of your poor hand. Are you a skilled player or a poor one? That is the question!" He was expected to work miracles, so must Pieter and his masters.

***

At Pieter's request, the Oberst ordered that a large bedroom be emptied, and four chairs and a large table placed in it. This was to become the interview room and later, the team's training room.

The interviews went badly, and the aptitude tests were even worse. Pieter doubted the men were sentient beings.

So much was at stake, his choice of men would determine the success or failure of this mission, even the war, for Germany. As explained by Herr Hitler in Berlin, the cost of munitions was crippling, the time needed to make them was hindering the war effort, so every bomb had to reach its target.

Pieter realised that he had been spoilt. His development team of German colleagues were scientists of the highest order and they had created a workable device, despite the seemingly overwhelming technical challenges. The beacon was absurdly inefficient electrically, many watts were needed to produce a single watt of radio output; nevertheless, it did the job.

This final phase, taking the device and putting it into practice, would be the greatest test for him. The Führer made it very clear, "Karl, you must not fail me or Germany, we are depending on you!"

***

Pieter was alone in the interview room. He had dismissed the last candidate and in the silence of the freezing cold, he was mulling over his next move. He was trained to put discomfort and even pain to the back of his mind, but bone numbing cold still depressed him. It was another of his weaknesses.

He wandered to the window and watched the surf breaking on the shore. The bright and sunny dawn that had offered so much promise of accomplishment, had degenerated to a dull grey misty afternoon. It did nothing to raise his spirits.

There was a knock on the door. The Oberst was out somewhere on the island, it wasn't Herman's knock. His heart skipped a beat.

"Who is it? Herr Oberst is not here?"

"Helga Bunt, Sir. May I come in and speak to you?"

More missed heart beats.

"Come in Helga, I can spare you a few minutes."

She entered demurely, closing the door quietly behind her, then walked up to him and stood close by his side.

As she had walked over, Pieter instinctively studied her. He noticed the sweep of her eyes over his desk as she approached.

He was trained to read documents upside down on desks. Was she?

She approached and switched her gaze to his eyes, holding his full attention. By standing so close to him, she had deliberately invaded his personal space. He did the same when he wanted to test an unknown contact. At its simplest level, it reveals the opponent's belief in his position in the pecking order. All things being equal, the opponent would feel intimidated and back away perceptibly. An opponent with secrets, guilt or treachery would also back off. The trick is to decide which situation applies. When a woman stands so close to a man she barely knows, she is saying, I know you desire me, and I am very confident I will not disappoint. It is now up to the man not to back off but make the next play.

Moving slightly closer and holding her gaze, Pieter smiled warmly, a glint in his eyes. She blushed and backed away, looking down.

"The Oberst asked me to gather the personnel files for him. I overheard the men you interviewed deliberately played down their abilities. They do not want to be chosen for whatever mission you have planned." She looked up, to read his response. His warm smile remained, but the glint had turned to cold steel as he analysed her information. Was she a spy? Was she playing him?

What she was saying, explained the poor results from the men. He had led them to the water, but they were not about to drink.

"Thank you for telling me that Helga. What else have you found out about my work here?"

Her face and eye contact remained unfazed, so he concluded she was very bright, anxious to please him, but naive. Had she been a snoop, possibly even a spy, he felt certain she would have flinched and signed her death warrant.

"I know nothing about your work, only that you have interviewed men I pulled files on. They are pretending to be fools, according to gossip. I just thought you should know. I could have informed Herr Oberst, but he is not here, and I believe he would deal with the men very harshly. I see they have families and I understand their desire to go home.

We also have men and women here without families who have skills you might use. They also have poor records and are not good soldiers, perhaps they might be of interest to you instead."

"Please get me all the files for those people, I will look at them and then discuss my findings with Herr Oberst upon his return."

"Unless an urgent matter occurs, Sir, he will not return until late tomorrow morning. He is with the officers at the Grand Hotel for briefings and dinner. I will be available if you need anything, _anything_ at all." It was the second _anything_ that interested Pieter. The emphasis was quite explicit. "I will be at dinner at 7.00 pm this evening, so I will also see you then." She smiled coyly.

"Thank you, Helga, I am sure you and I will see a lot of each other. Thank you for your assistance." The warm sincere tone of his voice caused her heartbeat to quicken.

She left the room, leaving Pieter with many questions to think about.

***

It was just an hour later when Herman brought in a small pile of personnel files. He didn't say where he got them, but Pieter guessed Helga had given them to him.

Although the new applicants' skills were not primarily electrical, they were all top achievers, their records were blighted because of disciplinary matters. They weren't good soldiers either when it came to following orders or avoiding trouble. He decided to see them in person, so he phoned through to Helga.

"Hello Helga, thank you for the files, they were very interesting. I have a list of the personnel I want to see, immediately. Can you ask Herman to organise it and I will interview them in list order, as soon as they are here?"

"Of course, Sir, I will deal with it at once."

A few minutes later, Herman collected the list and the first soldier was interviewed within the hour.

The nine candidates were excellent, carrying out the aptitude tests quickly and accurately. Apparently, they were keen to show how smart they were, deciding that they would find a way out if they did not like what they were being vetted for. The chances were though, anything would be better than starving to death on this island.

What would Pieter do, if he couldn't put a team together.

##  A romantic evening.

At 6.30 pm, Pieter Klein went to his room to change for dinner. He took an icy shower in the bitingly cold bathroom and dressed in fresh clothes from his travel bag. A little cologne would do no harm he thought, putting aside any expectations on the part of Helga.

Pieter walked into the dining room and found her seated at the table. Helga had freshened up and looked pristine, although still in uniform. She smiled at Pieter as he entered the room and stood to attention.

"Good evening Sir. I understand Herman has managed to procure a chicken for this evening, a rare treat indeed."

"Is that real chicken, or seagull masquerading as chicken?" Pieter questioned sarcastically, but with the warmest smile he could muster.

Helga burst into a nervous giggle which she had difficulty in supressing.

"Please be seated Helga and when we are alone, please call me Pieter. I think formality can get in the way of communication, when we have to work so closely together." Helga beamed and sipped her water as she quietly considered his insinuation.

"How long have you been here on the island, Helga?"

"Only two years. The Oberst needed an assistant and I was ordered here from Berlin. As you will have noticed, the war grinds on more peacefully here. I was a town girl when I arrived, but I soon settled in. Most of the time the island is a perfect place to live.

"It has changed for the worse though recently because of food shortages.

"Are you able to talk about yourself?" she asked politely.

Pieter thought the girl was too smart by half. If he said he could not talk about himself, then he had secrets, things to hide. If he opened up and relied on his cover, she might catch him out. He decided to open up but keep the subject about her. That would not be difficult as he desired her beyond reason; her naked image plagued his thoughts as he conversed with her. With the Oberst absent, he hoped she would sneak into his bed later that night.

If only the water were wine, it would loosen her up and make her more receptive to his charm. As it was, the two of them were relaxed, there were smiles and laughter. Perhaps the rather romantic low lights, the crackling and hissing of damp wood in the hot stove and enjoyable food were enough.

Helga loved to talk about herself and life before the war, in Berlin. The few questions she asked of him were typically female curiosity. Was he married and why not? Had he chosen the army career over family? She was a smart girl, but just a girl; he needn't have any concerns about her allegiance to Germany. She was also canny enough to take fun when it was offered, and not spoil things with Herr Oberst. She understood Pieter would not be here for long, so this was a romance that was destined not to last.

***

Herman had long since cleared away. It was now 9.00 pm and time for bed.

"Helga, I have thoroughly enjoyed this evening with you, I wish it would never end." She stiffened and beamed at Pieter.

"I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, briefing the soldiers and starting their training." He cursed himself for saying so much. "I am going up to bed now and look forward to your company again, soon."

"Thank you, Pieter. You made the evening so entertaining for me. I certainly don't want it to end."

They both stood up and with a stiff bow, Pieter headed for his room.

He hastily stripped off and folded his clothes over a chair ready for the morning, slipped on the dressing gown and went to the bathroom.

Apart from a dim landing light, the Fort was silent and in darkness. When he re-entered his bedroom, 10 minutes later, even in the gloom, he could see his bed was not empty.

Pieter slipped into bed alongside her warm, naked body.

Sensing he was prepared to let her take any pleasure she desired, Helga calmed herself and focussed on making it a long night of unbridled passion.

It never crossed their minds what would happen if Dedrick found out.

##  Raven. 3rd December 1943

The icy wind chilled the lone figure to the bone, as it glided silently and furtively towards the headland facing Laye, in France. The figure wore what appeared to be a flowing black cape, like that of a highwayman, to act as a form of camouflage in the darkness. The fleeting shape hunched low as it moved, and all semblance of human form was lost. In an instant, it could merge seamlessly with the irregular silhouette of grass and heather, and the undulating ground.

Normally, the usual activity of the guards on duty at the installations and bunkers could be easily avoided, but since Pieter Klein arrived, the Oberst had ordered patrols to be increased. The extra guards were very hard to spot. They would hunker down low behind bushes for shelter, remaining invisible in the undergrowth. Because of the current shortage of supplies, the tell-tale glow of a cigarette or the smell of its smoke was very unlikely.

The shadow eased up a flat rock and pulled out a long powerful torch wrapped in waxed cloth. Soundlessly the torch was slid down into a rusty pipe, partly buried in the ground. It pointed across the English Channel, towards France. The pipe acted both as a guide for accuracy and a light baffle; the light could only be seen head on.

The recent ban on radio receivers also meant the soldiers could easily have detected a radio transmitter.

This shadow was an Alderney spy, known to MI5 as Raven. The routine submarine, aircraft and shipping movements for the following day were sent by Morse code. This transmission also included everything Raven had found out about Pieter Klein, including his search for suitable soldiers and the mysterious box of nitro-glycerine explosive.

The Raven's counterpart at Laye, on the La Roche coast, 11 miles away, received the message and relayed it to Sir Philip Stern at MI5.

***

That morning at 9.00 am Sir Philip Stern, the senior British spymaster, quickly sifted through a pile of decoded messages that had been placed on his desk. When he came to the transmission from Raven, he snatched up the phone and made a brief call to John Caplin.

"Good morning John, how is your lovely wife and beautiful daughter? Not keeping you awake I hope!" Stern was a bon vivant and gave a passable impression of the well-known actor, Sydney Greenstreet of "Casablanca" fame. It had been a hit movie a year earlier, starring Humphrey Bogart.

"Thank you for asking Sir Philip. Angela is two months old now and takes after Margaret, determined to have the last word.

"What can I do for you, Sir Philip?"

"John, I am sending over a copy of a message I received. I want everything we have on a German called Pieter Klein. He is about 35..."

"I will come straight back to you when I have seen your message, Sir."

"Thank you so much John, I think this is something we need to take seriously; a feeling in my water, don't you know?

"Over to you, young fellow."

An hour later, John called back.

"I have looked into that Alderney matter, Sir Philip. Several matches were made but I am sorry to say, none were of interest. The matter is now flagged as significant though and will be closely monitored. As soon as I have anything, I will report back to you."

"Well, thank you for looking.

"The man in Alderney is almost certainly a spy and up to no good.

"Send a message instructing Raven to gather more intelligence on Klein. Get a photograph if possible. We need to find out what the devil he's up to and nip it in the bud."

"Of course, Sir Philip, I will pass it to coding and it will be transmitted tonight."

"Thank you, John. That will be all."

Caplin cursed inwardly, as if he hadn't enough to chase up. Any spy on Alderney was no real concern of his, being so far away. Klein could be anyone. Spies tend to work alone, not recruit soldiers as spies. The training up of a spy takes months, and such people are most atypical, not the average German soldier material. Anyway, a box of explosives is hardly going to win the war.

Raven was useful for keeping his department informed with intelligence, but it was so routine, it was never worth the risk of getting caught.

But, then again, Sir Philip did have that nasty knack of always being right.

##  The team. 3rd December 1943

It was 8.00 am. Pieter Klein escorted nine candidates to a derelict granite cottage, nearby. He listened to the soldiers as they spoke to one another in subdued, but excited voices.

He showed them into a large living room and told them to sit on the bare stone floor. Their breath hung around them like a cloud, in the freezing still air. Dressed in overalls, the group sat cross legged wondering what they were about to discover. They had already noticed Pieter was carrying a red, stove enamelled metal container about half the length of a shoe box. They speculated about its purpose, but no one came close to the truth.

For Pieter, this was the tricky stage of the selection process. He had to set out the risks to the soldiers, without giving away his secrets.

Their tense faces told him they were anxious to know what they had let themselves in for.

Calmly, Pieter stood in front of them and spoke in a deadly serious tone. "I want three of you to come with me on a perilous mission.

"Make no mistake, only your sharp wits and good luck will save you from capture and execution." He paused for effect, glancing at each face for their reaction.

"I will train you to maintain and service some delicate electrical equipment, behind enemy lines. You in turn must train others to do the same. The mission is of vital importance to Germany and will shorten the war."

His tone became ominous. "If any of you wish to leave, say so now. This will be your only opportunity to simply walk away."

The soldiers looked anxiously at each other, wondering what to do. After a few moments, two men and two of the four women stood up and asked to leave.

"Report back to your units immediately. Say nothing about what you have been told or might have assumed. Your friends and others you know are certain to ask, so tell them your records are being re-considered and you might be promoted. If you say anything else, you and they will be shot!" A shocked hush fell over the room as each person evaluated the harsh threat. There was obviously more to this mission and the small red box than they could imagine.

Pieter Klein didn't look like the brutal sort of man who would shoot and kill in cold blood, but he was a spy, and they didn't know anything about him. They hastily stood up and filed out, glad to leave this suicide squad, and it would be no hardship to keep their mouths shut.

Pieter escorted the four tight-lipped soldiers outside the cottage and watched them hurry away.

When he re-entered the room, the remaining three men and two women stopped whispering and looked petrified.

Pieter stood over them again, his mood wasn't threatening now. "Before I tell you about your mission, I want to see how well you learn and carry out this simulation." Pieter pointed to the red box and tools.

"This simulation will show me if you have the learning skills and dexterity needed for the real task. It won't show you what the task is, so don't bother to guess."

Pieter unpacked the box in front of the 3 men and 2 women so they could see the mysterious contents. He carefully unwrapped the small coloured glass spheres with metal tabs protruding from their sides, and wide strips of thin silver foil. He then showed them the remaining contents of the box, layers of thin glass, covered with sockets for the spheres, and foil strips, all fixed into position with glass washers and screws.

Pieter explained, "I want the glass panels removed from the box, new foil cut to accurately match the templates, then fix them to the panels. The colour coded glass objects must be carefully inserted into their receptacles, and the fine tabs screwed down to make contact with the foil. Then replace the assembled glass panels in the box, and screw into position".

He intentionally moved away, indicating he had ended his instructions. If a candidate was unable to remember and understand the first time, they were not mentally equipped for the task.

"One of you start; the rest turn to face the wall."

One of the men tried first, followed by a woman.

Working in the poorly lit room, laid on their bellies on a filthy floor, with tiny fragile items and unfamiliar tools proved impossible for them. Pieter considered the environment was good field conditions. The final three would train to do the work by torchlight, out in a storm, protected only by a waterproof canvas cover.

The two soldiers failed the test. "Stop what you are doing and go back to your unit. You are of no use to me.

"Remember what I told the others, nothing that has happened here must ever be mentioned or discussed with anyone, not even each other.

"I know who your friends are, and some of them will report you to me if you don't keep your mouth shut."

The man and woman left, ashamed that they had failed, but relieved to be off the mission.

Pieter reset the task each time and the remaining three carried out the test successfully. Now they must be properly trained to assemble, fault-find and repair actual beacons. He knew if any of the team fell into enemy hands with this knowledge, or turned and became British spies, the beacons would no longer be as useful. They might even be used against Germany.

Superficially, a beacon looked simple to repair, but this was deceptive because every sphere, foil and screw had to be precisely positioned. The heat generated during operation caused expansion and altered the tuning of the circuits. The device had to be running for at least five minutes to reach the optimum stable temperature before working accurately. If a beacon was built with precision, it worked reliably.

***

While they worked, Pieter carefully considered each of the three team members. They all looked ordinary, of average height, with no big ears or noses, and were pleasant to look at. Attributes that every spy needs to make them invisible in a group of people.

They interpreted his brief instructions correctly and showed common sense; they learned quickly. A good start, he thought.

When the test was over, they sat at Pieter's feet again. "Just to give you some idea about your training over the coming weeks, here's what will happen. I will prepare you for the hazardous journey behind enemy lines. The greater danger is not from the enemy, but the journey and conditions you will endure.

"Once there, you will work alongside the enemy as one of them. Hidden in plain sight, as they say. You will gather intelligence as you work, just by observing and listening to conversation. You will never put yourself at risk by probing into things you have no business seeing. You are not there to spy, but to train others to service and plant beacons.

"You will need basic spycraft skills to communicate and avoid detection. If trouble comes to you, it is better to talk your way out, rather than fight or run. If you cause a commotion, or have to kill to survive or avoid capture, your usefulness will be at an end.

"We will talk more about that, during the training.

"Our first task is to get to know each other, so starting with you, Horst, tell us about yourself. If you can do so in English, so much the better."

The informal atmosphere that Pieter encouraged brought out the real character from behind their masks. He could tell by the content and bias of their remarks, they were not bonding. The laughs, smiles and friendly jibes were typical social acting. It always happens when strangers are forced to be friendly in a group. Right now, each member of the team would run and save his own skin, rather than work together to complete the mission.

Pieter had to change that, before anything else.

***

Klein's assessment. Horst Loehr is the oldest at 38, good looking, average height and close cropped, black hair, tending to pattern baldness. He is clean shaven, with grey eyes and has a slim, non-muscular build. He needs glasses for close work, so a style used by the British public would have to be obtained. Being a quiet man who observed and analysed everything going on around him, he formed sensible conclusions. When asked a question, there was no hesitation and he spoke with precision and authority. Qualities of a good teacher.

There is a downside to him though, he is attracted to the woman, Carina Kompchr; a distraction that could jeopardise the mission and cost him his life.

Horst's record shows he had good machinist skills and he speaks excellent English, albeit with a strong German accent.

His record was blemished for unauthorised entrepreneurial activities. Imagination and drive were good, but making money was the sort of trait that can turn spies into double agents. I will need to keep a close eye on Horst Loehr.

In Loehr's mind. I don't believe the British are stupid like German propaganda claims, but my mind is superior, and I could be a good spy. As good as Pieter Klein, anyway.

With my blemished military record and being cast away on this island, this mission will be a golden opportunity to prove my worth. I could walk away at the end of the war with great honour.

Once Germany occupies Britain, brave men like me will be needed to run the country. I am a natural entrepreneur, after all.

I am prepared to speculate that Carina Kompchr will play less hard to get when she gets to know me.

Being a spy is considered glamorous, so I will have no trouble attracting women.

Klein's assessment. Carina Kompchr, a slim 30-year-old woman with short, straight blond hair, a generally attractive heart shaped face and gorgeous brown eyes. She is a fair bit shorter than the two men and physically very fit. Her small and surprisingly pert breasts should be no disadvantage when running or fighting.

She worked as a dental assistant before the war and has excellent people skills. She has the natural ability to win people over with the right words or friendly smile, if it suits her.

Carina speaks phrasebook English. Her short, clipped and heavily accented sentences sound almost comical.

She appears to be indifferent to Horst's existence, but I feel sure it's a female, hard-to-get ploy. I doubt they will be more than colleagues though, anything else would just be for the challenge.

She focusses intently on everything that is said, absorbs knowledge easily and has quick eye-hand coordination. She can also read people and use what she finds to manipulate them.

Her strong character and self-confidence would make her a good leader, never holding back in a challenge. Get in first and win was probably her mantra.

Her record showed she had been insubordinate, several times, but reading between the lines, there may have been a sexual component to the story. A woman in a man's world couldn't be easy, thought Pieter.

In Carina's mind. Being a woman spy is no disadvantage. I have a sharp brain and a pussy to die for. In a world dominated by men, what I can't accomplish with my mind I can always achieve with the other.

This mission could work well for me. With Germany in power, and the secrets I will learn as a spy, I can put them to great effect. Powerful men, leaders, always have secrets to hide and if I know what they are, I will get what I want.

I can see myself with a mansion of a home, a beautiful family and be the power behind the throne. There are risks to my life of course, but I am crucial to the mission, so the men will protect me. All I have to do is keep my head down, not take chances and do my job.

If the worst happens and I am captured by the British, I have valuable information that will save my life. I will be no use to anyone, dead.

Pieter Klein doesn't seem like the spy type. When I first met him, he appeared to be an amicable loner, but at the moment he is tense and cold. The man seems so paranoid, he practically jumps at his own shadow.

He's a good-looking man though, physically attractive and intelligent, trying to pretend he is one of us, nothing more. I feel attracted to him, but it's just the usual urges. Still, urges needed to be listened to and having him on my side would not be a bad thing. Horst isn't going to have me, well, not without a struggle on his part. He's too sure of himself, under that quiet, know-it-all exterior, for my liking. I would love to take the prick down a peg or two. I could let it be known that Pieter or Andreas had made love to me. That would do it.

Klein's assessment. Andreas Dohle projects a most likeable personality and seemed to rely on it to get by. He is impetuous and often makes mistakes because of it. It irks me that he thoughtlessly blurts out his answers, followed by an eager smile. The smile is supposed to mean, don't be cross if I am wrong, I am trying hard and I am very keen. The defence mechanism a child would use.

I sense the lad has great potential, so I have to find a way of bringing this immature 22-year-old, into the real world.

Andreas is of similar height to Horst. He is thin and sinewy with well-defined muscles. His blue/grey eyes are alert and intelligent, set in an oval, clean-shaven face. His fair hair is long overdue for cutting.

He speaks a smattering of English, inadequate for any form of conversation, just enough to get across what he wants.

Andreas is a surprisingly good mimic, he can lose the German accent and sound very British, just like me.

He had no trade or training before joining the army and has no prospect of meaningful employment as a cover in the field.

According to his record, disobedience and pilfering have been his downfall.

In Andreas's mind. I like Pieter, he is an exciting man to be around. He doesn't hold my bad record against me either.

If I watch what he does, I could learn to be like him and become a real spy, not a 'nobody', who repairs radios.

I wouldn't mind a night or two with Carina. She seems to like me more than that cocky prick Horst; she just ignores him.

I wonder how we will get to where we are going. Will it be by parachute or in a boat from a submarine. The submarine would be the most exciting. We could sneak right in at night and paddle to the shore. There will be other spies to meet us and hide us away when we land.

I am younger and fitter than the others, so if I have to make a run for it, I should easily escape.

***

Pieter carefully considered his next move. The team was the best of a bad bunch. Apart from Andreas, they were mature in their outlook and capable, perhaps the boy would emulate the others, during training.

One thing he was pleased about, the team could speak some English so he would encourage its use by making it the prime language from now on.

Because of his background, Pieter could speak accent free, cut glass English, and his team easily mimicked the phrases, parrot fashion. It would make working in England easier if they could lose the accent and speak colloquial English. They would still be perceived as foreigners, but it might be passed off more easily.

##  The Beacon's secrets.

Once Pieter told his team about the mission and the equipment, he was committed. Yes, he could silence them, but that would raise questions and the secret might leak out even quicker. Here goes, he thought.

"Listen very carefully, I will now tell you something about the device you will work on.

Its appearance will seem crude and like it was made by a child from pretty glass and shiny silver foil. However, once I have explained the design issues you will understand the reason.

"The device is a very high frequency radio transmitter, a beacon. The signal is detected by a special receiver attached to a secret weapon called the V-1 flying bomb. The beacon guides the V-1 to its target. The beacon is placed on the target, usually a building, and is powered from the supply in the building.

To keep weight and bulk down to a minimum, there is no transformer inside, just a nickel-chrome resistance wire to reduce the heater voltage of the thermionic valves, and a thermistor."

Horst queried, "Can it run off a battery?"

Pieter shook his head. "No, it draws too much current at full mains voltage. The beacon might have to run many days after being planted, so that would never be possible with a battery.

"To manage the situation where several beacons are running at once, but the different targets have to be hit at different times, it transmits an identification tone. The V-1 can home onto the required tone and ignore others.

"To achieve the high frequency, it generates a great deal of heat and the incredibly small expansion of the components can change, if not stop, the frequency of oscillation. This is why the thermionic valves we use are small and why we cannot use lengths of connecting wire like in a normal transmitter. The high frequency current will only flow on the surface of the conductors, this is called the skin effect. Large hollow tubes would be the obvious solution. However, tubes cannot be made accurately, they heat up and expand, and oscillation stops. That is why we use the foil, it has a large surface area, can be cut easily and accurately, and when fixed to the glass circuit board, temperature effects are stabilised. The foil can also carry a lot of current."

Horst wanted to show off his limited knowledge of electronics and asked another question. "So, does the beacon work like Funkmessgerät (radar) then?"

"No. Those frequencies are far too low, and the British can easily detect them. Their radar system uses a magnetron to achieve the ultra-high frequencies, but it would not be practical in the beacon for technical reasons. We have pushed the boundaries of our own technology to get the required results.

"The device has to be very small and so does the aerial. This excludes the magnetron, and yet we need the very high frequency for directional reasons.

"When we talk about tuned circuits, think of a child on a swing. A gentle push every so often is all that is required to maintain its natural frequency. If we want to double the speed, the child will have to be constantly pushed then pulled back. A great deal of work and heat is generated because the system is not optimally in tune. You could make the child and swing much smaller and that would work naturally. We have compromised by pumping in lots of power and miniaturisation.

"Our next challenge was to prevent the small components from vaporising with the large current flowing through them. The final result is this small, dull finish dark grey box you see here."

From a bag he held up an actual beacon.

"Replicate precisely and the beacon will work perfectly, every time. This is where your skill will come in."

Andreas asked, "Why are some of the tools made of glass?" He was determined to show Carina that he had a brain and not let Horst easily slide into her knickers.

Pieter explained. "When the set has warmed up and stabilised, you have to tune the circuit until it bursts into oscillation. A resonator will accurately light a small neon bulb when the right frequency is reached. The bulb lights up a peculiar blue colour due to the ionisation of the gas. The glass tool allows this adjustment without itself having any effect on the tuning when it is withdrawn from the beacon. Glass just happens to be the best material for this purpose and also the reason for the glass circuit board. Nothing else will allow us to achieve the frequency we need."

Pieter felt it was necessary to remind his team that they were committed and there was no turning back.

"I must also tell you that if you cannot continue with the mission, or fail to acquire the necessary skills with the equipment, or spycraft, you will be held in solitary confinement until the end of the war! You know too much now, to be allowed to leave."

Klein watched the faces of his team for the slightest hint of dissent. He knew they would never admit they wanted out, but they might try to escape later, perhaps in England. He was relieved to see that they reacted with shock and acceptance. He could not risk the mission or lives, especially his own, if there was any doubt.

"Each day and night, until we leave for our destination, we will train to set up, repair, install and train others to use the equipment. We will also improve fitness and learn self-defence and some basic spycraft skills. Be prepared for an arduous time. The quicker you reach the necessary standard, the sooner we leave and the sooner that hard work stops."

Pieter anticipated the next question and forestalled it.

"Do not ask when or where we are going or how we are getting there. The less you know, the less you can let slip, although from now on, we will remain in each other's company or under close guard.

"I will give each of you some paper and a pencil so you can take notes. You can discuss what you learn with each other, even sharing your notes. Every page must be accounted for, so do not throw any sheets away. They will all be destroyed by me, before we leave Alderney."

Pieter saw from their faces there were many questions to which they needed answers, but his little team realised they would be told everything when it became necessary.

"Do you have anything to say, or to ask me?" No one raised a murmur; they were going to quietly buckle down and get on with the training.

***

It was 00.30 am when Pieter felt Helga's chilled skin against him, as she insinuated herself into his warm bed. He suspected Dedrick had just enjoyed her and was fast asleep. She had just cleaned up in the freezing bathroom and now wanted her fun with Pieter. He moved to one side to vacate the warm spot for her benefit, then pulled her hard to him, kissing her passionately and insatiably.

Ten minutes later, she slipped out of bed without a word and padded to the bathroom. Dedrick would wake with her sleeping beside him and be none the wiser.

Or would he?

Helga had a clear conscience. She justified what she was doing knowing she was not hurting anyone.

Dedrick got what he wanted, companionship, sexual relief and emotional security. Pieter was getting what he wanted, sexual relief and the feeling of conquest without commitment.

She had the companionship, loyalty and protection of Dedrick, and the lustful passion and overwhelming, body melting, mind numbingly wonderful sex that even wild dreams could not conjure up, from Pieter. He would move on, without a thought about her. So, no one gets hurt, everybody wins.

Pieter lay still in the sweat dampened bed, wishing he had a normal life, free of war and secrets. He already had deep feelings for Helga. She was the only woman he had known with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. It had little to do with the wonderful sex, or the fact she was very pretty. Actually, he couldn't think of a reason, so it must be her personality. It couldn't be love, he had no idea what that was, he had never experienced it, but perhaps this was... No, he was being ridiculous, there was no such thing. He was just feeling very grateful.

Sleep would not come though. He lay awake wishing she was quietly sleeping next to him, smelling of fresh washed skin and warm bed. He tried pretending she was there, imagining he could hear her soft breathing. He dared not put out a hand to feel her soft warm body, he knew it wasn't there and it would spoil the illusion.

"Damn this war!"

##  The training. 4th December 1943

It was 8.00 am; the team assembled in the training room at the fort.

"Listen up everyone," commanded Pieter.

"I know you are soldiers and are physically fit, but on this mission, you will face different challenges to those you were trained for. You will face intense cold, prolonged physical discomfort, pain and fear. If you are well prepared, the effect of these unpleasant experiences will be greatly reduced.

"During the training, I will be enduring the same as you, I will feel as wretched as you. Be comforted in the knowledge that when desensitised, we will all be better able to cope, in the field.

"Intense cold will still kill you! Your survival time is greatly improved when you know the signs of hypothermia and how to deal with it. Your body can stand the cold better if you take frequent dips in the sea and become acclimatised. The initial shock and pain of freezing water will soon become tolerable."

He pointed to a small stack of clean, folded towels. "We will swim for a few minutes in the harbour and take these to dry ourselves.

"The next morning, we will increase the time and so on, until we can stand 30 minutes.

"You will feel shy, because we will all be naked, but you will soon get over it. It is not my desire to embarrass or humiliate you, but you cannot afford to have your judgement impaired by such trivial emotions.

"Imagine you are naked in bed and have been raided by police or MI5. You can either hide under a sheet and be captured or try and escape by running naked down the street. They will hang you if they catch you. Never forget that!"

It dawned on the team, there was no 'playing nice', on this mission.

"Now, follow me, we will jog all the way there to strip off, then swim, dress and jog back."

With Pieter urging them on from the rear, they quickly reached the sandy beach of Braye Bay. Mercifully, there was no wind, it was just a bleak winter morning.

Pieter quickly removed his shoes and clothes, stacking them in a neat pile on his shoes to protect his clothing from the damp sand. The others did the same, masking their privates with their hands at every opportunity. It didn't help their feelings, being laughed and jeered at by every passing soldier who saw them.

"Come on, into the water; the sooner you are in, the sooner you come out," shouted Pieter, as he dashed into the shallows and then waded up to his waist. The others were visibly shocked at the sight of the mangled and vividly scarred flesh on his back. What the hell happened to him, they wondered. He turned to face them, then the others reluctantly followed.

Horst Loehr screamed as the ache of the freezing water penetrated to the bones of his feet and legs, then he ran out of the water. As he danced around to kill the pain, the other two turned and dashed after him. They were almost in tears with their own pain but running seemed to ease it.

"Drag Horst into the water and push him under," barked Pieter. Andreas and Carina immediately grabbed Horst and a scuffle developed as he tried to fight them off. Their naked wet bodies slithered and collided into each other. Finally, they toppled over in a tangle of limbs. Now they were all cold, wet and covered in sand as Carina and Andreas dragged Horst across the beach, and into the water. To keep Horst down in the water, the other two fell on top of him and then rolled off, screaming and yelling with the cold, as they washed off the sand. The three then chased after Pieter, caught up with him and fell on him, to keep him under.

The three trainees suddenly realised they had breached their pain barrier in their fun and were also no longer concerned with their nakedness.

Pieter surfaced and grinned. "OK team! Let's dry off, get dressed and move onto the next part of the training. We will take a brisk run through the town to get warmed up, and then go back to the training room."

Pieter stood and watched his team for a moment. They laughed and jostled as they dried off and dressed. The team was starting to bond, this was a good thing.

They all felt like their numb skin was being scraped off as they towelled themselves dry. They paid particular attention to their feet. To avoid blisters on the run, they needed to keep them free of sand and quite dry.

When they reached their training room, they found hot soup waiting for them, compliments of the Oberst. Their antics on the beach had raised morale considerably, something that had recently been impossible to do.

***

The next training session was concerned with the components of the beacon and how they fitted together. At 3.00 pm, there was a knock on the door. It was Herman. "Pieter, one of the workers, a Pole has just died. You wanted the body?"

It was something Pieter asked to be notified of, because it would form a vital part of the training.

"Thank you, Herman. Please leave the corpse in the derelict cottage we used yesterday. We also need a hammer, a long nail and a 2-metre length of thin rope. We will get some sand up from the beach in sandbags and be ready for the body in 30 minutes."

Herman nodded and went to prepare, wondering what the hell they intended to do with the dead man.

"OK team! We can break off here. Pack the equipment away out of sight. You never know, there might be a damned spy lurking around!"

They all laughed at the joke but understood the seriousness of the warning.

"I want the three of you to go down to the beach again, each of you bring back a full bag of sand, and we will meet at the derelict cottage. Also, make sure you bring all your weapons."

The three trainees set off at a brisk run.

"What do you think Pieter wants the sand for?" gasped Horst as he jogged along, curious about their next session.

"If it gets us another bowl of soup, I don't care!" replied Andreas breathlessly.

"You two men are a disgrace to the German Army; you are both out of breath and we're only halfway there." Carina was breathing deeply and easily, as she increased her pace to leave the others behind. She was determined to show them up and make them look silly, by beating them.

***

"Now you are all back, sit on the floor and I will explain what we will do next.

"People have a natural aversion to dead bodies. There is something primal that prevents most people from wanting to handle them. I understand their fears; I had to face my own when I was trained as a spy.

"Killing a person is quite likely on this mission. It might have to be cold blooded, if an innocent person stumbles onto your secret and they must be prevented from passing on what they have seen. It could be in self-defence, and you might think this is easier to live with.

"To some extent it is, but after the heat of the moment, the fact you have killed someone will weigh heavily on your mind. You will think about the person having emotions, like you; the sorrow of their loved ones will play on your mind and you will see the corpse as a person. It will even make you feel wretched, like you would if you lost a close friend. This will affect you badly and could result in your own death, if you cannot manage your emotions and the distraction.

"As a spy, you cannot afford to be squeamish or have a conscience, because your mission, and therefore your secret and survival, would be jeopardised. Remember, a great many military and innocent civilian lives depend on the success of this mission, not only German, but British too.

A man has just died, he is in the next room and I want you to take turns bringing in the corpse. Remember, the man is dead; there is nothing you can do or say that can make it better or worse. The body has no feeling, no thoughts, there are no evil spirits floating around that will punish you. There is no afterlife and no eternal damnation. It is just meat now, treat it accordingly.

"Off you go, bring him in here."

Nervously they filed out and stood staring down at the blood drained, dirty white face of the worked-to-death old man, still in his ragged clothes. He still had sack cloth wrapped around his feet to act as shoes.

Their noses wrinkled at the distinct odour emanating from the unwashed body, a mixture of stale sweat and flatulence.

His thin, emaciated body had been laid out on its back, hands clasped over his chest and his eyes were not quite shut.

***

Horst picked up the feet while the other two grabbed an arm each and lifted. The warm body had not quite gone into rigor yet, so when the arms and feet were lifted, the rump stayed on the floor.

Pieter said, "You will need to become more personal than that."

"Just imagine, for whatever reason, you have just killed this man. Time is against you; you must move the body out of sight.

"Horst you go first, on your own. You have ten seconds to get him into the lounge and shut the door, or you will also die.

"Go!"

Horst grabbed the man's wrists and tried to drag the body into the next room. The feel of the cool, clammy flesh forced him to acknowledge this was a dead body he was hauling. Revulsion coursed through him as he imagined the vile corpse passing on its corruption. He looked down, the head had flopped back causing the mouth and eyes to open; it scared him. It was like the man was casting some evil curse upon him for this sacrilege.

The feet of the corpse had just passed through the open door when Pieter shouted.

"Ten! Bang! You are now dead, Horst.

"Carina, now it's your turn.

"Go!"

Carina grabbed the shoulders and eased the limp, uncooperative body up into a sitting position, against her legs.

Bile rose in her throat causing her to swallow hard to force it back down. The flesh on the Pole's back felt soft and warm against her legs. It had a human feeling that she had not expected from a corpse. What if he is not actually dead? Should I really be doing this, it is quite wrong.

In an effort of will, she shut her mind off from all considerations that this was anything other than dead weight that had to be moved. Not even treating it like an animal carcase.

She slipped her arms under the armpits and across its chest, linked her hands, scuffled backwards to the side room and kicked the door shut.

"Well done Carina, you live another day.

"Next one!"

***

Andreas grabbed the hands from the front and pulled it into a sitting position, letting it flop onto his left shoulder. With a heave under the buttocks, the body was over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Andreas dashed through the doorway and shut the door, then lowered the body to the ground.

His enthusiasm had obliterated all thoughts of what he was handling.

"Just seven seconds, that is very good Andreas." The encouragement brought a beaming smile to his face.

***

"OK team, you also need to consider the marks and disturbance on the floor, if you drag the body. See the trails you have left with the first two attempts. Some floors show the scuff marks, so be aware of that.

"Carina. You might like to try lifting the body the way Andreas did. I think you will find that you are stronger than you think, especially if you are desperate.

"Now I want you to try and move him in just five seconds. Remember, the British security are about to break down the door; you must hide the body in the next room and close the door on it. Then you will casually open the front door to your enemy and greet them, as though nothing is wrong."

They practiced until they all met the target time.

"OK team, allowing for the fact you are panting with exertion, I think you seem reasonably relaxed and innocent, so we will leave it at that.

"Next we will hang the corpse from the ceiling using the nail and the rope under his arms."

Andreas bent down on hands and knees, while Carina stood on his back and drove the nail into a ceiling joist, with the hammer. Between the three of them they suspended the corpse from the nail, using the rope, passed across his shoulder blades and under the armpits. Finally, they spread a thick layer of sand under the dangling feet.

Pieter could see they were all squeamish; they tried to keep the dead body at arm's length. They will certainly hate the next lesson he thought.

"I believe I am right in saying, none of you have ever killed a person. Is that correct?"

They all murmured they hadn't.

"I want you to imagine these circumstances. A man, woman or child has just walked in on you and sees you are up to no good. Before they can call out or run for help, you must silence them. We will assume the man or woman to be unarmed.

"The person will take a second to see you, and realise you are dangerous; possibly another second before they yell or run. You heard them open the door and walk into the room where the corpse is now.

"Here are your weapons. Tell me how you will react, what you will use and how you will kill the intruder, in that first second of realisation.

"OK! Andreas, you go first."

"I would rush over and hide behind the door, then stab him in the back as he walks into the room."

"Now it's your turn Carina, how would you go about it?"

"I think he would hear me running over to the door. Having walked in and turned, he will be facing me. I would use the knife and stab him in the heart. That would stop him dead."

Everyone laughed at the pun.

"Finally, Horst, tell us what you would do."

"I think Carina is right, but as he turns, I would stab up under the ribs, forcing the point up into the heart, that way.

"Of course, if noise was not an issue, I could shoot him in the head. He won't feel like shouting after that!"

"Very good Horst, the noise issue is most important; if he could yell for help, then shooting him is not an option. Obviously, maintaining secrecy and avoiding capture are your priorities.

"That leaves us with the way we knife him.

"Andreas, show me how you would stab him, I just want to see how you stand, how you would strike the blow and where the point would enter."

Andreas simulated the attack, raising the knife and plunging it down to the man's soiled shirt.

"Two things Andreas, first the blade will not slip between the ribs, the gap is quite small; you would have to turn the blade, so it slips between them. However, if you still hit a rib, it will do no real damage. Also, even if it goes in up to the hilt, you may not kill him instantly.

"The same applies to Carina's method, the ribs are the problem.

"Horst has the best method, and I want him to actually stab the body as he described."

With a self-satisfied grin, Horst stabbed the body, but was surprised at the resistance to the sharp blade, and that he could not easily force the point up to the heart. As he tried to pull the knife out, it stayed embedded and caused the body to swing at him. He leapt back in horror, leaving the knife sticking out.

"Thank you, Horst, you did the same as most people do. The man will eventually die from the wound; unfortunately, he will be screaming by now, you will be captured, and all will be lost.

"I would be inclined to leap at the man from the front, ramming my left hand up under his chin so his head goes back, and he cannot yell. I would keep pushing hard until his head hits the wall or door, still forcing my left hand up, keeping his mouth closed. This gives me time to bring my right hand, with the knife, out from behind my back and line it up for the lunge.

"The belly is a large target, but we need to penetrate at the base of the sternum, a much smaller target, much closer to the heart. I also need to plunge the knife in pointing almost upright.

"Finding the sternum on a moving, clothed body, when you are in a hurry, is tricky. If you go in low, then you may not reach the heart. Try pulling the knife upwards and almost out, so the serrated teeth on the top of the blade cut the flesh and strike the bone of the ribs or sternum. Thrust in again, pointing up almost vertically.

"Saw in and out if you have too but do it hard and fast. Remember, keep his mouth shut with your hand."

Pieter looked at the faces of the team, they were horrified.

"I want each of you to stab as I described, get the feel for it, your life is at stake."

It wasn't long before the three had riddled the belly with stab wounds causing blood and entrails to drop into the sand.

"Finally, if the person walks in without knowing you are behind the door, or a different situation where you sneak up behind him, put your left hand over his shoulder and up under his chin. Force his head hard back on your shoulder, keeping his mouth shut. A bit of cheek to cheek will stop him shaking free. At the same time, your right hand goes over the other shoulder, to draw the blade across the throat. You need to slice from one side to the other, severing the blood supply to the brain and if you are strong enough, sever the windpipe. After a second or two and a lot of gurgling blood, he will be dead enough to let him drop to the floor. This is quick but very messy; there will be blood everywhere, especially on you.

"Now I want you to try it on each other, using these wooden daggers.

"The attacker must not allow the target to make a noise or break free, or effectively fight back.

"Targets, do everything you have to, to prevent being killed, and try to call for help; and I mean everything!"

For the next hour they practiced on each other, finally taking turns to slice through the throat of the corpse, at different levels. Slicing deep into the flesh, to the spine, was more than any of them could manage on the first attempt; but if they had to do it for real, they probably could.

***

"OK! I think that will be enough for today, we will go back to the training room, pack up and resume there tomorrow morning. After breakfast, we will go for a jog, then down for a swim and press on with the next phase - self-defence and spycraft."

After the team had wrapped the corpse in sack cloth, Herman arranged for it to be taken for burial.

Although the team thought being desensitised to extreme cold, nakedness and handling a corpse was unnecessary, Pieter knew it was vital to their survival.

But would this motley group cope in the field?

##  Raven gets the message. 4th December 1943

That evening, Raven listened in to the long wave radio broadcast from London, using a crystal set, knowing this was the only type of receiver that could not be detected by the Nachrichtenmechaniker (Signals Technician).

The Tuned Radio Frequency and Super Heterodyne receivers both emit a weak signal and are easily located if the detector equipment is close by, and on an island of only three-square miles, everywhere is close by.

Even if Raven could have acquired a photograph of Pieter Klein, and there was no chance of that, there was no way of getting it off Alderney. How could the spy send a picture by Morse code, the only means of contact? It had never been done before!

Throughout the following day Raven struggled with the problem and continued to gather intelligence.

Raven was a most resourceful British spy, as Alderney would continue to discover.

##  Spycraft. 5th December 1943

It was the usual 8.00 am start to the day, commencing with a brisk jog to the sea for a longer dip. The toughening up process was accepted as a necessary evil and no one member of the team was going to be beaten by another.

Back in the training room, Pieter explained the implications of being caught as a spy.

"You will have realised by now that, as spies, you are only given enough information to carry out your mission. If you are caught, there is only so much you can tell the enemy.

"Firstly, the most important thing to understand is that you are on your own. No one can help or rescue you. In fact, if we can, we will try to kill you to ensure your silence. The upside of this is that you will not suffer a horrible death by hanging. I have heard that botched hangings are common; the agony of torn neck muscles and slow choking at the end of the rope, is not preferable to a quick, clean kill. The suicide pill we give you will be found, the moment you are seized.

"If you become ill or are injured and we cannot get you back safe with us, we will have to kill you, rather than let you be caught."

The expressions of horror and realisation of what they had committed to was written clearly on the three faces in front of him.

"The next important factor is time. You must stall for time by any means possible. The team will need this opportunity to clean up after you, to prevent the British from uncovering your equipment and its secrets. Of course, you will booby trap everything, but the British are very smart and will expect this.

"It is essential we establish and maintain frequent contact times. If you are caught and miss or break contact, we will assume you have been captured. We will immediately attempt to clean up after you, find you and if we cannot retrieve you, silence you. So, don't be late!

"I suggest you appear to cooperate with your captors but do so with reluctance and drip feed them with a mixture of fact and fiction. For example, they will ask how many of us are there in the team. You will need to use your best judgement here. If you are reasonably sure they know the answer, then tell them the truth.

Alternatively, you could add to the number. That way, they will waste time and resources trying to find the imaginary people. If they know the answer and you lie, it will become harder to make your fiction believable.

"What you must not tell them under any circumstances, is the real purpose of the mission or anything about the beacons. All you can let slip, as a last resort, is that it is some remotely controlled explosive device. This might fit with what they discover if they tamper with an active beacon or capture an inactive one. Beacons have the bad habit of burning out and exploding if not tuned in within 10 minutes of switching on. This supports the fiction of an explosive device.

"When you are in the field, try to avoid contact with other people. You cannot trust them, and you cannot trust anyone on the team, even me.

"If someone engages you in conversation, be polite and friendly, but find an excuse to break off without appearing evasive or rude. Perhaps you have an urgent phone call to make...

"Wherever you are, at any moment, pre plan your escape and answers to possible questions. Typically, someone sees you where you shouldn't be. You must have worked out beforehand, a good, plausible reason. You cannot rely on improvising; you will be caught.

"A common trick to expose a foreign spy is surprise. This is often done effectively when you are feeling relaxed, perhaps you have been drinking alcohol.

"Horst, you speak English very well. I want you to imagine you are talking with friends, and you are relaxed.

"All of you, stand up and group like you are drinking together and talking about things, in English. Say anything that comes into your head. You must never use German under any circumstances."

Pieter let them settle in with their conversation for a minute or two and circled around the three, listening to what was said. Suddenly he flicked Horst painfully across the back of his head.

The man spun round and uttered a flow of German expletives, then directed a punch at Pieter, who effortlessly blocked it.

"You are a dead spy, Horst. A British person would only have sworn in English.

"Practice these English swear words at every opportunity. They must become second nature to you." He handed each of them a list of phrases in English.

Horst had calmed down by now and could see his mistake. The others realised how easy it would be to betray themselves and now it made sense to keep away from other people.

"You must all get used to focussing on everything going on around you and figuring out what your next move will be. Think first, answer or react with caution, there will be repercussions and no forgiveness if you get it wrong.

"Do you have any questions, before we break for the day?"

They all shook their heads and headed for their rooms, thinking over the day's training. This spy business wasn't to be taken lightly. They quite understood the trap poor Horst fell into and knew they would have failed the same way. The thought of being hung for such a natural reaction made them break out in a cold sweat as they lay silent in their beds.

##  Raven reports. 5th December 1943

It was the day after MI5 had requested a photo of Klein. Having carefully studied Pieter Klein as he came and went around the island, Raven practiced portrait drawing skills using pencil and paper.

Selecting the best likeness, Raven drew a fine grid of lines over the left half of the drawing. Only half was needed because Klein's face was very symmetrical. Using X Y coordinates, Raven listed where the drawing lines intersected the grid. This would then be transmitted as flashes of light, in Morse code.

With so much to send, it would be sunrise before the transmission was complete. Raven knew there was a grave risk of being seen by patrols, when returning home from the cliff at that time of morning.

As Raven sent, there were doubts in his mind that the resulting picture of dots would be understandable by MI5. No doubt the clever people at Bletchley Park would soon sort it out. They loved a puzzle.

##  Special delivery. 6th December 1943

It was now 5.00 pm and with another hard day's training behind them, the team looked forward to their evening meal. Pieter insisted, their conversations were in English, to improve their skill and ingrain the habit. To help them adjust to the language, he arranged for a radio receiver to be connected so they could listen to the BBC news. It helped them copy the way the British spoke.

When the team entered the training room, Herman caught up with Pieter. "We are expecting a large cargo plane to land very soon and your special equipment is amongst the cargo. The passenger onboard will measure the team for British style clothing and cut their hair. He can then take photographs for their identity papers. He wants to do this while the plane is unloading. Can you tell your team to be cleaned up and ready?"

"Is there anything special they need to dress in, Herman, or will this be provided?"

"I was told he has everything with him.

"I will let you know as soon as the plane lands.

"Just one other thing, the Oberst and Helga will be dining out with the officers at the Grand Hotel. They are staying overnight, so you will be eating alone."

"Thank you, Herman. I prefer to eat with my team in the training room, I will eat the same as them. What time will it be served?"

"Because of the visitor, we need to finish early. I will get food to you for 6.00 pm. I have a lavish meal planned for tonight because we will have new supplies. I believe we are only getting the supplies, because they could be brought with your equipment. There are a lot of grateful people on the island thanks to you."

"Well, thank you, I am delighted to have been of some help." Herman smiled, turned and left to speed up the meal.

The team heard Herman's conversation and rushed back to their rooms to get ready.

***

When Herman brought the first course, it included some of the Oberst's Riesling to wash it down. He also informed Pieter the plane had just landed.

Pieter said, "Team, no need to rush your food. When the visitor arrives, I will go first and give you time to finish. I expect we can do everything in here, so you'll see what's going on."

The team were laughing and joking. Pieter felt pleased they had bonded so well in such a short time. Even Carina and Horst were getting along.

It was half an hour later when a smartly dressed man, wearing a dark suit and trilby hat, strode into the training room. By the look of him, he was Waffen-SS, in plain clothes.

"Herr Klein, I am pleased to meet you," he said as he glanced around the room, "and your team.

"My name is Otto Dornberger."

Otto had a slight build, bordering on frail. At a guess, he was about 40. He wore round, chrome rimmed glasses with noticeably convex lenses. A bit like Himmler, Klein thought, but with a full head of black hair.

The man spoke in rapid short bursts, as if analysing carefully what he wanted to say, and then spat it out. He spoke like a highly educated man, of impeccable background. Perhaps he was related to Major-General Dr Walter Robert Dornberger, back at Peenemünde.

"Sorry to have kept you all waiting.

"My bags were blocked by other cargo.

"I had to wait for them."

"Thank you for coming Otto. While my team finish their meal, I will be your first client."

"The aircrew told me you have cargo as well.

"They want you to collect it personally.

"Better check it over when you get it."

Pieter nodded.

Otto beamed and opened the large suitcase he had a guard bring in. "If you are ready, Pieter, I can start measuring you for civilian clothes.

"So you blend in with the British.

"As you probably know, everything is rationed there.

"You can get some used clothes from the make-do-and-mend campaign.

"Any new items will be of a utility style.

"I will only be using materials available in England, to fashion your clothes.

"They will be tailored appropriately to your occupation and income.

"For example, a cleaner will not have a well-tailored suit, but separate jacket and trousers off the peg, when he is in public.

"It is always the little things that catch spies out.

"I will first cut your hair to a suitable style.

"Depending on when you leave for your mission; I might have to come back and trim you all up.

"I see two of your team have short hair. This is not good.

"They must wear wigs for identity photographs.

"I hope their hair will grow enough before you go. Wigs are not an option in public."

After the haircut, Pieter slipped into a white shirt, dull brown tie and tweed jacket that Otto pulled from the suitcase. As he dressed, Otto hung a light grey backdrop cloth on the wall.

"Pieter, please stand with your back to the background drape.

"I will take your photo.

"I will develop the film before I leave to make sure everything is perfect.

"Then our people can get on with forging your papers.

"Oh! About forgeries, I have £10,000 in £5 notes for you.

"I must just mention, though I am sure you would be aware of it anyway. Pass them on for others to spend.

"The quality of the notes makes them almost indistinguishable from real notes, but banks are checking for forgeries.

"You do not want them showing up in your area.

"It would be like painting targets on your backs.

"Our agents in England have a good distribution network, so they will change them for genuine currency.

"You will probably end up with £5000 worth after exchange."

Pieter was aware his team were listening to the conversation and hoped no one would be tempted to help themselves to it. "Ah! That is useful to know. Still, it is a huge amount of money so it should last for a while."

Pieter indicated to Otto that he wanted to speak in private, out on the landing. "Before you leave Otto, I will write up a message for you to take back to Berlin. It sets out how I must enter England and requests transport and integration into the community in London. I believe we will be ready to leave in two weeks from now."

Otto scrunched his face in thought. "I can get all the clothes and identity papers done by then, but the team will still have short hair.

"That concerns me, because apart from the forces, the public have long hair.

"They save money by visiting the barber less.

"The woman is particularly conspicuous.

"When I return, I will have to do more work on the team's hair.

"So they blend in.

"I also have your covers and need to meet the team, to get to know them, before releasing the documents.

"Most of the information was available in their records.

"It is important that their personality matches the cover."

As Pieter knew from previous spy missions, the team would have to study hard, it was vital they knew their cover better than their own lives.

Otto explained, "Your team will be working in the same factory at Gant's Hill, London, producing aircraft.

"The British made part of the tube railway line into a massive assembly line. It's 90 feet underground, too deep to bomb, even if we could find it. They converted it by flooring over the tracks at platform level, installing lights, ventilation systems, and painting the walls white.

"Most ingenious."

"Your identity, Pieter, will be your real one.

"It will continue from your last mission in Britain.

"Son of Lord and Lady Stone in Chelsea.

"Best you don't tell the others, though.

"In case they get caught and put many people at risk."

Pieter was delighted with the news. It fitted perfectly with his own secret, personal mission. "That makes my life easier, Otto. It will be wonderful to see my parents again." Otto smiled warmly. He could be kind, or ruthless, depending on the circumstances.

Pieter read through and mentally summarised the cover stories Otto's people and their spies in Britain, had carefully created.

Cover. Carina had been a receptionist with a dentist before the war, but now she would be on an assembly line. Working away from the public, her weak English would be less of a problem. Fortunately, her accent fitted her Swiss cover. Her story was that she and her husband-to-be had just arrived in London from Switzerland, and he had just been killed in an air raid. The real fiancé was missing, presumed blown to pieces, although Sundown, a British man working as a spy for Germany, had spirited the body away. So, it was all official, up to a point. Now she had to earn a living, having lost everything.

She would be called Anna Gohl (Ballerina would be her spy name).

Cover. Horst was placed as a machinist, a skill he had learned before joining the army. His English was quite good, matching the Polish background to his cover. His story claimed he had trained to be a science teacher but had to take up work as a mechanic in a garage.

He had come from Poland as a refugee six months previous. Again, Sundown had worked his magic. No body was found in the crater, where the home of the man had once stood. Sundown passed the dead man's papers on to Otto, and it was safe for Horst to assume his identity.

Henryk Robak (Zebra would be his spy name).

Cover. Andreas would be a cleaner at the factory, because of his poor grasp of English. He also had a Polish background to his cover.

His story was that he had just arrived from Poland with temporary documents and his permanent papers were being finalised. Sundown had set things up in England as soon as Pieter had selected Andreas.

He would be called Andrzej Trocki (Arrow would be his spy name).

"Thank you, Otto. These are skillfully tailored cover stories and they fit my people well, we are all grateful for your expertise. I have lost touch with what's happening over in England."

"MI5 is quite a problem for our agents, or us, I should say, Pieter.

"Many have been turned.

"We are wasting resources triple checking all the intelligence they send us.

"It seems to be a case of turn or die, so obviously they turn.

"The point is, you cannot trust any of our agents, especially Zigzag, whom we know has turned, but the British don't know that we know.

"Or perhaps they do!" Otto looked perplexed at the uncertainty of it all.

***

Otto's work on Pieter and Carina was complete, so they left for the airport to collect their special cargo. An Opel Blitz truck had arrived to transport them and was parked outside, quietly ticking over. Pieter and Carina climbed up alongside the driver with Carina between the two men. Pieter felt her warmth as she pressed against him in the cramped confines of the cab. It stirred something inside him, perhaps he was missing Helga, and Carina was the closest he would get to a woman, tonight.

Her face was faintly lit by the dashboard instruments and he studied her reflection in the windscreen. Carina also saw him watching her in the glass, she turned her face to his, and smiled. She held her gaze and looked deeply into his eyes. He felt the overwhelming urges in his loins and looked back at the girl with a warm, knowing smile. Had they been alone, he would have stopped the truck in the dark lane, and made passionate love to her, across the worn seats. Instead, his arm reached out across her shoulders, and he pulled her close. Taking the cue, she leaned her pretty head against his neck, and gazed invitingly up at him with her dark, 'you-can take-me anytime, anyhow', eyes.

Pieter kissed her gently on her inviting wet lips, she sensually and wantonly pressed them to him.

The driver tried to ignore the two of them, but with the vibration from driving over the irregular cobbles, he still ended up feeling aroused. He stopped the truck at the airport, near the aircraft and jumped out into the darkness, to adjust his trousers. Having done so, he went off to locate the cargo.

With Carina's help, Pieter checked the manifest to ensure the items he had ordered were complete and undamaged, while the driver loaded them onto the truck bed.

Shortly after 7.00pm they finished checking the cargo, and loading the truck. Pieter decided to succumb to temptation.

"Carina, it is such a beautiful night. There are so many bright stars in that black velvet sky, and even a full moon. Do you fancy a little walk?"

"I would love it, the air is so fresh, almost mild for December, and I have nothing to rush back for." Arm in arm, they headed for the darkness of the clifftop, facing France.

As they deliberately approached the dim glow of light escaping a bunker, the guard challenged them. Pieter showed both their IDs. He explained they were going for a clifftop walk and would be back soon. The guard glanced at the woman and grunted his understanding.

They soon reached the cliff edge and stood for a moment, listening to the sea breaking on the rocks below. Carina was in a romantic mood, and it served to heighten her urge to make love. Pieter hadn't come for the view, and the warmth of her soft body as she pressed into him, was driving him crazy with impatience; he had to have her, right now. Peering around in the moonlight, they found a small hollow, and snuggled down.

Cuddling up to Carina and gently nuzzling her neck, Pieter whispered "are you warm enough?" He placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Warm enough for what?" she replied and giggled.

"Another little kiss perhaps!" He whispered it softly in her ear while easing her back into the heather. He looked down at her. The moon was bright enough that he could see her smile; it told him she was ready.

All she wanted was for this to go on forever.

##  Raven interruptus.

As Pieter and Carina lay silent in each other's arms, recovering from their passion, Pieter heard the distant thump of running feet. The person was running towards them, but not from the direction of the bunker. They were close enough to hear slow, deep breathing.

Pieter raised his head and peaked through the heather. He saw the dark, amorphous shape of a cloaked figure run past, several metres away. The person was using the natural depression in the ground to head back inland. They were keeping well clear of the bunker and guards. No one would be out here in the dark with good intent, he thought. Had the incident been less serious, Pieter would have laughed at his hypocrisy.

There is a spy on the island, he thought.

Pieter clamped his hand over Carina's mouth in case she spoke. "Carina," he whispered, "we aren't alone, there is a spy on the island. They just ran past."

She instantly snapped out of her stupor, back to reality.

He said, "I think we should get back to the truck, and report the sighting to the Oberst, security here is his problem."

Carina wearily pulled herself together and managed to find her cast-off shoe. She was totally exhausted, all she craved was to sleep in a warm bed.

Pieter dragged Carina to her feet and urged her along the route they had come. They reached the airfield and climbed aboard the truck. The driver had been patiently waiting for their return.

The drive back was tense and silent. Each person had their own private thoughts to mull over.

Pieter calmly reviewed what had happened. He let Carina seduce him to satisfy his desires. In wartime, opportunities had to be snatched when offered, they might all be dead tomorrow.

He guessed her type when he recruited her. She probably thought she had manipulated him whilst satisfying her own sexual cravings. He hoped he had given her satisfaction, but he knew she would be disappointed when she tried to control him.

Carina felt smug. Pieter was no different than any other man and she had him just where she wanted him. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the truck lull her to sleep.

The driver guessed what the two of them had been doing and planned to visit a prostitute in town as soon as he was off duty.

When the truck stopped at Fort Clonque, Carina woke up and made her way to the training room. Pieter showed the driver the room and left him to unload and store the items in there. By that time, Otto had finished with Horst, who stayed to watch the driver.

Pieter said, "Otto, while I was out on the cliffs, I saw a mysterious shadowy figure running back towards town. I gave chase but lost him in the dark.

"We have a spy on the island."

Otto suspected Pieter had not been alone on the cliffs, and guessed he was with Carina. It was the smell of certain pheromones that gave Pieter away, the sort that star gazers don't have.

"Better tell the Oberst, Pieter. I will inform Berlin.

"We have too much at stake to take any chances."

"I plan to phone him now, Otto, but we will keep it between the three of us, so this spy does not know we are aware of him, or her for that matter. Tomorrow night, I will lay in wait up on the cliff and try to catch him."

"Sounds like a good plan to me. Who knows, we might even turn him." Otto gave a little laugh.

"By the way, here is that list I promised you, Otto. It sets out my plan and the things I will need to make it work. If you have any difficulty getting it implemented, let the Führer know, he wanted this mission."

Otto nodded, and Pieter walked away.

##  Andreas and Carina.

Carina left Pieter talking to Otto. She disappeared to clean up and go to bed, but the cold water fully revived her. She wondered whether her scheme to antagonise Horst, by sleeping with Andreas, would be fun. She was still far from satisfied; she'd never had two men in the same night before and the idea turned her on. Returning to her room, she listened at the adjoining wall. She heard Andreas moving around in his room, so she re-dressed. The guards just outside the rooms were unconcerned about her visiting the boy; they were there to stop outsiders.

She knocked, and Andreas opened the door wearing a towel around his waist. Beaming at her, he asked "What do you want?"

"I wondered if you might be able to help with something that has been bothering me." She smiled and gave him her 'special' look. Her gorgeous brown eyes made his heart race and he could feel the towel starting to strain.

He quickly ushered her in, in case this dream was about to end before its time.

As he closed the door, she flicked off the light and pushed him onto the bed. His towel gave way and she was on him...

Totally spent, they fell silent and drifted into a deep sleep, locked in each other's arms.

##  Raven goes underground.

Pieter's phone call was put through. "Good evening Herr Oberst. While I was out getting my cargo from the plane, I saw a mysterious shadowy figure making its way back from the cliff, towards town. Whoever it was, carefully avoided the guards and gave me the slip. I believe we have a spy here."

"What time was this?"

"About 7.30pm."

"Everyone who should have been here at the Grand Hotel is still here, except Helga; she was feeling unwell, long before we sat down to eat, and went up to her room to rest.

"Were your team where they should be?"

"One was helping me with the loading, the other two were with the agent, Otto. I told him about the problem as well, so Berlin can look into it.

"Only the three of us know about it, at the moment," he lied. His liaison with Carina had to remain a secret, especially from Helga.

"I thought we should do nothing to make this spy aware we are on to him, or her. I will go out at night and find out who it is.

"Otto thought we might feed false information to the British and I agree. It will cast doubt on everything they have been told so far."

"I will check with signals tomorrow Pieter, to see if they are picking up anything about that time. It has to be a radio transmission; Britain is over 60 miles away and we have detected no boats or planes that shouldn't be out there."

"Sorry to have spoiled your evening Herr Oberst, but at least we are aware of the leak and can do something about it."

"When I see you tomorrow, we will walk down to the harbour and discuss what information we want relayed. That way, no one will overhear us."

"Until tomorrow morning then. Good night Herr Oberst."

##  An audacious plan. 7th December 1943

After breakfast, Pieter passed the team their cover details.

"While I am out for an hour with the Oberst, I want you all to read your cover story. Fit it to coincide with actual facts in your own life. For example, when you were twenty, you fell out of a tree and cut your leg. That is how you got the scar; it was not a military training injury. If you are caught and questioned, it is no good making up something then, it will be too late. Write it all down so you can remember it; later, we will try and catch one another out as though we are the interrogators.

"By practicing interrogation on each other, it will increase your ability to lie convincingly."

As he walked away, they grumbled about it being a waste of time. He would soon show them how wrong they were.

The morning stroll to the harbour was deceptively sunny, with hardly a breeze, but the air was icy. The weather could change within minutes, so both the Oberst and Pieter had hats, warm coats and gloves, just in case it worsened.

"Pieter, I have arranged that all communications about your mission will be handled by one officer, personally. No one else will be involved. The material we want the British to hear about, concerning your mission, will pass through normal channels. Berlin will only act on my coded transmissions, so there will be no confusion. I expect our routine movements will still be passed on to Britain. Critical movements will be handled securely."

"That gives me great confidence, Dedrick, it should throw the British off our track for a while. I expect the team's activities are being reported, but only our departure date from here and the landing point in England is critical, and details of the beacon, of course. I will give that information only to you, in advance. The team will be informed at the last minute."

"Do you know your departure date yet, Pieter?"

"No, we have a lot of training to do before I can say when we are ready, but I am aiming for a couple of weeks."

"When this is all over, do you have any personal plans, or will you return to Germany and go back as an engineer?"

Pieter had not expected a question like that from the Oberst. It was much too personal and inappropriate, when the spy you are asking is about to go on a suicide mission.

Pieter thought, Dedrick is a very human character when you get to know him, but sentimentality was most unlikely in the current situation. More likely, he was fishing for a clue pointing to a relationship with Helga. Well, there wasn't a lasting one, and that thought saddened him. The damned girl kept clouding his thoughts, at a time when he needed complete focus. Actually, nothing would please him more than to spend the rest of his life with Helga.

Carina had been a temporary distraction although judging by the sounds from Andreas's room last night, it was Andreas she was distracting.

This will throw Dedrick off the scent, he thought. "The beautiful thing about engineering is that it is an absolute truth. Things work perfectly when they comply with the laws of physics, you can depend on them and they will never let you down. People on the other hand are wonderful biological machines, controlled by chemicals and emotions. It is the very thing that makes them what they are; it also makes them unreliable and untrustworthy. I want no part of them in my life. I was happy before the war, without them, and will be again."

Dedrick was suitably shocked, but also reassured by the surprising reply.

"Can you tell me how you plan to get to England? I know it won't be by plane, because of the risk to the beacons, that only leaves water."

"I didn't intend to use a submarine; it would be too slow. The spy would know when I leave and would have plenty of time to warn the British. "Anyway, the British sonar system and coverage of the Channel is superb, so we would be sunk, in no time at all.

"No, it needs to be quick and dirty, I am afraid. I will be using an S-boat. I believe it will come from Saint Nazaire, refuel here and make a dash towards Southampton. I have a little surprise planned when we get there; hopefully our arrival will go unnoticed."

Dedrick frowned, "I cannot imagine you will actually be able to land at Southampton, so you and your team will have a long swim ahead of you."

"I put together a little sketch for our engineers at Saint Nazaire, to cobble together something that will help us.

"I propose two torpedo shaped floats with electric torpedo motors in each and plenty of batteries to give a 10-mile range. The parallel floats will be made from thin wall metal tube and will be bridged by a small deck and faring. We will lie down in there and be sheltered from the icy sea and biting wind. It should be low enough in the water to prevent continuous radar contact. I also expect the craft, if you can call it that, will be incredibly fast and plough through waves like a torpedo, rather than ride them.

"Depending on its weight, it will either be carried amidships, across the S-boat or be towed.

"When we get close to shore, it will be sunk and we will swim in underwater, using rebreather equipment.

"I am anxiously waiting to hear from Otto about how we get to the safe house, from shore. He has a contact called Sundown who has proved very reliable, so a lot will depend on that agent."

Dedrick shook his head, revealing his deep concern. "I don't envy you one-bit Pieter, I can tell you. Your plan is so audacious and original, I am sure you will land safely."

"I hope so Dedrick, I really hope so." Suddenly the weight of Germany rested on Pieter's shoulders. Ironically, so did the fate of the British. Herr Hitler was desperate, millions of lives on both sides depended on a few strategically targeted V-1s. If the beacons worked as intended, the British would realise they couldn't win, and no more people would die. Alternatively, London would be razed to the ground by countless waves of indiscriminate rockets and the innocent British public would be needlessly slaughtered.

By now, the two men had reached the harbour and they changed the conversation to general things.

##  To catch a shadow.

When Pieter returned to the training room, the team was engaged in heated conversation.

He groaned in despair, Oh God, what now? The future of millions depend on this team of ill-prepared spies, a bunch of naïve misfits, hell bent on a suicide mission and all they do is bicker.

Nothing about the cover stories, or their jobs, suited them. They expected to be sneaking around, planting beacons and doing spy things. Pieter berated himself for not anticipating this. He should have explained to them his reasoning, step by step. Then no doubt, they would wish their cover job was their only job.

"OK, listen up.

"It is time to go down to the bay for our swim. It is a wonderful sunny day and the temperature is a couple of degrees above freezing. Grab your towels and jog down, we will sort out your questions later, when we return.

"After that, we will start learning combat techniques that you, as spies, will need.

"In the meantime, put every document and note you have in this steel locker. I have the only key, so everything will be safe in there."

***

The day went quickly, and no one raised the matter of Carina and Andreas. Horst didn't even want to acknowledge it had happened. Carina felt embarrassed, believing Pieter thought she was a whore. Andreas was glad he wasn't in trouble.

That evening, Pieter washed and dressed up for dinner with Dedrick. Helga had excused herself for the night, saying she was still unwell and would be in her room, although she had been working at her desk throughout the day. Both men missed her company, but neither would admit it.

"I hope you will excuse me Dedrick, I have to hunt for our elusive spy tonight, so I want it known that I have gone to bed early."

"Actually, I think that I also will have an early night. Come to think of it Herman, the cook and his assistant will all be out tonight, so the place will be very quiet.

"I understand two members of your team were less than quiet or discrete last night, I trust that will not happen again."

"Ah! So you did hear about it. I will be warning them to exercise discretion in future."

"Hear about it, the whole island heard about it! Don't you think you should put a stop to that sort of thing, Pieter?"

"Ordinarily I would, but I believe their activities will be short lived. And it is better they stop it themselves, rather than me. They will only resent it if I intervene, and the mission comes first."

Dedrick sounded concerned. "I take it, it was not a threesome. Surely the odd man out will be angry at being rejected?"

Pieter smiled as he replied. "Who is to say it will not be his turn tonight? He was fine with it today."

"Well, tell them to be quiet. I am having to go without, so should they."

"Goodnight Herr Oberst, sleep well." Dedrick smiled, as Pieter got up and left.

***

It was a bitterly cold night up on the cliffs. The steady breeze sent the few scattered clouds scudding across the starlit sky. The moon was bright enough to light his way, but this was actually a hindrance, as it meant him crawling along rabbit trails to avoid being seen. The great thing about rabbit trails is that they allow you to crawl quietly and unseen through the knee high grass and heather.

Pieter had reached the little hollow, and wondered why the spy had not heard him and Carina making love and avoided them. Perhaps he would ask the question, if he ever caught up with the skulking traitor!

It made him regret what he had done with Carina. Pieter wished Helga had been with him instead. He would have been quite content to sit there just talking and gazing at the stars with her. What might they have said, as they cuddled together? He imagined her sat resting back against him, his legs either side of her, and his arms around her waist to keep her warm. He could imagine her lovely smell of warm washed skin as he nuzzled into her neck, and the comforting sound of her soft voice.

The faint smell of cooking, and a slight sound of movement behind him, jarred him back from his thoughts, as some hard object smacked into the side of his head. There was a brief burst of bright stars as he slumped, unconscious in the heather.

The spy, cloaked in the black cape, crouched over the body, deciding what to do next. It will be disastrous if Kline recovered consciousness while the coded message is being sent. Klein needs to be disposed of anyway; it would stop whatever he had planned in Britain, at a stroke. I must make it look like an accident and well away from here, in case a search reveals my light and my underground hide.

Raven's slight build was also a problem. Klein had to be carried, otherwise drag marks would leave a trail and point to murder. It was a struggle, but Raven managed to carry Klein like a sack of coal, towards Gannett Rock.

The slope of the ground near the cliff edge was now too steep to safely carry the limp body down, so Raven rolled it along to the cliff edge and pushed it over.

The sound of the rolling body was soon lost. Drowned out by the relentless rhythmic chant of the birds and the loud crashing of waves below.

Merging with the ground, under the cape, and panting like an aged asthmatic in a marathon, Raven paused to recover from the exertion and regain composure. The message tonight was long, detailed and more strategically vital than any sent so far. It was the image dots of Pieter Klein, for MI5.

##  A rock and a hard place.

Dawn was just breaking when Pieter regained consciousness. It took him a while to comprehend his predicament. He remembered being struck from behind, presumably by the spy, but why was he now wedged painfully on his back between two outcrops of rock? Try as he might, he could not work himself free. The clothes around his waist were snagged on the rough surface.

Resting a moment, he looked around and saw he was right on the cliff edge. Somehow he had rolled down the steep slope and fallen heavily between the rocks. They had prevented him from falling over the cliff, and saved his life.

He felt in the holster under his left arm, for his Luger. He cocked it and fired in the air to attract the attention of the guards. It took five well-spaced shots before they could locate him.

A voice ordered, "get ropes and pull him to safety."

While he waited to be tugged free, he cursed his stupidity. He should have been considering how to catch the spy, not falling in love with Helga. She would be the death of him, and for what; she didn't want a full relationship with Pieter, and was obviously avoiding him.

Back at the fort again, he went to see the Oberst and explained the spy had jumped him and attempted to throw him over the cliff.

"You are very lucky to be alive, Pieter. We would never have found your body if you had fallen into the sea. With the fierce currents and sharp rocks around the island, you would have been torn to shreds, and eaten by the fish, and crabs.

"Our spy now knows we are on to him, so he will avoid the cliff for a while, probably won't return until you leave. I am sure he will not trust anything he overhears, either, so we are at quite a disadvantage.

"We still don't know how he is getting his information off the island. Our signals staff have not detected any transmissions and they are certain they would, being so close to a transmitter."

"Yes, that makes sense, Oberst. We will just have to carry on as normal and continue to be careful about communication. Once my team and I leave for England, anything the spy has to say will be reduced to unimportant routine movements."

Would Raven's successful message of dots be Pieter Kline's undoing?

##  Whitehall takes action. 8th December 1943

In the busy offices of MI5, a phone jangled annoyingly: "Hello," offered a young man, anxious to ease the bedlam in the department, "can I help you?" Everyone in the large office were under great pressure answering phone calls and managing their case load.

"Good morning, Sir Philip Stern here, I thought this was John Caplin's phone, be a good chap and put him on, it's frightfully important."

"This is his phone, but he is on another call. Can I take a message or ask him to call back?"

"No, you jolly well can't, you impertinent boy. Tell him I am waiting on the line."

"Of course Sir, I will tell him now." The handset clattered loudly on the desk and the young man dashed over to John.

Seconds later, "Sorry to have kept you Sir Philip, I was just speaking with Richard Wallis at Bletchley, about the last message from Raven. Seems it is not any sort of code, but a mass of dots that match a grid. Depending on which way you hold it, it could be a face or half a face, actually, of our mystery man Pieter Klein, on Alderney. One of the chaps at Bletchley is some sort of artist and thinks he can join up the dots, so we can see a likeness.

"Probably be an hour or so and he will rush it over by courier. Then we can try and match it with our records."

"That's the ticket! Let me know when you have the likeness, I want to see it.

"Well done John, we'll catch the bounder, now we can spot him. Jolly good show." He hung up.

Later that morning, Wallis sent through the sketch, and the original dot pattern, to John Caplin. He followed through with matching photos from his own records.

When he had assimilated the information, Caplin thoughtfully picked up the phone, crystallising in his mind what he was about to say.

"Good afternoon Sir Philip, I can now be sure which German agents we can discount, but still can't actually identify our adversary. He is not in our records, but a new file has been opened for Pieter Klein, and his sketch has been issued to all relevant departments.

"You should be getting your copy any moment."

"Splendid work John, keep looking for this man, he spells trouble for us and we need to nab him pronto.

"I am relying on you John, don't let me down." The line went dead.

***

Caplin pinned the image to the wall board and returned to his desk. From further away, it was more lifelike and was a face he was certain he had seen before, but could not quite place. Something about it kept telling him this was a dead man, but obviously he wasn't. It just couldn't be the same man.

That night John Caplin was tucking his baby daughter Angela, into her cot. She lay there thrashing about and making endearing gurgling sounds; she was wide awake now, and both he and his wife Margaret needed an early night. He thought perhaps the sound of his voice would send her off, and he opened a box of his old childhood books he had been keeping for her. The first one he pulled out was Tales of Br'er Rabbit. That should do the trick, he thought.

Suddenly it struck him, Rabbit! The German woman at Peenemünde who blew up Karl Strom. He had been heading some top secret project there.

There would be no sleep for John Caplin that night and he was at his desk very early the following morning, sifting through the old file on Rabbit. She had taken a photo of Karl Strom in Peenemünde, down by the lake. This was the man whose face was now pinned to the message board, he was certain of it.

***

He reached confidently for the telephone and dialled impatiently. John drummed his fingers on the desk with frustration, as the dial whirred slowly back to its stop, between digits.

"Good morning, my name is John Caplin. I must speak to Sir Philip immediately, can you get him for me on a secure line. Tell him it is about yesterday's conversation."

"I am his personal secretary; he will be in at 9.00 am. I will ask him to call then."

"I can wait, but when he finds out what I have to tell him, he will not be happy to have waited."

"Oh! Alright. I will phone him at home, but it had better be important." She ended the call and John Caplin suddenly had doubts. Had he just thrown away a promising career by jumping the gun and not taking the time to check his facts?

The phone rang, jarring him back from his doubts, which were replaced with the sick feeling of dread.

"Good morning John, it's a secure line, Sir Philip here. You have something devastatingly important to tell me that just cannot wait, so I am told. Spit it out lad, I am about to eat breakfast."

"I am reasonably certain the Alderney man is Karl Strom, who was blown up with a grenade in Peenemünde last June. We believed he was dead, but it looks as if he survived, and whatever he was working on there, was probably completed and will be used against us, here."

"By Jove man, are you sure?"

"I am more certain each time I compare the photo and the image. Of course, the dots and artist's rendering could be wrong, but I doubt that. It is a perfect match."

John thought he was pretty smart, insinuating Wallis was to blame if the information turned out to be wrong.

"What put you on to it? It is a remarkable find."

"I was about to read a story to Angela, Br'er Rabbit actually. Then it hit me; Rabbit was our agent who took the photo and blew the blighter up. I sort of remembered the case, because we had no proof the man was actually dead. Rabbit was captured and killed, so we never found out what Strom was doing at Peenemünde. It all just came together."

"We need to move on this one, John. What is the status with Sundown?"

"As you requested Sir, we have been following him, or possibly her, closely, but he has not led us to any of his contacts.

"Slippery character, that one, by all accounts. I think he is on to us and giving us the run-around, while other German agents are free to do their evil work."

Sir Philip grunted his disapproval. He hated the suggestion his agents were being duped.

John continued. "Sundown is one of the top German assets here and because he is in the London area, I think he will set up the infiltration of this Alderney bunch. All we can do is bring him in without delay and hope we are in time to leave Strom and his team stranded."

"If Raven can give us the date and infiltration point, we should be able to pounce and bag the damn lot.

"What d'you think, eh John?"

"I will put that in hand immediately Sir Philip. As soon as we have Sundown, I will tell you."

"Good work my boy, and remember stranded spies are vulnerable spies!

"Do send my best wishes to Margaret and Angela." Once again, he slammed the phone down; it was symbolic of the metaphorical hammer blow, descending on Sundown, Karl Strom, his team and the whole bloody lot of them.

##  Gone in a flash. 9th December 1943

Sundown had received his coded message from Berlin in the usual public broadcast. He had already put in place transport, accommodation and secure storage for the equipment needed by Pieter and his team. All he wanted now was the date and time of their arrival.

The cunning man had been aware for some time that he was being followed, but also was aware that initially at least, MI5 would not touch him. The British agents would want to round up his contacts, so he thought he would give them something to do, by planting dozens of messages at any place that could have been a genuine dead drop. The messages were purely random letters, but looked like a code. This occupied many agents who were watching the dead drops, and code breakers trying to decipher the nonsense. The arrival of the team from Alderney was imminent, so he could not afford to hang around any longer, playing games.

That night, Sundown drove to a dead drop, knowing the British agents would be lying in wait; he stopped briefly and it looked as if he had collected a message. The British agents suspected something important was about to happen, because Sundown was acting out of character and in a frightful hurry. Now would be the right time to pounce and capture him.

The British agents followed discretely as Sundown drove carefully to a terrace of bombed damaged homes in Poplar. He left his stolen car and walked furtively into one of the less dangerous houses. Thirty seconds later, the agents rushed in to arrest him, and the whole building exploded.

The few agents who survived, searched the ruins for their colleagues and Sundown, but only found traces of human remains.

***

Wearily Caplin reached across his desk and answered the phone, to silence its irritating jangle.

He spoke in a guarded manner. "Hello, John Caplin here, who is calling?" This was just the sort of time Stern would phone, checking to make sure the department was burning the midnight oil.

"Oh god, John! I have dreadful news. We went to arrest Sundown and as the lads pounced, the whole building exploded. The man must have accidentally triggered a UXB or one of his own booby traps, taking six of our agents with him.

"We could only find body parts and I doubt there will be enough to fill a small coffin, certainly we will never sort out who is who. So far we have found 13 hands, so the traitor is in there somewhere."

Caplin turned white as a sheet as he visualised the carnage. This was one reason why he seldom left the office; it was too damned easy to get killed and he had a family to go home to. He forced his thoughts away from the heartbreak and anguish of the deceased agents' loved ones. He knew he was not much of a man, but hopefully no one would notice.

"If you have hands, we can use fingerprints, can't we?"

"No chance of that, John. They all look like charred leather gloves. Whatever the bomb was, it was huge. I cannot believe it was a booby trap, it was far too big for that. More likely a UXB which some warden missed. Rushing into the house must have triggered it; the walls blew out and the roof sailed off down the road. There was hardly any rubble to dig through in what was left of the house, just a few floorboards and joists."

"Thanks for letting me know, I will pass on the news and wait for your full report."

"You're an insensitive bastard! Six good men dead and all you can think of is a bloody report. Sundown is dead, got it!" The deeply distressed man smashed the phone down and ran from the phone box, sobbing uncontrollably.

John Caplin flushed up with shame, tears welled in his eyes as he tried to grapple with what was the right thing to do. After a moment, he picked up the phone and called Sir Philip to break the news. He would see how the god-almighty Stern handled the tragedy, for next time.

And there would be a next time!

##  Otto returns. 14th December 1943

It was late evening when the transport plane touched down at Alderney airport, under cover of darkness. Otto was on board with further essential supplies for the team and the island. Pieter and a driver went up in a truck, to meet him.

Otto had brought the team's clothes for the journey, some real and forged £5 notes and their ID papers. Their main clothing for daily use, and the £10,000 of forged money, had been dropped by air. It was now secure in London and would be waiting for them at the safe house.

Final grooming, document checks and the briefing of Pieter and his team, was painstakingly carried out by Otto. The man was meticulous to a fault and Pieter felt reassured they would pass as British citizens, unless they had to speak, or were officially investigated.

Otto directed Pieter away from the team and spoke quietly in his carefully considered, clipped manner.

"Pieter, the S-125 will be here on the night of the 17th \- three days' time. Your landing craft, for want of a better description, has been built and tested.

"Arrangements have been made, for you to be taken to the safe house in London.

"I will confirm the date with Sundown, in tomorrow evening's public broadcast." Otto was unaware of Sundown's apparent demise.

"He will pass this on to his team.

"Now I will run through the details of your landing point, and what you must do when you get there..."

Had Berlin realised Sundown was dead, they would have called off the mission. Their master spy and his team of three would be heading into enemy territory with no support. They stood no chance of survival.

##  Goodbye. 16th December 1943

It was 8.00 am that morning when Pieter spoke with the Oberst.

"Herr Oberst, we are now ready to go to England and prepare to place the beacons. As you know, we plan to go by S-boat, because of the fragility of the equipment. I must update Berlin so they can get our diversion organised when we make landfall.

"With your permission, I need to get this message sent straight away.

"We leave here tomorrow night at about 10.00pm, the moment S-125 docks and is loaded." He handed the Oberst a coded page.

"Yes of course Pieter. You have achieved your task here very quickly, and I for one will be sad to see you go." The Oberst turned and walked smartly away, almost as though he were hiding emotion.

***

Later that day, the Oberst passed Pieter a decoded reply.

"Tomorrow night it is then Pieter. The S-125 will come in and refuel, and then take you on to your rendezvous. You had better go and prepare your team. There will be no moon, I suspect this was factored into your plan; also heavy cloud is predicted tomorrow. That will be a great advantage. God knows you will need all the help and good luck you can get, on this mission."

"Yes sir, you're right. Working alone is risky enough, but a small group stands out and increases the chance of failure, many times over.

"When I started this project, I gave little thought to this part of the mission. I never believed we would overcome all the technical problems, but we did. Now we face the final challenge."

"The mission almost ended before it began, with the problems I had in trying to find appropriate members for the team. Had it not been for Helga's suggestion, we would have had to bring people in. That would have alerted the British and made infiltration more difficult."

"Ah! So it was her idea, was it? I got the impression that Herman had worked his magic. A crafty old fox, that one. He led me to believe it was his idea!

"I have noticed that you and Helga keep a good distance, but I can tell you are friends. I know she will miss having you around." There was a glint of knowing in his eye, as he faced Pieter.

Pieter did not flinch or break eye contact. He wasn't a master spy for no reason. He appeared indifferent, cold and detached, although he had expected a remark of this sort, before now.

"I should see her and let her know I am going. It would be very rude to leave without saying goodbye!"

The Oberst smiled, and nodded in agreement.

***

Helga had not visited Pieter's bed for several nights and he wondered why? It was simple maths to figure out one good reason and he hoped that was it!

Pieter made his way to her office. A small stone walled room painted white, with wax polished pine floorboards. She had a table as a desk and sat on a wooden chair, made bearable with a plump red velvet cushion. A similar bare wood chair was placed in the corner of the room, next to four filing cabinets. As he expected, everything was clean and neatly arranged, with the light from the small window to her left, spilling over her work area on the desk. It was also one of the warmer rooms in the fort, because the only external wall was a vertical strip, the width of the window. Her back faced the wall of the kitchen, heated by the cooking range on the other side, her only source of heat.

He knocked at the open office door and waited for her to look up. She eagerly beckoned him in.

"Good morning Helga, I missed you last night, and I had something important to tell you."

He could see she was not herself. Her face was pale and drawn, and she seemed irritable.

"I wanted to see you, but you know how things are, every so often... Give me a couple of days and we will be as good as new!"

"That is what I came to tell you, I have to go away tomorrow." She looked stunned. He saw her eyes overflow with tears that ran down her flushed cheeks. Sitting at her desk, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed her heart out.

"I am so sorry, I have upset you! I had no idea you were feeling so vulnerable." He rushed over, knelt beside her and pulled her to him for comfort. She stopped sobbing, and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She realised his eyes too were watering; he was holding back his emotions, but only just!

"We have made a mess of this, haven't we, Pieter? All I wanted was some fun. I knew you would not be on Alderney for very long and I hadn't intended to form any attachment. You are the wrong sort to fall in love with, I knew that all along. But I never realised how much you meant to me, until now, when you knocked on my door.

"I am so sorry for my emotions, it is worse at this time of the month, but I do love you. I fell for you the moment I first saw you in that freezing bathroom, you know, when you burst in and turned the light on. I mean, what a stupid thing to do. I was so cross, but then you vanished before I could say anything. I couldn't sleep all night, after that. I just lay there thinking about you, and I should have realised then you were going to hurt me. I should have ignored you. Dedrick knows about us, I am sure he does, but he is such a kind man. I think he will be glad to see you go."

"I had no idea you felt that way about me Helga, had I known, I would have stopped sooner. I cannot bear the thought that I have hurt you. I knew I had feelings for you, the very first time I saw you; feelings I had never experienced before, with anyone. I just cannot explain it, but I have lain in my bed, wishing I could walk away from this war and lead a normal life, to have a family together, and spend the rest of my life with you.

"I love being a spy, living on the edge, with no ties or commitments. 'Love them and leave them' was fine with me, until I met you. You're right Helga, we really have made a mess of things.

"Dedrick cannot know about us, for certain, but he does suspect. That is normal paranoia for a man of his age. Things will go back to normal as soon as I am gone, so don't worry about that."

"I am not worried about it! I just cannot face another man, now I have found you. So that will be another broken heart. He loves me, you know. He will be forced to send me away, if he cannot have me."

"Dry your tears Helga, we will get through it, we have to - there is no other choice." She sniffed and pulled out a neatly folded white handkerchief. She dried her eyes, and then daintily blew her nose.

He rose from his position beside her and walked stiffly away, closing the door behind him.

"Damn this war. Damn! Damn! Damn!" he uttered viciously, under his breath.

The cook's assistant gave Pieter a strange look, as they passed outside her door, but he paid no heed to the runt.

##  Regrets. 17th December 1943

The morning of the final day on the island had arrived and the tension was thick enough to slice. The team was edgy, as they rushed to check and pack their equipment. They also felt regret, as there were times when they had taken short cuts with study and did not practice spoken English and British customs seriously enough. Now they could only hope it would not result in their death.

The morning swims had increased their resistance to the cold. Just as well, the frogman gear would do little to keep them warm. Everyone was dreading the long swim, in the black, icy water. The secret practice runs at night were bad enough, but there had been a boat with them, if they got into trouble.

Training had been exciting and they had enjoyed many privileges, but now all that was being left behind. They were leaving the relative safety of this beautiful, peaceful island for great danger, to rub shoulders with their mortal enemy.

Everyone noticed Pieter was not himself; even allowing for the current tension, something was nagging at him. He was no longer cool and calm, he had lost focus and it was sapping his team's resolve.

For the first time in his life, Pieter Klein was close to breaking, even secretly hoping something would occur to halt the mission. He was scared, not of the mission going wrong, he would rise and overcome that challenge, or that he might be captured and killed. He was scared that fate would come between him and Helga, preventing him ever seeing her again.

Sensing the unrest within the team, he made a supreme effort to focus on the mission. He told himself, more than that, he convinced himself, that only by successfully completing the mission would he ever see Helga again. From that moment on, he was back to his old self.

***

Dedrick was genuinely sad to see Pieter preparing to leave, but since he came, Helga had changed. Now she was no different to a prostitute, going through the pretence of affection. In his limited experience of women, she appeared to be focused on something, but it did not appear to be a relationship with Pieter.

Then there was the Alderney spy. Whoever it was, the traitor was still at large. The Oberst had spoken to trusted officers about trying to apprehend the culprit. They had suggested the spy would be forced to come out of hiding, the moment Pieter Klein and his team were known to be leaving the island. The spy would have to inform the British. Trusted soldiers from the ranks were hiding out all over the island, hoping to spot suspicious activity.

The signals team were monitoring as many wavebands as they could, in an attempt to locate any unauthorised radio transmission. They worked tirelessly adjusting tuning dials, listening intently to squeals, whistles and the hiss of static, for the tuneless beep of Morse code that should not be there.

All this was done covertly, and everything else continued as normal on the island.

Herman already knew of the departure date when he found Helga sobbing in her office. He was very annoyed with Pieter for upsetting her. The cook and his runt of an assistant agreed with him, it was shameful.

In a matter of minutes, the news that the team were leaving on a secret mission was the talk of the island. Speculation was rife, but no one knew where they were headed or what they had to do.

##  S-125 causes concern.

It was now 11.00pm, and dead quiet down at the harbour. The weather was surprisingly mild for this time of year. A cloudy sky was expected, so with no moon or starlight and the whole island in darkness, the pitch black was almost palpable.

Pieter wished to retain his night vision by leaving his torch off. He edged carefully towards the sound of lapping water, to better hear the S-125 approaching. It was already one hour overdue. Yet another reason for his guts to knot even tighter with fear and anxiety, but outwardly he appeared calm.

The prolonged jangling ring of a field telephone sounded ethereal in the velvet blackness. Pieter switched on his shielded beam torch and picked his way carefully, in its feeble yellow light, towards the guard, speaking on the phone.

"The breakwater lookout is asking for you, Sir," said the guard as he watched the approaching light pool on the ground.

Pieter took the handset.

"Pieter Klein here, what have you got to tell me?"

"Sir, there is a thick bank of fog coming in very quickly, it is probably the reason S-125 is so late. I thought you would want to know."

"Thank you," was Pieter's polite reply.

"The damn fog is the plague of this island, even in the summer. One moment you can see France, the next you can't see across the street. It rolls over the island like thick bonfire smoke." The lookout thought this useless information would be of help, he sensed the mounting anxiety, because things were not happening as they should.

Pieter Klein was tense with all the uncertainty. The boat was late, and time was critical. He did not want to disembark near England, too close to sunrise, they would be seen as they emerged from the sea. The darkness and fog made navigation into Alderney especially hazardous. The powerful currents and sharp rocks demanded slow and careful progress. Leaving would be equally treacherous and high speed running out at sea, to make up for lost time, would be their only option.

The lookout spoke again, this time with fervour.

"Sir, I hear the boat now. I will alert all stations." He hung up.

Pieter made his way back to his team. They were huddled together in a small stone room at the fort with their basic kit and pocket money, with four large packs of waterproofed beacons and munitions.

"S-125 is just coming in now. Let us pray there is no air raid here tonight. Hopefully the fog will work for us." A murmur of agreement passed between them, as the tension eased.

***

As the bow came slowly into view, the massive 114 foot long hull of the S38b class emerged from the mist and looked like it would never end. The three diesel engines, each capable of 2200 horse power, murmured and burbled like purring tigers as they ticked over. When they fell silent, the gentle lapping of water could be heard, between voices barking urgent orders, muffled by the thick mist. The massive boat inched towards the dock.

The mixed feelings of relief and dread descended on Pieter. Relief the boat was safe, and dread that he was another step closer to whatever fate awaited him. Like a stuck record, one thought played again and again, Complete the mission, and get back to Helga, that's what I must do.

But how could there be any chance of that?

##  The invention.

Forcing his mind to focus on the mission, Pieter was keen to see what the German engineers at Saint Nazaire made, based on his detailed sketch of the small craft.

In the dim light, he ran his keen eyes along the sleek hull of S-125. About amidships, he saw what looked like two torpedoes on a sturdy frame, laying across the boat, high above the deck. Because of its size, it looked most ungainly. Pieter prayed it wouldn't destabilise the S-125 or reduce its speed by much.

As the S-boat kissed the dock, Pieter leapt aboard and greeted the captain. Anton Schmitt was a jovial looking man of about 45, tall and heavily built. His relaxed manner was calming and helped Pieter to feel more positive.

"I am so pleased to see you Captain. I was anxious that you had hit a rock or been intercepted."

"This is a tricky harbour, and the fog didn't help us," said Schmitt.

Pieter pointed to the framework above them. "Did that contraption cause you any problems?"

"It increases roll significantly at slow speed, but when we start planing, it makes no difference. There is quite a bit of drag though and it reduces our top speed by 5 knots, much more with a strong headwind.

"Have a look at your machine while I organise the proceedings."

The captain moved away to direct loading and refuelling operations.

Pieter clambered up between the long torpedo-shaped floats onto the small deck area, and lay on his stomach at the controls. In the torchlight he could see there was a push 'stop' and 'start' button, and a lever for speed. The other push/pull lever was the steering control. The steering was connected to a gyro that was either on or off. Point the craft in a particular direction and switch on the gyro, and it would stay on that heading. However, there was no compensation for sideways drift from wind or current.

The shallow cuddy (cabin) bridged the two floats. The steel floor swept up smoothly and back over, to form a long roof, covering the cargo. The four passengers would lay out on the floor, on their bellies. By the look of it, the enclosure should keep them dry, even when plunging through waves.

A thick Perspex viewing port in the curved front portion, was only practical as a window when manoeuvring in still water, in daylight. As it was, the floor would be just above the surface of the sea, and the wave crests would be above the viewing port. Nevertheless, it gave the illusion of being functional and made the cuddy seem less claustrophobic.

Dangling from the two floats were thick power cables plugged in near the controls. Pieter deduced the batteries would be topped up with electrical current, until the craft was launched. In that state, they would boost power and speed by up to 10% for a short while, until the charge in the batteries dropped to normal.

He clambered down and looked at the frame supporting his novel landing craft. The floats would slide along the supports, onto a hinged extension that would be raised for launching. They would ensure the craft dropped clear of the S-boat. After launch, the entire frame would be thrown overboard to restore the boat's full efficiency.

The captain returned and explained more about Pieter's invention.

"We have practiced launching, and it is quite spectacular. The whole thing dives under the water and surfaces well away from the boat. We keep a tether line on it, so we don't lose it.

"The long tubes, or floats, provide a smooth and level ride up to force 2, then the craft punches through the waves. That is why we provided the extended roof, to keep you dry. It is a frightening sensation when you suddenly go underwater, but so far, it has always come back to the surface.

"It travels so fast, even under water, the sea stays out of the cabin.

"The divers who tested it advise against porpoising at speed. When it plunges down, it keeps going down. You must reduce power and let it rise on its own.

"There are plenty of fixings on the floor to tie down your equipment and cargo, so you should have no problem there.

"To sink it, there are three bungs on each float, one at each end underneath, and one on top, midway along. Unless all three are removed, it will only partially submerge, due to trapped air.

"It has a top speed of 60 knots and a range of 18 miles. You will get more mileage if you reduce the speed, of course.

"We wondered how easily it would be detected by radar, but even in calm water you will be hard to spot from a ship, if you are at least two kilometres away."

"Well, thank you for the guided tour, Captain. I am glad someone has tested it successfully, and so thoroughly. A lot depends on us getting ashore smoothly and safely; this should help us achieve it."

What would be lying-in-wait for them in England?

##  Breaking point.

An hour later, the team were aboard the long, sleek S-boat. They lay out on bunks to keep clear of the busy crew, who were hastily carrying out their duties.

"I have never been on an S-boat before," remarked Horst to no one in particular. He felt it his duty, as the older of the three, to keep everyone calm.

"I have not, also," replied Andreas cheerfully, his English even worse than usual. "The dark night and fog, we hidden from British. I think they stay in bed tonight."

"If you believe it. You are a fool!" retorted Carina hotly in her phrasebook English. "In these conditions, it keeps them alert for spies. They have radar, like us. You know that."

Horst butted in. "To make up lost time, I reckon the captain will run a direct course until we are way out in the Channel, and then take a zigzag course as we get nearer to the south coast."

"Do we know where we are landing?" questioned Andreas, like an excited child.

Carina was at breaking point. His question tipped her over into a fit of mindless rage.

"We don't, you stupid little boy. Pieter has not told us. You know it! We are together. Always! Why do not you think? Stupid mouth! You know what? I am going to bloody kill you now. Shit lump! Not with you, I am risking this mission and my life!"

Pieter heard the commotion and raced down the gangway to stop the argument, but her rage was infectious.

"She is right you know Andreas; taking you along is asking for trouble. I had hoped you would have grown up by now, but I was wrong."

Pieter pulled out his luger and flicked off the safety catch. Slowly and resignedly, he dragged back the cocking mechanism. Stuffing a pillow over the man's panic stricken face, he forced the barrel hard into it.

Andreas struggled blindly by turning his head this way and that, but Pieter had pinned down Andreas's arms by straddling his chest. The muzzle followed the depression in the pillow, from which the screams came. Exhausted and resigned to his imminent execution, the boy stopped moving.

Pieter Klein reconsidered his action. He withdrew the muzzle, un-cocked the pistol, flicked on the safety catch and snatched the pillow away. Andreas had finally learned his lesson. It was also noted that neither of the other two had defended him in any way, they just remained silent while anxiously looking on.

***

Pieter calmly walked away to discuss matters with the captain.

"I am glad you resolved that little matter so decisively, Pieter. I hope you did not intend to actually shoot the man."

"It was a close call actually. There is so much at stake. I neither want him with us, nor can I afford to lose him from the team. But I know what you were concerned about, the bullet could fly around in here and do a lot of damage, probably injuring others. So, no, I would not have shot him. I would have snapped his neck and thrown him overboard."

"Fair enough Pieter! We do what we have to do in this war, necessity makes for strange bedfellows.

"At the moment, we cannot see any enemy ships on radar, so we will continue at full speed on a direct course towards Southampton. You will know soon enough if that changes."

"Thank you Captain."

"I feel the sea is building and the wind is strengthening. You should hang on tight, tell your team so they aren't sick all over the place. I hope it does not blow the mist away before we head for home."

Since the Captain mentioned it, Pieter could feel the boat cleave strongly through the waves. It had become more pronounced, spraying the sea sideways, and he hoped the beacons could withstand the pounding.

A ghastly sick feeling churned in his gut. Supposing they came all this way, only to wreck the beacons at this stage. The damage would only be discovered if they failed to guide the V-1s to their targets. It just was too unbearable to think about.

##  Channel of hell!

At 02.30 am, the radar scope showed a bright green dot at its edge. The captain thought it was most likely a cruiser on patrol.

"Pieter, we have a contact, probably a patrol, heading away from our course. Being much taller than us, we will see him before he sees us. We are running at 40 knots, so we can outrun it. I expect we will be attacked from the air, soon after we are spotted."

Pieter looked at his watch and figured things out in his mind.

"In thirty minutes, we should have some air support, although the low cloud will give us cover for now. Then, just before we leave you, I have a little diversion planned."

The captain smiled. The subdued lighting from the controls cast sinister shadows across his features, exaggerating them and adding an evil twinkle to his eyes.

A group of six blips just entered the radar scope from the north east and approached rapidly. Fighter planes were about to attack. The radar system scanning the Channel had picked up S-125 soon after they left Alderney, but it was not clear why the boat was heading their way.

However, S-125 was now close enough to become a threat, so the Spitfires were scrambled.

The general alarm sounded, and the three whining diesels rose up in pitch to a full power scream.

***

Pieter looked behind expecting to see the long white scar of a wake gouged in the black water, but was surprised there was nothing much showing. Then he remembered the rudder units were fitted with devices that lifted the stern, and greatly increased propeller efficiency. The additional benefit was a significantly reduced wake. Without the white wake, the boat would be hard to spot from the air or nearby ships.

Out of the night came the sudden brief glimpse of a Spitfire as it hurtled along, barely 100 feet above the sea. It passed across their bow less than 300 feet ahead. No doubt the pilot was just as shocked to see his quarry, careening towards him. The cunning devil was criss-crossing the sea, hoping to spot a wake, and would then turn to attack from the rear, strafing along the boat.

The 20mm guns, one near the bow the other on the afterdeck, opened up and tracked the plane into the mist. They swivelled, aiming towards the stern, anticipating the next attack.

The captain could have turned to evade the plane, but instead he decided to dispose of the threat quickly. The boat without a wake was a hard target for the plane, until it was right behind the boat. However, the S-boat guns could quickly adapt.

A minute later the engines were cut, and above the swish and splash of the hull slicing through the water, the gunners could hear the approaching Spitfire. Guessing its position from its engine sound, they opened fire and clipped bits off a wing. The damage was severe enough for the plane to break off its attack and head for home.

The engines spun up again and the boat veered to port a few degrees, so the following planes would have to carry out their own search. Coastal radar would direct them to the area, but not within the few hundred yards needed to spot it, and fire. Plane to plane communication had the course pegged to Southampton, but the S-125 was now headed on its true course, to Chapmans Pool, Corfe Castle.

There was a loud 'whoomp'! A mortar like projectile shot high into the blackness and exploded, releasing a vast spread of chaff. The small pieces of foil would hang in the air and show up on the radar screens as a large bright green patch, and somewhere, lost inside, would be the blip representing the S-boat.

Very soon Pieter's craft would be launched from S-125, to make the dreaded journey to shore.

What would be lying in wait for him and his terrified team?

##  Raven's warning. 18th December 1943

At 3.20 am on the 18th, Raven managed to transmit a message, which was immediately passed to John Caplin at MI5. It informed him S-boat S-125 had already left Alderney, at 23.50 hours on the 17th, carrying Pieter Klein and his team to the south of England, armed with their secret device.

The wireless transmitter had been Raven's only option, because of the urgency of the warning. Now soldiers were combing the clifftop, for the elusive spy.

Apart from setting up a long aerial at Fort Tourgis, right in the midst of billeted troops, he had to dig up the transmitter and steal a fully charged motor cycle battery to power it, before he could transmit.

Having keyed the message, Raven was on the run. Soldiers were already jumping off vehicles and forming a search party. The men were side by side in a long cordon, determined to comb every inch of the island, for the spy.

The suitcase transmitter was replaced in its waterproof bag, and wedged into a rock crevice overlooking Fort Clonque. Raven headed down the cliff path, known as the Zig-Zag, towards the fort, and made his escape.

##  Final journey. 18th December 1943

Pieter checked his square faced Rotary watch. 3.00 am. It was time.

"Captain, how far from shore are we now?"

"Navigator, distance to landing site please."

"Just under fifteen miles, Captain. At this speed we will be 10 miles off in about 7 minutes, and right over the minefield. But with our shallow draft and non-magnetic wooden hull, we need not worry."

The captain commanded, "Crew, prepare to deploy the floats."

He turned to Pieter. "I will take you in as far as I can, but I will bear off now, in case we are showing up clearly on radar. I doubt we are though, the planes have not been back.

"If we go in much closer than ten miles, Bovington will be waiting for you. By now, they will already be at action stations."

"I was depending on two things, Captain. When you turn and head for home, I am hoping the British will assume any landing has been aborted. They wouldn't expect anyone to row in this far from shore. The other thing..."

He was interrupted by faint flashes and the sound of distant explosions to the north east. This was the other thing Pieter had planned. A bombing raid, and it had just commenced.

It was an attack centred on Southampton, always a worthwhile target and including plenty of stray bombs towards Corfe Castle, to muddle the strategists.

Pieter anticipated the British would link the attack to the presence of the S-boat, and although it was still possible for someone to row ashore from it, it would soon be light, and quite foolhardy. Anyway, this part of the coast was not a soft option to land on. The British army patrolled all over the wide-open countryside on the lookout for the enemy. Access to Dorset was by infrequent coastal foot paths, eventually leading to narrow roads, and miles further on, to small towns and villages.

No one in their right mind would attempt to travel so far on foot, especially at night with the army on patrol. But that is precisely why Sundown had arranged the pickup point the way he did.

***

The screaming engines slowed to a growl and the pitching turned into a roller coaster ride. They were as close in as the captain considered they dare go and time to launch the floats.

The side rails were raised and pinned in place, the power cable disconnected, and the crew released the clamps holding the floats to the rails. The captain directed the helmsman, and once the boat became stable enough, he signalled the floats be released. Two of the crew expertly timed their push on the floats with the roll of the hull.

Out and down into the sea plunged the strange craft. Like a dolphin it dived and then leapt out of the sea to finally settled low in the water. The crew heaved on the tether and the light craft glided in gracefully alongside the sheltered side of the S-boat.

Pieter's team were already dressed in their underwater gear and clambered aboard to load their precious cargo.

Pieter checked everything was firmly lashed down and slid into the driving position.

"OK team. Goodness knows how this craft will perform, so prepare to submerge. Make sure your flippers, masks and rebreather equipment are properly fitted. Also, hang on tight to the hand grips and push your feet against the foot board, it should ease the strain on your arms if the ride is lively.

"Now, let's work through the start-up sequence. First, I pull the power lever back to zero. Next I press 'start'." The switch lit up green. "Grab hold everyone. It's time to go."

Pieter yelled to the crew. "Cast off!"

Finally, they were on their own.

***

The S-boat eased forward and as Pieter had previously agreed with the captain, it headed directly for Chapmans Pool. This was to give Pieter a direction to aim for, because placed so low in the water, he could see only waves. Now he prepared to set the gyro so it could hold the heading.

With the S-boat way out ahead, Pieter nudged the power control forward a fraction, and the two propellers whirled almost silently, surging the craft forward at 10 knots.

Alarmed, Pieter exclaimed, "My god! The power control is very tricky to regulate. The slightest movement on the lever, and the power comes on, hard."

With only moments to adjust his heading, he barely avoided a collision with S-125, as they shot past. Looking back, Pieter verified he was on course and switched on the gyro. He allowed about 15 seconds for it to spin up to operating speed and applied a touch more power. The propellers emitted a muffled bubbly scream, just like a torpedo. But then, these were practically torpedoes, so why shouldn't they?

Pieter had no way of knowing he was already running at 30 knots. As the craft sliced through a wave, and out the other side, there was no time to care. Everyone screamed in terror, as the solid wall of water rode over the cuddy and off the roof at the back.

Although quite open at the rear, the water had no chance to wash back in and swamp them.

The cabin, for want of a better word, emerged through the wave, the craft was rising fast and it bridged the wave trough, ploughing straight into the wall of water that was the next wave.

Almost in a state of panic, Pieter shouted over the roar of turbulent water. "Hang on, this thing is uncontrollable at the moment and I don't know why. It is just so fast, and powerful. We're in for a very rough time."

The bow dropped, as it bridged and then ploughed deep underwater, way below the next trough. They were in a sort of darkness, not the pitch black at Alderney harbour, but a kind of very dark greenish grey. The cause was bioluminescence, though no one cared about that. Would the damned thing ever surface?

Instinctively, Pieter yanked the power lever back and the speed rapidly fell away. Now they were climbing steeply through the crest of one wave, and belly flopped right into the face of the next. The impact winded everyone, but more important, had the fragile beacons survived?

Without power, the craft turned side-on to the waves, and threatened to capsize. Without forward movement, water flooded their cabin. Suddenly immersed in the swirling black water, they all shrieked like little girls, in terror.

Easing the power stick forward by the smallest amount shot them forward, turning hard at the same time. The gyro forced the craft back onto the correct heading. They shot over the crest of the wave and hurtled down the other side. This time, although the cabin ploughed through the wave, the craft levelled out and they continued in a stable manner.

Pieter shouted his thoughts, "We seem to have hit the right speed for the sea conditions. At this rate, it should take us about 20 minutes to reach land. By then, the bombing run will be over and the coast will be peaceful again. No more flashes to spoil the enemy's night vision, not that they will see the craft, with these waves towering above it."

Pieter was worried his team might be just as terrified as he was. He hoped they would feel better about things if they had some information to process.

He had faith in his design. It had been well built and tested, and also he was driving, so at least had some control over his destiny. For the others, they had no faith in it at all; it was desperately out of control.

Deep down, they all knew the beacons were ruined. Certainly, they must have been smashed to pieces when this death-trap smacked into that wall of water.

***

Pieter checked his watch and tried to estimate how much longer they should stay on board. Get off too soon and they would die in the ice cold sea, too late and they would be spotted by shore patrols.

Without knowing their speed, he was stumped. The water was rushing by like they were clinging to the float of a landing seaplane. It was an illusion, being so near to the surface. One thing he did know, if he could see the shore, they were far too close.

His thoughts turned again to the team as he tried to imagine what they might be thinking.

***

Horst lay with his face towards Carina, but he closed his eyes tight shut, long ago. He wondered how she was coping; she had stopped screaming around the same time he shut his eyes. There was no point in screaming, actually. If there had been, he would still be doing it.

He thought, Pieter had totally ballsed-up the handling of the controls, he was going far too fast. They were 10 miles out and it would be several hours before patrols would be up and alert. As for the impact with the wave, every damned valve and circuit board would be useless, so the whole mission was a waste of time. We might as well go home now.

I wonder what the range of this thing is. Is there any chance of making it back to Alderney?

He was not serious about Alderney; he was just trying hard to steer his thoughts away from their predicament.

***

Carina was not thinking anything, she had shit herself in terror and her life was now over. How could she face the others, the shame of it! The hot flood had drained down between her legs and momentarily provided some comfort, but now it was chilled and vile, and it was beyond her ability to cope.

***

Andreas had no doubts that Pieter would keep them safe. He thought, Shame he couldn't keep the speed down, they might just as well have gone in by submarine.

I wonder if Pieter really would have killed me. He was probably a bit tense, the mission and all.

It was Carina's fault, shouting at me. I was only trying to lighten things up and take their minds off things.

She is a bitch actually and Horst is a cocky bugger.

***

Above the hiss and thump of the sea rushing past, they could all hear the sound of aircraft getting nearer. At the same time, they also realised the fog had cleared. Horst looked behind and was horrified to see the white wake they were creating.

"Pieter, look behind, we are leaving a large wake, what if the pilots see it?"

Pieter looked back in dismay; the plane's engine note had changed. It was descending and lining up to strafe them.

Desperately he tried to think, "If I stop, they will hit us. I can't turn, because of the gyro, and if I switch it off, we will be lost at sea." He shouted his dilemma, as the Spitfire opened up.

Horst watched, horrified, as the tracer shells stitched a neat line towards them.

"Horst, Andreas, help me move the steering lever."

Momentarily, the craft darted slightly to the left by more than its width, then snapped back onto a parallel heading. The long strip of fountains in the cannon shell-torn sea zipped past. It missed them by a hair's breadth, as the plane flashed by overhead. They were still alive, but sitting ducks for the next plane.

Pieter said, "It is at times like this I wish German engineering was less perfect. The gyro must be powerful enough to steer a battleship." He thought the situation was so hopeless, an attempt at humour was the only thing left.

***

The black shape of the plane contrasted with the dark grey of the sky. It was coming in very low, right on target by the look of it, so in an act of sheer desperation, Pieter decided to try something - anything.

"Fit your masks and rebreathers, we are diving."

He checked the team were ready, and rammed the power lever to maximum as they hit the wave. They burst through, rising up and plunged right down. The scream of the propellers was drowned out by the turbulence of the passing water, shaking the trailing edge of the roof and floor. The pressure, as they plunged ever deeper, was hurting their ears and forcing a vortex of water, fully into the cabin.

Pieter switched off the gyro, though it would take a minute or so to stop spinning, and eased the steering control slightly forward. The craft darted a few degrees to port and Pieter switched the gyro back on. Instantly, the craft returned to the correct heading, but on a course parallel to the original track. He prayed this would be enough to escape the rain of cannon shells that would be pouring into the sea, where they had just been.

The pressure on their ears was easing, and the water in the cabin receded as the craft began to rise. Then, unexpectedly, it levelled off; perhaps they would not break surface like a dolphin this time. Whatever speed they had reached, was optimum for the tube length and wing effect of the shallow cabin. Buoyancy and hydrodynamics were working in perfect balance. The cabin stayed about level with the trough of the waves, the craft being pushed down with the weight of water flowing over the roof.

The second Spitfire had passed over, the remaining four followed on and circled, but could no longer see any sign of the craft. It must have been destroyed.

Eventually the planes turned and headed back to base.

***

The craft had been underwater for ten minutes at full power, and the batteries were losing charge. There was a lot of power left because the batteries were now working at their design voltage. The topping up charge had been used up. With this in mind, Pieter eased back on the power control and found the craft responded in a less aggressive manner. He could smoothly control the speed, from just a few knots up to maximum.

Now the craft was gliding gently along on the surface, Horst peered out the back of the cabin.

"I can't see or hear the planes. Do you think we are out of danger?"

Pieter replied, "We can only die once. If the planes don't come back, there are many other ways for us to die before we get to relative safety. The most important question is, where are we in relation to the shore?

"Horst, take over at the controls, I need to take a look around."

Pieter eased out of the cabin and, pulling his headgear away from his ear, he listened. Apart from the slap of waves against the thin metal floats, it was quiet. The sky was clear of mist, and the clouds had broken up allowing the starlight through. Looking around, he fancied there was a hint of lighter sky on the horizon; a thin band, directly ahead. It could be his eyes playing tricks, or wishful thinking, but also, it could be chalk and limestone cliffs.

Back inside again, Pieter announced, "Listen up, I think we are getting close to shore. There are cliffs where we are headed, I believe I can just make them out. Andreas, come out here with me. Look and listen, tell me what you find." Being the youngest, Andreas was likely to have the most sensitive hearing. Pieter's never fully returned after the grenade went off.

Reluctantly and stiffly Andreas eased out of the shallow cabin and stood on a float for better sensing. He held the headgear away from his ears to funnel the sound.

"Pieter, I hear waves hitting rocks, far away."

"I can't, but that may be because my ears were damaged months ago. We will stay on course at this speed, until I can hear it too. Then we sink this float and swim in underwater."

"OK Pieter, do you want me here, or inside?"

"Stay, look and listen, we must be absolutely sure."

Five minutes later, there was no doubt the cliffs were ahead, and relieved, they all prepared to leave the float.

***

Carina refused to speak, but did what she had to. The underwater suit was a mixed blessing; it did not let out smells, but kept in the cold ooze that ran down her legs and squelched around her ankles, as she paddled upright in the sea. Surely her misery couldn't get worse.

They unloaded the slightly buoyant packs of beacons and kit and tied them together onto a silent Carina, who floated with them in the icy water.

Pieter ordered, "Horst, Andreas, take a float each and remove the three bungs. Horst, start with the front, Andreas the rear. Do the top one last of all. I want the craft to settle evenly and not flip over on you, as you work."

Pieter swam to Carina and helped her pull the load clear, standing off until the other two reached them.

It was a sad moment for Pieter as he saw his extraordinary creation settle, and a minute later, slip under the water, to spend eternity on the sea bed. They all felt the same fear of abandonment as they bobbed together in the loneliness of the icy black sea.

Taking a pack each, they stealthily glided towards the shore with long slow strokes, so as to avoid splashing.

Having swam within several hundred yards of the surf line, the cliff towered above them. It struck Pieter that something was wrong. According to the map in his head, the shore should run down to the sea, but it didn't, there was no sign of it.

"Stop, I think we are in the wrong bay," he whispered. "We should be further to the right."

They headed away, back into the blackness, keeping roughly parallel with the cliff.

The waves were quite small in the sheltered bay, and with the starlight reflecting off the wet fabric of their suits, they were at constant risk of being seen. They could not swim underwater yet, they needed to see where they were heading. A compass is fine for direction, but no help at all with distance.

They were all increasingly aware of a greater danger than the enemy, lurking on the shore. Every movement was a supreme effort. The freezing water had penetrated their bones and they realised hypothermia was setting in.

The sound of a rock falling carried across the water and they quickly sank below the waves, hanging on to each other. Pieter gradually surfaced without his mask, he did not want the glass reflecting back to anyone who might be watching. He noticed a pinprick red glow of a cigarette and the faint sound of voices. Soldiers were out there, hidden amongst the rocks, waiting to pounce on them.

Now what the hell were they going to do?

***

Pieter replaced his mask, facing away from the shore and cleared it underwater. He grabbed someone, it was Horst, and pulled in the direction they needed to swim. All linked together, the others followed.

By checking the compass and his watch, Pieter estimated they had swum half a mile and by pointing his torch at the seaweed covered rocks on the seabed, he could see it was rising quickly.

Slowly he surfaced and removed his mask. They had reached the headland between bays; another quarter mile and they would be in the right bay. It was only a few hundred yards more to the exit point from the sea.

Pieter looked carefully, there were no signs of activity in the rocks of this bay, but that didn't mean troops weren't lying in wait for them.

They swam on until forced to surface because the water was too shallow to stay under.

Pieter whispered, "Horst, take my kit and keep everyone together, here. I am going ashore to scout around, so watch for my signal; I will flash once, and then you can come to me. If there is trouble, you will have to make your own way. Note where I go ashore because everywhere else will be mined.

"Continue up the path and you will find a lorry with a missing front wheel. Lower the tailboard very carefully, and beneath the rubble there will be a place where you can hide. Get in and keep perfectly quiet. At some point, someone will come to fit the wheel and drive you away to safety."

Pieter glided forward to the exit point, and stealthily crawled along towards the path. He lay there under cover of small rocks, listening and looking out for the enemy.

Moments later, several grenade explosions could be heard, over in the bay they had come from. Soldiers suddenly emerged from the rocks just in front of Pieter, torches lit, running towards the explosions. Obviously Sundown had set up this crucial diversion. Bless his heart.

***

Praying the coast was now clear, Pieter flashed. Like crocodiles sneaking up on their prey at a waterhole, the team emerged and slipped silently up the path. Pieter waited behind to make sure no soldiers had been smart, realising it had been a diversion, and stayed hidden. When he decided the team was safe, he sprinted to catch up with them.

Up ahead was the lorry, parked by a ruined boat house, just as described in Sundown's message to Berlin. The front wheel was missing so it would not have been considered a viable form of transport by the army on patrol. The lorry bed was piled high with bricks and rubble, but concealed beneath it was a large wooden box about two feet high internally, made out of roof timbers from the ruin. Quietly they lowered the tailboard and eased their kit up towards the front of the box. Thankfully, someone had oiled the hinges so they did not squeak, and placed a layer of empty sacks over the metal bed, to deaden the sounds of movement.

All but Carina removed their immersion suits, dried off and put on their overalls.

"Get your suit off and packed away, Carina, we can't hang about. The soldiers will be back at any moment."

"I am so sorry Pieter. I was so scared. I shit myself. I am in a terrible mess." Her English phrases were noticeably shorter than usual.

Pieter pulled her to him to comfort her, and kissed her forehead.

"No one here will think less of you for that, but we must get under cover, or we are all for it. Those soldiers were waiting for us. Someone will decide the explosions were a distraction, so this area will be searched more thoroughly.

"Keep your suit on, get up in the back of the lorry with the others. Your white body will be seen if you go back in the sea, and we can't clean you off here, because it will leave signs. Also the smell might be noticed. We will all huddle together in the box and keep you warm."

Pieter helped her up into the cramped cavity, pulling the tailboard closed behind them. Carina could feel the shit filled suit squelching as she moved.

About five minutes later, the soldiers returned. They crept stealthily down to the sea, then looked around the ruin and clambered over the lorry. The rubble crunched and the timbers sagged, inches above their hiding place as the soldiers scrambled about. It filled the four of them with a new dread.

The men stabbed with bayonets and lifted large chunks of masonry, checking that no one was hiding underneath. Would they discover the timber box in there, or would it all collapse on the spies, crushing them to death?

Finding no one, the soldiers moved on with their search.

***

At 7.00 am, Pieter and the team heard a van approaching. They all tensed and held their breath while listening intently. Could this be the person who would take them to safety? The vehicle stopped and two men got out carrying the missing wheel. They had apparently repaired the imaginary puncture and set about fitting the wheel.

Pieter guessed there were soldiers watching the men. They had probably been guarding the truck all night, in case anyone hid there after the search. Most likely this was the reason the men in the van made no attempt to contact anyone hiding in the box. Ten minutes later, the van and lorry started and drove off, apparently to dump the rubble.

After ten minutes, the lorry pulled up inside a large Nissen hut, part of the builder's yard. The building doors were closed, and the two men dropped the tailboard to help Pieter, Horst and Andreas to slide out.

Their welcome was not warm, but tense and threatening.

"Which of you is Glass?" snapped the senior man, eyeing them up. Judging by the voices, he had driven the lorry

"I am." Pieter replied. "I am known by my team as Pieter Klein, so can we use that name please."

"As you wish. Call me Dan Stockley.

"Sundown has paid me to take you to an address in London. I see you are all in boiler suits, like workmen, good. We can take you in the van to the safe house. You will find your normal clothes there, and other things you will need. Sundown also left a coded message there for you.

"We need to go now, because I have actual work to get done."

Whilst Stockley was speaking, Andreas and Horst unloaded the equipment, then joined Pieter. Stockley questioned, "I thought there were four of you?"

"There is, but the one still in the box needs to clean up and is not well. Do you have a hose pipe so she can get washed?"

"Sick, you say. Nothing catching I hope, you foreigners are riddled with diseases according to the radio. What's wrong with her?"

"While we were swimming to shore, she had a bad stomach and, well, she needs to clean up and rest. She has a bit of a temperature, that's all."

"We don't have a toilet here, we piss outside. You will have to hose her down by the floor drain, over there." He pointed to a small drain grid in the floor.

"I don't have any towels either."

The man stomped off, grumbling to himself as he dragged the hose over. Then he and the other man walked out of the building.

Horst and Andreas had to help Carina out of the box and steady her; she was in a bad way. Pieter supported her as the others pulled off her wetsuit. She stood there naked and covered in her own filth; the smell was atrocious. The skin on her lower half was blood red and badly infected. To top it all, the skin from her neck down was wrinkled like a dried prune, caused by the trapped moisture within the suit.

Carina huddled there, sobbing with pain and the shame of it all. The three of them washed her off, taking great care not to further damage her skin when they towelled her dry.

Pieter sounded greatly concerned when he spoke to the others. "Carina is burning up with fever. We will need medical assistance when we get to London. Help her into her boiler suit and she can curl up and rest in the van. Will you two clean inside her underwater suit? We may need all of our gear later." Horst and Andreas cleaned, dried and packed her equipment, stowing it with theirs in the van.

When the driver returned, Pieter had a surprise for him.

"I hope this will compensate you for the extra trouble." He handed Stockley four forged £5 notes.

The look on the man's face confirmed Pieter's opinion that Stockley was really only motivated by money.

Betrayal was just a payment away!

##  The net tightens. 18th December 1943

Later that morning, MI5 agent Steve Davis, a subordinate to John Caplin was reviewing the case file on Sundown before it was placed in the archives. He had been told Sundown was dead, and without contacts to follow, the file was of no immediate use.

Although only 32 years old, the agent was massively overweight, but strong and deceptively light on his feet. His jowly face was clean shaven and sickly pale, in stark contrast to his alert dark brown eyes.

His navy-blue pinstripe three-piece suit and coordinated old school tie were immaculate, as were his highly polished black brogues.

The photo of his stick-thin wife and chubby one-year old son took pride of place on his desk. They were everything to him. However, his obsessive involvement with work resulted in their neglect. At home, the man would spend his time eating for comfort as he sat in his armchair, meticulously scrutinising files and memos.

His office telephone rang, and he aggressively snatched it up. He was grieving for the agents who had died with Sundown. At the same time, he was irritable because the spy would never pay for his crimes.

"Hello, Steve Davis at your service, how may I help you?" His soft voice was polite which masked his inner turmoil. Nevertheless, Steve could turn in an instant, becoming sharp or sarcastic, depending on who was calling.

"Hello Steve, John Caplin here. Sorry to hear about the loss of your team in Poplar. Still, I suppose there is some consolation in knowing Sundown will never bother us again."

"I find no joy in that, Sir. My men had families." The sir was emphasised slightly, and sarcastic rather than wholly polite.

Caplin sensed Steve's mood and tried to see things from his perspective. Davis was an imaginative agent with an exemplary record for capturing German spies. He was also known for his aggressive and tenacious attitude. There was no give in the man, everything had to be done the way he said. Every spy in his crosshairs, would undoubtedly be caught.

"I believe Sir Philip has spoken to you," lied Caplin, "about a newly discovered spy called Karl Strom, alias Pieter Klein."

He had mentioned Sir Philip so there would be no bitching from Davis about being overloaded with cases. It was Caplin who needed Strom and his team captured, because Sir Philip had dumped the responsibility onto him.

John Caplin added, "Well, the bugger has just landed on the south coast near Corfe Castle with a team of three, two men and one girl, trained for a special mission, according to Raven. Strom brought with him some technical weapon, developed in Peenemünde.

"We thought Rabbit had bumped him off over there, but apparently not. Anyway, he is here now and the four of them have slipped through the net that Bovington threw over them.

"Your dead spy, Sundown, set up their infiltration, so you have good reason for wanting to snare them.

"Just thought you would want to know.

"I will get the file over to you, straight away."

Caplin smirked; he could imagine the relish Davis would enjoy, handling this case. With Davis on their trail, the four spies were as good as caught. Although the man would get due credit for their capture, Caplin would ensure he received Stern's full appreciation - worth so much more.

"You have just brightened my mood, John. Thank Sir Philip, I appreciate him directing this case to me, I won't let him down."

It was Davis's way of cutting through the department politics; Sir Philip pulls my strings, not you, Caplin.

With a broadening smile, John Caplin picked up his phone again and dialled.

"Sir Philip please, John Caplin speaking." The secretary remembered the name.

"Ah! So you did have something to get excited about. Never a good move to upset Sir Philip's routine unless you do. I will put you through."

"Good morning John and a splendid one it is too. How is Margaret? Getting enough sleep I hope. Angela has good lungs she tells me, eh, what?"

Sir Philip Stern had relentless focus. He obviously knew about the tragic death of the six agents, but everyone had voiced their condolences to each other and the war marched on. He had no intention of prolonging the sentiment and platitudes, so never raised the subject.

"I suppose you want to tell me that your spy Strom has slipped through your fingers. I hope you have given the case to Davis. Jolly good sort that one, eh, what? Grinds the bounders down till there are no pips left to squeak, don't you know.

"Raven was a tad slow coming through, in a bit of a spot I imagine, having to send by radio. Still, we are on the case, which is the main thing.

"Was there anything else, John?"

"No, that covers it Sir Philip."

"Good sleuthing on your part, spotting Klein was actually Strom. Still that's what you get paid for. Oh well, press on." The line went dead.

Caplin inattentively replaced the receiver, wondering how on earth Sir Philip had heard the news about Strom so soon, and how he had predicted the content of the call. Anyway, it certainly wiped the smile off John Caplin's face.

##  Safe house, London. 18th December 1943

Dan Stockley's van was full. What with the kit, beacons, money and plumbing tools, it left little room in the back for Horst and Carina. Andreas and Pieter rode up front with the driver.

Although sweetened with £20, the driver was not prepared to talk about anything at all; he focussed instead on getting to London as speedily as the law allowed. It also suited Pieter not to converse, but he would have liked to know more about the driver. What sort of person was he? Some kind of conversation would have helped him to make his assessment.

Often people use words that are coloured by things going on in their life. They would hardly come right out and say, "my wife has run off with another man", but might bitch about unfaithful women, in a general sense. All Pieter knew so far was that Stockley worked only for money and would take no risks with his life. Fair enough, but he would also most likely switch allegiance for money, at the slightest hint of discovery, and leave them in the lurch.

Pieter noticed the way Stockley's overall hung on the left side of his chest. It looked as if he was probably carrying a pistol, in a shoulder holster. His top buttons were fastened, so he was not expecting to use it at the moment.

"Der Fahrer hat eine Shchulterhalfter," Pieter uttered loudly, laughing as though it was an amusing phrase.

"Ya! Ya!" responded the others and joined in with the laughter. They now knew the driver had a shoulder holster, was therefore armed and potentially dangerous.

The driver scowled, not understanding the joke. The only thing he liked about Germans, and pretty well anyone else actually, was their money.

***

It was a tiring journey, taking five hours to reach 28 St Albans Avenue, London. A typical Victorian mid terraced house, built of light brown brick, with a slate roof. Everyone clambered stiffly out of the van and to the nosey neighbours, it looked as if they intended to do plumbing work there. Dressed in boiler suits and wearing gloves, they did not look the slightest bit out of place. Bit by bit, the team carried in their equipment, then Dan Stockley drove off in the van, leaving them to it.

Pieter settled down at the kitchen table and made it his first job to decode the message left for him by Sundown. He was still unaware that the spy had apparently blown himself up.

"Listen everyone. Keep your gloves on at all times whilst we are here. Wear the thin cotton type when you use the bathroom, they will soon dry if you get them wet.

"Next, and this is more important than you might think, we must use our new names from this moment on. I will run through them now, so there are no doubts.

"I am Peter, spelt the English way, code name Glass. You don't need to know my surname at the moment.

"Horst, you are Henryk Robak, code name Zebra.

"Carina, you are Anna Gohl, code name Ballerina.

"Andreas, you are Andrzej Trocki, code name Arrow.

"Obviously you only use your code name with other agents and for messages. The reason is, you need to keep your private name from them, so they cannot identify you by that means.

"I want you to get settled in the house, but do not unpack. Keep all your things together in case one of us has to clear the building without the others. We cannot afford to leave anything behind, so keep everything down here, in the hall."

They nodded to Peter, murmuring their understanding, and went about their task of settling in.

Henryk made a basic meal of soup, with baked beans on a slice of toasted plain white bread. They finished it off with some bruised and over-ripe windfall apples.

Andrzej watched the street and rear gardens for suspicious activity. No one in the neighbourhood appeared to be concerned that four plumbers were working and living in the house.

Having settled in, they went on to prepare for their new jobs the next morning, and to get Anna well again.

They quickly lit the open coal fire. As soon as there was sufficient warm water from the back boiler, Anna took a soothing bath, and crawled off to bed.

Peter knocked on the bedroom door. "Anna, may I come in. I need to see how you are and decide how best I can help you. I know you haven't forgotten that you will be starting work at Gant's Hill tomorrow, with Henryk and Andrzej. For that you all have to be fit and rested. Tired minds make silly mistakes."

"Come in, Peter. I am in bed now." Remembering his warning to them all what would happen if they fell ill and jeopardised the mission, she was dreading what he might say to her.

He walked in and shut the door. She pulled back the bedclothes, revealing her naked body, to show him the state she was in. Large areas of her lower body were red like a bad case of sunburn, and every crease in the skin was broken and weeping slightly. She was obviously in great pain. Fortunately, her temperature was close to normal, but having seen the damage to her body, it left him wondering what he could do about it.

He checked their supplies at the safe house and found some antiseptic powder for applying to knife and bullet wounds; it could do no harm and might help keep the weeping areas dry. Between them, they applied the medication and she drifted off to sleep.

***

To prepare for the next day, the three men sorted the clothes, identity papers, money and details of tomorrow's schedule. Peter also coded a message, and went out to the designated dead drop, as instructed in Sundown's coded letter.

Amongst other things, Peter's message explained Anna's medical condition and its cause. He believed she was in urgent need of a doctor.

An hour later came the sound they all dreaded. There was a knock on the back door.

At the time, Andrzej had been keeping watch at the front and did not see anyone approach. It had happened as he alternated between front and rear.

He opened the door to a woman wearing a smart dark suit, carrying a black Gladstone bag.

"Is Mr Glass in?" she queried.

"I will call him. Do come in. Who are you?" Andrzej had strung together suitable phrases in perfect English, as he had been trained to do.

Sundown's agent, a Doctor of Medicine, noticed he looked very nervous.

"Tell him it is Doctor Betty Marsh. Mr Sundown asked me to call."

Andrzej raced upstairs to the bedroom and woke Peter, explaining what had happened and who was waiting downstairs.

"Send her up at once," commanded Peter, as he leapt out of bed fully clothed.

Peter met Dr Marsh on the landing and showed her into Anna's room. He called to Anna and gently woke her.

"Anna, a doctor has come to see you, she is from our friend Mr Sundown. I will stay while she examines you in case there are questions that I can help answer." Anna looked embarrassed, but neither Peter nor Betty cared, not in their line of work.

After the examination, the doctor explained her conclusions.

"Anna has a bad case of dermatitis. It is the worst case of nappy rash I have ever seen. The slight fever is due to systemic thrush and a bladder infection, I can give you something to help with those. What I cannot help with is the rash, but if you keep the areas clean and dry, it will go on its own in a couple of days.

"I understand you start work tomorrow, Anna. Red legs would be a topic for gossip." Anna nodded. "You cannot wear trousers; it is most inappropriate for your initial induction at the factory. Dark stockings will be very hard to find and there will be no chance to get any in the morning, before work. You had better have mine."

Without hesitation or modesty, the doctor removed her stockings and suspender belt.

"Here is a prescription for more medication and you need to get it now."

Peter chimed in. "Don't worry Anna, I will go out to a chemist for you and get what you need." He could see she was relieved. She smiled weakly and her eyes watered, in gratitude.

The doctor drew a map indicating where he had to go, only certain places would be open this late in the day. Peter took the map and the prescription and walked out onto the landing with the doctor.

She said. "I have done everything I can. I need payment now, in genuine currency, no forged notes. The fee is £100."

The real cash was dwindling fast, Peter would have to take the train to a nearby city tomorrow and convert forged £5 notes.

"Here is your fee, doctor. Thank you for your help, it is greatly appreciated."

She went downstairs and Andrzej let her out of the front door.

They all wondered; would Anna be well enough for work in the morning? If not, would Peter (his new English name) have to kill her?

##  The briefing. 19th December 1943

The wind-up alarm clock briefly hammered at its twin bells. It was 6.00 am.

Henryk, who had taken over the watch from Andrzej, prepared a plentiful fried breakfast and cups of tea made with condensed milk. Actually, they all preferred coffee, but when in Britain, do as the British do. Habits and customs were vital to the longevity of a spy.

Anna was still extremely sore and still running a slightly high temperature, from the thrush. Also, it burned terribly when she peed. Nonetheless, she soon dressed for work and she looked very attractive in her dress and dark stockings. After the induction, she could change into her boiler suit for work. Anna decided to keep the stockings on, under the boiler suit, it would reduce the chafing.

Henryk's tasty breakfast was most welcome, and it was likely to be all they would have time for today.

Peter made sure they had everything they needed and watched over them like a mother, fussing over her child, on its first day at school.

To boost their morale, he said, "I will go with you. We will all leave from the back of the house a few minutes apart, go together by taxi, and get out a short walk from the factory. It is better if you arrive there as individuals. Male and female couples are normal, but two men and a woman together may look odd. Anyway, you are not supposed to know each other. "I will leave you and get on with other things during the day.

"Walk back the same way when you finish work and I will meet you. Keep an eye out for me, but do not stop to speak. Walk past a hundred yards or so and when you are all together, I will come and get you.

"Remember, we have rehearsed many times the sort of questions and answers you will have to deal with, this morning in particular. Now you are on your own.

"Each of you, get to know where the others are in the factory, in case there is a need to communicate about something serious. Otherwise, you do not know each other. In some circumstances, a polite greeting or remark would be appropriate. For example, you bump into somebody and apologise, in English, always speak English, or you might hold open a door for someone. But you know all this, we have been over it many times.

"Time to go, team. I will leave first and call a taxi, so meet me in the street in ten minutes."

Each member of the team fell silent, their minds in a turmoil.

Anna prayed her painful skin would ease, if she had to make a run for it, she stood no chance of escape. She wasn't so sure now that MI5 would honour any deal she might offer, for her life. Now she regretted all those times she let her mind wander, back in the training room.

Andrzej wished he had focused on his training and been more serious. When Peter rammed the gun in his face, it dawned on him how childish he was. His winning smile wasn't going to work for him anymore. Survival depended on him, no one else. He knew he had to focus and plan his moves, several steps ahead. He had no idea how he could do that, and he only had an hour or so to learn.

Henryk tried to anticipate the walk into the factory, the conversation he would have with the people registering his details and the natural wariness of workmates, about strangers.

This would be the riskiest time at the factory. The slightest mistake would be fatal for him, perhaps the team and the end of the mission. He fully realised its importance to Germany and letting the country down weighed heavily on him.

For the first time in his life, his self-confidence deserted him, and he was panicking. He was as jittery as the lid on a boiling saucepan.

##  Davis gets lucky. 19th December 1943

It was 8.00 am, Steve Davis was in his office at MI5. He had been reviewing the Klein/Strom case. He reasoned, people do not walk through walls or become invisible; there is always an explanation for spies slipping through a tight cordon. It was up to him to solve how they did it.

Davis's desk was littered with files and reports that he had been carefully sifting through.

He began to speak loudly, to no one in particular. "According to these reports, no one is missing, and no one reported their vehicle stolen from the area. According to the police and soldiers on guard, no unfamiliar vehicles had been sighted, either. I have the feeling these spies have been assisted by a local, and not another German agent, so that would involve some kind of payment.

"If they had been coerced into helping, I guarantee they would have come forward by now and told us everything.

"What do you think lad?" He was actually thinking aloud, and not eliciting an opinion from his young, acne-faced assistant.

"You are right of course, Mr Davis Sir. That must be what happened." The young man held Davis in awe and would never have ventured his own opinion.

Davis continued his auditory thought gathering. "The only item that stood out as an anomaly, and therefore a reasonable possibility, was the parked lorry down at Chapman's Pool.

"Be a good lad, I want an agent to come with me to Dorset, get my car brought around so we can leave straight away. Tell the local police we are on our way; I want them to arrest the owner of the lorry and anyone working for him." The clerical assistant made the necessary calls while Davis tidied his desk, placing the precious files in his bulging leather bag.

***

The skilful driver, agent Mark Holland, made good time from London to Wareham Police Station in Dorset, arriving at lunch time. He was assisting Davis in his investigation.

After introductions with the Chief Inspector, and a briefing, the interview office on the first floor was made available to Davis. The owner of the building firm, Dan Stockley, also the driver of the lorry, was hauled in first and told to sit in front of a table. The man scowled as he was confronted by Steve Davis, who dwarfed the rather small table that he sat behind. Holland positioned himself by the door, symbolising there was no escape.

"Dan Stockley, you were arrested in connection with assisting three men and a woman to evade capture by the armed forces, and for transporting them." A bland indictment by Davis based on a shrewd guess.

"At the time of arrest, you were searched and found to have in your possession, amongst other things, an unlicensed Webley revolver and four forged £5 notes.

"I can assure you Sir, your time in prison will be very short indeed. The hangman is preparing the noose as we speak.

"I doubt you have seen a hanging. Bit of a private affair you know. A few officials and under certain circumstances, perhaps selected members of family attend.

"The hangman has a bit of a tricky job. There is much more to it than pulling a lever to release the boards you will be standing on. Oh yes indeed!

"He has to calculate the drop, so it is enough to snap your neck. Very humane way to go, I suppose, after the waiting around, the religious rights, the long walk to the gallows, and the slow climb up the steps. I have seen many a brave man cry out for forgiveness, usually after they have pissed themselves. Most distressing for everyone. Then of course you will be held in position, while the noose is slipped over your head and tightened.

"I often wonder whether the condemned man, or woman, plans some way to beat the drop, bending forward at the last instant when the floor falls away, perhaps to ease the shock on the neck.

"This is where the hangman's skill comes in. He has to make sure the drop is just right. Too short and you dangle there choking with all your neck muscles ripped apart, it must be sheer agony. If the drop is too long, your head will be torn right off. You will be dead of course, but the heart will continue to pump blood for a while. Did you know, the heart is not controlled by the brain, but by the bundles of His inside it? In case you didn't know, these form part of the electrical conduction system of the heart.

"Well to continue, the blood is spurting in strong crimson jets from the neck of your body, as it lays twitching on the ground.

"Can you imagine that? All these strangers looking on, and of course I will make sure your wife and child are there with a good clear view.

"For a traitor like you, I will have a little talk with the hangman and ask him to make it a long drop. Of course, everyone will be very upset, but no one will say a word, because they would not wish to do the hangman's job."

Stockley was quivering with rage and would have leapt at Davis had Mark Holland not stood close behind and held him down.

Steve Davis did not flinch or acknowledge the man's aggression and continued to speak, while locking his steely glare onto Stockley's furious eyes.

"Where is your wife Mary and daughter Barbara?"

Stockley spat back, defiantly. "They are somewhere safe."

"Safe from whom?" asked Davis in a quiet and indifferent tone.

"From the men who took them and forced me to drive the spies to London."

"So, they did reach London," muttered Davis, scribbling on his pad.

"They also paid me £250, promising to return Mary and Barbara safely, but they would kill us all if I talked to anyone about it. No one else knows, not even the man who helped me fix the lorry wheel."

Davis sounded exasperated. "Just tell me where Mary and Barbara are, so I can protect them."

"No, I don't trust you."

"OK, all I really want to know is where you took the spies. What's the address?"

Stockley shouted vehemently. "I can't tell you!"

"Never mind, I will find your wife and daughter eventually and she will be charged with treason as well. I will hang her first and let her choke to death. Next it will be you with your head ripped off, all in front of your daughter. How do you think she will be after that?"

Stockley snorted his reply derisively. "You wouldn't dare, you would not be allowed."

Davis spoke as if he was surprised the man knew anything. "Do you know a lot about how we treat spies?"

"No!"

"Then how do you know what I can or can't do?" He queried, seeming genuinely curious.

"It is inhumane, that is why. Inflicting such a sight on a defenceless child."

"You explain that to the maimed and dying victims of the spies you have released on the country. Innocent woman and children, like yours, writhing in agony under the rubble, from those spies' bombs."

Davis pounded his tabletop, a sound like a thunderclap, as his beefy paw hit the thin wood. Objects lifted and clattered back under the shock.

Davis shouted with contempt. "I have no problem at all with your child seeing her mother and father die."

"Do you have a wife and kids?" demanded Stockley, as he tried to instil guilt and win the argument.

"No!" Davis lied. He was unmoved by Stockley's ploy.

Rage surged within the bull of a man as he struggled to rise to his feet, under the weight of Holland's average, but muscular build. "I'm going to rip your bloody head off if it's the last thing I ever do!"

Davis paused and stared at Stockley's puce face, patiently waiting for calm to be restored.

"Of course, Dan, I can just as easily make all this go away. Tell me everything I want to know, leaving nothing out and agree to work for us, then you and your family can walk free." Steve Davis offered out his slightly upturned palms, in an expression of sincerity, backed with a look of genuine concern.

From a certain horrible death, to life as normal. Stockley's face had become disconnected from his brain at the proposition. It took him many seconds to process what had just been offered to him.

Davis watched the man's rage-twisted features slowly relax, as the tension drained away. Then his mouth, still open from ranting, gradually closed as it caught up.

Stockley could see no real downside to the offer, none at all, and no doubt the Government would pay him, another benefit.

"OK! I will work for you. What guarantee do I have that you will keep your word?" The man was trying to make demands in a one-sided negotiation. Still, Davis expected it, it always went like this. Just human nature.

"What I write up in my report will be witnessed by Mr Holland, who is behind you. He will agree anything I write, and no one will know anything different. If I said that you willingly offered information and services to King and Country, then that becomes fact.

"All I want is to catch these spies and keep this wonderful country safe. I know you do too. I understand you were under great duress and am prepared to overlook the matter as though it never happened.

"What more can I offer you as assurance?"

Dan Stockley was greedy, but he was no fool. Once the fat man in front of him had written the report and it was witnessed, he could see no way it could be reversed. In any case, the fat man and his Government had more to gain than lose, by keeping him on side. Best not turn argumentative at this stage, he decided.

Speaking like he won the argument, Stockley said, "Your word is good enough for me."

Davis smiled warmly and just as if the interrogation had never happened, slid some photos across the table for Dan to look at.

"Now Dan, have you seen any of these people?"

"No, no, no, yes, this man." He had identified Klein, so they were on the right track at last.

"Thank you, Dan. So, where exactly in London did you drop the spies off?"

"28 St Albans Avenue. They unloaded quite a lot of bulky kit and waterproofed packages into the house, from my van, and then I left for a job."

Davis enquired in his 'friendly' voice. "Did they say anything that I would be interested in?"

"They hardly spoke, except a joke in German. The girl was very ill though, they had to hose her down while she was naked, her body was bright red like sunburn. They had to hold her up while they did it." Dan was gleefully giving up all he could to help his new best friend.

Davis had seen this swing of allegiance before, many times. "Well, thank you Dan, I can see we are going to work well together. You don't mind coming with us straight away to 28, do you? We need to be sure we go to the right place and you are the only person who can identify these evil people." Davis is such a reasonable man, thought Stockley.

Dan wanted to show he could be reasonable, too. "Well, I have work to do, but yes, of course I will come with you, we can get this buttoned up today."

Davis saw Mark Holland soundlessly write instructions and pass them to the police officer out in the passage.

"That is jolly good of you Dan, I appreciate it. We will head off immediately.

"Come on Holland old chap, get the car and let's go straight to 28." Davis scooped up his papers, stuffed them into his leather bag and the three of them hurried out to the car.

As Davis, Holland and Stockley raced to London, the local police surrounded and raided 28 St Albans Avenue within minutes of the Chief Inspector's call to Scotland Yard.

##  Betrayal?

While his team were settling in on their first day at Gant's Hill, Peter worked through the items Sundown had listed, in his coded message. It contained a list of secure hiding places for the beacons, their kit and themselves. Peter would inform each member of his team of their specific safe place. It was information they couldn't share with each other. Any person caught by the British could only give up their own location and with luck, it would be cleared out by the time the spy yielded under torture.

To raise cash, Peter took a train out of the city and purchased low value items using a forged £5 note each time. He concentrated on the shops that were busy with Christmas trade, places that would have the change and where cash flowed quickly. Peter knew their takings would be deposited with the bank in large amounts. The following morning, the money would be counted and checked, and the forgeries detected, but he would be long gone, and no one would remember him.

Carrying two bags of shopping, he made his way to the nearest garage. It had a Morris 8 van for hire. After a bit of haggling, a rate was agreed for today, and return tomorrow morning. Peter's papers were checked, he paid a hefty deposit, and drove the van away from the garage.

By now, his paranoia was clanging its bell for all it was worth. Far too many people knew they were at the safe house. Sundown knew, Dan Stockley knew and so did Dr Betty Marsh. All his eggs were in this one basket and that was just asking for trouble.

***

At mid-day, he raced back to 28 St Albans Avenue, and cleared the house of all their belongings by 1.55pm.

As Peter drove away, at the end of the Avenue, several Wolseley police cars were racing towards him their bells clanging insanely. At the sight of them, his guts churned making him feel queasy and weak. As his mouth went as dry as a desert, to his immense relief, they raced by. He would have liked to have seen where they were heading, but the traffic forced him to turn into another road. The chances of that number of police cars in a road like this, were remote. He guessed where they would stop.

The big question in his mind was, who had betrayed them?

***

Later that afternoon, Steve Davis arrived at 28 St Albans Avenue and strode towards one of the policemen, guarding the house.

"Good afternoon officer, you are guarding this house on my instructions. Please tell me you have the occupants under arrest." The constable looked surprised and asked for Davis's identity. Satisfied everything was in order, he broke the news.

"There was no one here when we arrived at 2.00 pm. We searched the house and cordoned it off. There are no clothes here, just normal furniture, so we believe the occupants have already left and will not be back. That is why we are visible, there seemed no point in hiding.

"We have taken the liberty of speaking to neighbours and they say a Morris 8 van was seen leaving, moments before we arrived. No one remembered a registration number. A single man took things from the house and loaded up the van. Much earlier this morning, three men and one woman left early in a taxi, one of the men was the van driver.

"I am sorry sir, but we just missed them."

Inside, Davis was seething, but appeared unperturbed.

"Thank you, officer. I know you all did your best. If you don't mind, I will have a quick look round and then you can all go. We will take over the case."

He went from room to room. The place had been cleaned out and judging by the white powder everywhere, the police had already dusted for fingerprints.

"Sir," the voice of a man with fingerprint dusting equipment called out to Davis.

"I could only find one set of fingerprints; they were on the foot board of the bed in the room above. I sent them back for matching, but that will take up to a week, depending on whether or not they are in our system."

"We might be lucky then," pronounced Davis hopefully, but actually he doubted it. Even if the spies had been careless, they would not be in the system.

He made his way up to the bedroom where the print was found and just stood there, quite still, taking in the sights, sounds, vibrations and smells. He did not believe in the supernatural, the vibrations were neither physical nor spiritual, but wherever they go, people leave their mark. It might be how furniture is placed, or misplaced, little things that he could only describe to himself as vibrations.

He walked over to the bed. Only one person (Anna) appeared to have slept in it, though it was a double. He looked briefly in the only other bedroom; two people had slept there. That meant the fourth had kept watch. People seldom like the idea of hot bedding, so why was the fourth position undisturbed. That was the woman's bed and she was known to be ill, so had she been left alone to rest or was she infectious.

He pulled back the unmade bedding and sniffed the sheets where she had slept. There was a very faint odour of carbolic soap, the same as he noticed in the bathroom. There was also something else, near the area where her legs had rested. A smell of medication, he thought. There was a faint speck where the backs of her knees would have been.

"Bring me a magnifying glass, tweezers and a sample envelope," he yelled and continued, moving up the bed. There was a single light brown pubic hair, and something smeared on the sheet.

The fingerprint man appeared with his bag of tricks.

"Look there, on the sheet. I think it is a piece of scab and some sort of bodily fluid, like pus. Have it analysed. The woman who slept here was ill. If we know what was wrong with her, we might be able to pick up the trail from a hospital, assuming it was something treatable.

"She was mobile this morning, so perhaps she is still getting worse. We can only hope."

The man cut patches from the sheet and collected the hair as Holland called Davis to come downstairs.

Holland said, "A neighbour has just mentioned she saw her doctor walking along the rear access to the terrace of houses but didn't see where she went after that.

Davis muttered to Holland, "Doctors usually go to the front door, unless they don't want to be seen. Was she up to no good, perhaps having an affair, or told to come that way on a house call?"

"Good point Mark, let's find out who the doctor is and pay a visit."

***

Doctor Betty Marsh had just finished seeing a patient when Steve Davis and Mark Holland entered her surgery.

"Who in the name of Jesus are you two," she queried indignantly; though it was obvious to her they were not Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm in trouble, she thought but play it natural, she told herself.

"Doctor Betty Marsh, you visited 28 St Albans Avenue last evening, you were seen and identified. What was wrong with the woman you saw there?"

Davis had deliberately ignored Marsh's question. He hoped she might guess they were law or security, then panic and give herself away. By laying out the facts, he hoped she would assume he knew much more than he actually did. It is difficult for a liar to successfully construct the lie, if the opponent has most of the facts.

"You did not answer my question, who are you?" Betty reached for the phone and asked the operator for the police.

"My name is Davis. This is agent Holland. We are from MI5 and I want answers to my question." Both men held out their identification and Betty replaced the phone.

"I went to see a patient, not someone on my books at the time, although they are now.

"You know very well, I cannot discuss the patient's condition, but suffice to say, it was a minor complaint that would have got better on its own. Not a stabbing or gunshot wound that I would automatically declare."

The doctor had just the right answers, no slipups there. There were only two conclusions Davis could draw, either she was an innocent party, or she was linked with the spies. She was a smart and confident adversary; he would be wasting time questioning her at this stage. If her patient was recovering, the trail was getting colder every second.

"Did you see anyone else residing in the house?"

"The patient came to the back door when I knocked, and she appeared to be alone. I saw her in a bedroom, and I was not aware of anyone else there."

"Why did you go to the back door?"

Betty broke eye contact and had a slight smile when she looked up again.

"I have a patient in another house in the terrace. I decided to avoid an out of hours consult by going unseen along the back path."

Smart bitch thought Davis. He gave up the futile enquiry, whatever she knew, it wouldn't help him, now the spies had gone on the run.

"We bid you good day doctor. If I need you again, I will be back." Davis was courteous in what he said, but plainly not sincere. She knew he did not believe her, and she would be a prime suspect for future questioning in relation to any dubious event, in her area.

Davis and Holland walked back to their car and could see Dan Stockley watching them, no doubt hoping he would be returning home very soon.

"Mark, release Stockley when he gets back to Dorset and wait until his family return. See if the spies contact him. If they don't, arrest him again for treason."

"But you gave your word the charge would go away, if he told you all he knew and agreed to work with us!" Holland appeared shocked that Davis had broken his word.

"You have my handwritten report, sign it and give it a couple of months to see if anyone makes contact with Stockley. As I said a moment ago, arrest and charge him if he is of no further use to us.

"I will leave you to do what is necessary. No one will believe any of his claims. Who would believe anything a traitor says?"

***

Back at MI5, Davis was forced to make the very call he was so sure he would not have to make.

"Good evening John, sorry it is so late, but I know you wanted to be kept informed. The police raided the spies' safe house but were just seconds too late. The two leads I had, also came to a dead end.

"I regret it is not what you wanted to hear, but you know I will not let the matter drop. I will get them!"

"Thank you, Steve I will pass on the news of your failure to Sir Philip." There was a sort of political gloat in John Caplin's tone.

##  Scattered.

Peter had completed all his deliveries. The beacons and kit were all secure at the different lockups Sundown suggested in his message. The team's clothes and personal necessities were the only items Peter had left in the van. Soon it would be time to collect the team from work and take each of them to their new lodgings.

He guessed that if his team were compromised, no immediate action would be taken. They would be followed and observed, so that they could all be caught.

Having no intention of being captured, Peter was on his guard for tails. Now he had to be absolutely certain no one was watching his team as they left work for the day.

Peter also speculated about who might have betrayed him. The prime suspects were Dan Stockley and his mate or the doctor. It crossed his mind it could be Sundown or the people who help him or even someone on his own team, but that was most unlikely. There was no doubt in his mind that somebody had told the police about the safe house.

With all this churning around in his mind, he parked the van in a nearby street and arrived at the factory entrance 30 minutes early. He stood at the corner and leaned casually against the wall, apparently watching people hurry past. He was really watching for someone near the factory entrance, doing the same as him. They would arrive early and take up a close vantage point so they could follow their target as they left work.

Peter finally waited in a doorway near the parked van. As each member of his team passed him, he said, "Go left, black Morris 8 van, BRU 963, get in and wait."

Anna was last, and he followed her after checking again that no one was tailing them.

Back in the van, Peter turned in the driver seat, so he could see the three faces.

"Our safe house was raided earlier today. I cleared everything out only seconds before the police arrived." They all looked incredulous at the news and asked where the beacons were.

"I have put everything away securely, apart from your clothes and personal necessities which are in the back of the van. I will drop off each of you at your new digs and give you a coded message. It will tell you the location of your beacons, tools and kit. I cannot trust any of you and neither should you trust each other. This way, we can minimise any risk to the mission. There is a way of contacting me urgently if you must, and the location of a dead drop for normal messages between us.

"Do you have any questions?"

They looked at each other thoughtfully and shook their heads. Peter could feel for each of them, he had been in that same position a long time ago. Now they were on their own, having to think and act like real spies. They were now convinced he wouldn't be there to save them, if they got into trouble.

It had always been Peter's intention to split them up, though he had never mentioned it. As a group, one mistake or act of betrayal would take them all down. Individually, they stood a vastly better chance of surviving and completing the mission.

"On a lighter note, how did you all get on with your first day at work?"

Anna answered first.

"I feel much better now. Work was easy to learn. Exhausting and very boring. I listen a lot. I repeat everything in my head to quickly improve my language skills." Anna's positive attitude was back, and it pleased him.

"What about you, Henryk?" asked Peter.

"The same for me about the work, I shall be pleased when we go on to train others and plant the beacons." Peter had expected Henryk to say that. Working on an assembly line was not for an entrepreneur.

"It will be a while before we can plant the beacons, but we need to screen and train others soon." Setting up a secure screening process was going to be tricky with so many turned agents in the field, but Peter decided now was not the time to bring that up.

"How about you Andrzej? What have you got to say about today?"

"I think being a cleaner is all I can do. I am frightened to speak. No one speaks near me. I cannot learn English this way."

It was clear that Andrzej was going to need help with the English and Peter decided he must help him with that.

"I will fix you up with a language teacher. That will help you mix with the others at work. You can't afford to be an outsider, you must blend in.

"Ok, now we will go to your digs and get you settled. I also have genuine money for you all, so you can get the things you need. Spend wisely and when you go out, stay alert for people following you."

Peter started the van and drove off. Their respective accommodation was near to the Gant's Hill factory and they were all just a few minutes' walk away from each other.

##  Code name Zebra.

Henryk Robak (Horst) was the first to leave his friends, and the safety of the van. It did not bother him as much as he expected. He was better off finding his own way and was confident he would be a good agent.

He didn't go directly to his digs but stepped back into the shadow of a doorway and observed the flow of the traffic. No vehicles pulled away to follow the van and no one seemed to be loitering in the dark. He decided he could confidently go to his room above a small book shop in a long street of struggling back street shops. Everything he needed to buy could be found along the street, without going far. Even the factory was only 15 minutes' walk away. Peter had chosen a convenient location, but Henryk hated the area, and the work.

Henryk took the Yale key Peter had given him from his pocket and opened the shabby, well-worn door alongside the shop. The long staircase ahead of him was dark and unwelcoming, like the smell of stale cooking, cigarette smoke and musty damp that assaulted his nostrils.

Walking slowly up the stairs, he tested the bare timber steps for the comforting squeak of wear and neglect. It would be difficult for anyone to quietly sneak up on him.

Henryk's room was one of four on this level, the stairs continued up another floor. He opened number 2, his room. The curtains were drawn, so he switched on the light at the door and went right in.

Swamped with depression, he closed the door behind him and threw his suitcase on the single bed. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the disgusting brown, stained candlewick bedspread. He should have been pleased to find the small, scruffy rectangular room contained a kitchenette and a toilet. Luxury like that was hard to find.

The linoleum floor covering was so worn there was virtually no pattern left in the middle, resulting in a depressing black expanse of slightly sticky backing. In front of the filthy chipped porcelain sink, and a gas cooker thickly coated with black charred fat, the lino had worn right through to the floorboards.

Peter had paid a premium for the toilet pan in the room; at least Henryk needn't share sanitary facilities, as most bedsit occupants did. It was a shame the endless chain of previous tenants had never cleaned it, and a seat would have been nice.

Peter had stocked his larder with tinned food, fresh bread, dripping, tinned milk and tea. It lifted his spirits an immeasurably small amount, at the man's thoughtfulness.

There was no doubt, Henryk would be most unhappy here!

While the tea was brewing Henryk decoded Peter's message, read it and burned it. Its content meant there was much planning to do.

##  Code name Ballerina.

To Anna Gohl (Carina) the back street looked busy with older men and prostitutes. Her heart sank; this was not at all what she had expected. True, she had given no thought to what she might be going into, but a large house and garden would have come as no surprise.

As she passed each prostitute, they eyed her up, instantly disliking her pretty fresh face. They offered implausible advice and threatened anatomically impossible activity, punctuated with tuberculosis infected spit.

"Number 41... 43... 45a, here it is, Shangri-La, if I am not mistaken!" She mumbled the numbers aloud, apparently indifferent to the jibes that still followed her.

Anna walked through the entrance door, climbed a winding staircase to the third floor and entered a freezing attic room - her new home.

The shabbiness overwhelmed her, when illuminated by the only light, a completely naked 40-watt bulb, dangling from the small strip of horizontal ceiling. The remainder of the room was under steep plastered slopes that might well have been painted white, some twenty years ago. However, the crazing, filth and black mouldy damp stains had taken over long ago.

The dark red floor covering was obviously a re-allocated stair carpet, judging by the heavy wear pattern, probably taken from a bomb-damaged house. The narrow strips and heavily patched repairs to the scorched areas, were held in place by thousands of tacks, many with their heads worn as thin as razors; not that any sensible person would walk barefoot in this room.

The communal bathroom was at the end of the landing, on the floor below. Meanwhile, an ornate white china piss-pot lurked coyly under the rickety double bed. Obviously, an upgrade from the virtually knee-height, large sink that most people would have used for nocturnal sanitary functions. So now, the dirty crockery could soak overnight in the filthy sink.

Carina tested the bed, pressing down on it with her hands. The crisply stained pink satin quilt had lost most of its filling over time. It lay like a revolting skin over the dark grey coarse woollen blanket. The white sheets were freshly laundered, as were the pillow slips. Disappointingly, the pillows were crushed and thin, Carina had seen thicker magazines.

She felt a flush of gratitude upon seeing the supplies Peter had provided. He cared, she thought. He was not a bad man, as men go.

Initially, Peter had planned for Henryk to stay here. However, with all the whores outside, he daren't take the risk of an unsafe relationship developing, from natural male need.

The rusty, chipped, enamelled kettle heated water for a drink, on the solitary gas hob, while she unpacked her clothes and toiletries. The carbolic soap would have to go; it was not skin friendly, the whore's downstairs could use it.

With the brew made and floating tealeaves picked out, she sipped it and decoded her message. She memorised the contents and burned it.

##  Code name Arrow.

Andrzej Trocki (Andreas) read the small neon sign in a front window of the large detached house. The bright red wiggly letters, formed from a continuous thin glass tube, spelled 'Accommodation'. It gave him the feeling that inside was impersonal and uncaring. Fine for a spy, completely desolating for a lone soul, trying to make a start in life. He strode forward resolutely up the four wide stone steps and pushed the bell.

A plump woman wearing a flowery dress and an apron answered the door and smiled at Andrzej, she was expecting him. It was warm inside and smelled of fresh baking, his stomach rumbled, telling him what his brain already knew.

She said, "You are Andrzej, aren't you?"

"Yes. Are you Mrs Taylor?"

"Yes. Do come in out of the cold. I will take you to your room, but please come straight down again. I have the evening meal laid out for you and the other guests." Andrzej beamed with delight and squeezed past her as she closed the door.

His room on the first floor contained just a single bed, a side table and small wardrobe. Not knowing the dreadful condition of his colleagues' rooms, he was not impressed, but glad it was warm and clean. He dumped his case on the clean, blue calico eiderdown and went downstairs to the dining room.

There were seven guests, four were men, and everyone looked up enquiringly at this new arrival, still dressed in his work clothes. Mrs Taylor showed him to the only empty seat, at the end of the table. All eyes were on him and he knew he was facing a big challenge.

Mrs Taylor made introductions and Andrzej tried to link their names to bizarre mental associations. For example, Richard Wallis, one of the men, conjured up the vision of lots of walls adorned with gold and jewels. It registered in his memory as rich, for the gold and jewels, and walls for Wallis.

Suddenly Andrzej was being bombarded with questions. They all wanted to know about him. He managed to explain that he was just a cleaner with no chance to speak to anyone, so it would help him with his English if they told him about themselves.

By the time the seven people had said their piece, the meal was over. He was somewhat intrigued by one of the guests, Richard Wallis, a highly educated and boffin-like young man. Wallis was very dismissive of the true nature of his job. He described his work as statistics and mathematics, hinting he worked for an insurance company; but somehow it did not seem quite right, he was hiding something. When all the guests sat in the lounge reading, Andrzej noticed it took Wallis just minutes to complete the Times crossword.

Andrzej excused himself at 7.30 pm and went to his room. The first thing he did was decode Peter's message, memorise it and burn it.

As the flame scorched and blackened the page, there was a knock at his door. It was a light tap, indicating a reluctance to make much noise, but it startled him, just the same. Could it be Peter or the others? It was not the police; he was certain of that.

The paper curled into charred ash, he got up from the bed and opened the door. Two of the girls at the dining table stood there, named coincidentally, May and June. He remembered them as the calendar girls. They asked if he wanted to go out with them, for a drink in the pub just down the road. He noticed them looking past him, checking out his room as they spoke.

"I would enjoy that. Not tonight. I have no money. I get paid in a week. Can you come in?" They accepted his odd phrasing of English, now they understood his problem. Also, they thought he was very good looking, and they hoped he would do a lot more than talk.

He was surprised to find English girls were no different to Germans, under the shadow of war. There was a powerful urge to make love at every opportunity. Someone explained it as nature's way of replacing the loss of the species during times of disaster. Morality is an elastic concept, and many justified their actions as having fun while you can, a bomb might end it at any moment.

June said she had a bottle of whisky in her room, she would go and get it. May offered to bring her portable radio, real milk and some coffee, so the evening would be fun.

It was not long before the low light from the radio dial, soft music and the whisky took effect. Any inhibitions, if there had ever been any, vanished. Andrzej was the focus of the two girls, each egging the other on and becoming desperately aroused.

Andrzej remembered the English saying, "black cats all look the same in the dark". The same is also true of passionate girls.

May and June had been close friends since small children and were entirely at ease together in a passionate threesome.

***

The following morning Richard Wallis sat at his desk at GCHQ, Bletchley Park. He picked up his phone and spoke to MI5 agent, John Caplin regarding Andrzej.

##  Code name Glass.

Peter Stone (Strom) drove out of the City and parked the van in the garden of a derelict house, behind a thick hedge. He climbed into a sleeping bag, ate a stale bread roll and a lump of Cheddar cheese, washed down with a pint of beer. It was all he could get with the few coupons which remained after shopping for the others.

This was his first opportunity in months to escape from the harsh reality of his precarious life. He didn't realise it, but the stress of the grenade attack, the challenges developing the beacon and the weight of Germany on his shoulders had made him mentally ill.

At the moment, the only thoughts in his tired brain, were of Helga. He relived their times together, her emotional confession that she loved him, when he had said goodbye.

He dreamed of flying back to Alderney and telling her that he loved her too. He imagined he could feel her warmth as he caressed her, the sound of her soft voice as she agreed to start a new life with him, in Brazil. In this fantasy, she questioned how he could afford to buy a home there, and everything that it entailed.

Where would the money come from to buy food, clothing and anonymity? What about children; they would need stability and schooling. This would be for a lifetime, not just for the moment...

It was so peaceful in the darkness of the van and quite quickly he fell into a deep sleep.

##  Change of plan. 20th December 1943

Early that morning, Peter returned the hired van and walked to a nearby hotel. He carried his necessities and clothes in a ubiquitous, battered and worn brown leather suitcase.

He chose a hotel of moderate quality and it would provide the first steppingstone to his new life in Brazil, with Helga. His dreams had thrown up the many questions Helga might have asked and his subconscious had come up with the answers. However, in his single mindedness, it had not occurred to him that the girl might have other plans for her future.

After a refreshing bath and a change of clothes, there was still time to take breakfast. It gave him opportunity to review the mission.

Germany had agreed, full deployment of the beacon system would be scheduled for the beginning of March 1944. They still had many technical issues with the fuel system and guidance of the V-1 to correct.

While his team reported general intelligence about factory activity, their covers became firmly established. Peter insisted the team wouldn't be put at risk from any acts of sabotage. That would have to be done by others. Planting the beacons was their priority.

This plan was still valid, but because the beacons might have been damaged on the journey to England, Peter was forced to set up immediate field trials.

Because of his unbalanced state of mind, Peter was prepared to risk the mission for a fantasy. With that in mind, his first task of the day was to locate a suitable car. It had to be a fast family saloon, with a reasonably full petrol tank, and available on that night.

He found several candidates, and with a quick lift on the rear wheel arch, he listened to the slosh of fuel. A light splashy sound and it was low, but a slow and prolonged deeper sound meant it was nearly full. He checked the full tank by crawling under the car and tapping the petrol tank with a coin. The sound changed at the level of the petrol. There was no point in stealing a car with no fuel, he had no spare coupons to buy more.

Next, he wrote three similar coded messages, one for each of his team.

The actual decoded message read:

Will collect you outside digs at 7.00 pm tonight. Boiler suit, balaclava, gloves, torch, pistol, silencer and knife.

Glass

Putting each letter in a sealed, addressed envelope, he hand delivered to the digs.

Finally, Peter took a taxi across the city to the exclusive shopping area of Hatton Garden, walking around the sights and making mental notes as he went.

This was going to be an interesting night, out he thought, though not the sort of thing Berlin would condone.

Would this madness lead them all to the hangman's noose and ruin Germany's chance to quickly win the war?

##  Compromised! 20th December 1943

Irritated at the untimely interruption of his report to Sir Philip Stern, explaining Davis's failure to capture Strom and his team, John Caplin picked up the jangling phone.

"Good morning, John Caplin here, can I help you?" His calm, polite voice was only temporary, until he knew who was calling.

"Richard Wallis here John, over at GCHQ. I have something that might be of interest."

"Wallis? Ah! The man who solved the dots puzzle, good of you to call, got something tasty to cheer me up?" His cheerful attitude masked John's belief that it would be a waste of his time.

Wallis sounded hesitant. "I hope so, but it's all based on a hunch actually. There may be nothing to it, but I thought you ought to know."

Caplin sensed the man had considered it was good intelligence when he dialled his number, but his confidence was rapidly being eroded by doubt. What it wouldn't be is Strom's current address. On the other hand, this was a man of high intellect, frequently following hunches to solve the most baffling code and intelligence mysteries.

Wallis set the scene. "Owing to family issues, I am staying at a guest house over at Gant's Hill. A new guest came in late yesterday, a young Polish man called Andrzej Trocki. His story was that he had recently arrived from Poland and his permanent papers had just been finalised. All innocent enough, but he has hardly any accent, and speaks phrasebook English.

"At dinner last night, he was very selective about the questions he answered, as if he didn't understand them. That reinforced my belief he spoke like a phrase book, simple and direct short sentences. The sort of thing a hastily trained agent might have to resort to, in the unlikely event he was engaged in conversation. Also, Trocki was very guarded about the work he did, a cleaner I gather. I accept that his reason might be 'loose lips sink ships', but it just does not sit right."

John summed up the call. "You suspect him as being a German agent, because of his poor English, is that right?"

"No, he has no accent that is what's so strange. Who ever heard of a Pole without an accent?"

"Thanks for your call Richard, but I suggest you pass this onto someone else. Why not try immigration or if you feel really strongly about it, speak to Steve Davis here at MI5, he could look into it. Suggest to him that this man entered the country round about the same time as Karl Strom and his team of three. He will be all over it I'm sure.

"Thanks again for the tip, and I hope your family issues are soon sorted out." John Caplin replaced the receiver, focussed once more on the report he was writing and dismissed the call.

Richard Wallis realised his suspicions were too flimsy, a call to this man Davis would be foolish. For the rest of the day he vacillated over the matter.

***

That afternoon, Sir Philip Stern called Caplin.

"Good afternoon John, I received your report about the Strom fiasco headed up by Steve Davis. Have you dug up any new leads?"

"Actually, Sir. I am reviewing the case again now. I received a possible lead earlier today, and I passed it onto Davis. I will ring him now and see where it takes us. May I call you about it tomorrow, we need time to interrogate the suspect."

"You're a damn good sort John. That's what I like about you. You don't let the grass grow under your feet.

"Bring me good news John, only good news!" As was customary, the line went dead.

Caplin hastily dialled Davis's number, forcefully dragging back the slowly whirring dial with each digit, to speed up the connection. He suddenly flushed with anxiety; something told him he had snubbed his guardian angel by not handling the lead with Davis, personally.

There were no doubt others saw John Caplin as a brilliant operative. He always seemed to come up with the answers, which could explain his rapid advancement within the department. But Caplin knew he was not the man the others saw. He was not bright, just astonishingly lucky. Not the 'I won the Grand National' type of luck, but a lifetime of lucky breaks.

John cast his mind back to his job interview with Sir Philip, when he joined the department. John realised Stern was awesomely astute. Although Sir Philip's manner seemed like he was a bit of a toff, the man seemed to discover every secret in Caplin's brain. John later discovered Stern used personal secrets like an incentivising spur. A polite form of blackmail.

At the close of the interview, Stern said, "d'you know John? I don't want clever generals; I want lucky ones!"

Caplin believed it was Sir Philip's way of saying, "I don't care if you are a fraud and as dim as a Toc-H lamp. I know you only got this far by luck, but its results that matter to me!"

Caplin's guardian angel must have warned Sir Philip of the neglected lead from Wallis, prompting Caplin to keep on track.

John Caplin hid his anxiety as he spoke, "Hello Richard, you called me this morning about your suspicions regarding a Polish man. Did you tell Steve Davis as I instructed?"

"Good afternoon John. I must have misunderstood you, I thought you said I should try Immigration or Steve Davis in MI5. Sorry, I did neither."

"Please phone Davis immediately, and tell him about your concern. I will give you five minutes and then call him myself, to see what he plans to do about it."

Caplin's tone left Richard in no doubt that any blame for mishandling the intelligence would be dumped on him.

Richard dialled Davis's number, cursing the slow return of the whirling dial.

The lad with acne answered, "Good afternoon, Steve Davis's phone, he is out at the moment, can I help you?"

"Richard Wallis here, GCHQ. When will he be back, the matter is most urgent?" The young lad could hear the tremor of panic in the caller's voice. "I cannot say, Sir. He went out a few minutes ago to see Sir Philip Stern." Wallis felt the whole world was now conspiring against him, he should have been the hero, but instead he had ended up as the fool.

"Please call him there immediately; I must speak to him before he sees Sir Philip."

"Sounds like a matter of life and death, Mr Wallis!"

"It is! My head will roll, if I don't get him in time."

The boy knew that feeling and wanted to help the stranger. "I will call immediately Sir." The lad hung up and quickly made the call.

***

Andrzej felt very tired as he cleaned the conference room at the factory. Last night would be remembered as outstanding and he was confident there would be many more.

Women were such strange and complicated creatures, impossible to fathom. May and June were so prim and respectable at the dining table, but when alone with him, they were like animals. No doubt they would be all ladylike at dinner tonight, with not the slightest hint of debauchery on their sweet, innocent faces.

Andrzej longed to get back to the guest house for a good night's rest, or whatever the calendar-girls had to offer; he was easy, either way.

***

Sir Philip's secretary offered Steve Davis the phone, the moment he walked into her neat outer office. "You need to make a call to Richard Wallis on this number, before you see Sir Philip. A matter of life and death, by all accounts!"

She smiled as she spoke, but Davis was in no mood for foolishness. It was never a good sign to be summoned to Sir Philip's office, he felt sure it was about the report sent to him from Caplin. No doubt it had been phrased to blame him entirely for the failure to capture Strom and his team.

He took the phone. "Steve Davis here, is that Richard Wallis?" There was no attempt to keep the sharpness from his voice.

"Ah yes, Mr Davis! Thank you so much for calling. I was told by John Caplin to pass this lead to you, he felt it was relevant to your enquiries." Wallis's voice sounded so relieved, like the hangman had just removed the noose.

"What do you have to tell me? I am about to see Sir Philip Stern, so be quick and to the point." Davis had the tone of a man on his way to the gallows. Could Wallis be his signed pardon?"

Wallis told Davis what he had said to Caplin. The timing suggested he could be a member of Strom's team. He had since found out that Andrzej Trocki works at Gant's Hill. Obviously, it was not Strom himself, because he had seen the sketch and subsequent photo from Peenemünde.

"Thank you for telling me, shame it wasn't sooner. I could have been better prepared for my meeting with Sir Philip." Davis stopped blurting, he realised he had said too much. He had confided his innermost fears to this stranger.

"I will call you back Richard, things are rather dicey, just now." Wallis was relieved to have offloaded his burden and heaved a sigh of relief.

A door opened behind the secretary and Sir Philip loomed large. Davis glanced up and he knew the man had just probed his mind. The meeting was now a mere formality.

"You had better have good news for me, old chap? Step lively, I can hardly wait to hear it." Stern was annoyed at having been kept waiting and this was no time for ifs, buts and bad news. Davis started speaking as he followed Sir Philip in.

"I might have one of Strom's team in my sights. It looks like the team have split up and this man is now working at the aircraft factory, over at Gant's Hill. I plan to raid the guest house where he is staying, tonight."

"Don't you think you would be better off watching the man to see if he contacts the others?"

"Actually, I don't. If they have split up, whatever they are up to, I would expect them to get on with it individually, without delay. Most likely, they will be targeting the aircraft factory. Why else would this man get a job there?

"The others might also be there, planning to strike in several places at once, and then vanish. The fact that a team was brought in, rather than use established agents, suggests to me that this is a specialised attack. Something which requires special training and equipment to do the job. We know they brought secret devices with them, when they came in by sea.

"That is another puzzle. Why not parachute in, like they usually do? The sea approach was by far the riskiest. It hints at the nature of the devices, but I cannot imagine what that would be.

"Raven, our agent on Alderney, reported the large box that Strom brought in was labelled nitro-glycerine, for the Oberst. That makes no sense of course. Probably just a ruse to prevent anyone looking in the crate.

"To sum up, I don't think we can afford to wait and see who he contacts. We can review all the new staff at Gant's Hill anyway; we know when they would have arrived.

"We can get this man to give up the others and tell us what the plan is, then close in on them. We have no other sound option."

Sir Philip could see the man was looking him square in the eye, but judging by his expression, Davis was unseeing, like a blind man. He was absolutely focussed on his thoughts.

Stern wanted results, by any means. A bird in the hand and all that... "Go to it Steve. Apprehend this nest of slippery, viperous spies and hang them high. No more double agents. Kill them all and be done with them!"

The meeting was over. Now Steve had to convert this wisp of a hunch on Wallis's part, into four swinging corpses.

***

Back in his office, Steve Davis phoned another department head and discussed the matter of the new staff at Gant's Hill. Between them they devised a trap to expose the remainder of Strom's spies, perhaps even Strom himself, if in fact they were working at the factory. The outcome of this simple but devious plan, would change the history of the war.

##  MI5 make an arrest.

When each member of the team arrived at their digs, they opened and read their coded message from Peter, with mixed feelings. The boredom was lifted, but they were at great risk again. Andrzej was particularly dismayed, no chance of a quiet evening in bed tonight.

Henryk and Anna prepared their own meals, then washed and changed, as directed. Andrzej cleaned up and sat down to dinner, joining in with talk of the day as best he could. Richard Wallis was particularly quiet and that troubled Andrzej, it was out of character for this inquisitive man.

At 6.45 pm, when Andrzej was about to put on his dark blue boiler suit, he heard a firm and urgent knock at the front door. The moment the landlady opened it, there was the din of running feet, up the stairs and along the landing. Several men burst in on Andrzej before he could recover his automatic pistol. It was just as well, Davis's men were armed and would have shot to wound Andrzej, given the slightest provocation. They knew their boss, Steve Davis, was protected against recriminations under these circumstances. Who was there to complain about shooting the suspect, certainly not the corpse?

Davis squeezed past his six men, who had pinned Andrzej face down on the floor. They forced a piece of wood between his teeth and checked him for a suicide pill and weapons before searching the room.

"Andrzej Trocki, I am arresting you and taking you for interrogation. You are under suspicion of being a German spy.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Davis made his speech on automatic pilot. He was more interested in looking around the room than anything Trocki said. Noting the boiler suit, balaclava and gloves lying on the bed, he knew he had caught one of the team.

"What have we here, doing a bit of night shift work are you Andrzej? No, wait, your cleaner's overalls are hung up over there, so that can't be it. Tell me, what are you about to do?"

Andrzej just scowled, his mission had ended abruptly and soon, he would be dangling from a rope. Nothing he could do about that, but what about Peter, Henryk and Anna?

They would be here any moment and walk right into the trap. Perhaps they had already been captured?

Davis watched his men tearing into everything in the room, searching for some evidence to support their assumption that the prisoner was a spy.

Following Peter's advice, all incriminating items had been hidden in places to which others also had access. In this case, behind the panel of the shared bath. If they were found, claiming they were not his would frustrate any investigation and allow precious time for the others to clear his lockup.

"Take him to the car," Davis commanded, as he walked out of the room and down the stairs.

***

Peter had picked up Henryk at 7.00 pm precisely and was on route to Anna, just a few minutes away. A couple of jeering prostitutes were throwing insults in Anna's direction, when Peter pulled up in a dark green saloon. Their faces dropped; they had been hanging around in the cold since 5.00 pm, in their tart wear and so far, no one was interested in them. This bitch in a boiler suit had picked up two good looking male punters, the moment she appeared. That was so unfair.

The car drove on and approached Andrzej's guest house.

Peter saw at once there were two badly parked cars outside, with nine people about to get into them, including one in handcuffs. It was Andrzej.

Peter pulled up, just in front of the lead car, giving the impression of careless parking.

"Henryk take over the driving. Anna, we will walk back to the cars, like we are lovers; I'll take the lead car, you take the other. Shoot through the windows, kill them all. I will try to rescue Andrzej.

"Pick off anyone who gets in our way, Henryk. Anyone!"

Peter and Anna got out, embraced for a moment, and then strolled arm in arm along the road towards the two cars.

With horns blaring and engines racing impatiently, Davis's drivers tried to manoeuvre away.

Anna leapt forward and pumped silenced shots through the car windows at every seated person, packed tightly in the second car.

Peter took out the driver of the lead vehicle, and Davis, in the front passenger seat. He then paused for a moment to be certain he would not injure Andrzej, seated between two men in the back who began firing at him.

He ducked below the car window and fired through the thin metal of the rear door, aiming for the belly of the nearest man. The other man opened the door on the pavement side and made to run around the car and shoot Peter. A single shot from Henryk smacked through the man's skull, dropping him soundlessly to the ground.

Peter yanked open the rear door, pulled out the gut shot man and shot him again, through the head, as he hit the road. He leaned in and dragged Andrzej out, by his handcuffs

Already back at their vehicle, Anna covered Peter and Andrzej while opening the car doors. Andrzej dived in the back, followed by Anna. Peter was barely in, next to Henryk, when he accelerated away.

Anna and Peter looked back. The bystanders surged from the shadows, towards the dead MI5 team. A perfectly executed rescue, his team had done well.

Peter gave Henryk directions. They now had to dump this car and pick up another from the selection Peter had made earlier that day. The purpose of coming out tonight was still his main priority.

"Andrzej, we need to get those handcuffs off. Anna, can you deal with that?"

"I am picking the locks now," she confirmed.

Peter said, "I will want Andrzej to take over the driving, because he has no weapon.

"Henryk, Anna, we will get another car, and drive across the city to Hatton Garden. Then we must do two smash and grabs of the best jewellery we can find. I am praying the police will be tied up with the first raid, while we do the next one a few streets away.

Peter lied convincingly to his team. "It looks like we will need the help of the criminal underworld, to finance the main mission. The forged money just isn't enough and has been devalued too much. It has become the subject of scrutiny by everyone and we cannot take the chance of using it."

"I take it the three of you are prepared to go along with this?"

They all agreed, it was necessary.

Anna dropped a bombshell, "Peter, I don't feel so good. It just hit me. I have just killed people." Anna was going to struggle with the guilt, unless he could talk her round.

"Did you know any of them?"

"No. Of course I didn't, but they were people, real people with loved ones and families who cared for them."

Peter argued, "What do you think would have happened to Andrzej, as soon as they discovered he was a spy?"

"They would have hung him I suppose, or perhaps turned him against us." Anna was not going to accept what she had done was the right thing to do. Peter knew tonight was not the time to hold a discussion over morality in wartime.

"Pull yourself together Anna, look at Andrzej and be grateful he is safe with us." Andrzej put his arms round her and pulled her close.

"Thanks for doing your bit to save me. I was wondering if you would be joining me on the gallows. I was sure you would walk in any moment and be caught." He gently kissed her lips, and she hugged him back.

She would come to terms with what she had done, soon enough. None of them suspected there was much worse to come.

##  The robbery. Nearly midnight 20th December 1943

The pitch-black streets were deserted. The large Rover saloon rolled along almost silently, past the rows of shops, its engine ticking over in second gear. The dim light from the downward pointing headlight shrouds, reflected up from the road. There was just enough stray light to make out the individual shops.

"Ok, Henryk pull up by this jewellery shop.

"Anna and Henryk come with me."

Peter removed a small package, from a haversack that had been resting by his feet, in the front passenger foot well. The team immediately recognised it as a small explosive charge.

"Anna, place this charge under the padlock that holds the security shutter to the ground anchor. It should break the shutter free and shatter the window. Take a bag each and fill it with the display pieces of jewellery. We will have about half a minute to get what we can and then leave.

"Andrzej take my pistol and take over the driving. Keep anyone pinned down, by shooting near them, and then get us away.

"Are you all ready?"

The team seemed shocked at what they were about to do, but it appeared to be simple enough, so they murmured their agreement.

The three of them strolled along the pavement, peering in through the shutters at the beautiful creations on display. Jewels of every kind glittered with outstanding brilliance, illuminated only by the weak light from their shielded torches. Peter pointed out the key pieces and explained that those must be taken first, then get any other items in the remaining time.

"Don't waste time by taking watches.

"Off you go Anna, make us proud."

Peter and Henryk moved away to safety, as Anna slipped the charge under the stout padlock. The explosion could only go sideways and up, and with such force that even the printed label on the charge would be etched into the steel of the padlock.

She lit the short fuse and dashed for cover in a doorway.

The instant the bang occurred, they ran back to the shattered window, dust and debris raining down behind them. Henryk heaved the remains of the security screen to one side, and the three of them plundered the shop.

When Andrzej called them, they all raced back to the car and hurtled off into the night.

Peter directed Andrzej along several narrow side streets and parked out of sight. With the engine ticking over, and the lights out, they listened, as more and more sirens grew increasingly louder. The occasional dim glow of headlight on the road from the police cars passing by their hiding place, but that was as close as they came.

Peter removed another charge and several grenades from the haversack, then handed the charge to Anna.

Next, he transferred the jewels to the empty haversack. They would be needing the bags again.

Checking his map, Peter instructed Andrzej to drive on normally. He directed him to park near another jewellery shop, in a neighbouring road.

"By now the police will have cordoned off the area and the roads will all be blocked, which makes the next robbery rather tricky. We are obviously still inside the cordon and getting out will be a test of your driving skills, Andrzej. Once we are through, we will be pursued, so be prepared for a frantic chase."

He showed Andrzej the route he had planned, and stressed it was vital he followed it, no matter what.

As before, Anna placed her explosive charge and the two men took cover. It was at that moment, a police car arriving late from another direction, came racing down the road. The blast caught it side on and it veered off into the opposite shops. Andrzej ran over and shot the two injured men as they climbed out of the wreckage. Andrzej felt cool, calm and in control as he quickly slipped back behind the wheel, ready to drive away. The others completed their robbery and joined him. Andrzej had the route clear in his mind as they drove off down side streets to park in the shadows. They were going to wait it out until the police stopped arriving at the scene.

***

While they waited, the intense silence was shattered by an air raid siren on the building above them. This was an eventuality for which Peter had not planned and the roulette wheel of chance was spinning. In one respect, the raid would probably help them, but only if bombs fell nearby. However, bombs falling that close could easily mean the end of them.

As Peter expected, the roadblocks had closed off the Hatton Garden area. Peter had planned to head north east back to Gant's Hill, after he had broken through the cordon and reached Islington. The plethora of backstreets would spread the police so thinly, they would stand little chance of catching the spies.

Because of the air raid, all lights were extinguished. It made Peter's job of navigating very difficult indeed, being unable to see street signs in the torch light. They drove as fast as they dared in the dark, about 15 miles per hour, hoping not to crash into lamp posts or buildings.

They glided along quietly, and the police lurked in the shadows, listening. Even against the distant background whistle of falling bombs, the explosions and anti-aircraft gunfire, the sound of the car was funnelled along the streets to them.

As they passed the hidden policemen, their position was being reported by telephone, and relayed by radio to the roadblock ahead.

"Look out!" shouted both Henryk and Peter.

Peter added "there is someone up ahead with a torch, I saw it flick on, very briefly.

"Turn on your lights Andrzej, so we can see what we are up against."

The headlights cast a weak beam of light, on the road just in front of the car.

"Oh my god! There are dozens of police running straight at us. We are driving at barely 10 miles an hour, and they are planning to leap on the car, break in and overpower us."

Peter, Horst and Anna fired into the surging mass, scattering them out of their path. Several bodies fell dead in the road.

Peter yelled out, "They have blocked off the road. There are two police cars and a Black Maria, nose to tail across the main road.

"Go right Andrzej. Drive on the pavement. Ram the backside of the police car out of the way, and push past."

Andrzej double declutched into first gear, lurched up over the curb and drove the car, engine screaming, as fast as it would go into the parked police car.

Seconds before impact, Peter lobbed a grenade out of his window, behind them.

"That grenade should keep them back. The police were all closing in behind us."

At 8 miles per hour, there was not much of a jolt as they rammed the police car, but the momentum of their car and torque from the powerful screaming engine in first gear, easily pushed it out of the way.

Peter yelled, his voice betraying his desperation. "Look out, the police are here behind the roadblock as well. Hell, they are armed with metal bars and truncheons, they are going to swarm all over us. Lock the doors. Shoot into them as much as you can."

Dozens of policemen leapt onto the car, clinging to or lying on every accessible part of it. They were smashing through windows, and scrabbling to unlock the doors.

Anna yelled a warning, her voice shrill with panic, "Peter, they are wrenching the doors off."

Andrzej had his own crisis. "Oh no! I can't see where I am steering... the torches, they are blinding me!"

Henryk fired his last shot. "I need another ammunition clip, Anna."

The girl snatched a bunch of clips from the floor. "Here's two Henryk, I have more." Then she screamed, "Help me someone, so many arms, they're grabbing me through the back window. I can't fight them all off."

Henryk turned and pumped six shots at the limbs thrusting through the small rear window opening, freeing Anna.

The policemen were clawing their way in through the openings where doors had once been, on the roadside of the car. Fortunately, the other side was scraping along the wall, so that left only the front, rear and one side to defend.

As one policeman fell dead, another two appeared to take his place. The team just could not shoot into them quickly enough. Henryk and Peter were shooting, kicking their attackers out of the car, and trying to fend off crippling blows from bars and truncheons.

"Help me Peter!" yelled Andrzej "they are climbing in through the windscreen opening. I can't hold them back, and steer as well." Andrzej was ramming a steel crowbar he ripped from a policeman's grasp, into their faces, leaving the car to steer itself.

He quick wittedly changed into second gear, to gain speed and make it more difficult for the attackers to keep up. The overloaded car picked up speed, but the fight became even more desperate.

Henryk and Anna were kicking, punching and fielding blows and at the same time, pistol whipping heads and hands that lunged at them. They no longer had time to reload, cock and start firing.

Peter had his back to Andrzej kicking off some of the policemen who were upon him. As his attackers fell out, others grabbed at his thrashing legs. As they pulled him out, Peter deliberately dropped his Luger into Andrzej's lap. One hand grabbed the steering wheel and the other the door frame as he hung on, halfway out of the car. The police were being dragged along, but they did not intend to let go of Peter's legs. The police believed their large numbers would prevail.

Andrzej yelled, "Peter, I can't steer with you pulling on the steering wheel. We're going to crash into the shops, across the road."

The battle was about to end. Andrzej was being grabbed and punched by men on the bonnet, he couldn't steer and stopping wasn't an option. Any moment now, their car would hit the other pavement and drive headlong into a shop front.

Peter realised what was happening and took a desperate chance. He let go of the steering wheel and made a quick grab for the door frame, as he was being dragged out. With both his hands gripping the frame, the wrench practically pulled his arms out of their sockets. Two more policemen leapt upon his body and clung to his arms and neck.

With Peter's Luger, Andrzej fired silenced shots into the faces of his attackers, blasting them off the bonnet. Spinning the badly buckled steering wheel, Andrzej veered back into the centre of the road.

Peter was now being dragged towards the rear wheel. One of the men clinging to Peter, screamed briefly and let go, as the rear wheel rode over him. The massive lurch threw everyone around, many police lost their grip and fell off the accelerating Rover.

Peter managed to roll over, now the remaining policemen, still clinging to his body were beneath him. Now it was their turn to be scuffed and scraped along the road. Realising they would be crushed under the wheel, they let Peter go.

Peter yelled. "Henryk, grab my belt and pull me in." Henryk leaned out and tried to hold his legs clear of the rear wheel.

More shots came from Anna as she picked off the remaining police still clinging to the rear window opening.

In sheer desperation, Peter managed to drag himself onto the running board. He pulled himself back into the car and collapsed into the front passenger seat.

Andrzej could not see where he was going, both headlights were completely smashed. Policemen ran alongside again, ready to leap back on, attempting to blind the team with their torches, in the hope of causing the car to crash.

Swerving the car from side to side scattered the police and forced them to drop back. Suddenly they stopped chasing and were heading for the pavement. Peter looked back, relieved to have left them behind for good.

But again, his heart fell through the floor, three pairs of light pools were gaining on them. The police were now in hot pursuit in their cars and the spies were being chased and about to be caught. The police drivers had working headlights, Andrzej didn't.

Peter knew that their position had now been broadcast to every police car in the area and unless they could escape immediately, it would all be over for them.

"Ease over to the right Andrzej, let one car come alongside."

The team could not believe what he was saying.

Peter felt around in his foot-well, for the only grenade he had left.

"Hold your speed steady Andrzej, I want him alongside. Do not let him overtake or force you into the kerb.

"Henryk, Anna, shoot everyone in the car, but not the driver. We want the car in one piece."

"What about the following cars?" Henryk yelled.

Peter wasn't listening; he was carefully judging distance and speed.

Occasionally there was a distant bomb flash, or stray light from the gaining police cars. Otherwise, Andrzej was running blind at 20 miles per hour, with every fibre of his being focussed on staying on the right side of the road, and not driving into the kerb, lampposts or parked vehicles.

The police car, a Wolseley, was alongside. Peter released the detonator pin and threw the grenade at the windscreen of the following car.

The Wolseley swung over and barged into the team's car, but Andrzej had already countered the move. The huge jolt and crump of mangled metal echoed down the long road. Horst and Anna opened fire at practically point-blank range and shot everyone but the driver.

Swept along in the heat of the moment, the frantic driver just thought he had been lucky, and continued his assault to force the team off the road. He was certain his colleagues in the two cars behind would soon mop up these four criminals.

The grenade exploded inside the following police car. As it swerved the third one ran into it. Instantly, both cars exploded showering shrapnel and flaming petrol over the locked together Rover and Wolseley.

The surviving police driver jammed on his brakes and as the two cars slid apart, Anna and Henryk killed him.

Andrzej screeched to a halt, everyone leapt out and ran to the coasting Wolseley. As it glanced the kerb and stalled, the team wrenched the doors open and pulled the dead men out onto the road.

Using the heavy police overcoats, Henryk and Anna quickly extinguished the flames on the bodywork of the Wolseley. Andrzej got behind the steering wheel and restarted the engine.

They were now ready to go on the run again.

With all this going on, Peter grabbed his knapsack and the bags of jewels from the burning Rover, switched on the interior light and checked for anything his team might have dropped. Satisfied it was free of evidence, they all climbed into the Wolseley and roared off into the night.

They could hear the police radio messages being broadcast to all cars. It enabled them to avoid further roadblocks in the near vicinity and soon they were clear of danger.

"Andrzej, you will have to stay with me," said Peter." Your lodgings are no good to you now.

"By the way, we all owe you our thanks, your skilful driving saved our necks."

Andrzej gave a brief smile of appreciation for the complement. He realised he had suddenly grown up, and that maybe the team thought he was a mature adult, at last.

As they approached Gant's Hill, they left the police car and walked to their respective homes. The blackness of the night was their friend.

The team were glad the battle was over and that was the end of it. Peter knew it wasn't. Spies are supposed to sneak in the shadows, not set the streets of London alight. He knew the police wouldn't rest until they caught this band of desperate killers. Local criminals weren't highly trained fighters, they didn't have access to grenades and silenced semi-automatic weapons. MI5 would know it was them and divert every resource to avenge their eight dead men.

The future of the four spies was bleak, very bleak indeed!

##  The aftermath. 21st December 1943

The police arrived at the scene, and took charge following the team's dramatic rescue of Andrzej. They pushed the onlookers aside and questioned them about what had happened.

The dead MI5 agents could be quickly identified by their papers. Just half an hour later Sir Philip Stern received the devastating telephone call from the police.

"Good evening Sir Philip, Chief Superintendent Thomas Walters here. I am deeply sorry to inform you, but we have just come from a murder scene. Eight of your agents have been shot and killed; we identified them by their papers."

"Oh, good grief Thomas! Do you know who is responsible?"

"It appears your team were in the process of arresting a man, by the name of Andrzej Trocki, who was residing at the guest house they raided. A car pulled up just as your men were about to drive away. A male and a female got out, dressed in dark blue boiler suits and shot dead every one of your agents. They rescued Andrzej Trocki and drove away in what turned out to be a stolen car.

"I believe it was the team of four German spies you have been hunting."

"Did any of my men manage to shoot back?"

"Eyewitnesses claim it all happened so quickly, there was no chance to fire more than a few shots. The wretched traitors were uninjured."

"But Thomas, how did the three attackers know we had their fourth man?"

"That has been puzzling me as well Sir Philip. Your team arrived out of the blue and apprehended Trocki within minutes, yet these three appeared at just the right moment. I hate to say it, but there must have been a leak regarding Steve Davis's plan to raid the place."

"I won't have that Thomas. I know my people, they are hardworking and loyal, and no one would do such a terrible thing."

"How can you be so sure Sir Philip? Traitors have been exposed in the department, in the past. Perhaps the informant did not foresee eight of his associates being murdered. All I can say is that there could not have been a better time for the spies to strike, it had to have been planned. The attackers waited until all your men were contained in their cars, they would have been excited at the success of their raid, off guard and effectively sitting ducks, waiting to be mown down.

"I cannot believe the spies were there by chance. If they were, just what were they planning to do together? That strikes me as a more frightening scenario."

***

Stern could picture the scene. He realised that Davis and his men would have given no thought to the possibility of such an attack. They had just arrested a single spy and probably felt untouchable, the omnipotent government against a single adversary. They would have been prepared for a shootout with this man before his arrest, but afterwards they would be relaxed, smug, even.

Davis was a great agent, ruthless and relentless, always got his man. This time however, the agent had been overconfident, perhaps even arrogant. He had certainly underestimated Strom and his team.

Stern gave no thought to the possibility that he had driven Davis to his death, with his bullying attitude and application of relentless pressure.

It was clear to Stern that these four Germans were very special, and essential to whatever scheme Berlin had trained them for. So special that they placed themselves at risk to recover one man, rather than lose him or kill him.

Why the dickens did Davis overlook the fact that the others had to be nearby and would fight back. By all accounts the agents had just sat there, allowing the killers to walk by and murder them in cold blood. How would he be able to explain all this to the families of the dead men? It would be terrible enough at any time, to break such awful news but in a few days, it would be Christmas. And for the rest of the families' lives, this would be a grim anniversary.

"What you say makes sense, Thomas, and I will investigate thoroughly, of course. I need time to absorb this bombshell you have dropped upon me and ask that you keep me informed of your own investigation."

"Of course, Sir Philip, I bid you goodnight."

Stern placed a call to John Caplin at his home, to break the news to him. He also suggested that Davis's immediate superior should be the one to contact the dead men's families.

Caplin tried to imagine the ghastly scene, if he had died just like Davis. He imagined the expression on Margaret's face as the realisation sank in. She would try and retain composure, at least until the messenger had left.

She would look around at all the Christmas decorations, the presents piled under the Christmas tree, mostly for their daughter, and her world would then crumble, for ever.

Caplin did not like Davis, although he had tremendous respect for his abilities. He knew Davis had a young family and a happy home life and felt glad he was not to be the bearer of this appalling news.

##  Message to Germany. Early morning 21st December

When Peter and Andrzej arrived back at Peter's hotel, the night porter had dozed off at the reception desk. Peter had been anxious to avoid anyone seeing Andrzej with him. To be suspected of being a homosexual was his greatest fear, and it was a criminal offence. It was considered most unnatural for two young men to spend a night together in the same room.

If MI5 or the police were to find Andrzej with him, it would blow Peter's cover, and endanger others. Getting out of the hotel unnoticed, in the morning, would also be a problem - but one thing at a time.

Peter thought hard about the situation with Andrzej. Peter still had his own private mission to carry out, one that didn't concern Helga or Germany. For everyone's safety, there were secrets that he couldn't share with Andrzej.

New digs for the two of them would be tricky to find in London. Perhaps Anna could take the lad? No that would be a disaster, she would be raddled like a flock of sheep and end up pregnant.

This was a long-term mission. It would be at least seven months before the V-1 system was fully functional, and every member of the team was essential. Then, every night, dozens of beacons would have to be planted so the shower of V-1 hell quickly brought England to its knees. Each plant would require days of planning and many more people would be needed to plant them. Germany knew the element of surprise would be a very small window of opportunity. With so many agents and beacons in the field, the secret would soon be revealed. The British must surrender before then.

There was only one solution, Peter would have to rent a small house and hide Andrzej away. However, money and coupons were dwindling fast and so far, there was little to show for it.

During the remaining few hours before dawn, Peter coded a message to his handler in Berlin, he needed to update them on his situation.

The message read:-

Sundown created diversion when we landed at Chapman's pool (18th) and provided transport to London. Left safe house with seconds to spare. Possible betrayal by our driver Dan Stockley, or Dr Betty Marsh. Advise Sundown.

Zebra & Ballerina employed and are building cover. Arrow arrested by MI5 last night, but we retrieved him, and he is secure. 8 MI5 dead and we remain unidentified. I expect Zebra & Ballerina will be checked again today, confident they are secure, but will confirm soon. Believe Arrow betrayed, but no suspects yet. Need help to uncover traitor, suggest Ernst Huber, trusted and experienced in uncovering traitors. Advise please.

Beacon test from 18.00 26/12 to 02.00 27/12 GMT set tone 3

Confirm in broadcast 22 tonight from 18.00 – 19.00 GMT

Beacon yes (the fire is hot) no (the wind is cold)

Sending Huber yes (the grass is green) no (the sea is blue)

Drop A7 for your instructions.

Glass bx9d34m

At dawn, as a distraction Peter arranged with reception to check his hotel account, and Andrzej slipped out by the back entrance. He had to borrow a warm winter coat from Peter, as all his possessions were left behind when he was arrested. He waited for Peter out of sight in the alley at the side of the hotel, they then went on the hunt for accommodation to rent.

Eventually they found a suitable place, the agreement was for three months, paid for up front by Peter, in Andrzej's name. That way there would be no links if either were caught.

Peter thought it unlikely that the police and MI5 would go door to door in the area, searching for a person called Andrzej Trocki. London is a vast place to search for a man who would be long gone by now, if he had any sense. By using apparently genuine papers, the estate agent had no reason to suspect the new tenant of being anything other than what he appeared to be.

As the agreement was being typed up, Peter told Andrzej to meet him at the café several doors away. Peter slipped away to chalk a circle on the pavement nearby, as he tied a shoelace. This was to indicate there was an urgent message to be collected by Sundown, at a specific dead drop. Peter then walked to the dead drop (A7), and while he sat on a park bench reading a newspaper, he pinned his coded message to the underside of the seat. Minutes later, he returned to the café to wait for Andrzej. After Peter ordered mugs of tea and fried breakfasts, Andrzej arrived, a few minutes later.

Both men were desperately hungry and quickly devoured the meal. Only then did Peter explain their next move. Giving Andrzej £10 in genuine cash and using Peter's ration card, he told him to get them some food for their new larder.

He went on the explain, "Andrzej, I have a number of urgent things to do, so settle in at your new digs and keep out of sight. I don't know what time I will be back, so look out for me and be alert for trouble. Plan your escape route in case you need it; remember you are a wanted man, on the run from the police and security forces. They will all be hunting for you so don't think you are safe. If you have to run for it, leave a coded note at my hotel, in my name."

"Thank you, Peter. I am grateful for your help." The stilted reply made Peter uneasy, there was no way the lad would be able to pick up English while hidden away and Peter didn't have time to help him.

##  Sundown calls Germany. 21st December 1943

It was 8.00am. A slim built man of average height, aged around 40 years old, strolled along the cliff edge path near South Foreland Lighthouse. This spot, between Dover and St Margaret's Bay is the closest point to Calais. His bulky knapsack, warm clothing and sturdy leather boots pegged him as a hiker.

As he walked, he thought about recent events and where things were heading.

The Scarlet Pimpernel character fascinated him, when he read the book, as a child. Sir Percy was very wealthy and so was Stan.

Who would have thought an insect secretion could make money? Stan smiled, because he did.

He smiled again at the thought of The Ministry of Entertainment and Germany making such odd bedfellows, yet without them and that magic element, perfect timing, things would have been quite different.

Turning those humble insect secretions into Shellac made cheap mass-produced electrical insulators and other small mouldable components possible. The war with Germany had increased British demand beyond even Stan's expectations.

His thoughts turned to the conversation with a minister in The Ministry of Entertainment. The man had the challenge of keeping the British spirits high and to control what reached the public ear. Stan remembered that flash of inspiration when he told the man that a gramophone was cheaper than a radio. He could boost production of adapted shellac and press 78-rpm records. It turned out to be a boom industry, consuming 2000 tons of it a year to make 28 million records.

When war broke out, Stan thought Britain hadn't much of a chance against the might of Germany. He heard many other wealthy people thought the same. They had their own secret network that supported Germany, but Stan decided not to join them, in case they were found out.

The private meeting with Herr Hitler went extremely well. It was agreed that in return for top level intelligence, gathered from the high society Stan mixed with, Germany would let him keep his industry, when they won the war.

Germany planned to take over every business and penalise anyone who supported the British.

Stan smiled again at his audacity. Unlike the others who had to choose a side, he could overtly support the British establishment and covertly support Germany. Herr Hitler understood Stan's success as a high-level spy depended on him being seen as wholly on the British side.

As Stan saw it, this was a win-win situation.

Again, like Sir Percy, Stan became the figurehead of his companies, leaving the day-to-day running of the business to others.

Stan Carter or Sundown, as he was known to fellow German spies, had been touring the countryside since his dramatic 'death' 12 days ago, apparently blown to bits in the derelict terraced house in London.

***

Stan had reached the cliff edge and slid the heavy knapsack onto the ground. He sat near a small sturdy shrub and raked his hand through the long windswept grass, feeling for a thick thread of grass green button twine. He drew it in until the thin black wire attached to it could be connected to his powerful transmitter/receiver. The wire dangled down the tall white cliff face, to form a longwave aerial.

He took out sandwiches and bottle of water, and to the casual eye, the man was just having a picnic.

Stan was not concerned that he would be detected and located by radio direction finders, for two good reasons. Firstly, he would only transmit for a few minutes, and could quickly get back to his car if he needed to make a dash for it. Secondly, the cliff would perfectly mask the signal. It would be far too faint to be detected, by the British listening stations. Frankly, he was far more worried that the cliff edge might crumble under him.

The cunning spy also chose the tall cliff, because it provided a very high and unobstructed path to the agent in Calais, who would receive his important, coded message.

Actually, the message was double coded. The header detailed who the message was for, and the body of the message could only be decoded by the intended recipient.

The radio set had warmed through, and the frequency was stable when the Morse signal from Calais, beeped in his single headphone. It was exactly on time.

Sundown replied to establish contact with the verified operator. It looked like Stan the picnicker was searching in his knapsack, but Sundown was tapping out this vital message, for his handler in Berlin.

The body of the double coded message read:-

Sundown is believed dead by MI5. Maintain illusion because planted MI5 agent has taken my place. His/her identity unknown. Do you want plant found and eliminated or will you use for misinformation? Instructions please.

My identity intact and plant has no direct access to our agents but warn them. Plant only has knowledge of some drop boxes, some broadcast coded messages, and shortwave. Main codes are intact and with me.

As of yesterday, Glass and team secure and have established covers. Suggest I meet Glass and work with team. Instructions please.

Sundown ad4b23mt

Stan unplugged the aerial from the set and let its weight drag it back to the cliff edge. Stan would return and use it again tomorrow.

Even if someone snagged the thread while walking, the wire would fall into the sea below, and no one would be any the wiser.

##  A busy day for Peter. 21st December 1943

As well as his mission for Herr Hitler, Peter Stone (Karl Strom) had a personal score to settle in London, for which he had to make immediate preparations.

After leaving Andrzej at the house, Peter returned to his hotel to collect the large bag of stolen jewellery and placed it in his empty suitcase. He planned to deposit the jewels in the strong room at his bank, when they opened. It was a Tuesday and he had to allow for the bustle of Christmas shoppers making everywhere seem busy.

Adding up what was left of his money, and what remained of the £10,000 of forged fivers, he found there was more than enough honest cash, to meet his immediate demands. He added the cash to the suitcase.

As Peter knew well, it is a fact of life that people are judged by their appearance. The wealthy and powerful are the least likely to be bothered by the police, it is always the lower classes that are persecuted. Fine clothes and expensive cars are the hallmark of those beyond reproach.

Peter planned to buy an expensive car with real money, to back up his new image, and two sets of false number plates.

The car he wanted was dubbed the 'Wardour Street Bentley' thanks to its aristocratic style and bargain price. A beautiful car which appealed to the more raffish elements of the contemporary Soho set.

Peter found a gleaming black 1.5 litre SS Jaguar saloon, 1939 model. It cost him £310.00 cash. He completed the necessary documents using the address of his parents, Lord & Lady Stone, in Chelsea. He would be staying with them as soon as he dealt with his most pressing problems.

A visit to Bond Street was next on his agenda to buy top-notch clothing. The fine wardrobe of clothes at his parents' home were mainly for high profile functions, and he needed a style to match his new sporty and wealthy image. His purchases were limited by the 44 clothes coupons he had left. The full allowance of 66 were intended to last a whole year. Peter strode purposefully back to his new car carrying his old clothes in the suitcase and drove off to get his next acquisition.

He needed a radio set so he could listen in on the radio broadcasts for answers to his last message. It turned out to be very expensive and he had to do a deal with his few remaining coupons.

On the way back to his hotel, he stopped off at a small garage and ordered two different sets of number plates, for collection the following morning.

***

It was now late afternoon. Peter prayed there would be a message tonight on the public radio broadcast, confirming the beacon test and that Ernst Huber would be joining him, as part of the team.

Peter nervously checked his watch. He would soon have to leave for Gant's Hill to check that Anna and Henryk were still safe and hadn't been arrested.

Because he had always worked alone, the constant worry about their safety was getting him down. It went deeper than protecting the mission, he genuinely cared about his team, and for a loner like him this was an alarming emotion.

##  Henryk has a date. 21st December 1943

Henryk lay in bed, reliving the horrific events that followed the jewel robberies, late last night. All he could think about was their narrow escape from the swarms of police at the roadblock. It ran through his mind like some dreadful nightmare, with countless, clawing, grabbing arms all around him, and no way out. Tired though he was, this morning he was glad to get to work and be rid of the torment.

He struggled all morning at the Gant's Hill factory to focus on his boring lathe work, his tired brain was slow and fuzzy from lack of sleep. The tension continued to build, as he waited, expecting to be called in at any moment for interrogation. When the whistle blew for lunch, he was relieved it hadn't happened yet. He rushed to the canteen, hoping to grab a seat near Anna and help her if conversation became awkward, but he was too late.

As he sat eating, a bubbly blond girl in her mid-twenties approached Henryk's lunch table and smiled warmly at him. He had seen her before and took a fancy to her then, but knew it was unwise to get involved more than he had to. He moved his plate and slid along the bench, to make room for her. The woman was delighted and squeezed in tightly against him.

Henryk hoped she would ignore him and just eat her food, but she made it clear she fancied him.

"Jane Smith," she announced to Henryk, and held out her soft warm hand, to shake his.

"I am delighted to meet you Jane. I'm Henryk Robak, but please call me Henryk. I hope we will be good friends."

His broad smile assured her she would meet no resistance to friendship, and she beamed back excitedly. He saw her nostrils flare and her pupils dilate as she gazed at him.

Peter had passed on some tips about people's reactions to situations, and body language. This definitely fell into the animal attraction category.

"That is a foreign name, where do you come from?" Henryk sensed a slight hardening of her expression, although she appeared to be as warm and friendly as before.

Everyone is suspicious of strangers who might be spies, in this place, that is all it is, he thought.

"I am from Poland; I was an apprentice machinist, but I studied to become a science teacher, and left as a refugee. I work here, but you know the rules, I can't say more.

"What about you Jane?"

"I float from job to job, filling in when people are ill or when I am needed. I never do anything technical, just general labour."

Henryk felt a sudden chill and he looked around uneasily, although there seemed to be no threat. He decided it was just his tired distrustful mind conflicting with primal urges.

When he looked back at Jane, her face had tensed; she was still smiling but he sensed deceit. The girl picked up her sandwich and held the triangle of bread in both hands. She took a decisive bite from the middle and used the chewing time, to think.

Henryk gazed adoringly at her flawless skin and manicured nails. He wondered where this meeting would lead. What was it about her slender shapely body, fitting so snugly into those spotless overalls? How did she manage to get the perfect size?

"Do you know anyone else here Henryk?"

"No Jane, I have only been here two and a half days. I am a bit of a loner, the people are friendly enough, but they have their own little groups and I have not fitted in yet."

"What would you say if I asked you to a party tonight? Some of the people here want to celebrate Christmas early. We all meet at the pub just down the road, straight from work.

"Do say you will come with me Henryk." Jane was quite determined to get him to take her.

"Sounds like great fun, but I have no money, I am down to my last threepenny piece."

"I understand, but I will give you a few shillings, so it looks like you are buying me a drink. It is jolly bad form for ladies to buy drink, makes them look like, well, you know!"

"No, I don't know actually, I am not familiar with British customs. I will come though. I won't pass up a chance to be in the company of such a beautiful girl."

"Oh! Henryk, you have made me blush, no one has ever said that to me before." She did not blush though, and bit into her sandwich again.

Her scent was fragrant and subtle. Oddly, it evoked memories of Anna and Andrzej's noisy encounter in the next room, back in Alderney. He badly needed to be with a woman again and without release, he felt unable to remain focussed exclusively on the mission.

Suddenly the alarm sounded to return to work, there was no time for further conversation.

"So, Henryk, we will meet at the main entrance at end of shift and we can enjoy the evening together."

"I can hardly wait, Jane."

##  Anna has a date. 21st December 1943

Anna flopped into bed, physically and mentally exhausted after the robbery, and fell into a comatose sleep. A familiar but incomprehensible din gradually drew her back into consciousness. It was her alarm clock. She leapt up and out of bed in a state of confusion and, jabbed the large chrome off button, to silence it.

The thought of another day's work at the Gant's Hill underground factory turned her stomach and she hastily relieved herself into the piss pot. She knew MI5 and the police would leave no stone unturned to find the four of them.

Anna wanted to cry she expected to face a ruthless interrogation if she went to work, but arrest if she didn't. They would see her absence as an admission of guilt.

The factory radio played lively music over the hubbub of voices and electric machinery. It kept morale high, and everyone worked like automatons at their machines.

Her senses were tuned for trouble as she stamped out metal components for a plane, on the power press. Tense with anxiety, the short trill of the lunch break whistle startled her like a gun shot.

Anna had hoped to sit near Henryk for support, but by the time she handed over to her relief and rushed to the canteen, the canteen was almost full.

She grabbed a seat and silently tried to eat her lunch. She wondered, was everyone secretly watching her? It was only her imagination playing tricks, but it made her mouth so dry, she couldn't chew or swallow.

The middle-aged man next to her left the table and a handsome man, in his mid-30s, took her place. When he managed to catch her eye, he smiled at Anna. She flushed up with embarrassment and looked away. In a panic, she desperately gulped hot tea from her white enamel mug.

His voice was soft and friendly as he asked, "You're Anna Gohl, aren't you?" He smiled again.

"I am Anna. What is your name?" The two phrases sounded awkwardly sociable, though the man appeared not to have noticed.

He sounded sincere and keen to be her friend. "Andrew Havelock at your service. That's a Swiss name isn't it?"

"Do you know about me?" This was the best phrase she could think of.

Andrew faltered, she made it sounded like he had been snooping on her. "I asked around, and that was all I was told. Then I saw you at the table and just had to meet you. I would like to take you out to a party tonight. A few of us here are off to the pub, when the shift ends. It's just along the road. Do say you will come. Please!"

Anna was on her guard. She had spoken to no one about her name or nationality since she started work here, three days ago. Someone might have found out her name, but her nationality could only be a shrewd guess. Either that or someone had been poking around in her records.

She was expecting to be called in for interrogation, could this be some sort of trick? If she agreed to go with him, there was a big risk of being found out. If she declined, it might look suspicious, like she had rumbled him and had something to hide. The man was of film star quality. Any girl would be glad to be seen with him, and it would make the old whores outside her flat extremely jealous.

"I would love to go. That is so kind of you. I have no friends. Where shall we rendezvous?" Andrew processed the string of phrases as though it was a complex equation, and then smiled again as he replied.

"My dear Anna, the pleasure is all mine I can assure you. Shall we meet at the main entrance at end of shift? No time to get dressed up of course, but don't worry about that, most people will be in their work clothes. So, let the celebrations begin!"

The whistle blew signalling the end of lunch, and everyone filed out to start work again.

She smiled as sincerely as she could. "I will see you there. Thank you."

##  Peter's despair. Evening 21st December 1943

Peter was in a hurry as he changed back into his old clothes, in his hotel room. Anna and Henryk would be leaving work soon and he had to check they were safe. He didn't intend to approach them, just observe and see whether they were being followed.

He guessed the security forces or police would not show their hand by arresting their suspect on the spot. They would most likely tail them, hoping to catch the others when they made contact.

Peter left the hotel and walked briskly to his observation spot near the Gant's Hill entrance. As workers poured out, he noticed Anna was loitering there and then Henryk arrived. Thank goodness, he thought, they are ignoring each other.

A young man dressed in casual clothes walked up and greeted Anna. Together, they walked off together arm in arm, smiling and chatting. Peter was unsure whether he should follow them or watch Henryk. Moments later, a beautiful young girl also wearing casual clothes, grabbed Henryk's arm and they walked off, following Anna and her man.

Peter guessed what MI5 were doing, this was a honey trap. All the new employees at the factory would be on their list of suspects, not just Anna and Henryk. There would also be watchers sneaking around, and they would immediately spot an approach to warn his people.

This was going to be a testing time for Henryk and Anna, as they joined in with the lively party mood. All the hazards a spy would seek to avoid would be present. In this happy atmosphere, strangers ask probing questions, alcohol dulls wits and it is hard to avoid fatal mistakes. Clutching the same drink all night, and refusing new ones, would seem unsociable if they wished to blend in and remain invisible.

Then of course there was a partner, hell-bent on getting to know everything about them. Both Anna and Henryk were normal, attractive people. There might be no other reason for their partner wanting to take them out, other than they simply liked them. Suspicion was essential to a spy's survival, but just because the spy was suspicious, it did not mean they were always right.

Peter left, and headed back to Andrzej's rented house, feeling sad and desolate on his own. He had become fond of his team and he was responsible for protecting them to achieve success with the mission.

All this weighed heavily on his shoulders and it was sapping his resolve. He had never failed in anything he set his mind to. People trusted and relied on him and it had been this way all his life. Up until now, he had always worked alone on missions, but now he had to think and plan for the others, as well as himself.

Experience had taught him that no matter how carefully a plan is developed, and no matter what contingencies are allowed for, there will always be the unexpected to deal with. His talent for thinking on his feet and coming up with the right answer, had kept him alive. He couldn't do this for the others, if he wasn't with them.

Then there was his constant preoccupation with Helga. Was her love for him as strong as his for her?

Had she resumed relations with the Oberst?

If she had, then he was wasting his time even thinking about her. If she hadn't, the Oberst would realise that she had been unfaithful to him and might send her back to Germany.

How would he track her down, if she left Alderney?

Sick with despair, an emotion he had never experienced, he braced himself for the evening ahead. He was eager to listen to the public radio broadcast, for the replies from Germany, expecting confirmation of the beacon test and that they would send Ernst Huber to help him.

***

While Andrzej prepared an evening meal, Peter settled down and tuned into the German public broadcast band. He waited for Lord Haw-Haw to finish. The following messages confirmed the beacon test could go ahead, but that Ernst Huber would not be sent to England to help him. Peter knew there would be a message drop the next day, giving full details.

There was also a chilling message, one he was not expecting. "Sundown is late."

From Peter's point of view, there was no code interpretation for the message. It was either spurious, meant for another person, or a desperate warning for him. The fact that it followed both expected responses, indicated that Peter must exercise great caution. Normally late implied dead.

Peter kept the news to himself and headed back to the hotel at 10.00pm. He had to think what it all meant and the effect on the mission.

What would the message at the dead drop in the morning, say about Sundown?

How would he manage without Ernst Huber?

Peter decided to brief his team on the beacon installation, tomorrow evening at 10.00pm. They had better be at the rendezvous on time, there was so much to plan and prepare for. Thank goodness his team were so reliable and, hopefully, still intact. In his present state of mind, he truly believed he couldn't function without them.

Only then did he let his thoughts drift back to Helga and speculate about a future together.

##  Anna plays her hand. 21st December 1943

Anna, Henryk and their respective partners from work were enjoying the party at the pub. Anna said, "Its 10 O'clock Andrew, I need my sleep. I have work tomorrow. People are starting to leave." She was right, everyone was keen to get to bed, and later, many would be getting up from that same warm bed, to go home.

Anna was thinking how much she enjoyed Andrew's company. He's charming, intelligent and has good manners, but I'm onto him though, I can see through his skilful probing questions. She also did her own probing but had no way of checking what he said was true, only that he didn't contradict himself or make any mistakes.

Andrew pulled her close and because of the background hubbub, he leaned in and spoke intimately in her ear. "I hope you will allow me to escort you home Anna. I want to spend as much time in your company as you will permit."

"I would love that, Andrew. I must warn you. I live in a bad street. Prostitutes work there. They are rude. They say hateful things to me."

"Times are very hard Anna, they do not possess your beauty and brains, and they are lazy. They do the only thing they can, to get money. They are just jealous of you, so ignore them."

He stood up and as he reached for her coat, he clumsily stood hard on her foot.

"Aargh! That is so painful." The shock caused her to react spontaneously and without thought. Andrew had deliberately hurt her. He was expecting her to exclaim in her mother tongue but now he was confused. She spoke in English, not Swiss. What was going on?

He apologised profusely and Anna soon calmed down, although she indignantly snatched back her coat and refused to let him help her.

Having expressed her annoyance, they squeezed past the throng and left the crowded pub. Her toes no longer hurt, and her mood improved so she let him walk her back to her flat, arm in arm.

Any doubts she had were gone, Anna was convinced Andrew was an MI5 agent. She had been warned about their little tricks.

She wondered, how can I get rid of him without arousing suspicion? She also guessed what he was going to try when he got her home.

The rain started to fall heavily, and they quickly ran the last 200 yards, to Anna's flat. She was relieved to see the rain had also driven the ladies of the night to seek shelter in shop doorways, so they didn't shout out as they ran past.

Up in Anna's flat, the pair threw off their wet coats and hung them over the back of a chair.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Andrew? I have condensed milk, but no sugar. Sorry."

"Black tea will be perfect, thank you Anna."

She used the distraction of making tea to figure out which way to play this spy. He seemed the perfect man, handsome, funny and smart. She found him so easy to get along with, perhaps she could string him along. She craved passion and knew instinctively that he would be a consummate lover.

Her mind drifted back to that fantastic night in Alderney with Peter, quickly followed by noisy love making with Andrzej (Andreas). The thought of him made her wonder what he was doing, now he was staying with Peter.

Her thoughts drifted back to Andrew, he was pacing the very small room, idly chatting about a recent speech Churchill had made. She noticed him lean back against the door to the flat and was sure he secretly turned the key, to lock it.

The tea was ready, and Anna poured it. For the moment it was too hot to drink. Seizing the opportunity, Andrew put his arms around her slim waist and pulled her to him. He smiled warmly down at her, searching her face for clues.

He felt her breath heavily and noticed her eyes soften as they held contact with his, now her tense body was relaxing. Andrew kissed her passionately and she pressed herself hard against him. She is now under my spell, he thought.

He kissed and nibbled her neck and ear lobes, and she squirmed at the sensation and thrill. He started to undo the top buttons of her boiler suit, and she let him. She could not deny her overwhelming desire or the peculiar warm fluttery feeling in her belly.

It suddenly struck her that there was still the faint fragrance of aftershave on him. He had supposedly been working hard all day in the factory, but he had none of the smells of oil or machinery that cling to a person. More confirmation Andrew was an MI5 agent checking her out.

##  Manipulation.

Anna wasn't under Andrew's spell at all but was nonetheless enjoying every moment of the encounter. He tried gradually moving her in the direction of the bed, but she backed towards the door and once there, he forced himself hard against her.

Anna started helping him to remove his clothes, between bouts of passionate kissing, nibbling and fondling one another. At the same time, she turned the key to unlock the door, tensing with anxiety when she discovered that it turned completely. The bastard did lock it after all, she thought. Now she knew that he had planned to use her, and then turn her in as a spy.

She continued to ease him out of his clothes, draping them in a pile on the chair.

Andrew grabbed the front of her boiler suit and tugged hard to open it, tearing off two buttons in the process. She pushed him away forcefully and for the first time, saw him totally naked.

He saw at once she was admiring his goods, she was like a starving dog slavering over a chunk of prime steak.

She backed away but he quickly grabbed her, pushing her down on the bed. He was focussed on her firm white breasts, partially exposed through the ripped open front of her boiler suit. He anticipated the imminent pleasure of slowly and forcibly stripping off her clothing, piece by piece.

##  An unexpected twist.

If she had been a spy, her training would have blunted any stupid female modesty, it always does. She would be thinking about how she could take advantage of this situation.

If she suspected him of being a spy, she would probably let him seduce her, thinking he would relax and become vulnerable to her attack, then escape.

If she did not suspect him, she would have taken the pleasure now on offer.

If she were innocent, she would just need a bit more encouragement. Soon she would panic, questioning whether she should do this shocking thing.

He had seen it all before, the brain becomes so overloaded with hormones, desire and conflict that it no longer functions sensibly. The primal urge to mate trumps any vestige of caution, it just needs a final push in some cases. So many girls fall for the line, "it will be ok," or "trust me, I won't hurt you" or the best one, "I love you".

Anna had both hands clamped firmly over her mouth, her eyes were wild, darting frantically in an attempt to find escape. Stifled screams emanated from her. She removed her hands and pleaded.

"Don't! Please Andrew, please don't do this to me. I am not ready. My future husband has just died. He haunts my dreams. I cannot do what you want."

"Just relax Anna, you need to move on with your life, he would want that for you. You know you want me, and I do so want you. I love you Anna, I would never do anything to hurt you. Just relax, you have come so far, don't spoil it and regret it."

You lying bastard, she thought. You already hurt me. You crushed my toes. Clumsy prick!

He stopped undoing buttons, leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Time for the final encouragement, he thought.

In the next moment he was thrown off her and rolling off the bed, onto the floor. Anna leapt up and seized all his clothes from the chair; she opened the door and ran down the stairs, out into the street.

"Help me someone, I have been raped, please help me."

She threw his clothing into the filthy wet gutter. Several prostitutes snatched them up, to search for money and sell the clothes. Two policemen ran down the street towards her and grabbed her.

"What has happened to you, young lady?" one asked.

"A man I was with from work has just tried to rape me." She pointed out the torn off buttons, exposing her delicious white breasts to the man, in the process.

***

Andrew appeared in the street, wrapped in a white sheet.

"There he is!" Anna screamed, pointing unnecessarily at him. "Arrest the filthy bugger, I am a young widow, my husband has just died, and he has just forced himself on me. He tore open my work clothes. Look!" She huddled close to one of the policemen for protection.

"I can explain officer, I am from MI5. This girl is suspected of being a spy, I was investigating her that was all."

"I suppose you can prove that, can you? Where is your identity card? Do you have it hidden in some secret pocket, or some imaginary one?"

Andrew looked around for his clothes, but they had gone.

"No, I no longer have it, or my clothes, they have been stolen."

"Well, we can sort this out down at the station. Sir, I am arresting you for attempted rape. Anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Put your hands behind your back while I handcuff you."

A large crowd had now gathered, and many of them were street girls. Andrew tried to put his hands behind his back, and the sheet slipped off onto the wet road. As the jeers and laughter erupted at the sight of the naked man standing there, he bent down to retrieve the filthy wet sheet. Thinking Andrew was about to escape, the policeman struck him hard behind the knees and he fell in a heap on the road. More jeers and laughter came from the delighted onlookers. They had now formed a large jostling crowd around the policemen, Anna and the humiliated Andrew.

Anna realised that her plan had worked perfectly, but only up to this point. The policeman she had used to shelter against told her she must also come to the station with Andrew, and prepare a statement.

She had caught herself now, good and proper.

##  Henryk plays his hand. Late 21st December 1943

Henryk and Jane walked briskly from the factory entrance, towards the pub. He noticed Peter and also spotted the watchers who loitered near the entrance. Security was tight here for good reason. As a first step the enemy would study the access. Henryk wondered how many people working there were enemy agents.

There would be sympathisers, trained agents and anyone who wanted cash for information. The odd thing was, very few would know of any other. It had crossed his mind that those others could set explosives and end up killing him in the process, unaware that he was there on a mission of immense importance.

It would be ironic if he died, as a result of sabotage planned using information he had passed to Peter.

***

The weather was bitterly cold and the heavy cloud suggested rain later. The warmth hit them both as they entered the pub and they pushed their way into the modest room, packed with loud and excited people.

The faint grey fug of dense cigarette smoke filled every corner, with more issuing in clouds from smokers and rising in columns from their poised cigarettes. The odour of hops and hot, unwashed bodies refusing to blend with the smoke, added to the overpowering atmosphere.

The prattle from Jane now they were amid the throng, forced him to focus on what she was saying.

"How long have you been working here at the factory, Henryk?" She had already asked this at lunch, but he passed it off as an opening gambit.

"Oh, not long, days actually, I am lucky to be alive. I had been out looking for work and stopped off at the pub to drown my sorrows. I left, and was nearly home, when there was an air raid. My lodgings were hit, they were just rubble. I lost everything. The evil bastards, I want to shoot the lot of them. It was fortunate I had all my papers on me for the interviews, or they would also have been destroyed.

"Enough of me, Jane, what about you?"

"I have always lived in London, I left my family early on and have been on my own ever since. I like it that way."

***

Jane omitted to say that she had followed in the footsteps of her mother and been a high earning child prostitute. She left home because her mother kept her earnings. True, she lived in a nice home and her mother made sure she learned social graces. She attended elocution and violin classes, even ballet, but that was to ensure the high fees.

Jane remembered vividly the first time she was used. It was on her sixth birthday. She and her mum were invited to the home of a government official, on the pretext of a party. It was also the first time she had tasted wine. It was only a small glass, but it tasted sharp and burned her mouth and throat. She knew now that he had laced it with gin.

Feeling giddy, he had taken her to the bedroom. As she lay there in her pretty pink party frock, the room spinning madly around, he lifted her dress, and slipped off her knickers. When he had finished with her he replaced her knickers, and left her on the bed to sleep. 20 years on, she still sees the man regularly in the newspapers.

Soon after the war started, she had been approached by a man who said he had some important work for her. She was surprised when she was summoned to attend an interview. The two men asked her if she was happy being a prostitute?

She replied, "I eat well, have a nice flat and a nice life. What is there not to like?"

She was told what she already knew, that men will form strong bonds with women who make them feel special. They have been known to pay more than they can afford and tell the woman their greatest secrets. The two men would train her to maximise her talents to extract secrets, and reveal traitors to MI5, for a small payment. The payment was laughable and she told them so. They suggested that the Inland Revenue were about to take a keen interest in her undeclared earnings, and would probably be providing her with free secure accommodation at his Majesty's pleasure.

Of course, if she were to work for the government that would all go away. She could still work with her own clients, provided their clients came first. The two men sniggered at the pun, thinking it was rather funny.

Now here she was spying on a possible spy and rather enjoying it for once. He was mature, intelligent and physically very attractive. She speculated he was the sort of man who knew how to please a woman for as long as she needed pleasing. Mostly, men were a few minutes of desperate action, and a good sleep.

***

Jane had just relived this tragic episode of her life, because she already had feelings for Henryk. She was ashamed of her past and present employment. However, she could never tell him any of it, and by so doing lessen her own pain.

Her thoughts returned to finding a seat and settling in with a drink.

The pub was packed, everyone snatching the opportunity to enjoy themselves in case it was to be their last night on earth.

Jane slipped the 10 shilling note into Henryk's hand.

"Get me a G and T please Henryk and whatever you fancy for yourself. I will find us a seat."

He push his way to the bar and ordered a pint of stout, and her gin and tonic. He peered over the sea of heads and saw her waving to catch his attention. She had found a seat at a large table of fellow workers, but Anna was not there.

Henryk delivered the drinks to the table and sat down, smiling and nodding 'hello' to the others there, who raised their glasses in greeting.

He sipped his drink, listening intently to the banter, to pick up on the current topic and mood. Henryk welcomed the loud conversation at the table, because he could avoid Jane's searching questions.

An hour later, she accepted she was not going to trap him with all the hubbub going on. Best to get him on his own she thought, in the bedroom. She grabbed his arm and smiled warmly as he turned to hear what she wanted to say. He leaned towards her and she spoke in his ear. It was the closest he had been to her, and it sent a thrill right through him. He had decided that she was a truly a beautiful girl.

"Shall we go back to your place Henryk, I want to get to know you better" she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

He leaned into her again and planted a gentle kiss on her moist red lips. It took her by surprised; this display of affection was just not done in public, but she pushed back gently to confirm she wanted more.

She stood up and swung her coat over the table, with the intention of knocking the dregs of his stout over him. Throughout the evening he had been aware that she might spring something on him to catch him out, and he deftly snatched the glass out of harm's way. She looked disappointed for an instant, but turned it into a profuse apology, and they left.

Even the polluted London air smelt fresh, compared to what they had just left, but it was now raining and bitingly cold.

"Where do you live Jane? I would like to see you safely home."

"I was hoping you would want to, but the rain is getting worse, perhaps we could get to your place and shelter there."

They started running.

How did she know my place was closer? He thought.

"I must warn you Jane, it is a terrible room, but better than getting wet. It isn't much further."

They ran at a steady pace, until he announced, "here we are, I have the key, my room is on the first floor. Room 2."

Jane went first, feeling her way in the gloom cast by the dull 40 watt bulb, as it filtered down the stairwell from the second floor. They entered his room and he noticed her look of disgust at the smell and appearance of the surroundings.

The poor thing must be desperately unhappy here, I know he has no money, but this is disgusting, she thought. She cast a glance towards the single bed, noticed the stained candlewick bedspread, and prayed the sheets would be fresh and clean. She couldn't remember ever being in a place as shabby as this, it made her skin crawl.

The best she could hope for was that their lovemaking would take their minds off this room, the war and everything...

##  All consuming passion.

Pulling herself together, Jane slipped off her heavy wool coat and hung it carefully over the back of a wooden dining chair. She steeled herself, turned to him with the warmest smile she could muster and put her arms around his neck. Henryk smiled back and slid his hands about her waist.

"I want to cuddle you but I don't want to make you wet," he whispered.

She sniggered. "I was rather hoping you would. Maybe we should take off your damp clothes and go from there?"

Starting with the buttons at his neck, Jane quickly moved down. As the boiler suit opened, she could see he wore no shirt or vest, he must have been freezing. She placed her warm hands on his chest and slid her fingers through his thick chest hair. His skin was like ice and he shuddered slightly as her warmth excited him.

Slipping her arms around him inside the rain sodden suit, she pulled him close. Breathing in her warmth and fragrance, he savoured her. He shrugged off the top, and she eased away allowing it to fall in a crumpled heap around his ankles. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the damp fabric.

She kissed him fervently and he crushed her to him.

***

Sweeping her up bodily, he pulled back the bed covers. She clung to him while he placed her in the bed.

In Jane's mind, this could go on for a million years and it would never be enough for her.

She had never had a real man make love to her only self-indulgent old men. Sweat poured off them as they lay bonded together, utterly exhausted. With their sated bodies and minds high on surging endorphins, sleep engulfed them.

##  The morning after. 22nd December 1943

When the bitter cold finally woke him, Henryk found himself alone in his bed. Jane had slipped away during the night.

Disappointed, he pulled up the covers and drifted off once more, wondering whether he would ever see her again at work. He was in love and never wanted to be alone or without her again.

***

Jane went home by taxi, cleaned up, phoned her handler and took the same taxi to her office at MI5. She made a report about the evening, waited while it was typed up, and then signed it. She had discovered no evidence that pointed to Henryk being a spy, but recommended that she maintain contact and continue surveillance.

Permission was granted.

##  Peter gets a message. 22nd December 1943

Peter hurried out early from his hotel, to check whether Anna and Henryk had turned up for work after their night out, but he saw only Henryk. Maybe he had missed Anna amongst the hundreds of other workers.

Now he was faced with a dilemma. If she had been captured, he should clear out her lockup immediately. However, his instinct was to wait until the meeting tonight. Either she would turn up and no harm done, or there was big trouble. With everything else he had to do today, he decided to take a chance and wait.

***

Peter switched his concern back to the alarming radio broadcasts he had received last evening. If Sundown were dead, there was every possibility that MI5 had his contacts, codes and list of dead drops. Most likely, they would already have copied the confirmation letter from Berlin and were trying to decode it. Nevertheless, he had to see the message that would explain or support Berlin's current decisions.

At 10.00am he dashed off to the dead drop and gave a cocky brat a threepenny piece to retrieve the message, pinned under the park bench.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Billy, sir. Why do you want to know?" The boy was curious about the stranger, but sensibly cautious.

"There is a letter from my girlfriend, pinned underneath the seat of the park bench, just up this road. We want to run away together and get married, but her Dad is waiting in the bushes opposite, trying to catch me.

"If I give you threepence, will you get the letter for me?"

"Won't the man grab me when I get it?"

"He won't be interested in someone of your age and I am sure you can secretly pinch the letter, like a spy, and bring it to me."

The boy thought about it for a moment. The idea of being a spy and the threepence reward was beyond his wildest dreams.

"OK! But he will see me take the letter."

"Well, a spy would probably pretend to have dropped something under the seat. With his back to the man, he would reach up and grab the letter, without being seen."

"OK, I will get it, but I want my money first."

"Do I look stupid to you? You are a smart lad and I am certain you will run off with the money and not get the letter. If you want the money, bring me the letter. I can soon find someone else to get it if you are a coward."

"I'm no coward, and I will bring you the letter to prove it." The boy walked off, planning how he would spend his fortune.

The MI5 agent lurking out of sight, saw the boy looking for something around and under the seat, but was unable to see him take the message. The man decided not to speak to the boy, thinking that the spy he was after would appear at any moment. He had the boy's photo, so perhaps they could find him later and investigate then, if necessary.

The boy ran back to Peter, grabbed his money for the letter and headed for the shops.

***

Peter rushed back to his hotel to decode it, but the message confirmed his worst fears.

Test date confirmed.

Agent declined due to damage and supported.

Sundown dead 9th Dec. All contacts, codes & drops unusable.

Enemy will have seen this message.

The test was arranged as he requested, so there was no way to cancel it now, even if Anna had been captured.

Ernst Huber had declined the mission and his reasons were supported by his superiors. His facial disfigurement would raise questions in the minds of anyone who saw him. He would have needed to move freely and openly if he were to track down the persons who had betrayed the mission.

Peter had to agree with the reasoning and regretted his haste in asking for help. He had done so in a moment of depression, forgetting Ernst's scarred face. He was so familiar with how the man looked, after the grenade incident, he had never considered it. This was a grave error of judgement on Peter's part and was a warning to review everything he had planned. If he could make such a stupid mistake with Ernst, what else had he got wrong?

The final blow was the confirmation that Sundown was dead, and had been since the 9th of December. Nothing from that source could be trusted, including codes and dead drops. Even this message should be regarded as having been decoded by the enemy.

Things were unravelling faster than he could cope with. All he could hope for now was to test the beacon and if necessary, clear out Anna's lockup.

***

Peter went out and left a chalk mark on the pavement at the team's agreed spot. It was where they would see it on their way home from work, and indicated there were messages at the dead drop, for Anna and Henryk.

It simply said, 'team to meet at the usual meeting place, 10pm.'

***

Peter needed Andrzej's help now and over mugs of tea back at the house, he briefly explained the plan of action.

"First, we will hire the black Morris 8 van again.

"I want you to drive it back to another address, which I will take you to. The van will be less noticeable, when we plant a trial beacon."

"When do we plant the beacon?"

"Sorry Andrzej, I can't tell you that at the moment."

"How do we get the van?"

"I recently bought a car, a black Jaguar. It forms part of the mission, but I can't tell you more about that yet, either." This was a lie, but Andrzej did not need to know the real reason.

"I want you to come with me in the Jaguar, and drive the van back to a hired garage where I keep the car. Drive the van inside and fit false number plates. We will pick those up on the way to the van."

"What will you be doing, while I am doing that?"

"Not your concern, but when you are sure there is no one around, bring the van back here. I will see you here at the house, later on."

Peter and Andrzej went by taxi to collect the Jaguar, then drove off together to collect the false number plates and the van. Having dealt with Peter before, the van hire was speedily concluded. After that Peter and Andrzej went their separate ways.

##  Fate and Anna. 22nd December 1943

Anna sat anxiously at the side of a police detective's desk, waiting for him to finish typing up her statement. It was 8.00am and she should have been at work. She was grateful though, because the police were very sympathetic and had provided a breakfast and several mugs of tea. Far better than she would have had at her bedsit.

She was unaware that the police had been speaking about her with MI5 and the factory. That was why the process was taking so long. Andrew had been reprimanded for his behaviour, not so much the attempted rape, but that he had ruined his chance to determine whether she actually was a spy. He admitted he didn't believe she was, but felt vindictive because she had tricked and humiliated him, and left him sexually frustrated.

It was routine for the personnel department at the factory, to report the incident up the chain of command, so when the technical director Sir Matthew Barker heard that it was Anna, he jumped at the opportunity now presented to him. He was infatuated, and intended to have her for himself.

Part of his responsibility within the company was to put forward to the security force, ways in which the manufacturing and assembly line could be sabotaged. It meant that they would be well prepared, and could take measures to prevent delays that a spanner-in-the-works might cause. Barker had noticed Anna, on her first day at work. There was something about her that stirred his interest, but direct contact would have been inappropriate. He tried to content himself with reading her personnel file, but that only served to make him want her more. He used his freedom around the factory, to observe and fantasize about her.

***

Anna looked up to see a tall, handsome man of about 45 walk in, as if he owned the place. He was met by her detective and they spoke in low voices, out of earshot. It was obviously about her and she recognised Sir Matthew Barker. What was his involvement in all this?

"So detective, you can confirm that MI5 have no further interest in Gohl and that you are releasing her."

"Yes Sir Matthew, we will take no further action with her or the MI5 agent, there were no witnesses, just one person's word against the other and no actual harm done. Havelock was just trying to do his job, catching spies. From what I have heard, she made a right fool of him. I doubt he will live it down in the department."

"Well, detective, I had better do the decent thing and give her a lift into work. We can't afford to lose anyone on production at the moment.

"I will tell her you are letting her go, and that is the end of it."

"That is the size of it Sir Matthew, thank you for your time."

The detective walked away. Barker came and stood close to Anna.

She looked up at this tall elegant man, noticing the glint in his dark brown eyes, and his warm smile. She studied his handsome face and thick steel grey hair; a blush coloured her cheeks.

"Anna Gohl?" Barker asked rhetorically.

"Yes sir. I have seen you at the factory. You are Matthew Barker. You are the technical director." She cursed herself for giving away so much. As a spy, she had to know who everyone was and what they did, as well as any useful associations there might be.

"It is Sir Matthew Barker to you Anna." It should have been intended to sound blunt and put her in her place, but he spoke softly and his smile clearly showed that he was being kindly towards her.

"You are in big trouble Anna, MI5 suspect you of being a German spy. They tried to trap you with that ghastly fellow Havelock. He was supposed to get romantically close to you, gain your confidence and trick you into giving yourself away.

"You will be pleased to know that he has been severely reprimanded for what he tried to do to you, and the police have charged him with the offence of attempted rape.

"The detective tells me you will have to go to court in due course to testify, but Havelock has confessed, so it is just a formality.

"The spy matter however is your great concern. MI5 want to charge you as a spy, and you face the hangman's noose. They want to play it safe and dispose of you."

Anna's face turned deathly white and she began to tremble uncontrollably. So this is the end then, swinging from the gallows. She had thought about it, frequently, but it had never felt real, so was easily dismissed. Her dream of a large house, a family and being the power behind the throne was just that, a dream.

Why didn't MI5 try to get information out of her?

Had they already tricked and arrested Henryk?

Had he done a deal to save his skin and given them all they needed?

Her mind was in turmoil, her stomach churned and anger made her blood boil.

"However, I have intervened on your behalf, and if you agree to remain in my custody at all times, you will be absolutely safe. If you don't agree, then you will be hanged within a week.

"What do you say to that?"

A flood of relief swept through her and she burst into tears.

Barker pulled out a fresh white handkerchief, neatly folded and monogramed in blue silk, and offered it to Anna. She took it and from the look of sheer gratitude in her red-rimmed eyes, and on her tear-stained face, he owned her.

"Come along Anna, let us leave this distressing place. I take it you have all your papers?"

"Yes, the police gave them to me, after MI5 searched my room. Where are we going? Am I going back to work? I am late. I am very sorry."

"Actually Anna, you are coming to my house in Windsor, and you will stay with me. We must do some shopping to make sure you are properly dressed for all occasions. I did tell you, the condition of your release was that you would be in my sole charge. If that is not what you want, then say so now and MI5 can take you straight to Pentonville Prison."

***

Anna was stunned; she could not grasp what he was meaning, even though what he said seemed clear enough. Either I live in a nice house in his charge or I dangle from a rope.

What was there not to like about being in his charge?

"But what will your wife and family say, about having a suspected spy in your company?"

"No need for you to concern yourself with that. You will discover that my wife was killed abroad, several months ago. I have no family."

Aghast, Anna silently followed Sir Matthew, out to his waiting Bentley.

"Straight to Harrods will you Smyth."

"At once Sir."

When they reached Harrods, Anna felt overawed at the vast store. It had everything any wealthy person could wish to buy, and more.

"What about the coupons? I only have 40. I don't have money either."

"Not your concern any more, Anna. People like us require people like you to have coupons, so people like us can have whatever we want. Without coupons and rationing, there would nothing left for us. We just can't have that, can we?"

Anna was becoming more and more uneasy; Sir Matthew seemed to think he now owned her. That cannot be right, no one owns people these days.

The young female sales assistant soon took Anna's mind off her concerns, as she dressed her. She recognised Sir Matthew's generosity knew no bounds when it suited him. She had had her turn while Lady Barker was preparing to leave for Australia.

***

Barker's huge house was as elegant as its owner. There was a live in maid, a cook and a butler. Anna found the maid welcoming, and unconcerned regarding her unusual circumstances. She had the strange notion that Anna would be sharing the same bed as Sir Matthew. Certainly all her new clothes had been placed in his bedroom, probably hanging in the late Lady Barker's wardrobe.

"Sir Matthew, may I make a telephone call to let the flat owner know where I am?"

"That will not be necessary, the owner has been paid off and you have no need to return there, certainly no reason to speak to the dreadful woman.

"You must understand Anna, I cannot let you use the telephone, or speak to anyone without me being present. I am responsible for you now and if you are a spy, you cannot be allowed to make further contact. You do understand the risk I am taking in trusting you, don't you?"

"Yes sir, I do of course. I am in your debt. I will do everything you ask."

Her mind was racing, how was she going to make contact with Peter and tell him what had happened?

Sir Matthew showed her around his fabulous house, and his warm side re-emerged. He was amusing and quickly put her at ease. Perhaps this would not be such a bad situation after all.

She remembered her thoughts when she had agreed to train for the mission on Alderney. Somehow, her dream had become a reality!

##  Fate and Henryk. 22nd December.

Henryk woke at 6.00 am his usual time, cleaned up and ate a piece of toast. It was the remaining crusty end of a stale loaf. The blue mould soon became charred, but that did not make it any more edible. Without butter, margarine or dripping, it was dry, gritty, and difficult to chew or swallow. Neither was there a cup of tea to wash it down, he lacked both tea and milk.

Retrieving his boiler suit from the floor, he discovered it was still damp. He dressed hurriedly and left his depressing room. As he rushed along in the bleak winter morning gloom, to the factory, he wondered if he would ever get warm. He was desperate to find Jane, and prayed he would see her during the lunch break.

When lunch time came around, Henryk scanned the canteen and grew concerned that Anna was nowhere to be seen. Had she fallen prey to MI5?

Was the man with her last night an MI5 agent?

Where would it leave him and the team?

As he sat eating his lunch, the hopelessness of the situation settled on him like a thick black shroud, he could see no way out.

***

This mission would drag on for months. Every moment in this miserable country was a death sentence waiting to happen. It was not as if there was any compensation for the hardship and misery he was enduring. The work was mindlessly unchallenging and strenuous. It angered him that he was making crucial aircraft parts that would kill his countrymen. The pay was an insult, forcing him to live in a vile hovel, all alone.

The only light in this darkness was Jane. Maybe she was a spy catcher, maybe not. If she was, she was not a very good one, which bolstered his doubt that she was. No one could be that bad. True, he would have snapped up any girl who wanted to spend time with him, but he knew she was perfect for him. They just felt right together. Conversation was easy, and just flowed. Actually they never had that much time to talk. The pub was too noisy and the bedroom – ah yes, the bedroom. Love making at the best of times was tricky to get perfect. Technique, emotion, mood, stresses of the day, were all variables that could destroy perfect bliss. But it was perfect in spite of all of them.

***

"Hello Henryk. How are you today?"

He was startled to hear her voice again. It was warm and friendly, but tinged with anxiety. She was unsure as to how he was feeling, having woken up alone, with no opportunity to take her home or say goodnight. She had seen how depressed and preoccupied he was, not the sort of thing any self-respecting spy would ever dare to show.

He looked up, beaming at her with such joy and relief, she knew he felt as deeply for her as she did about him. His eyes welled up with joyous tears and he sniffed them back, regaining his composure. It wrenched at her heart strings, no man had ever looked at her that way. His real feelings were betrayed in those spontaneous tears. She knew she loved him, and what she was planning to say could not be influenced by any such feelings.

"I don't have time to talk now, but take this money for a taxi and here is my address. Be there at 10 o'clock tonight, I have something I must tell you, and you won't understand unless you meet me there."

He frowned and took what she offered.

She smiled and said, "I must go. See you tonight, wear your best clothes please."

"I can't wait, I will be there, depend on it." He smiled, she lingered a moment, then turned and walked briskly into the crowd.

She was wearing the universal boiler suit though it somehow seemed to fit her perfectly, its cut emphasized her feminine curves, but perhaps he was biased.

He speculated that she had a surprise for him, perhaps a party or dinner out. It was important enough to look smart, so it was not just a cosy night in. No clothes were required for that.

***

Henryk left work as usual and on his way home, noticed Peter had left a sign for his team to contact him. His dead-drop coded message required him to meet at their agreed place at 10pm. There was no way he could do that if he kept the appointment with Jane. He decided to ignore Peter, his life was not worth living without Jane. If he claimed he was being followed, Peter would respect that.

He made a phone call to a taxi firm and booked the cab to get him to Chelsea for 10 o'clock that night. He bought some food for his evening meal, bathed and dressed in his only dark grey trousers, and worn tweed jacket. His second hand shoes were highly polished black leather, but were hell to walk in. The previous owner's feet had moulded them differently to his own foot shape. The new white shirt and the silk tie with its dark green and brown pattern, set off the whole ensemble. He looked clean and smart.

The cab arrived on time and dropped him at Jane's apartment block, not a pretty building, but it was a select property. He paid the driver and went in. He was greeted by a uniformed doorman and asked to be shown up to Jane Smith's apartment, number 6, top floor.

The doorman took him to the lift, their footfalls were soundless over the thick plain red carpet, as spotless as the day it was laid. In fact the whole foyer was richly decorated, with impressive oil paintings on the wall depicting scenes of London, and numerous vases of fresh cut flowers were placed thoughtfully around. Unlike Henryk's entrance hall, reeking of damp, smoke and stale cooking, this smelt clean and fresh, with a hint of polish.

On his way up in the cramped 4 person lift, Henryk wondered what he was walking into.

This must be Jane's family home and she wants to show me off to her parents. A bit soon for that, surely. Perhaps it's a party of rich friends. Yes, that must be it.

The lift jerked to a stop. He slid back the folding door and walked briskly to her flat. Adrenalin was surging through his body and making him short of breath. The tension and expectations were playing havoc with his brain. He paused for a second to calm himself down and then pressed the polished brass button of the doorbell.

Seconds later, Jane opened the panelled mahogany door and greeted him with her stunning smile. She pulled him in, draped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a lingering wet kiss, they both felt the passion and he knew where this would lead.

The lounge was empty, no party guests or family. The mystery deepened. What was she going to tell him? It is nearly Christmas Eve, so perhaps we are going on to a party, but why would she meet me here and why does she want to talk to me first?

She broke away and closed the door, twisting the key in the lock as if it were routine. No harm in being secure, he thought. There are quite a few valuables here worth stealing.

***

They walked hand in hand across the deep pile Wilton carpet towards the fire. Its lively orange/red flames complimented the Christmas decorations, tastefully arranged along the white Adam style fire surround. She turned to him, her face serious, so the mystery was about to be revealed.

"Henryk, thank you for coming. The first thing I must tell you is, I am in love with you, and I don't want you to be in any doubt about that. I would like to believe you feel the same way about me."

Henryk's face lit up. These were the words he had wanted to hear, but never believed he would. Hold on a moment, she is still serious, what will she say next? First the good news, to soften the bad news.

"I own this apartment and everything in it. I am a high class call girl, a prostitute. That is what pays for all of this. I am getting older and becoming less desirable, so soon the income will stop. If we are to be together, I would make it stop.

"However, you have nothing at all, and no prospect of earning the sort of money I need to continue living in comfort. How can we realistically be together?"

Henryk was stunned into silence. His world had just crumbled. He was shocked she was a prostitute, but that soon passed; he did not care, he just had to be with her. She was absolutely right, he could not afford to keep her and he would not expect her to live in squalor with him. What could he do? He had no way of earning this sort of money.

"There is one possibility though. One of my clients works for MI5."

***

Henryk's blood ran cold and his face tensed noticeably, but Jane appeared not to notice. Perhaps she was concentrating on getting her message out to him, without misunderstanding.

"He was saying that there is a group of German spies in London, a woman and three men. I think they may have caught the woman last night, perhaps one of the men as well."

Henryk realised Anna was not at work today, and he had not seen her since last night at the party. She must have given herself away. The man could not be Peter; he was too smart to be caught. It had to be Andrzej.

Peter had warned them all in Alderney that if they were injured or captured, they were on their own. He would take all steps necessary to protect the others and the mission. Perhaps he had murdered Andrzej, he was a liability now. Peter also told them not to trust each other, sensible enough, but perhaps it was Andrzej who had betrayed them at the safe house, not Dan Stockley who had driven them there.

***

"My client also said that whoever tells them everything about their mission will be paid handsomely, protected and given a secure well paid job at the end of the war.

"We will win, you know.

"I don't believe you are the spy they are looking for. In a way, that is a sad thing, because it means we will have to stop seeing each other. It will be too painful to continue, knowing we will have to end it later.

"I hope you are the spy, I know the spy is so valuable to my client that he will have no trouble keeping his side of the bargain."

Henryk's brain was racing, she was offering him the way out of his predicament. All he wanted was a good life, and to spend it with her.

How could he resist? It was clearly over for Anna and Andrzej. They were damned loyal, but it would only be a few days before one of them gave up all they knew, about the beacons, and the mission.

"Please Henryk, I beg of you, please say you are the spy. We can go to my client and you will be safe."

Henryk slipped his left hand into his left jacket pocket... his right hand went inside the jacket.

***

Jane gasped as he drew out the Luger, flicked off the safety catch with his thumb and started to screw on the silencer. Her basic training told her the gun may not yet be cocked and also, he would not fire until the silencer was securely tightened. The misaligned device could explode as the bullet smashed into it.

She grabbed the silencer in her right hand, levering it upwards and away from her. Her left hand gripped the rear of the pistol for added leverage. The gun fired and a shower of shrapnel struck the ceiling. She screamed in agony, the recoil cocking mechanism had shattered the fingers of her left hand, but still she hung on to the silencer.

Henryk swung his fist hard up into her exposed left ribs. He felt them crack and collapse under the force of the punch. She cried out in anguish and could no longer point the pistol away. He could not shoot her though, without removing the silencer and hand cocking the gun. Instead, he coolly and cold bloodedly smashed his fist again into the same broken ribs.

He knew the first blow would silence her, it would be torture to breathe, let alone scream. The second blow would force the bone fragments and shattered ribs into her lung. She was now bleeding into her lung and would drown in her own blood. The air would leak out into her chest cavity, a tension pneumothorax, quickly suffocating her with each breath.

She instantly fell to the floor gasping like a beached fish, trying to cope with the excruciating pain.

***

The bedroom and kitchen doors flew open and several men charged in. After a brief scuffle, they forced Henryk to the floor. One of the MI5 men assessed Jane's injuries and recognised from her rapid panting, becoming ever shorter and quicker, that he must do something immediately.

"Ring for an ambulance, tell them it is a punctured lung, and it has collapsed."

He reached down and ripped open her blouse, recoiling in horror as he saw the large red bruise to her ribs forming before his eyes. He removed a penknife from his pocket, opened the small blade and felt for the gap between her good ribs, below her brassiere. He made a small incision and could hear the air bubbling out through the blood on her white skin, he sucked air out of the slit, then sealed it with his finger.

Blood was spewing from Jane's mouth as she fell into a coughing fit.

"Quick but very shallow breaths Jane, the ambulance is on its way."

The minutes dragged by and she was starting to drown in her blood filled lungs. The sound of the ambulance bell ceased as it pulled up outside.

"Hang on Jane, any moment now and they will be here to help you."

She smiled feebly at him and turned her head to see Henryk. He was still pinned to the floor, watching her as she struggled to breathe. Their eyes locked and she smiled intensely at him. It was the cruellest thing she could have done.

Had she forgiven him?

The smile started to fade and as the ambulance men rushed in, the light faded from her bright blue eyes, they became glassy and unfocussed.

Henryk had watched her die, believing she still loved him, in spite of what he had done. He would have to live with that for the rest of his life, though that would be short.

He had completely misjudged the situation. If he had just said nothing or had denied being a spy, she would be alive and loving him, and he would still be a free man. If that were not enough, he had put in jeopardy the whole mission upon which Germany was depending.

Instead he thought he could kill her, breaking all links with him, and just vanish into the 'nowhere' from which he came.

Now he doubted Jane's claim that Anna had been caught, or that Andrzej had been captured or murdered.

Henryk turned his face to the floor and wept silently.

##  Caplin's surprise. 22nd December 1943.

It had just turned 9.00pm, when Sir Philip Stern phoned John Caplin at his home, waking his wife and baby in the process.

"Good evening to you John, Sir Philip here. I have something for you, better than any present you might have, waiting to be opened under your Christmas tree."

"Oh! It's you Sir Philip, Merry Christmas to you and your family. What has happened, have the Germans surrendered?"

"Don't be flippant boy; we have just intercepted a message from Germany to your adversary, Karl Strom. Looks like the bounder is testing whatever he and his team have brought here. It is set to take place between 18.00 hours on the 26th and 02.00 hours the following morning. Jerry didn't have the decency to say where, though.

"Another thing, Strom needed an Ernst Huber to come and help him track down somebody who appears to be betraying him, and his team. Do you have someone informing on him that you haven't told me about?"

"I have no idea who that could be sir, it is nothing to do with me, and more's the pity."

"I sent the decoded message to you at your office, I was disappointed to note you weren't there. This war is not being conducted to suit your sleeping habits, don't you know!

"At least Huber is not coming, so that swine Strom will continue to be shorthanded, and I hope betrayed by a person or persons unknown.

"The good thing is, knowing he is being betrayed will eat away at him. He will devote so much thought and energy towards uncovering the perpetrator, he will ultimately make a big mistake, and you need to be there when he does.

"So up you get you lazy blighter, go and catch him. I doubt he will be sleeping!"

"Of course Sir Philip, I am already on my way. Thank you so much for calling."

With his head in a spin, Caplin replaced the receiver.

"Sorry Margaret, Sir Philip wants me back at work immediately. I'd best go to Latchmere House and keep up with an operation there, set up by Steve Davis, hours before he died.

"Just because Stern doesn't need sleep, he expects everyone else to be sleep deprived. We are all worn out in the department, and without sleep we will make mistakes. Then the Germans will prevail. I actually wonder whether the Germans could be worse than Sir Philip."

He kissed Margaret and his now silent daughter Angela, 'goodbye'.

##  Anna's surprise. Evening, 22nd December

After a sumptuous dinner, the maid cleared the table. Sir Matthew and Anna went into the drawing room for further drinks, and to continue their most enjoyable conversation.

At 11.55 pm, Anna eased herself up from her deeply upholstered armchair and, rather giddy from the effect of the alcohol, asked the question that had been troubling her all day.

"Well, Sir Matthew, this has been the most wonderful evening of my life. I did not know food could be so delicious. Your company has been so stimulating. Although I never want it to stop, I am very tired and I would like to go to my room now. Where will I be sleeping?"

Sir Matthew smiled warmly, his dark brown eyes twinkled mischievously as he replied softly.

"I had rather hoped you would want to be near me, and share my bed."

Anna had been wondering if this was a possibility, but dismissed it as absurd.

Now the price of her freedom no, her life, was to be paid!

"Sir Matthew!" she gasped, feigning a deeply shocked demeanour. "That is impossible, out of wedlock. I am not that sort of lady. I don't know what gave you the idea I would do such a thing."

For an instant, a look of grave disappointment showed on his face, but he recovered his warm smile to perfection.

"Please forgive me Anna, I have fallen in love with you. I forgot myself and have insulted you. Of course you have your own room. I will take you to it.

"Now that I have made an utter fool of myself, I have nothing left to lose. May I ask you to marry me?"

Anna was so stunned, her mouth fell open, and no words came.

Her training to deal with the unexpected had kicked in. She was not the silly woman that most men who hardly knew her thought she was. On many occasions, her calculating nature had brought out the appropriate response. There was only one thing she could say!

She paused. The soft melodic chimes of a grandfather clock announced the start of a new day.

##  Contingency plans. 22nd December 1943

It was 10.00pm. John Caplin was in the operations room at Latchmere House, also known as Camp 020. He paced the room, awaiting the outcome of Jane Smith's encounter with Henryk Robak, instead of being at home with his wife and child. Caplin was very tired and had little faith in the girl Jane. Her whole scheme hinged on a love affair, and her belief that the man was desperately lonely. It was true that most of the German spies had been turned by offering them suitable inducements, along with the overwhelming incentive of avoiding the hangman's noose. Was the power of love that strong? Jane had set up the operation, and everyone had to run with it.

A phone rang at 10.15pm and Caplin turned to see if it was important.

It was!

A yell of, "Got him!" rang out, as Henryk's capture was confirmed, followed by the sombre news of Jane's death.

Now everyone was seething with anger, vowing she would be avenged when they caught and hanged the lot of them.

***

Peter was furious, neither Anna nor Henryk had turned up at the 10pm rendezvous and it was now just after midnight, actually the morning of the 23rd. The meeting was to prepare for the planting of a test beacon, and only he and Andrzej had arrived.

"They are not coming are they Andrzej. That puts us in the middle of a disaster. I needed everyone to experience the actual planning that goes into choosing a target and later, take part in planting the beacon. So far, theory is all we have experienced.

"I have not yet selected the actual target, but we could have done that together."

***

Unknown to Peter, in response to his request to test a beacon, Germany planned to send 10 V-1s, fixed to the underside of individual aircraft. As they approached the limits of the British radar, the deadly payload would be released one at a time, at one minute intervals.

The aircraft delivery was the only way to be sure that the missile's basic stability, and general guidance issues, did not interfere with the accuracy of the test. The gyro system that kept the V-1 pointing at England and level in flight, was still unreliable whereas, the beacon detection circuits appeared to function perfectly, as soon as it was within 10 miles of a beacon. There was another big issue with the rocket motor. If the missile tipped nose down when low on fuel, as it would be when close to target, the motor would cut out and it would fall from the sky prematurely.

The missiles were free to home in on the beacon, and the number that hit the target would actually confirm the effectiveness of the system. Once the beacon was destroyed, any following V-1s would fall nearby, masking the fact that there was a targeting system of devastating accuracy.

When the actual planned mass attack took place in the New Year, each night there would be 10 or so beacons placed on individual targets, and the V-1s would be aimed and launched from the French and Dutch coasts. To conceal the fact that the V-1s were being guided by a beacon, there would be a number of random strikes that might have no strategic value.

***

Peter continued talking to Andrzej.

"If both Henryk and Anna are missing, it points to their capture, and we are faced with the task of trying to either get them back safely before they talk, or silence them. In any case, we must remove beacons and equipment from their lockups. There might only be a small window of opportunity to do this, depending on who breaks first, Anna or Henryk.

"Andrzej, I want you to clear Anna's lockup and move everything into your own. Keep all her grenades in the van with any ammunition fitting my Luger. Remember, reset the booby trap when you leave her lockup."

"Are we going to try and get Henryk and Anna back?" Andrzej did not ask about the other option, killing them was too horrible to put into words.

"Our first priority is clearing the beacons, then we need to find out where they are. What we do then depends, but killing them is our last option. We have all come so far together, I can't face that thought just yet.

"I want you to take me to my garage, so I can collect my car. I have Henryk's lockup to clear, as well."

They felt their way in thoughtful silence, through the misty blackness of the night, back to the van parked a short distance away.

As they neared the garage where the Jaguar was parked, Peter directed Andrzej to a side street and got out of the van. He didn't want nosey neighbours to associate the van and Jaguar.

Peter had scribbled down the address of a lockup in the row where Anna had hers. If Andrzej was captured with the address on him, it would not be helpful to the enemy. He handed Andrzej the paper.

"Anna's lockup is nine units up from this address. When you have dropped off the beacons, meet me back at the house. Be very careful. Drive around and make sure no one is waiting for you.

"Take care Andrzej."

"I will see you later then, at the house. Will you be able to empty Henryk's store on your own, Peter?"

"The beacons, yes, but nothing else. Now off you go, be careful and be quick."

As the van disappeared from sight, Peter walked a short distance to the garage where he kept his Jaguar. The last thing he wanted was for this car to be noticed, but now he was forced to drive to a rough area of the City, one where such a super car would never go. There was no time to steal another vehicle, so it was a chance he had to take.

Inside the garage, Peter fitted the false number plates, then set off to clear Henryk's beacons.

***

The night was dark as soot when Peter glided quietly up to Henryk's lockup. He stopped the car, switched the engine off and got out. When his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, he looked around to check whether anyone was watching, not that he would have seen them hiding, but it seemed safe.

In the feeble torchlight, he checked the bottom of the lockup door frame for a rusty nail. He worked it loose and listened for the faint sound of the string as it pulled through the hole, back into the building. The nail was there to trap the end of the string attached to the booby trap. Now the trap was disarmed, the door could be opened safely.

He carefully checked the neatly stored items for any signs of tampering or some other booby trap. This lockup was Henryk's responsibility and he might well have decided not to trust anyone on the team. Peter had warned them all to distrust everyone, and what better way to deal with an intruder than lay a trap for them. Well, Peter had done just that, in his own lockup.

Everything was safe, so he hastily picked up the large suitcase sized package, containing Henryk's portion of beacons, and placed it in the car boot. After making some alterations to the booby trap, he closed and locked the door, and drove back to meet Andrzej at the house.

"Have you stowed the beacons away safely in your lockup, and have you set the booby trap?"

"Yes to both Peter. I have been very careful to drive slowly and have checked I was not followed."

"Well done Andrzej.

"By the way, I have a plan. We need to find out where Anna and Henryk are being held, and it will require some trickery and a great deal of good luck.

##  Interrogation. 22nd December 1943

Henryk was taken straight away to Camp 020, Latchmere House for interrogation by MI5, headed up by John Caplin. He gave orders to get results by any measure, the fate of the nation hung in the balance.

Henryk knew it was all over for him now, and he didn't care. He just kept replaying Jane's final moments as she died, it was all he had left in his world. She had made the effort to roll her head and look at him, her beautiful smile was just for him. She knew death was seconds away and did that one thing for him, she had forgiven him. He could only guess the agony she was in, the feeling of choking as she coughed up blood and suffocation as she drowned in it.

Everyone could see the mental state of Henryk Robak, and they felt glad he was suffering. They all wanted to take him to 'the room' as it was euphemistically called and torture him, personally. The less he confessed the more reason to hurt him.

John Caplin however, was only interested in catching the remaining three spies. He believed their prisoner was in such a distressed state, the gentle approach was best, for now. They sat him down at the front of a vacant desk, in the middle of the busy operations room and, in anticipation of the need to write or draw, they transferred his handcuffs around to the front. Henryk placed his shackled arms upon the desk, lowered his head onto them and sobbed quietly.

***

At 1.30 am the security chief at Camp 020 phoned to report the night's events to Sir Philip Stern, and John Caplin was about to uncover any secrets Henryk Robak might have hidden. This was encouraging news for the head man, at last they had a breakthrough. More importantly, his man John was heading the team in the field, personally.

***

A somewhat frail man in his early 60s approached the seated prisoner and spoke in a calm, unthreatening manner.

"My name is Ken Roper, I am the senior interrogator and I have some questions for you.

"Henryk Robak? That is the name on your papers, but what is your real name?"

"Horst Loehr, I am a German spy, code name Zebra. You have been looking for us since we landed in Dorset on the 18th December.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"That depends on you? If you cooperate fully, then I can recommend we don't need to trouble the hangman at Pentonville Prison."

"You do realise that I am not the team leader, and I only know what I needed to know to carry out my part of the mission."

"Yes Henryk, Karl Strom is your leader and I want you to help us find him. Will you help us?"

"I can only tell you what I know, perhaps that will be enough for you to find him."

"Where is Karl Strom now?"

"Somewhere in London, near Gant's Hill, where I work. I have no idea what his address is. I only make contact when I see a chalk mark on a newsagent's shop wall between work and my flat. I collect messages from a park seat, pinned under the seat boards. I was supposed to meet him earlier at 10.00pm but I needed to see Jane at that time." Henryk burst into tears, sank his head into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably again.

Ken Roper ignored the display of emotion and pressed on with the interrogation, it was going very well.

"What about the others in your team, Henryk?"

"The young man you captured on the 20th, Andreas, he became a liability for Strom and as far as I know, he is probably dead. He could no longer work in the factory, and he was a risk to us all if he remained in hiding."

"There was a woman on the team, tell me about her."

"Ah yes, her German name is Helga and I expect she is using it here in England, I was never told anything else. As soon as we left the safe house here in London, we were split up and I have not seen her since the night we took back Andreas. I presume she had a job to go to like I did at Gant's Hill. She was a typist I believe, so she probably works in an office somewhere. I don't believe it is in London though, I heard Portsmouth mentioned."

"What were you trained to do for your part in the mission?"

"I was chosen specifically for my machinist skills and good English language. We undertook hand to hand combat training and survival skills, probably to endure the cold water because we swam ashore at Chapmans Pool. I can only guess, but that may have been the reason for the meeting tonight. Perhaps Strom was going to give me orders for the mission. Again, I can only guess, but he got me the job at Gant's Hill, so the mission must be to sabotage the factory. I had to leave written reports about what was going on in there, hand drawn maps, time tables, names of people who worked there, any information I could get from them.

"It has to be something going on there, because where else could I help Germany. If the factory was damaged, it would harm your war effort. There must be an organised group working in there, and maybe we were to be made known to each other, then the pieces of the plot would fall into place.

"What time is it Ken? I haven't eaten since lunchtime and I don't feel well. Could I have something to eat and drink? I am cooperating, aren't I?"

"Yes Henryk, you are being very helpful. It is now 1.55 am, so it is the 23rd. I could do with a cup of tea myself, I will get you one, and a sandwich. How would that be?"

"That will be wonderful, thank you Ken."

Ken realised Henryk appeared to have taken to him, he no longer seemed threatened, and was keen to tell everything he knew. His prisoner was fixating on the paperclip he had picked up from the desk earlier. As he gave up the information, it was the inanimate object, the clip that he was speaking to, not Ken. The guilty tended to do this, because in their confused minds, the object could keep the secret.

Satisfied the spy was stable Ken slowly got up, nodded to the guard nearby to watch the prisoner and went for refreshments. When he returned a minute or so later, Henryk was slumped forward with his hands in his lap, staring vacantly at the desktop.

Henryk devoured the sandwich and washed down each mouthful with a gulp of tea, like he was late for work.

***

Ken decided Henryk was too comfortable in the circumstances and, although the information was flowing, there was practically nothing he could verify. He was also no nearer to locating the other three and John Caplin was glaring at him, impatiently. He decided to break the man emotionally and then, in a moment of blind fury, the spy would blurt out the remaining information.

Ken's tone became severe. "You know, if Jane were still alive, she would be here listening to you. You do realise that she was acting her part in your capture, don't you?"

Henryk snapped back indignantly. "No! She wasn't acting, we loved each other. Just before she died she looked at me and smiled, she had forgiven me."

"Ah yes, she did look at you and smile, didn't she. However, it was not forgiveness in her smile, but knowing she was dying and you had been caught as the vicious spy that you are. You didn't love her, you used her and you brutally murdered her to protect yourself."

The deliberately cruel words sank home. How could he have believed for a moment that she had forgiven him, after what he had done to her? Henryk broke down again into a sobbing heap. A broken man with nothing left to cling to but a miserable life of regret.

The ringing of a phone and the raised voice of John Caplin disrupted everyone's concentration. The man was in a rage, that was certain and it had everything to do with Karl Strom.

***

"Andrzej, it is now almost 1.55 am, if Henryk and Anna have been under interrogation since the evening of the 21st, they must be close to breaking. We must act quickly, or it will be too late. "

Peter rushed off to the nearby phone box and made his call. He asked the operator to connect him to MI5 immediately; it was a matter of grave importance. A moment later he was put through.

"I want to speak to the person in charge of the investigation of four German spies, three men and a woman, don't delay, I cannot stay on the line. If I go, you will never be in time to prevent the coming disaster.

"Hurry man hurry!"

A moment later, a weary voice answered.

"Hello, Caplin here."

"Who is that?" asked Peter, determined to get the full name of his nemesis.

"John Caplin here. Who are you?"

"Hello John, you have been trying to find me and my three German spies. You tried to take one of my men on the 20th and it cost you eight men.

"That is you, isn't it?"

Caplin was hesitant; this was not a conversation he had imagined in his wildest dreams.

"I am closing in on you, Karl Strom that is certain. Your man is about to tell me everything."

"Gullible to a fault! Do you tell your staff every crucial thing? I doubt it. What makes you so certain he knows anything that will actually be of real use to you? By the time your men follow down the leads, it will be far too late. Germany has nothing to fear from deskbound buffoons like you.

"You British are facing a catastrophe that you are powerless to stop. The newspapers will be full of the disaster and you, John Caplin, will be the person held solely responsible!"

Peter hung up.

"If that does not drive you into my clutches, I don't know what will." He muttered to himself.

Caught off guard, Caplin instinctively reacted to the coincidence of Strom's call and Henryk Robak's arrest. Perhaps Strom already knew Robak had been caught. That possibility alone made Caplin's hackles rise. The damned spy knew far too much.

Anger had got the better of Caplin, causing him to run off at the mouth. Even with Robak in cuffs, he was far from closing in on Strom and the rest of his team.

When Strom goaded him about his lack of ability, hiding behind a desk, it struck to the very heart of his insecurities. He knew deep down that luck had seen him through, not the skill and dedication of a man like Steve Davis. God rest his soul!

Strom's final threat of disaster and the newspapers blaming Caplin for it, threw him into blind panic. Publicly shamed! How could he face family and friends after that?

***

Ken Roper inwardly cursed John Caplin for disrupting the flow of the interrogation with his outburst.

He broached his next question to Henryk.

"Do you have a place where you keep weapons, explosives, things like that?"

Henryk had heard enough of the phone conversation to realise it must be Peter who had riled John Caplin. The coincidence of Peter calling, causing the very distraction he needed, was god sent. Peter must be a psychic. At least someone cares about me and is trying to help.

Henryk decided his moment had come to strike.

"Give me a pencil and paper and I will write down the address for you Ken. You will find everything I have is there."

Ken took out a sheet of paper and a new sharp pencil from his desk drawer, and placed it in front of Henryk. With his cuffed hands crossed, he slowly and deliberately picked up the pencil and pulled the paper into position. He paused for a moment, thinking, then he looked around the large open plan room with office staff working away at their desks. He wrote the address of his lockup, slid the paper a few inches away from him and let the interrogator reach forward to pick it up.

##  Anna's reply. 23rd December 1943

The grandfather clock struck its final note. As the deep rich tones faded to silence, about half a minute into the new morning, Anna had decided on her response to Sir Matthew's marriage proposal. She could see he was becoming increasingly tense, perhaps it was not wise to tease him this way. He would not be familiar with the experience. Still, she needed time to decide, and the din from the clock was a reasonable excuse for her hesitation.

"Will you still expect me to call you Sir Matthew?" Anna enquired.

He burst out laughing. "Yes of course, in company, just as I will call you Lady Anna. Is that so terrible?"

"No, not when you put it like that, of course not.

"I have two Christmas surprises for you Sir Matthew, I wonder if you have anything for me?"

"It depends on your answer to my proposal, Anna. I dare not say more than that."

"Well, I would be pleased to accept your offer of marriage. Do you have a date for the wedding?"

"Thank you, thank you so much Anna, I know we will be so happy together." His stilted reply came as no surprise to her, he was so used to getting everything he wanted, she thought herself lucky to have had a thank you, let alone two of them.

"I will announce the wedding in the paper tomorrow and the celebrations will be on the 3rd January. I will instruct the vicar in the morning."

"Will it be possible to arrange the wedding at such short notice?"

"Does the church need expensive roof repairs?" Sir Matthew countered.

"Does the vicar need the money?" he countered again.

"I think he will make it happen, just you wait and see." Anna could see the man controlled everything in his universe, and what he could not manipulate, he would crush out of existence.

"Tell me Anna, does that meet with your approval?"

"Perfectly Sir Matthew, did you like my first Christmas surprise?"

He looked slightly taken aback, but laughed it off. He didn't think her acceptance was a surprise, more a foregone conclusion.

"What is your second surprise, future Lady Anna?"

"As a man of honour, who is committed to marrying me, I would be delighted to share his bed and make him the happiest man alive."

"Then I feel we should retire, and I can reveal the surprise I have for you." He beamed with anticipation, his eyes wide with excitement at the thought of the night with Anna.

To seal the deal, they kissed passionately and, arm in arm they climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

***

Sir Matthew was certainly a consummate lover, taking great care not to rush to the final moment. Their passion was consuming and there were no barriers between them. Anna was free to take the initiative any time she wanted. She also believed he had become sexually frustrated without a wife, and she was young and very desirable.

She started to panic after he made love for the third time, they were both exhausted, but he was a long way from stopping. She tried everything she knew to help him and he was delighted by her imaginative activity, but she had to tell him to stop in the end.

He cleaned up and they slept for a while. She was later awakened by his desperate attempt at satisfying himself in the bathroom.

Perhaps he would get tired of the novelty and life in the bedroom would gradually become normal; if not, something would have to change, after she became Lady Anna.

##  Strike. 23rd December 1943

Using the paperclip, Henryk had earlier picked the lock of the handcuffs, leaving them closed but very slack on his wrists.

As Ken Roper reached across the desk for the paper detailing the address of the lockup, Henryk grabbed Ken's hair with his left hand forcing his cheek to the desk top. The sharp pencil he had just used to write with slipped deep into Ken's earhole. Henryk hammered it down into the man's brain with blows from the palm of his right hand. Ken died in an instant.

Before anyone could react, Henryk had made a dash for the exit and down the passage towards freedom. Surprised staff grabbed at him as he barged past, he wrenched open one leaf of the heavy double entrance door and took off. Until his night vision returned, the light coloured gravel drive leading to the road helped him navigate in the darkness, and he relied heavily on his peripheral vision to distinguish his surroundings. He could see the outline of tall trees on his left, against the lighter night sky, and headed down the road towards them.

Armed personnel gave pursuit but Henryk was running for his life, and praying he would get lucky.

Everyone in the operations room knew it was all Caplin's fault that Ken was dead, and the spy had escaped. Because of the urgency to interrogate Henryk, he had only been detained in the operations room, and not a secure room. Had he shown any tendency to be aggressive and uncooperative, he would have been locked in and tortured, out of sight from the staff.

Enraged to a fit of blind fury over Strom's (Peter's) call and its timely distraction for Henryk, Caplin snatched the paper out of Ken's dead hand and read the address on it. He had no choice but to go there with a team of armed men and check out the building. He telephoned the police and arranged for an immediate cordon around the area.

John Caplin was assured by the man in charge of security at Latchmere House that Henryk Robak would be caught. Caplin did not care, in his view, it was not his mistake and he had a major disaster to avert.

Gathering his team, they set off across London to Henryk's lockup, praying all the way that it would not be a wasted journey.

***

At 1.30 am the security chief at Camp 020 phoned to report again to Sir Philip Stern, announcing with great emotion that Robak had escaped, after killing a valuable member of staff. It caused Sir Philip to go silent with smouldering rage. He had no doubt that Robak would be caught again very soon, and would pay dearly for this barbarous and cowardly act of cold blooded murder. The poor negotiator was only doing his job.

##  Captured! 23rd December 1943

Moments after Peter hung up on the riled John Caplin, Andrzej pulled up at the phone box in the van, and Peter climbed in.

"Good lad. Now we go back to Henryk's lockup and stay hidden. We may be out all night, but things should happen very soon.

"You brought my Luger with the silencer, didn't you?"

"Yes, it is down on the floor, assembled and ready to fire. The grenades and ammunition are there as well."

As Andrzej drove the van to the lockup, Peter carefully considered where he should park. It had to be out of sight, but close on hand. It also had to be unobstructed, to make a rapid getaway along several routes, if possible. Peter predicted Caplin would arrange a police cordon around the area, the moment he had the address of either lockup. It was just a feeling he had, but he was confident Anna would hold out longer than Henryk under torture, and this helped him make the choice as to which lockup to watch over.

Peter and Andrzej parked the van against a lockup door, in a block adjacent Henryk's. Using the vehicle to step up to the flat roof, they lay down in the dark, overlooking the target.

Peter had pinned all his hopes on John Caplin leading the raid. Henryk or Anna would break soon, they would know that by now, Peter would have had enough time to clear their lockups. If it was Anna who broke first, possibly more MI5 agents would die in the blast from the booby trap. Then it would be Henryk's turn to give up his address. Hopefully it would happen before daybreak.

***

Caplin urged his men to drive furiously through the city, even though the dim, downward pointing head-lights, lit nothing ahead of them. Driving at 10 miles per hour was reckless, but he pushed them to 15. The eyes of the drivers in the two packed Wolseley cars, bulged with strain as they rushed headlong down the streets. If they had any idle thoughts, it was to wonder if they would live to see their families ever again. Caplin on the other hand considered only the one thought, how to avoid the public shame of failure. For the first time in his life, he was driving himself to succeed, and his adversary Karl Strom (alias Peter Stone) would regret pushing him over the edge.

At 4.30 am Caplin drove through the silent police cordon and onwards, into the rows of lockup garages. If there was anything to find, it should still be here.

Peter and Andrzej ducked low as the two black Wolseley cars glided to a stop. Whether Henryk had given up the address freely or under duress, it made no difference, the result was just as Peter had hoped.

The eight MI5 agents eased cautiously out of their cars, guns raised. They had all heard about the tragic murder of Steve Davis and his men, it was an unhappy coincidence there were also eight men in this group.

"Get the lockup doors open immediately men," Caplin ordered, and they hurried to obey. Their aggressive boss was in no mood for messing about.

The bolt cropper sliced through the padlock, and it was thrown on the ground. Caplin pushed past the men and yanked open the doors, he could wait no longer for the secrets inside to be revealed. Only then did a sickening dread sweep over him, as he spotted the string on the floor.

Booby-trap!

He spun round and leapt past his men, taking refuge behind a car. The men realised what had happened and knew it was too late for them to run. A couple of seconds later, they dived for cover as well. Still nothing happened.

Peter and Andrzej looked at each other and if they could have actually seen their own faces, they would have seen Cheshire cat grins.

John Caplin and his men plucked up courage and tentatively approached the garage. As confidence returned, they walked boldly in. Caplin had the strange sensation of being watched and turned to peer around outside. There was nothing to see in the dark, there could have been a troupe of can-can dancers on the roof, where Peter and Andrzej lay hidden, and he would never have seen them.

Caplin's men were carefully easing back the tarpaulin that covered the small pile of items they needed to inspect. They saw only the millisecond of brilliant flash, as the heap exploded. The box like garage had only one easy outlet, the open doorway. The roof and walls, although flimsy, were enough to direct the initial blast. Caplin was thrown across the open space, followed by the blood spray and body parts of his men. Seconds later, bricks and timber rained down around him, and the access road between the lockup blocks was dimly lit with flaming debris. The drifting smoke, dust and flickering shadows added a grim and macabre atmosphere.

"Get the van round Andrzej, I want that man, dead or alive."

Peter leapt off the roof to the ground, and ran over to the prone body.

The body groaned so, whoever it was, he was not dead, yet!

"Are you John Caplin?" shouted Peter.

It took several seconds for Caplin to register that he was alive and someone was speaking to him, calling his name, even. It was difficult to make out who it might be, his head rang like a bell. It had to be a rescue team, or the ambulance.

"Are you John Caplin?" the voice shouted above the ringing in his ears.

"Yes, I am. What about my men?"

"Can you hear that ringing sound in your head?"

"Yes I can."

"Well that is your men learning to play their harps. They are the least of your problems."

Andrzej jerked to a standstill, leapt out and opened the rear doors, as he rushed to help Peter lug Caplin into the van. Moments later Andrzej was behind the wheel again and speeding away.

"Keep the noise down, use top gear and watch where you are going, there will be police on the way here in no time."

"They are already racing towards us," shouted Andrzej as he double declutched back into second gear and accelerated hard. The engine was revving flat out, although the speed was only about 15 mph, nevertheless it seemed much faster in the glow of firelight.

"Dodge them, collide if you have to Andrzej, but don't ram or stop. "We must get clear then we will be safe."

Peter leaned out of his window and fired at what he believed to be the driver's position of the nearest car. All he had to work with was the patches of dim light on the ground in front of the rapidly approaching vehicles.

Andrzej had not turned on his lights and had shielded his eyes from Peter's muzzle flashes, to preserve his night vision. Peter blinked his eyes shut as he fired. The approaching police were dazzled, and swerved away the moment the drivers realised this was gunfire without the bang. The silencer took care of that.

As Andrzej expertly swerved and dodged the oncoming cars, Peter picked up a grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it through the windscreen of the last car. The heavy metal lump smashed through and seconds later, exploded inside. Instantly it was engulfed in flames and swerved behind the van. It was still rolling when the petrol tank exploded. There was so much blinding light the police could no longer see past the inferno, neither could they drive past, because the road was blocked.

"Well done Andrzej! It looks like we got away without a single mark on the van. Great driving."

There was a metallic click and the touch of cold steel on Peter's neck. His blood ran like ice in his veins, he had overlooked their passenger; John Caplin was in better shape than he had imagined. Lucky bastard.

"Pull up and stop, Strom. We will wait for the police to catch up."

Andrzej stamped both feet as heavily as he could on the brake pedal, causing the cable operated brakes to bring the van to a rapid, skid free stop. Still, it was enough to cause Caplin to lose his grip and fall forward between the two front bucket seats. As he fell, his pistol fired.

Peter snatched the weapon from Caplin's grasp and punched him unconscious.

"Quick thinking Andrzej, I thought he was going to blow my head off."

There was no reply!

Grief swept over Peter as the futility of it all engulfed him. He had not expected the lad to last long on this mission, and in spite of his somewhat childish nature when they first met, he had become a reliable member of the team. He pulled himself together, he could grieve later if there was a better time.

Peter dragged Andrzej across into the passenger seat and took the steering wheel, there wasn't a second to lose if he were to stand any chance at all of escape.

***

The police were now in pursuit once again, they had also radioed ahead for road blocks, giving a description of the black Morris van. After their previous experience with the fugitives, the backup squads were well armed. There was no doubt in their minds they would recapture the enemy, time was now on their side, and by god the swine would pay!

With his headlights on, Peter headed deeper into the City, whilst looking for a place to hide from the police. He knew road blocks would be in position by now so he would not get far. He approached a road junction and could recognise where he was, even in the darkness. Turning off to the left, he stopped and pulled Andrzej out onto the road. He reversed the van in the road and headed in the opposite direction. This had cost him time, nonetheless, he had the glimmer of an escape plan.

***

Sir Philip's phone rang again at 4.40 am and he snatched it up.

"Sir Philip Stern speaking. I want good news and no excuses." He anticipated it would be Camp 020 with a further update.

"Chief Superintendent Thomas Walters here Sir Philip. I have grave news for you."

"Speak, Thomas. Don't tell me you let our German spy escape!"

"Actually yes, we did, but it is much worse than that. It appears John Caplin and his seven agents went to the lockup, and triggered a booby trap. The whole jolly lot went up! We found the remains of seven bodies, and John was not amongst them.

"As we closed in on the scene, a black van came out of the smoke and flames. The passenger was shooting at us and lobbed a grenade into one of our pursuit cars, setting it alight and blocking the road. By the time we got through, a few minutes later, the van had disappeared. We set up road blocks of course, but he had vanished.

"We found a dead body on the road, the man had been shot at close range, but it was not John Caplin. I believe it was one of the German spies that John Caplin managed to shoot."

"Oh Thomas, this is frightful news. I had expected Camp 020 to call, telling me they had recaptured another of the spies, Henryk Robak, but I have a feeling that one has slipped through our fingers as well. Still, on the brighter side, John has not shown up dead, so I am sure he will be used as some bargaining piece very soon."

"I hope you are right Sir Philip, I really do."

"I appreciate your call Thomas, a horrible piece of news to break at this festive time. Goodbye."

Sir Philip leaned back in his chair and released a deep, sad sigh.

***

A couple of hundred feet up the road from where he left Andrzej, Peter turned in and parked on the sales forecourt, amongst a dozen other vehicles, and switched off the lights and engine. Just moments later, the first of the police cars stopped at the junction, saw the body in the road and went to investigate. Following police cars drove along the road in both directions. With a choice of two directions, the easiest was left and the body didn't walk there, so the van must have gone in that direction. Of course it had turned back and was hidden in plain sight, albeit in the dark.

As he sat motionless in the van in the silence of the night, Peter pondered over the dilemma he now faced. Without Andrzej's help, John Caplin would be difficult to manage.

He listed in his mind all the challenges he faced, so he could organise and prioritise. He recognised that some problems shouted loudest, but were often the least important in the grand scheme of things.

The loudest thought was simply to shoot Caplin, head back to Alderney and see Helga. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. But what if she no longer wanted him? The truth was, she was menstruating and emotional at the time, and she probably believed he was going to his death. That would be enough to make most women weep. She did say she couldn't face another man after him, but people have short memories. Not him though, he never forgot and he couldn't leave England, not even for Helga until his private mission had been accomplished. His thoughts flashed back to his flight to Alderney, he had planned and schemed his secret mission then, he was good at keeping secrets, and he alone knew the extent of his wrath.

Of all his problems, escape from the police was the most urgent. Unless he escaped, he could do nothing about all the other matters that were dependent upon him, and him alone.

He needed to get Anna and Henryk back safe. They were no longer useful in planting beacons and training others, but they mattered to him.

"Fool, they will be the death of you, you know that!" he muttered to himself.

Caplin was the only source of information about Henryk and Anna, and the only negotiating leverage Peter had, so killing him was not an option. The MI5 agent might also be his only way of escaping from his present predicament.

The picture in his mind was clearer now and he knew what he must do.

Caplin could wake up at any moment and that would make him difficult to handle, so he tied his hands behind him, using the agent's own shoe laces. It was quite tricky to do that securely in the dark.

Peter wrongly believed the agent had no idea what he looked like so would need to blindfold him. The only thing Peter had was the bag containing grenades and ammunition, which he emptied and, although a very tight fit over Caplin's head it would do the job.

With his prisoner securely bound, Peter searched the man's pockets and found a slim leather wallet. It contained cash, a folded utility bill and a photo of his wife and baby daughter. The family made Caplin vulnerable, and the invoice gave his home address. These would be most valuable when it came to negotiations.

Caplin's thick black wool coat was soaked with blood, Peter knew how damaging shrapnel could be, so it was important to get the man to a doctor. The only one he knew of was Betty Marsh, and he doubted she would be inclined to help.

Caplin stirred and struggled feebly as his recollection of events came to him. He soon went quiet though, when he realised he was bound and blindfolded.

Peter ignored him and checked the time. It would be getting light very soon and escape was still the priority.

An hour later, the first vehicles passed by, London was awake. Peter guessed that traffic was being allowed through the cordon. The City had to go about its business, even the war could not stop that. Then it dawned on him, the police were concentrating on small black vans leaving the area.

He got out of the van and looked at the other vehicles parked near him, he needed to steal one of those. He chose a Morris 8 saloon car, because garages disabled their cars, to avoid them being stolen by German spies. The removal of the rotor arm from the distributor was the favourite trick, because they were unique to the model. He lifted the bonnet, found that the distributor cap was undone and the rotor arm was missing.

The driver's door window was the most worn, because hand signals had to be made frequently whilst driving, so Peter eased it down enough to unlock the door from inside.

He fitted the rotor arm from his van, and set about starting the car by pulling free the wires from the ignition switch, and twisting them together. The pull to start button was mechanical, a long Bowden cable to the starter motor so the moment he pulled it, the engine cranked over and fired up nicely on full choke.

While the engine was warming up, Caplin was dragged into the back of the saloon, and laid in a heap on the floor. He would be out of sight behind the front seats and, in any case, the boot was far too small to hold a body.

Petrol is a serious weapon in a spy's arsenal also, unlike other weapons, it is freely available. Because it is easily ignited, it is perfect for a conflagration or bomb. Apart from that, most vehicles carry a spare gallon can in the boot. Peter untied his can from the passenger seat of the van and transferred it to the car.

Off he drove, into the traffic flow and headed out to east London, for the doctor. The police waved him through with no more than a cursory glance. It was not a black Morris van and it contained only one person. Because they had not found Caplin's body, they were certain he was alive and would be kept that way for bargaining purposes.

Petrol was very low in the tank, but Peter had expected this. Rationing meant that no more petrol went into the car than was needed on a test drive, and a spare fuel can from the sales office was carried in case the car ran out. There was no possibility of Peter buying more, he had no coupons.

The engine missed several beats and picked up again. He had run dry and would have barely enough to park tidily up a side street. He chose an alley and spluttered to a halt at the far end.

In the silence he heard movement, Caplin would do all he could to escape.

"I suggest you lie still on the floor John, otherwise I will have to pay a visit to your wife and baby. I found your address on the bill in your wallet."

"You dare touch them, I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands!"

"I don't think you quite appreciate your position in all this John. I have been a bit preoccupied, avoiding capture by the police and I have not had time to dispose of you yet. I find it easier to ignore you than climb in the back with you, snap your scrawny neck and dump your body. I suggest you keep quiet and let me kill you in my own good time. Any trouble, and I will also murder your family for all the inconvenience you have put me and my team through."

"Please don't kill me or touch my family and I will help you get your man back." Caplin bluffed, but he was confident the men at Camp 020 would soon catch Henryk.

"And what about the woman, don't you have her?"

"No, not yet, we are still looking for her."

Peter was astonished. Where was Anna? She was a reliable person and she knew how important the mission was. He decided not to say anymore for the moment, got out of the car with the petrol can and poured a quarter of it into the car. He needed enough to start the car and complete his journey but no more. It was too precious to waste and he might be forced to dump the car very soon.

***

It was 8.00 am when Peter located a phone box and called the doctor. He remembered her number from inside her medical bag, a precaution if it was left at a patient's home. It was not surgery hours of course, but she was up early and recognised Peter's voice.

"You've got a nerve phoning me. What the devil do you want?" She was blunt and on her guard.

"I have someone important in the back of my car who has cut himself rather badly while shaving. I need you to clean the wound and sew up my friend. There are rather a lot of cuts to deal with, drunks and cut throat razors don't work well together, so there is plenty of stitching to be done. I think my friend needs some penicillin as well, it was a particularly dirty razor.

"I will pull up outside your address in five minutes' time, and you can examine my friend."

"I will look out for you and come with you. I charge very heavily for house calls, so you need to have the cash ready, or I go home."

"I expected that and my friend will be quite willing to pay. You will also need a good torch, there is no electric light. Bring a couple of thick blankets as well, there is no bedding here either."

"I think I understand, I can do all that. See you in five minutes."

Peter was not sure if the doctor's phone was tapped, so the conversation was deliberately imprecise. If it was flagged as suspicious, somebody would have to listen to the recording and decide to race over to the doctor's home. In five minutes, she would no longer be there to catch.

Peter could not take a chance on John Caplin seeing the doctor's face or hearing her voice, so the medical work would be done in the back of the car, by torch light, under the blankets.

Caplin's back was probably peppered with shrapnel, like Peters' had been in Peenemunde. He would have lost a lot of blood, but it would have clotted by now so, provided he didn't lose much more blood and didn't suffer from infection, he would survive.

***

Peter stopped at the doctor's house, she came out with all she needed in two bags and climbed in the back of the very small car, with Caplin. They drove to a street of bombed out houses and parked, while the doctor examined her patient. The thick overcoat and jacket had taken most of the shrapnel, consisting mainly of wood splinters from the lockup doors. Not all the blood soaking his coat was Caplin's, most of it came from his men who took the full blast.

The doctor only spoke to Peter outside the car, to advise him what was required of Caplin.

Although in a lot of pain, Caplin removed his upper clothing and let the doctor do what was necessary, plucking out the splinters, bits of clothing and cleaning the gashes. Most of the cuts could be dressed, a few needed stitches.

Dosed up on penicillin, John Caplin was pronounced out of danger, as far as an external examination would show. The doctor also said the agent was likely to have suffered a severe concussion and he should go to hospital for observation and treatment.

"How much do I owe you for his treatment?"

"Exactly £200 in genuine currency please."

"Can I pay you tomorrow?"

"It is not what we agreed, but if you ever need my services again, you will pay on time."

"It seems ironic that I should pay to save this man's life for a few hours, when it turns out that he would have lasted that long untreated."

"Ironic it might be, but you are both trying to do your jobs and the unnecessary suffering of a fellow human being is not your way, is it."

It was a fair point, Peter conceded, even though he loathed Caplin. The man had killed Andrzej, although that was accidental and the agent was prepared to shoot him if the van didn't stop. The doctor was right, everyone was just doing their best for their own side, but the same could be said for the bombers on either side as they dropped their deadly cargo. In that sense, Peter's mission to improve the V-1 accuracy could save countless innocent lives, as only strategic targets would be destroyed, compared to indiscriminate slaughter.

If this fool Caplin and his superiors could leave him to complete his mission, England would be spared a great deal of misery.

It was now 10 am, Peter dropped the doctor off near her home and drove to a nearby phone box, to call the MI5 headquarters.

"Good morning, can I help you?" announced the friendly but routine voice of the telephonist.

"Hello, I am calling on behalf of John Caplin, I want to speak to the person in charge in his absence. The matter is most urgent" There was a short delay and a man spoke.

"Hello, who is calling?"

"You know me as Karl Strom, I have John nearby, but you cannot speak to him. He was badly injured when his team opened up a booby trapped lockup. I have patched him up as best I can, but if you don't release my man Henryk Robak immediately from Camp 020, then John will surely die."

"But we don't have your man! He murdered the interrogator and escaped. We never caught him. John Caplin knows this, because he was here when your man escaped."

Peter was now flummoxed and he had no cards left to play, if they were telling the truth.

"What about the girl in my team, I want her released as well."

"Caplin knows we don't have any girl to hand back to you. I don't think you have Caplin at all, or he is dead and you have hidden the body. I think you are just bluffing, so bugger off, we are going to find you and when we do, there will be nothing left to hang." The phone went dead.

As he spoke, Peter had been watching the blanket covered heap in the back of the car, making sure Caplin did not make a run for it. There was just no way of bringing Caplin to the phone as proof he was being held captive. A blood soaked man with a bag over his head, being dragged into a phone box in broad daylight, was not going to be ignored.

Peter swore as rage and frustration engulfed him.

He dashed back to the car.

"I don't think you are liked by the people you work with John, your colleagues believe you are dead. Unless you have any good ideas on how to convince your people you are alive, I may as well kill you and your family now!"

That should produce some reaction, thought Peter, even if it prompted a flaming row. Even a row would give him some relief from the frustration he was suffering.

However, there was no reply from the man with a bag over his head, only silence.

##  MI5 in turmoil. Early morning. 23rd December 1943

Moments after Peter's 10 am call to MI5, all hell broke loose there. Staff were called into a meeting to discuss how to find John Caplin, alive or dead, and how they could trap the elusive spy, Karl Strom.

Sir Philip Stern chaired the meeting, and he was like a bear with its stuffing ripped out. He took the possibility of John's death very badly, with hardly the energy to be his usual overbearing and irascible self. Neither was he offering any constructive input, from the chair.

Tempers were running high because they had lost one of Strom's team twice, and 15 or possibly 16 agents had lost their lives to-boot! Henryk Robak was now long gone and the trail was stone cold. The spy had outrun the security men and their dogs, and vanished into the night. The dogs lost the scent when they reached the road, so he had probably been picked up by car, but how could anyone have known where he would be? Perhaps he waved someone down and stole their car, with them in it. He might also have jumped onto a passing lorry, a more likely possibility.

It was no real consolation to know that Andrzej Trocki the first man they had captured, was now dead. Police found his body on the road, when they pursued the black van believed to contain Strom and John Caplin. Trocki had been shot, that was certain, but by whom? Most likely it was by Caplin, the bullet they recovered from the corpse was of the right calibre.

Everyone argued and pontificated for a good hour and finally, the aggression subsided into acceptance that if John were still alive, Strom would phone again and let John speak to them.

Now everyone waited anxiously for further news.

##  The old couple. 23rd December 1943

Henryk had reached a road junction not far from Camp 020 and was winded from running. He stopped to catch his breath, close to panic as the clamour of baying dogs got ever closer. The sound of a car, as it slowed to a walking pace to take the turn in the pitch dark, gave him hope. The dim pools of light headed his way and he crouched low as the vehicle accelerated slowly past. The faint light from the dashboard dials through the car windows, showed the lone elderly male driver and gave the car form, as Henryk made a dash for the rear bumper. He leapt on as light as a cat and gripped the spare wheel cover to hang on. The car was going agonisingly slow and the dogs were nearly on him. Any moment now he expected their teeth to rip off his crouched backside.

The driver heard the baying dogs and accelerated slowly to avoid driving over any of them. Why they were there was not clear to him, but he was safe inside his car and that was all that mattered. He changed into third gear and his speed continued to increase, leaving the noisy animals behind.

Wherever the driver was going, thought Henryk, it was away from east London.

An hour later, the car pulled into the driveway of an isolated house and stopped. Henryk was numb to the bone, and could hardly walk as he stepped off the thin projecting bumper onto the concrete driveway, heading for cover outside the entrance.

The car door opened and the interior light came on. An elderly man eased himself out and locked the car door by the light of his torch. He headed to the house and entered by the front door, letting a brief glow of warm yellow light flood towards him. Henryk knew that inside there was the certainty of warmth and food. What should he do?

He ran silently across the front lawn and barged open the closing door. The old man was startled and opened his mouth to protest, but Henryk held his hand over it, reducing his words to an unintelligible mumble. The frail old man presented no physical threat, but was he alone?

"Is that you David? Are you all right, I heard the front door bang."

The old lady was as ancient and frail as David, judging by her thin reedy voice.

Henryk pointed upstairs and eased his hand off David's mouth.

"I am fine Alice, tripped over the mat and fell against the door. No harm done. Sorry to wake you. I will be down here for a while, go back to sleep."

David was very frightened. What was this rude and violent man going to do to him and his wife?

Henryk ushered David down the hall and into the kitchen. There was a light snack consisting of a strawberry jam sandwich, and a slice of homemade sponge cake, with the empty teapot waiting for David on the kitchen table.

"What do you want with us?" David asked in the firmest voice he could muster, as he squared up to Henryk.

"I need food and shelter for a day or so, then I will leave. It would be easier for me to break your scraggy necks, but if you give your word you will not attempt to attack me or escape, then you will not be harmed, I promise you."

"You will get no trouble from us, take what you need and go."

"All in good time. Do you have a telephone?"

"No, sorry! There is a phone box in the village though, a mile away, I can drive you there." David was being helpful and cooperative in the fervent hope the intruder would go to the village and leave them alone. He had missed the point of the question, Henryk did not need a phone he just didn't want David or Alice using it to inform on him.

"While I eat your delicious sandwich and cake, put the kettle on. We will sit down and have a cup of tea together. You can tell me all about yourself and where we are, a map would help, if you have one."

"I'll get the water on and bring you the map." David mumbled as he filled the kettle and lit the gas. Henryk did not really listen, he was busy devouring the food and considering his options.

It would have been easier to snap their necks than attempt to sleep with one eye open. He was so tired, it would be impossible to watch the two of them.

##  Devastated.

It was 10.05 am, just after Peter's call bargaining unsuccessfully with some idiot at MI5. Peter felt a wave of fury sweep over him at John Caplin's silence in the back of the Morris 8. At the very least the man should want to find a way to freedom.

Peter leaned back and smacked the man smartly on the side of his hooded face. There was no response. Peter felt Caplin's neck for a pulse.

John Caplin was dead!

Peter eased off the bag and turned the man's head, to see his face. It was contorted and bloated, with the look of asphyxiation, a slow and painful death. An allergic reaction to penicillin, brain haemorrhage or stroke, who knows?

Peter's anger turned to dread. His only bargaining piece had gone, now he would never get Henryk and Anna back safe with him. Having lost Andrzej as well, he was truly alone. With Germany depending on him and with so much to do, he was beaten. He might as well give up now and go back to Helga.

There was nothing left worth struggling for. He had failed the German Army and its people. In his mind these were not just empty words but living, breathing feeling and loving individuals, it was these individuals he had failed.

He thought about Helga again, he could imagine her face as he walked into her office. Her look of astonishment would change to joy as she leapt up and rushed into his open arms.

But no! Her expression turned to one of loathing. Loathing for the defeatist that he had become. How could she face being with a coward and deserter?

Peter took one last look at the corpse, shrugged and drove off to see if there were any messages for him in the newsagent's window. It was the place his team would use if they were split up. Sundown had specified this shop as their common link in an emergency and his team knew the shop.

##  Imposter? 23rd December 1943

It was now 10.20 am. Peter parked the Morris 8 at the kerb, near the shop.

His heart lurched, there was a new advert. The card bore the mark of a tea or coffee cup ring, as though it had been used as a coaster. The faint brown ring fitted exactly in the top right corner and not near the centre. Someone wanted to buy a set of encyclopaedia. It had today's date and a telephone number.

Peter made a call to the number, from a phone box a short distance away.

"Hello, Mr Marshal speaking, can I help you?" said the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Good morning Mr Marshal, I have just noticed your advertisement. I see you want to buy a set of encyclopaedia. What sort of price are you willing to pay?" Peter deliberately omitted mention of the brand.

"19 pounds 4 shillings and threepence is as high as I will go." The answer would always contain the current year if the person at the other end was genuine.

"My name is Glass. I have just the set you need, can I meet you straight away?"

"Yes please Mr Glass, I will meet you outside the newsagents at 11 o'clock precisely. It can only be then, I will be otherwise engaged until Sundown!"

Peter's blood ran cold; this was an imposter with the emergency code. MI5 had even penetrated this far, he thought, this imposter was as good as dead.

With 40 minutes to go, Peter decided to use his Jaguar and put the Morris 8 car in the garage. It was a certainty that the police had spotted the van on the forecourt, contacted the car sales owner and would now be looking for the stolen car.

The Jaguar purred into life at the second turn of the starter motor, the 4 cylinder engine was still new and tight, and ran with an oily smoothness, free from rattle or clatter. Just for a moment, Peter savoured the dark safe haven of the car, he breathed in slowly to enjoy the sumptuous aroma of the supple brown leather, thick carpet and an aromatic mixture of exhaust fumes and leaded petrol. As an engineer, he appreciated the elegant design and construction of this coach built supercar.

He expertly reversed the Jaguar into the street, drove the cramped and underpowered Morris into the garage, and closed the doors on the disaster within. Now he headed back to the newsagent's shop. Whilst driving, he rechecked the ammunition in the clip of his Luger, and wondered how he would be able to hide its bulk with the silencer attached. He decided to take them as two parts, the pistol tucked in the back of his waistband, covered by the hang of his jacket and the heavy silencer in his jacket pocket.

As he drove he also tried to predict the course of the meeting. The imposter would lure him to a place where other agents could grab him. He was known to be armed and dangerous, so a shootout in public would be avoided. This implied a short walk to a building where the others would lay hidden, ready to pounce. They would not drive him anywhere, because the slow traffic would allow him to shoot the imposter if he was exposed. Any resulting crash would be minor. He could escape on foot into the crowd before the other agents could arrest him. Again, the danger of a public shoot out ruled out that scenario.

Peter found a place to park, well away from the meeting place. He could come back to the car much later, when it was safe. A few minutes and he was in sight of the shop. He could see no one loitering; everyone was out shopping with their loved ones, children clutching their rag toys, made by a member of the family as a comforter. In a great many cases, it was probably the only toy. One little girl had an old wooden spoon with a face painted on it, and nothing would part her from this treasure.

***

He decide to bring on whatever was coming and force their hand. He was still depressed and, contrary to good sense, was taking a big chance. Win or die, he'd had enough of all this cat and mouse spy business!

Peter stood outside the shop entrance and scrutinised the people in the street for signs of a threat. Shop customers and an old woman pushed past him to go in. In an instant, the heavy scent of mothballs and lavender behind him accompanied the deft removal of the Luger from his waistband, as another pistol jabbed his spine.

"Shit!" exclaimed Peter.

"Possibly, but save it for later," sniggered the old woman, with a young man's voice. 'She' jabbed him persuasively and tugged him to the left as they walked up the street.

"Please allow me to introduce myself Mr Glass. I am the recently deceased Sundown and I can assure you, my death was long overdue.

"Whatever you do, do not attempt to turn round or look at me. Even though I am disguised, I have not survived this long by being careless, like you.

"I also have a knife, so you will feel a thing, if I have to kill you. The gun is for emergencies only. "

"What have you to tell me Sundown, it must be very important to risk being exposed?"

Sundown guided Peter down a gloomy alley to their left, stopping adjacent an open fire escape door, and placed the luger on the ground behind Peter.

"Please indulge me Mr Glass, pull out your shirt and expose the right side of your back."

Assisted by Sundown, Peter revealed the mass of vivid scars above his waist band. Sundown felt up his back for others.

"Tuck yourself in Mr Glass, or we will be arrested as poofs."

Peter hastily tidied himself up and Sundown spoke.

"Germany has told you I am dead and that is how it is to remain. From now on, you can call me Bill Marshal.

"I understand you are in a bit of a spot, old chap. All your communications are being read, by the person planted by MI5 to replace me. You are most likely seeing everything Germany is sending you, so you don't become suspicious; they are probably sending the original message to Germany for the same reason. You have no one to help you here, yet you still have a mission to complete.

"How many of your team do you still have available?"

Peter wondered what he should say. If this was an MI5 trap, they were taking their time. Of course, he would be smart enough to try and gain his confidence by pretending to be Sundown, working on his side. He would also know that one man, Andrzej, was dead, also that Henryk had escaped, but was unlikely to still be free, probably dead as well, and Anna was a big mystery. MI5 didn't seem to have her and she had failed to contact him.

"I don't have anyone working with me." If Sundown was genuine, he would know about his team, he arranged for them to get ashore, but then so would MI5.

"Well, you had three, how the hell could you lose three. You had a girl and two chaps, where are they now?

"Doctor Betty Marsh came to help the girl at my behest, I know from Betty she was not at death's door. She had a nasty case of thrush and nappy rash, if I recall."

Peter was now reasonably convinced this was the real Sundown. If he were MI5, he would not know Anna's medical condition or need to hide his identity, though that could be a confidence building trick. If Sundown was not genuine, he might let something slip if Peter appeared to trust him.

Peter told him all that had happened, including the saga surrounding Caplin's death.

"Jolly bad luck with Caplin. You lost a strong bargaining position when he died. I am not surprised they would not believe you had him, alive at any rate, if they could not speak to him.

"I know from my sources, the man was not up to the job, but he was a lucky son-of a-gun, supported by Sir Philip Stern. Without him, Caplin would have still been the office boy."

Peter stiffened at the name of Sir Philip Stern. Whoever this man was, behind him, he could be useful just by knowing the man.

"Have you met Stern?"

"If I have, that would narrow down your list of possibilities as to my identity. You're my kind of chap, but I am not happy telling you too much on our first date."

Smart bastard, thought Peter, he had not considered that as an answer. The man was highly intelligent and his spycraft was exemplary. Even his speech pattern showed he was playing down his social status. It would be unsurprising if the real Sundown was well connected and probably, like Peter's parents and many others, hedging their bets in case Germany won the war.

The bizarre idea of The Scarlet Pimpernel flashed through Peter's mind, though this man would never present himself as a fop or dandy, to throw off suspicion.

"Look here Mr Glass, we could mess about all day and in the end, you would be none the wiser. Let's move on to the more important issues, I am here to help if you want it. It is a simple yes or no. If you want me to help, I will do as much as I can, behind the scenes. I don't intend to be exposed at this late stage."

"Yes, I need your help!"

"OK, now we are getting somewhere."

Sundown thrust a piece of paper into Peter's hand and before he could comprehend, the fire escape door slammed shut. Sundown had vanished.

***

Peter looked at the paper. It listed the times and phone numbers where Sundown (or Bill Marshal as he suggested) could be called, and dead drops. The numbers would be phone boxes in isolated places, hard to sneak up on if MI5 got the list.

Peter picked up his Luger and trudged back to his car. He felt pretty stupid allowing Sundown to get the drop on him the way he did, but he was relieved to know he had the man's help.

The beacon test in three days' time was his next priority and with the aid of a city map, he visited various targets. The beacon had to be planted on a strategically sensitive target, one that would shatter public confidence, if indeed the beacon was still in working order.

##  The test beacon. Late afternoon 26th December 1943

In the winter gloom, at 5 o'clock that afternoon, Peter topped up the Morris 8 car with the remaining petrol in the garage. The Morris was essential to his plan. The number plate would be hard to read in the dark should the police still be looking for it, and running out of petrol would not be an option.

John Caplin was starting to smell a bit like a soiled nappy under the blanket. Still, it would not matter for much longer.

Peter's destination was Becton Gasworks. It supplied most of the gas for London and would present a crippling loss to the city if destroyed. It would also light the way for accompanying bombers to better target other strategic sites. As an engineer, he was familiar with the construction and workings of the gas holders, and knew that everything necessary to make the beacon work would be found at this target.

***

The Morris 8 was parked a short walk from the perimeter fence of the gasworks storage yard. Peter checked off the things he needed to take with him. A serviced and functioning beacon, a long coil of table lamp flex, hand tools for setting up and tuning, wire cutters for the fence, a torch, his Luger, silencer and four clips of ammunition. He also had a pepper pot topped up to the brim, taken from his hotel. This was all packed in a particular order in his kit bag.

From the shadows, Peter watched and listened for the patrolling guards and their dogs. Wearing his dark balaclava, black leather gloves and crepe soled shoes, he moved soundlessly towards the mesh perimeter fence, and snipped a small opening in the wire. After climbing through, he fixed the mesh together again with paperclips. If he had to run for it, he could easily barge through the weak fixings.

He shook a quantity of pepper around the opening and behind him as he walked towards an inner gas holder. He hoped that if this holder exploded, it would set off some of the others as well.

Stealthily he climbed the steel stairway around the holder, to the top.

He had to locate the electrical junction box that provided power to the service lighting inside the holder itself. Once he found the cable that sagged in a loop from the fixed support columns to the movable holder, he opened it up. In the feeble pinprick of light from the torch, he tied off the flex, connecting the free end to the mains supply. The other end of the flex had a plug to fit the beacon.

Pulling the cable behind him, he climbed onto the top of the holder treading only on welded seams, where supports ran underneath, so the metal did not bend and make a loud booming noise. He carefully placed the beacon a good way in from the edge of the roof, so he could work on it in more torch light without being seen.

He plugged in the beacon and watched the faint glow of the power neon bulb dim as the system warmed up. Having reached a stable temperature, he could make other critical adjustments. He fitted the stiff tubular transmitting aerial, which had been designed not to flex in a strong wind, because this would wobble the frequency of the signal.

Using a glass tool like a screwdriver, he turned it this way and that, until another neon tube turned a peculiar blue colour. The transmitter was now tuned and emitting the carrier wave. Hopefully, it was at the right frequency. Using the tool again in another hole, he rotated it anti-clockwise fully and clockwise three clicks, for the specific identification tone to be superimposed on the carrier wave.

It was now time to return to the relative safety of the Morris 8.

Way below him, Peter heard the dogs sneezing profusely and as they left the area, he slipped back through the wire fence, securing it again. After sliding behind the steering wheel, and making himself comfortable, he waited.

He had no idea of the actual time when the strike would be, just sometime between 18.00 and 02.00 hours. He checked his watch, 17.58 hours, so he wound down his window and listened in the bitter night air for the sound of an approaching V-1.

At midnight, his ears picked up the sound of a motorbike, but it was approaching from the east, high up in the night sky. Frozen stiff with the numbing cold, he struggled to sit upright, and checked again. Yes, the V-1 was very close. Now the sirens were sounding and London was in a state of panic as this new threat was being assessed.

Peter started the car, drove away and then turned onto the approach road to the gas works. It was a straight section and ahead of him was a set of heavy gates.

He tied the steering wheel in place with string, and a bag filled with damp earth held down the accelerator pedal; the car slowly gathered speed from 15 miles per hour. Peter jumped out and the Morris 8 smashed through the gates, careening on until it drove into the side of a building.

Guards rushed to the wrecked car as the first V-1 struck precisely on target right through the gas holder top, and exploded inside.

The detonation shattered the metal holder, allowing the massive ball of gas to escape and mix with the oxygen in the air. An immense fireball exploded and blew Peter to the ground. He was being scorched alive with the brilliant radiant heat and could only lay there covering his exposed skin till it eased. He got up and ran for his life.

Shrapnel and metal debris rained down causing the adjacent gas holders to leak and ignite. The layout of the site had been done in such a way that bomb damage to one holder should not set off all the others, and those fires would soon be extinguished. However, a wave of bombers was approaching and the fires provided good targets to aim for.

Above the noise of the fire alarms and bomb explosions, there followed another buzzing sound like a motorbike in the sky. The next V-1 was on the right heading, but without the beacon, it would fly until it ran out of fuel and drop from the sky, god knows where. The same would apply to any others, without guidance.

Peter knew this was the last place on earth to be at the moment, and made his way on foot, then by taxi back to his hotel. Peter could not face staying at the house, it would be horrible there on his own, without Andrzej.

##  London in shock. 27th December 1943

Sir Philip Stern was frantically fielding telephone calls from many levels and departments of government. They all wanted his head on a pike outside the Tower of London. He had failed to capture the German spies and now this new weapon had been used against England, with devastating effect. It was not lost on the Government that it had struck a strategic target on the first pass. MI5 had even known the date and time of the test, from an intercepted message.

Experts also realised other missiles had dropped along a dead straight line, confirming a targeting system of incredible accuracy. A trial with perfect results first time was a terrifying prospect, and it was all connected with the team of German agents roaming free in the city.

MI5 were reeling from the news themselves, and also the discovery of John Caplin's charred remains, in the stolen Morris 8. There were recriminations within the department about the phone call from Strom. If only they had believed he had John, the man might still be with them.

The section chief had the terrible job of informing Margaret Caplin of her loss, but made no mention of their refusal to negotiate with Strom. That and many other facts, would be buried in the records for eternity.

##  Anna reads the news. 27th December 1943

Anna picked up the Financial Times newspaper and glanced at the front page headlines. The blood froze in her veins and her hair stood up with the shock.

Becton Gasworks bombed!

Germany's new weapon failed to work, only one of ten missiles actually exploded damaging one gas holder, and causing a number of small fires that were quickly extinguished.

Little more was mentioned, but she knew that Peter had succeeded in planting at least one beacon and where better than the gas works supplying the city. She also knew it was not Germany's objective to draw attention to the accuracy of the missile's guidance system at this stage. Britain would know soon enough in the New Year.

She felt sick inside. Until she had seen the headlines, she had been the happiest woman alive, and now her future was in grave doubt. She didn't need to be a strategist to understand that Germany could fire as many missiles as they wished, from the safety of Calais, and hit every target with certainty. The war was as good as over and in a few months' time, when the English were on their knees and begging for surrender, she would be married to a prime target of Hitler's wrath. In due course, she would be exposed as a deserter and face the ultimate penalty.

Death!

Realising her death would not be quick or easy, Anna's bowels turned to water and she barely managed to reach the toilet. Her guts were in turmoil, she vomited until she was empty and her body ached. The loud buzzing in her spinning head caused her to stagger like a drunk. Her legs buckled under her and she fell to the floor where she clung to the sanitary ware, until the panic attack eased. When she focussed on cleaning herself and the bathroom, she felt better, but it was only temporary.

Her common sense kicked in. She had a month or two before her status as a deserter would become a matter of record. By that time, she would be married and free to roam as she pleased. She would contact the team, explaining what had happened, and reveal her new position. The secrets she could now uncover for Germany would make her invaluable. She would be safe and protected when the German invasion took place.

Anna felt confident and her life had turned around again.

##  Peter tidies up. 27th December 1943

Before he could complete his report to Germany, Peter had to find out what happened to all the missiles. He was certain the first one had struck the target, and he had the time of impact. The German scientists could work with that. For research purposes he also needed to pinpoint the other strikes on the map. The library had copies of all the newspapers and he could read bomb damage accounts from those. It was immediately apparent that the V-1s had remained on course, without the beacon, and that was great news for the engineers struggling with the gyroscopic control.

He coded his report and phoned Sundown, to get it transmitted directly to Germany. Time was of the essence, he could imagine the tension amongst the engineers, scientists, and high ranking officers, especially Hitler, not knowing whether or not the beacon worked.

Sundown had specified the dead drop where Peter could leave his message. Having collected it, Sundown drove to his favourite spot on the Dover cliffs to transmit.

With the crucial report was a letter from Peter to Sundown, asking for help in tracking down and killing the people who had betrayed him. First there was the man from Dorset who had taken the team to the safe house. Next on the list was the spy from MI5 who was planted to replace Sundown. Finally he needed any information that would expose Raven on Alderney.

Still concerned with the whereabouts of Henryk, who might still be on the run and Anna, Peter checked the newsagent's for messages, but there were none.

***

With the success of the test, he felt free to take on the most daring step so far, his own secret mission. Peter spent several hours shopping for presents, before he returned to his hotel and packed all his belongings. He paid his account and left for his parents' home in Chelsea, very early the following morning.

##  The homecoming. 28th December 1943

Peter skilfully weaved the powerful car through the London traffic. The early morning was dry, but bitterly cold, and the recirculating heater made no noticeable increase in temperature. However, the thick wool blanket over his aching legs was a blessing. He had walked for hours after leaving Becton Gasworks, before the first taxi came along.

He hadn't bothered to phone ahead. His parents, Lord and Lady Stone, seldom left the city which was the hub of high society, and they were part of the innermost circle.

Parking near his parents' prestigious terraced mansion, he locked the car and walked up the steps to the front door. It was a very strange and emotional feeling for him. He had not been in contact with his family for 18 months, ever since his sister Cathy became mentally unstable. He and Cathy were very close, even with her illness, or perhaps because of it. Their younger brother Ralph, was loved because he was family, but he was never loveable. He had the same attitude towards people as Cathy did, aloof and indifferent to everyone. Ralph made things worse by also being so very spoiled and arrogant.

Peter pulled the doorbell and the butler opened the door within a minute. Forbes had been in the employ of the family for 15 years and he struggled to mask his joy at seeing Peter standing there. Peter had always been his favourite; so sensible and normal.

"Good morning sir, it is indeed a pleasure to see you. Do come in. Lord and Lady Stone are still at breakfast, would you like me to set your place at the table, or would you prefer to wait in the drawing room?"

"If they don't mind, I would love to join them. I haven't eaten and I am rather famished."

"Of course sir, may I take your hat and coat?" He hung them on the nearby stand.

"This way, if you please sir, I will take you straight to the dining room."

There was the familiar echo of their footsteps, across the polished black and white draughts board tiled floor of the entrance hall. As they approached the closed dining room door of panelled hardwood, he breathed in the welcoming smell of delicious food, merging with the faint fragrance of polish in the warm air. The brief thought flashed through his mind, as to why on earth he had risked his life so many times, when he could have been safe and protected here.

Like many wealthy families, the war was a disruption to their way of life and things had to be done to ensure it would return to normal, whoever won. Peter was able to hedge their bets.

As the heavy double doors swung open, the family looked up and exclaimed their delight at the sight of their much loved Peter. Cathy was smiling and even Ralph had the look of interest on his solemn face.

Peter embraced his mother in a hug that brought tears of joy to her eyes. She was a warm and tactile person, but she seldom had the opportunity to express her emotions. This was a characteristic that Peter and no-one else, had inherited from his mother.

Lord Stone shook Peter's hand with all the warmth and sincerity he dare show, he used both hands and smiled momentarily.

Peter walked over to Cathy, shook her hand and affectionately kissed her forehead. He was quite shocked, she did not smell at all clean.

Ralph turned away and focussed on eating.

Forbes pulled out a chair at the table for Peter, and he sat at the place just laid for him.

Whilst waiting for the arrival of his favourite cooked breakfast, Peter explained that his visit would be short, a week at the most. Then he would be returning to Europe to complete an engineering project. That information was for everyone except Lord Stone, who knew that Peter was a spy for Germany.

***

After breakfast, the family retired to the drawing room and caught up with each other's news. Ralph never uttered a word and fiddled obsessively with the tassels on the arm of the chair. Cathy persisted in sitting very close to Peter, appearing to be entranced with him, though her eyes were glazed and looked past him.

Lord Stone sensed Peter's discomfort and, responding to eye movements from Lady Stone, he dismissed Ralph and Cathy, suggesting that they went to their rooms and got on with the day.

"Mother, how is Cathy, she appears to have let herself go."

"She is not making any progress Peter, in fact she is much worse in some respects. I saw your reaction to her personal hygiene, but we cannot get her to bathe. She has never allowed her maid or anyone to touch her, and I cannot bring myself to force her. The doctor warned that physical force would probably send her over the edge."

"Has she ever said more about what happened that night and who raped her?"

"No, she just briefly rubs her private place and shouts repeatedly 'Dirty! Dirty!' and it is difficult to get her to calm down."

"Is there any new evidence that supports our suspicions about the man who did it?"

"Only more hearsay. If he had been a commoner, we might have proceeded to a trial, even a conviction; but with his connections, the repercussions would be devastating.

"We have come to accept that even we are powerless against him and our real concern is for Cathy's welfare. There is no way she could cope with an investigation, let alone a trial if it came to that. It is a secret she will not share with us, so under the circumstances we cannot expect the police to expose the culprit."

"Perhaps if I had a word with her. She seems so pleased to see me, she might let something slip."

"If you could get her to take regular baths Peter, we would be so pleased. Friends do know she is strange and they make allowances, but they cannot cope with, well, you know. She is 35 years old, so they can think of no excuse for poor hygiene.

"I do caution you though, about broaching the subject of what happened that night. Once she starts the chanting, it is so hard to distract her and get her to stop. Everyone finds it so distressing when she flares up."

"I understand Mother, I will be very careful. Do you mind if I speak to her Father?"

"I think you should, you were always so close and that has not changed, during your absence. She did not want to leave you when I sent her to her room, you must have noticed how taken she was with you."

"Yes, it was just like old times. She might start talking when we are alone. I will ease the subject into her thoughts and see what happens. I certainly won't ask her directly or apply any pressure."

"Good boy, I knew you would understand. All we want is for her to be happy and enjoy her life. You know she was at her best when she was working, her insight was staggering; just give her a few bits of information and she would find more, and assemble a complete answer. She was never wrong. It is a great shame they won't have her back, but in the circumstances, you really cannot blame them. We all know that if she hadn't been working there, this ghastly thing would never have happened."

"Would you excuse us my dear, Peter and I need to talk about things you would not understand?"

"You mean war and politics, how could I possibly understand such things. I am only a woman.

"I beg you not to take up to much of Peter's time. I want to talk with him about mother and son things, and I can barely contain myself."

"Thank you mother, nor can I hardly wait to have you to myself." Peter stood as she got up from her armchair; he gave her a parting hug and kissed her cheek.

Lord Stone cleared his throat; the display of affection was too much for him.

As the door closed behind Lady Stone, Lord Stone came straight to the point.

"Am I to assume you are responsible for the Becton Gasworks attack?"

"Yes father, the beacon worked first time and I have already sent my detailed report to Germany. They probably paced the floor endlessly waiting for the news."

"Well, they must be ecstatic with your achievement. If they don't win this dreadful war now, I'm dashed if I know what more they need."

"Lots of money and a demoralised Britain, I shouldn't wonder. Germany is scraping the bottom of the coffers as we speak. If they do win, they will need the wealthy families and their businesses, like ours, to recover.

"The reduction in cost of munitions by better targeting will be felt immediately, and the saving of lives on both sides is of mutual benefit. Of course, now that Germany can select their targets, when the invasion follows, the useful infrastructure will still be intact. To obliterate London and other cities does Germany no good at all. They will have to pay dearly to rebuild again, with money they don't have."

"I just hope Hitler appreciates the brilliance of your invention."

"I doubt it, but I don't care as long as this family survives, probably the same words that are being spoken by the German population about themselves."

"What do you have planned next, Peter?"

"I thought I was entitled to a short break, life has been hanging by a thread for some time now. Fortunately not the hangman's thread, so to speak.

"There is some training of new agents to do, my three people have died or vanished, so I will probably go back to Alderney and complete my stint there. If the British are smart, and they are, they will concentrate more resources on detecting the trained German agents that are coming here. That way they can prevent the beacons being placed. From what I have seen of MI5, they are good, but not up to strength with good agents. They are at least 16 down, and a few hapless policemen, which is down to the work of my team.

"I have also found a young lady that I would like to spend my life with. At one time, I thought the only way I could do that was if she and I settled down in Brazil. Things will look different now, if Germany wins the war. I presume you have no issues with me marrying a German girl?"

"Actually, Peter I do! There is no foreign blood flowing in this family's veins. We are more pure than the Monarchy. We do not even have Scottish, Irish or Welsh blood. It would saddened me to see that record tarnished. You will just have to find a true English girl that you can get on with, you may not love her but tradition and this family will outlast any individual."

Peter had rather expected that sort of reply from his father, but he felt confident Helga would win him over. He said no more on the subject.

"With your permission father, I will go and talk to Cathy. I am anxious to help her sort herself out."

"That is a splendid idea. Lady Stone will be delighted if you can improve the girl's life and it would please me beyond measure."

"I will take my leave then Father."

***

Peter knocked on Cathy's door and she opened it immediately.

"I heard you coming up the stairs, I hear everything. I heard you smell me when you kissed my head. Mama has told you to get me clean."

"I actually came to see you and listen to everything you have to tell me." Peter spoke softly and calmly, knowing how acute her hearing was. All her senses were astonishingly sensitive. Her window was closed to keep out the sound of the gentle breeze through the distant trees, which irritated her.

"I have missed you Cathy, you must have a lot to tell me, I have been away for a long time."

"546 days, 9 hours and 34 minutes. That is the last time we spoke.

"You wanted to know who did that dirty thing to me. I must not tell anyone, I must not tell you or Mama or Father. He said he would take me away from you all if I did."

She was getting agitated. Peter felt she desperately wanted to tell, but feared losing her family if she did. She was not simple, but highly intelligent and perceptive. The threat was real, not just in her mind, and the family knew it as well. Everyone was so certain they knew the man who had raped her, but he wielded immense power and Cathy's mental condition would give her accusation no credibility.

"Father was told by Doctor West, our family physician that I had a condition called autism. He had been in communication with Doctor Leo Kanner from Johns Hopkins University, and he also believes Ralph has the same condition. They cannot change Ralph or me, there is no cure."

"Well, we all love you Cathy, just as you are, but we all wish you would wash yourself thoroughly every day, and put on fresh clothes. That is what your maid is employed for."

"I know that Peter, I am not stupid! The maid is rough and hurts me. Putting on clothes is like wearing sandpaper, it is so painful."

"Well, you can always wash yourself, can't you?"

"I suppose, but then I will be expected to join in with family friends. Their noise and pointless social chatter overwhelms me and if I stink, they avoid me. Ralph can sit in the room with them and he shuts down. They cannot get through to him and he can bear it that way.

"When I was at work, I plugged my ears and hid away in a quiet room, to concentrate."

"You used to like working for MI5 didn't you?"

"Yes, I could focus on the puzzles they gave me and no one would bother me. Except him!"

"Who do you mean when you say 'him'?"

"The man who did things to me, but you know that and I will not say anything more about it."

"Yes Cathy, I remember now, you did say at the time. You also said he attacked you in the street, the night you walked to get a taxi."

"Yes, I told you all that, he pulled me into his car and we drove to a small flat in the city."

Cathy was beginning to shake, she wanted to tell Peter everything, but with the terror of being taken from the family, it was just too much to risk.

"What about that nice warm bath? Plenty of soapy bubbles and if you like, I will wash your hair for you, just like old times."

She smiled and stopped shaking. Peter ran her bath and waited outside the bathroom until she called him in. She was decent, wrapped in a huge fluffy towel. She knelt down and leaned over the bath, allowing Peter to gently wash her hair.

They continued to talk about the things that had happened to her and the family since he went away. She was like a diary, everything carefully stored in her brain, dates, times, names and places. She never missed a thing. As she bathed, they carried on their conversation through the closed bathroom door. At last, she had a reason to look good, just for brother Peter, her only best friend.

Peter called the maid.

"Please lay out Lady Catherine's fresh clothes, and make certain you provide the softest undergarments you can find. She will also require some pretty jewellery, suitable for today. I am taking her out in the Jaguar to see the river, perhaps do a bit of walking.

"If you could provide some earplugs for her, so the outside world does not impact too strongly, it would be perfect." He knew Cathy would still be able to hear him talking, in spite of them.

"I know Lady Catherine will object, but please come back to help her dress and do her hair."

When Cathy was clothed, Peter returned to keep her talking. She was a different person now, talkative, albeit to the mirror, never at him directly.

"Would you like me to brush out your hair Cathy? I promise I will be very gentle."

"I would love that Peter, thank you." Just this once, she put up with the discomfort.

The maid was obviously irritated, she was quite capable of brushing hair, far better than Peter. She could never understand the silly girl, or the fuss everyone made of her and the rude man Ralph. They both deserved a jolly good spanking and that would sort them out, it never did her any harm.

Now it was the maid's turn to work on Cathy, while Peter kept her preoccupied. An hour later, the girl was the stunning beauty that Peter knew her to be, though he had never really thought of his sister in those terms.

It was approaching lunch time and with the fine drizzle in the air, the trip out was postponed until the afternoon.

***

Cathy decided the soft mink coat with its broad collar would be very comfortable, and warm. Forbes brought a tartan wool blanket to cover her legs and feet, he proceeded to settle her in the passenger seat and deferentially closed the door. Peter opened the boot of the Jaguar and Forbes took Peter's brown hide suitcase and the presents, back to the house.

The engine turned over slowly in the freezing air, the thick oil was cold already. On full choke and retarded ignition, it started with a refined roar, and Peter held the engine speed for a minute at 1500rpm to warm it up quickly.

The trip to the Thames had begun and Cathy was alive with curiosity. She asked if they could walk over Tower Bridge, when they reached it. Bridges had always fascinated her.

They walked a long way, in spite of the cold. The earlier drizzle had stopped and the weak winter sun shone through. Cathy clung to Peter's arm like they were lovers. She was proud to be with him and, although she was incapable of responding in a flirtatious way to the young men who smiled at her, she knew she looked very attractive and that they all envied Peter.

"Now we are alone Cathy, no one can hear what you say to me, can't you tell me who it was that raped you. I can keep your secret, no one will ever know, just you and me, no one else. You will feel much better sharing with me, just try it and see."

Peter had chosen his moment well. Cathy was bursting with joy at being out in the open on Tower Bridge, with her brother and best friend. He had never lied to her or hurt her in any way. Even as young children, he would always give in to her demands rather than squabble. Many times she tested him, wanting his toy or comforter and he let her have it, even though she knew he was upset.

He was right, if she told him here no one would know, and she desperately needed to tell him. She whispered in his ear and the truth of the sordid affair was known, for certain. Peter knew it was the truth, she was incapable of lying. A lie was not a concept that she knew. She could say as easily as anyone that black was white, but it made no sense to do so. It was the same when it came to sparing someone's feelings by telling a white lie, it would never occur to her to lie, or even to say nothing. It had to be said, because that is the way it was.

Cathy did feel better now, a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders and passed on to Peter. It was now his secret and he would never tell, ever.

***

It was approaching dinner time and they returned to change for the occasion. Lord and Lady Stone could see Cathy had been transformed, back to the vibrant and still sometimes inappropriate young lady they remembered her to be, until 18 months ago. If only Peter could transform Ralph as well, that would be a wonderful end to a terrible year.

They wondered how she would cope with life again when Peter left in a week or so. She clung to him and even stared fixedly into his eyes, making him quite uncomfortable, but he did not let her see it.

Lady Stone saw the prospect of her complete family socialising again and seized the opportunity to broach the subject.

"Peter, we have just received a wedding invitation from Sir Matthew Barker. It will be held at his local church on the 3rd of January and we wondered whether you would come with us, and accompany Cathy.

"The poor man recently lost his wife, and now suddenly he has found a new one. I am not surprised though, he is frightfully handsome and equally wealthy."

Peter was busy churning over ideas in his head and was not listening attentively to what his mother had asked. The name Sir Matthew Barker was clear enough, his team had mentioned him as the man heading security at Gant's Hill, where they had worked. In any case, high society was alive with this type of social event, it was of no importance to him.

"Yes of course Mama, I would be proud to accompany you and Father and my sister. Perhaps we can decide on suitable presents and Cathy and I can get them from Harrods tomorrow."

"Splendid Peter, now what should we get..."

***

In bed that night, Peter tossed and turned trying to solve the problem that was eating away at him. For the last 18 months he had prayed for this opportunity and now he had to commit the perfect crime. It would have to be better than perfect, because suspicion would immediately fall on him and the family, of that he had no doubt.

Finally, at dawn the answer came to him. It was so simple, so perfect that even if he stood up and proclaimed he had done it, he would not be believed.

##  Peter has a shock. 28th December 1943

Feeling somewhat sleepy following his restless night, Peter struggled to be involved in his mother's chatter about the wedding. Society weddings were just for the women and the bride. He thought the men were just necessary props to complete the occasion. Lady Stone passed the invitation to Cathy who saw no need to touch it, though she did read it.

"Perhaps you would like to read the invitation Peter." His mother handed it to him with a broad smile, hinting that he should be planning his own marriage.

Apparently Lord Stone had mentioned Peter's desire to take up with this German girl, Helga. Lady Stone had no reservations about the girl's race, as long as she came from a top drawer family which was what mattered. She knew Peter had dabbled where it was available, but he would never bring home someone unsuitable.

"Thank you mother. Have you decided what presents we should get?"

"I have done the rounds on the telephone with my friends this morning, and I have a list. Here you are."

Lady Stone passed it to Peter for his approval.

"I think we can find this in Harrods, but I have no coupons to spare."

"Don't worry about that darling, I have had a word with them and they are expecting you this morning. Cathy knows the man to speak to and he will work his magic. Gosh, where would we all be if we had to worry about coupons? Dreadful things."

"I don't believe it! That just cannot be right." Peter had spotted Anna Gohl's name on the wedding invitation.

"Come, come Peter, you know how things work, we have commitments and obligations that the ordinary man doesn't. We just couldn't function if we needed coupons and the like."

"What! No, of course mother, how silly of me. Please forgive my outburst. Things are different in Europe where I have been working."

She gave a satisfied smile at his apology.

What the hell was Anna playing at? She must have known she would be exposed by this utter madness. To top it all, she had chosen the very man who had frustrated other German agents' attempts to sabotage the aircraft factory. She must know this would get back to Germany and they would be forced to kill her. Damn it, they might order him or one of Sundown's people to end her life.

Peter had a soft spot for the girl, one of his team after all. She must have been forced into the situation or had seen an advantage for Germany. He would get her version of events before allowing any harm to come to her. Though, if she had defected she could expect no mercy from him. It was just as well that Andrzej had cleared the beacons from her lockup.

***

The shopping trip to Harrods was another thrilling outing for Cathy, they went by taxi this time as parking was always a nightmare there. The presents were bulky, large gift wrapped boxes for effect, but no real weight. Harrods would have delivered of course, but Cathy felt the need to have them with her. As she saw it, why bother with presents if you were just giving them away. Like this, she could savour the pleasure of having contact with them.

##  The wedding. 3rd January 1944

The pale wintery beams of sun shone through the gently swaying branches of the churchyard trees, as the Stone family crunched their way along the gravel path leading to the small country church. It was 10.00 o'clock, the ceremony would start very soon and they joined the last few guests to be seated.

Peter chose to sit on the aisle end of the pew so that Anna would see him and have time to compose herself, before he eventually approached to speak with her. He reasoned, if she were startled she might exclaim in German, or run, or some other giveaway affecting her as well as Peter. Of course it could also give her the opportunity to come up with a lie, but he was certain he would see through that.

The groom and best man were in place at the altar. Anna promptly walked down the aisle escorted by a family friend of Sir Matthew, to give her away.

As she passed, Peter looked up giving a friendly smile. She faltered momentarily, as she went rigid with surprise and fear. What was he doing here? This ordinary man of the shadows was dressed like a toff at her wedding. She had not associated his name on the wedding list with the Peter she knew. She always thought of him as Pieter Klein, the name he used on Alderney, otherwise he was just 'Peter' the spy.

Perhaps he had been sent to murder her. He made it plain enough that if he could not get a member of the team back safely, they could not be allowed to talk to the enemy. He would not kill her here, and risk capture, it would be when she was alone. Fortunately she would not be alone at her own wedding.

It was strange though, the man was super smart and yet he had chosen to sit where she would see him as she entered. He even smiled, not the sort of 'got you' smile from an assassin. He wanted to talk and he wanted her to see him, so she would not give either of them away.

"Oh thank god!" she murmured.

"I beg your pardon Anna! I thought that was my line," joked Sir Matthew. "The risk for the groom is that the bride might not turn up."

She realised she had walked halfway through the church thinking about Peter, and was standing right next to her future husband when she spoke.

"I am just so happy to be your wife Sir Matthew that is all. Please forgive me." He laughed lightly and put it down to her nervousness. Anna's elocution lessons were taking effect. She had put every effort into learning and he was abundantly proud of her.

***

The reception was held at Sir Matthews's house and each guest was formally presented to their hosts. Their presents were brought in and placed on view, by the staff hired for the occasion.

The large dining hall was packed with people circulating and chatting, while sipping Champagne. There were other dining tables in adjacent rooms for guests lower down the pecking order, and they would sit there when the formal luncheon was served. The Stone family would be seated at the head table.

A man in his late 30s was looking at Peter and Cathy. Peter remembered him being announced as Mr Stanley Carter, when he arrived. As he had been noticed, the man drifted past other guests briefly swapping pleasantries, on his way to speak with Peter.

"What a simply fabulous day for Sir Matthew and Lady Anna. Don't they make a simply delightful couple?

"Please allow me to introduce myself, Stan Carter at your service. In my small way, I hope I provide the country with endless hours of entertainment to ease the agony of this war."

"We are delighted to make your acquaintance sir. Allow me to present my sister Lady Catherine Stone, and my humble self, Peter Stone.

"Are you an entertainer Stan, a singer or a musician perhaps?"

"Nothing as worthwhile as that. I only sing in my bath and couldn't hold a note in a bucket. I can play a comb and tissue paper though."

Cathy giggled, as she imagined large black, musical notes floating through the air and Stan chasing them with a large bucket. Everything in her world was so literal, which is why so little human activity made any sense to her.

"You laugh my Lady, but you have not heard my singing." The man was obviously full of himself, and Champagne, and was trying to impress Cathy. An inexplicable and absurd thought crossed Peter's mind, The Scarlet Pimpernel. Although Stan wore cologne, there was still the odd undertone of camphor and lavender. The voice rang a bell in Peter's head, but in this context, he just couldn't place it. Carter was just a typical wealthy member of high society.

"Is there a Mrs Carter with you?" Peter wondered how he had been invited on his own. Carter hadn't introduced a lady companion.

"I am pleased to say that I am presently unencumbered. I take a keen interest in business and I have to say it makes me like Jack, a very dull boy."

Peter decided he was uneasy with the man. The last thing he needed was to have him sniffing around Cathy. He could quite easily understand any man wanting to be in her company. She was so stunningly beautiful, they would put up with her odd behaviour. However, it would not be what she wanted and she would always get hurt.

Peter had wondered if she was capable of love and sexual desire. Would it change her if she found someone who sparked those emotions in her?

Now he had discovered love with Helga, after all the other women in his life, perhaps it was also a possibility for Cathy. How would he handle that? Would he be able to help her maintain a relationship, or would he be jealous and try to quash it? He concluded that he would be jealous and would hate to receive less than her full devotion.

"Please forgive me Mr Carter, but we see someone that wants to speak to us rather urgently. Perhaps we will meet again."

"It is possible sir, quite possible. Please excuse me Lady Catherine, you are quite enchanting."

They all moved on to talk with other guests.

Peter was making light conversation with some guests, Cathy clutching his arm and watching him intently, when suddenly she stiffened and started trembling. Sir Philip Stern and his wife had just been announced. Presumably he had been detained at work during the marriage ceremony, but was not too busy to pass up a fabulous lunch.

"What is the matter Cathy?" but Peter knew at once this was the man who had raped her.

"Please excuse me, Cathy has spilt Champagne on her dress and is quite upset. I need to deal with it." The guests knew she was very odd, probably a bit simple, they thought. Frightful shame, she is such a beautiful girl.

Peter grabbed Cathy's wrists to stop her rubbing her private place and chanting 'Dirty! Dirty!' He pulled her to face him, so she could not see Sir Philip.

"Calm down Cathy. In a few days, you will never ever see him again. That is a solemn promise and you know I always keep my promises to you, don't you."

She did not reply, but she was stable again now.

Peter felt a tap on his shoulder. He knew from the exquisite fragrance as she passed his pew, it was Anna. He turned to face her.

"Congratulations Lady Barker on your marriage it is an honour to meet you. Please may I introduce you to my sister, Lady Catherine Stone?"

Peter sensed a look of relief, and the tinge of jealousy vanished from her radiant face, as Anna realised she was under no threat from him or the stunning girl with him. Her memory of the passionate moment on the cliff in Alderney was still a good one. Although the love making was not as great or protracted as with Andrzej, it was the first in a long time and all the better for that.

"We need to talk Lady Barker, my sister will not give us away. Lady Catherine can keep a secret like the dead. What happened to you, you broke contact?"

"I was arrested by police and questioned by MI5. They were about to take me to the hangman when Matthew turned up. He told me some lie about staying under his protection. He then claimed he loved me and offered to marry me. I realised I can do more for our cause now than before."

"Why couldn't you let me know?"

"I was in his company night and day, he forbade me to use the telephone, I had no choice."

"What do I tell our employer, you are marked as dead or a traitor, which amounts to the same thing?"

"I hear all kinds of high level conversations, I have eavesdropped on the telephone when he has been speaking from here."

Peter sensed a lie. She would not risk the click on the line from an internal phone, when a security expert was talking secrets. Nonetheless, he had no wish to harm her, he was confident she would be useful soon enough.

"I will report the situation as it is and confirm you are still active for us. I am sure that will be acceptable, so don't spoil your day with worries."

"Thank you Peter, it has been reassuring speaking to you. Thank you too Lady Catherine, it has been a great pleasure meeting you."

Anna glided gracefully away to acquaint herself with her next guest.

"How do you know this lady, Peter? She is a spy, isn't she?"

"I happened to meet her while I was working abroad. She is Swiss and her husband died. It looks like things are going well for her at last.

"I also think she has been learning the correct behaviour in select society and has taken elocution lessons. She can speak with more flow now."

"There are things you are not telling me Peter. Why is that?"

"The less you know, the less you need to keep secret. You must never say someone is a spy unless you have proof."

"I do have proof."

"What do you mean, you have proof?"

"You were surprised when you saw her name on the wedding invitation. You deliberately sat at the end of the church pew so she would see you. You smiled at her, though you appeared not to know her. She looked frightened under her veil when she saw you. She said 'Oh thank god!' after she thought about the situation, and then looked relieved. You still pretended you did not know her, but your conversation just now did not support that. You said I can keep secrets, and I can, so there was a secret to keep, about..."

"Stop! Stop! Cathy. Please, I beg of you, don't say any more about it, you will get us all killed."

"I won't mention it to anyone. But Mr Carter is a spy, isn't he?"

"What on earth makes you think that?"

"You are a spy. You are suspicious of him. You think you have met him before, I could see it in your manner. Lady Anna is a spy, you mix with spies and you believe you have mixed with him in that context. He is a spy, I know it.

"I won't tell anyone. I miss working for MI5, they gave me lots of puzzles like that to solve. I could see the people as they were being interviewed, and I saw the lies and truth on their faces and in things they said. Now I am better, can I go back and work there again?"

Peter's brain was reeling. This was the first insight he'd ever had of how her mind worked in the context of her time with MI5. She had never spoken of it with anyone, not even him. Perhaps she felt she could share her secrets with him, now he had opened up this Pandora's Box of secrets.

"I think the war will be over very soon, they will have no need for your special skills. Can we change the subject and never speak of anything like this again?"

"Of course Peter, I would only tell you, no one else will ever know. I know what happens to such people, I am not stupid."

Peter gave her a relieved smile.

##  Henryk calls. 5th January 1944

"Good morning Henryk, did you sleep well?" Alice had just brought him a fried breakfast to eat in bed.

"Yes thank you Alice. Getting your garden and house in order has taken all my energy. I wish I could do more to repay you for your kindness."

"You know we have enjoyed your company, but you will have to leave soon, or people will start asking questions. I told the postman you were a relative who could spare a few days to help us sort out the house. As long as you vanish and don't bring your troubles here, no one will ever know. I am sure your parents would do the same in similar circumstances. If our child had lived, perhaps someone would have taken him in."

"He died of whooping cough didn't he?"

"Yes, he was only five. So many years ago, but it feels like yesterday." Alice's mood had saddened and she absentmindedly offered him the newspaper. Then she shuffled away.

He ate the food and flicked through the paper while drinking the tea. The write-up in the social column caught his eye. That could have been him and Jane he thought, and enviously he read the column.

He choked when he saw the name, Anna Gohl. No, it was not possible, but what were the chances of someone with the same name marrying their boss, Sir Matthew Barker.

An idea formed in his mind, he had to see her and find out if she was in contact with Peter. He had ruled out going back to London and placing an advert in the newsagent's shop, their emergency contact point, because his face would be uppermost in every policeman's mind. He had been routinely photographed and fingerprinted at Camp 020, when they caught him.

Alice had cleaned up the smart clothes he wore when he met Jane at her flat. She had also acquired work clothes for him from someone in the village, so he was fitted out better than he had ever been. If David or Alice would shave his head, it would change his appearance substantially. Perhaps a spare pair of David's horn rimmed spectacles would fit him. The old man had a broad face, so it was possible.

He quickly dressed and went down to speak with them in the kitchen. Alice was mixing the few meagre ingredients she could get hold of, for another cake. He would miss them as much as they would miss him, and it saddened him. Only his late parents had shown so much affection.

"David, Alice, I have just read something in the newspaper that forces me to go into London. Could one of you shave my head, and do you have a spare pair of spectacles David?

"A cunning disguise I suppose," David responded, concern showing in his voice.

"Yes it is actually. If you could run me into the City, I could then make my way to the address I need to visit. That will be the last you will see of me and your lives can return to normal."

Alice turned away and sobbed into her apron, and David pulled her close to comfort her.

Henryk was quite shocked! He thought they would be relieved and glad to see him move on.

"Will your visit take long?" asked David.

"An hour or so, if I don't encounter any trouble. Why do you ask?"

"I would rather wait, and then bring you home. Sorry, I mean bring you back here."

"Oh! Please let him wait for you, the cake will be ready for tea tonight," Alice begged, as though the cake would be enough to change the course of the war.

"I would like that, being brought back, and your wonderful cake, of course." Henryk gave her an appreciative hug.

"Can we go today so we get there at 2.00 pm, David?"

"Of course, and I will sort out your shave. There is an old pair of specs up in the loft, so if you can find them, you can have them."

***

To avoid a wasted journey, Henryk found the phone number and address of Sir Matthew Barker, and made the call from the village. The butler answered. "Good morning, I was hoping to make an appointment for one of our reporters to interview Lady Barker. May I speak with her?"

"I will ask her ladyship, please hold the line."

A moment later, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, Lady Barker here, who are you?"

It was Anna, her voice had become more cultured, but the clipped sentences were still obvious.

"Good day my lady, my name is Henryk Robak. I would like to write an article about you, if you could grant me an interview."

Anna was dumfounded, she had not given a thought about Henryk since the last time they saw each other at Gant's Hill, at the pub. Henryk was not her favourite person, but perhaps sex does help form bonds. She had only sexually used the boy Andrzej in Alderney, to get at him. Still, this was fortuitous, she had her own plans and he could be the perfect answer.

"Mr Henry Roberts you say? I would be delighted to meet you and discuss the content of the interview. Unfortunately Sir Matthew will not be here this afternoon, but I am free. What time have you in mind?"

"Would 2 o'clock suit your ladyship?"

"That will be splendid; I will inform the butler to expect you. Good day."

She told the butler that a reporter by the name of Henry Roberts was coming at 2.00 pm and she wished to speak to him in private as soon as he arrived.

***

David stopped his car at the corner adjacent to the Barkers' massive house and agreed to return in an hour, and quarter hour intervals after that for the following hour, unless he saw signs of trouble. He would not be back after that.

"Thank you for all your help David, and if I don't see you again, have a good long life. Give Alice a hug from me." His eyes watered as he shook the old man's bony hand, possibly for the last time. Then he strode purposefully away to see Anna.

The butler showed Henryk to the drawing room and saw him seated, then went to fetch Anna.

"I beg your pardon my lady, but Mr Henry Roberts the reporter has arrived, and he is in the drawing room."

"Thank you Drake, I will see him now." Anna followed the butler and he made the introductions then left, silently closing the double hardwood doors.

"Did Peter send you?" asked Anna without delay.

"No, I have lost contact with everyone since the party at the pub. I came to you to re-establish contact. I was arrested by MI5 and taken for interrogation, but I escaped and have been in hiding until I saw the news of your wedding in the paper.

"How did you end up here Anna? Don't tell me you have switched sides?"

She told him everything as it happened, pausing only when Drake brought in English tea and cakes.

Henryk was amazed at her stroke of luck, and told her about David and Alice. In a way, she was slightly jealous of him, he had found someone who genuinely cared for him.

He did not mention the sad events that led to his capture, how he murdered the girl he loved. He was deeply ashamed and knew he had lost more than just his freedom.

"So Henryk, what do you want of me?"

"I need to let Peter know I am still available for the mission, though my cover has been lost. What are his orders?"

"That is strange, Henryk, because it has become necessary to murder my husband."

"What! Why would you want that?"

"We have no choice, the man is British through and through, and we need to disrupt the aircraft assembly at Gant's Hill. With him gone, the place will be in turmoil, and then our agents can sabotage the place. Also, according to Peter when I spoke to him at the wedding reception, Germany believes I have turned and if he cannot convince them I am still active, they will want me killed."

"You make the bold assumption Germany will win this war, I don't see much chance of that. The British are smart and resolute, they will not be easily crushed."

"You do know that Peter successfully tested a beacon, don't you?"

"No, when did that happen?"

"On the 26th, he set one up on the Becton Gasworks and the first V-1 made a direct hit, nine others continued on in a straight line. It was a perfect result. With that accuracy, Germany can hit every target without great cost or losing a single man. What can the British do to them in return? Absolutely nothing."

"Yes, I see what you mean. Our role has just become more important. We will need to plant more beacons and to do that, we need to train more agents. I must get back in contact with Peter straight away."

"That will be far too dangerous at the moment. A lot of things have changed. Peter has a different role now, Andrzej is dead and so there is only you and me in the game. We cannot afford to lose you as well, so you must stay safe in the shadows." Henryk could see no problem with staying safe.

"The most important task is to disrupt the aircraft production line and that is where you come in. I can help you by providing times and places where you can get Sir Matthew alone, whilst I have the perfect alibi of lots of influential people around me.

"With him out of the way, I will need someone to help me manage the estate. I can offer you comfort and security here in this house, no questions asked. After a respectable period, who knows, you might want to take his place.

"I admit I had deep feelings for you" she lied "but I knew you were too good for me and I hated you for that. That night with Andrzej in Alderney was cruel, but I wanted you to be jealous. I am deeply sorry and I have always regretted it. Perhaps fate has given us the chance to rebuild things if that is what you want."

This all came as a shock to him. He had always wanted Anna, but had played hard to get in the mistaken belief it would drive her to him. Women were hard to fathom that was true, and now the episode with Andrzej made sense, sort of. Perhaps he should have played his cards better with Anna, she was more trustworthy than Jane. How could he have fallen for the story she told him, they had only just met, she was employed to lure him into bed. Saying she loved him without meaning a word of it would have been easy for her. The interrogator had told him that she smiled, because she had trapped him. It was not forgiveness, why should she forgive her murderer?

Anna had no reason to trick him. This was an unexpected revelation, but life seemed to be like that.

"OK Anna, I can dispose of Sir Matthew for you and Peter. I will need places and timings of course. Can I rely on you to communicate with Peter and Germany?

"I have been through too much to stop now, just as Germany is on the path to victory. I need to make my place at the forefront of the new power and you can help me achieve that."

"Of course Henryk, that is what we are striving for, we can do that together.

"Do you have access to weapons?" she questioned.

"No, Peter would have cleared out the beacons the moment we disappeared, and he would have set up booby traps at our lockups."

"He did, your lockup was raided and all eight MI5 agents were blown to bits. Sir Matthew told me.

"I expect my gun, silencer and some spare ammunition, are still hidden. I will give you the address and you can use it." Anna wrote down the address of the flat where she used to live.

"Look for the thread dangling in the wall cavity, behind the wall ventilator. You will have to break in of course, but with the thieving that goes on in the area it should not raise any concerns.

"My husband will be here at 6.00pm for dinner, I suggest you waylay him on the road here, under cover of the blackout. Watch out for the chauffeur, he is a trained bodyguard and damned good.

"This is the registration of the Bentley, they are quite common in this road. Make sure you have the correct car." She added it to the note with the address of the flat.

"Do you think you can get him tonight?"

Henryk looked at the mantelpiece clock, and did a mental calculation. "I think I can just about do it, though I still have to come up with a plan."

To seal the deal, Anna stood up and looked around carefully to make sure no one was watching, put her arms around Henryk's neck and kissed him with a passion he'd never expected. She pushed herself hard into him and sensually worked her hips to arouse him. He responded and push back. The signals were unmistakeable this time, he would not let her down.

***

Away in the distance, Henryk could see David's car parked discretely and he walked briskly towards it. When David was certain it was Henryk and that there was no risk to him, he started the car and drove to meet him.

"David, could I trouble you to drive me into the city, here is the address. I need to collect some things and then we can head for home."

David followed Henryk's direction as he consulted the map. They eventually reached Anna's flat.

"Could you drive to the end of the street and wait for me there, I will be no more than a few minutes."

David showed fatherly concern. "This is a red light area Henryk, I hope you are not up to mischief."

"No time for that, I can assure you. This is a matter of life and death."

Henryk checked the address Anna had given him, looked around and barged open the entrance door. It was far too early for the ladies of the night and no one else noticed him, they were too focussed on their own lives.

He paused at the top of the stairs, outside her old flat and could hear the sounds of frantic lovemaking within. Both the man and woman were hard at it, their animal cries rising to a mutual peak. Henryk's full on shoulder charge ripped away the lock and dead bolts and he was on the naked couple before their brains came out of their trance.

The hag faced woman in her early forties was riding the older fat man as if he were a bucking horse. A rabbit punch to her neck and she flopped her navel length breasts over his petrified face, to form a near perfect airtight seal. When Henryk sat on her back, the man lost consciousness and stopped thrashing as he almost suffocated.

Henryk ripped off the loose wall ventilator. The heavy thread was hard to find amongst the thick black cobwebs, but he carefully pulled up the bag containing the gun and other bits.

He ransacked the filthy room to make it look like a robbery and searched both sets of clothes, keeping cash and coupons, closing the door as he left.

Between them, the man and woman netted Henryk nearly twenty pounds plus a good haul of coupons, David and Alice would be pleased with all that.

David watched Henryk approach in his mirrors and started the car as he climbed in.

"Where to now?" asked David.

"I suggest you use these to get petrol and groceries." He handed the haul to a surprised David, who looked at Henryk and decided not to ask where they came from.

"Is your dashboard clock accurate?" enquired Henryk.

"It runs a couple of minutes slow during winter, probably the lower voltage in the battery."

Henryk factored this into his mental calculations.

"Please go back the exact route that we came on, I have something urgent left to do before we eat Alice's fresh cake."

David felt reassured at the change in tone, perhaps the afternoon would turn out well, after all.

The roadworks Henryk had seen on the way into the city were still underway. The long, deep trench was being filled with crushed stone and the tipper bed on the truck was slowly returning to horizontal.

"Drive past about half a mile, drop me off and then go on to the place I had my meeting. I will catch up with you there. If I am not there by 6.30 pm, go home without me."

"Do take care Henryk and don't forget Alice's cake." Henryk smiled broadly, the old man was a decent person. If everyone was like him, there would be no war.

##  Ambush. 5 o'clock that afternoon.

The branches either side of the road formed a natural arch and the tall, steep earth banks added to the evening gloom on this long stretch.

A man staggered into the road ahead of the road works truck, and collapsed. He appeared to be smartly dressed, and was trying to get up out of the path of the vehicle. With no way around the body the driver was forced to stop. He climbed down and cautiously approached the distressed man.

The man in the road quickly rolled over and faced the driver, clutching a fabric bag over the lower part of his face.

He pointed a gun at the shocked driver. "Go back to your lorry, get in the passenger side and lay face down on the floor, head under the dashboard." Henryk gestured with his gun and the man obeyed.

"Don't attempt to look at me or I will have to kill you. Put this bag over your head and stay still." Henryk pulled the lapel of his jacket across his face until the bag was firmly over the driver's head.

The poor man tried to protest. "Why are you doing this? What are you going to do to me?"

"I told you to be quiet. I can do what I want without you being alive, so do as I ask and you will live." The driver said no more.

***

Several cars squeezed past the parked lorry and went on their way as night closed in. The smell of the exhaust fumes from the idling engine of the truck was overpowering in the cab, even with both windows open. There was not a breath of wind in the freezing air, the prelude to a heavy frost tonight. Henryk was quite drowsy from the carbon monoxide fumes, and had almost drifted off to sleep when a horn sounded loudly alongside. The arrival of the Bentley from behind had been silent and it was about to squeeze past the lorry. The reflected light from the road showed this was the number plate he had been waiting for.

Henryk whacked the crouched driver unconscious with the silencer of his Luger, slammed the lorry into gear and revved hard, as he turned into the car forcing it up the steep bank. This was one scenario for which the driver had never been trained, but he responded by trying to reverse, because moving forward was making things much worse.

The bodywork had become locked into the lorry and the spinning rear wheels had no effect in pulling the Bentley free, so the driver urged Barker to leave the car and escape the attack on foot, in the dark. He would deal with the truck driver.

Henryk had intended to run the car off the road at speed so it looked like some sort of accident, but the plan had stalled. Now he had to come up with an alternative.

He yanked the handbrake on hard, and leapt over the crouched driver onto the ground.

Barker slipped down the muddy bank from the rear car door and fell at Henryk's feet. The Luger smashed into Barker's skull and he fell dead. To prevent the occupants of the car being illuminated and therefore becoming a target, the chauffeur had already switched off the interior light. Now the bullet proof partition between driver and rear passenger area hummed as it descended.

The chauffeur intends to shoot me, thought Henryk.

Using the rear of the car as cover, Henryk pulled Barker to him. Scrabbling up the slippery bank, holding the dead body upright as a shield, he heaved the limp body into the car. Shots thumped into Barker as the driver saw the dark shape lunge at him.

The muzzle flashes of the gun had lit up his position. With a superhuman heave of desperation from Henryk, Barker fell over the open partition onto the chauffeur, who suddenly realised it was Barker. He hesitated, who had he been shooting at in the darkness?

Backlit by the instrument panel, Henryk grabbed the chauffeur's hand and banged it hard against the steering wheel to release the weapon from his grasp. Several pile driver punches stunned the man long enough for Henryk to use the bodyguard's own pistol to end him.

The only bullets fired had come from the chauffeur, so the mystery of this ambush would run and run.

Henryk opened the massive boot and found a can of petrol. He poured some inside the Bentley, securely replaced the spare can and closed the boot. The lit match thrown through the door ignited instantly, and Henryk quickly closed the door.

It would be less than a minute before the lorry caught fire as well, so he pulled the unconscious driver to safety well away from the inferno, and removed the bag from his head.

The car windows shattered in the intense heat, letting oxygen in and the flames out. Now the lorry was burning and the scene of the assassination was complete.

Henryk had two miles to run before he would reach David's car and the thought of Alice's cake gave him an extra spurt.

He turned as the blast of the exploding petrol tanks behind him echoed through the night, along the pitch black tunnel of trees.

His job was done.

##  Message to Germany. 5th January 1944

Peter was awake long before breakfast, and used the time to carefully code a message to Germany. He would ask Sundown to transmit it later that day.

Report of current situation.

Arrow dead taking 8 MI5 agents with him.

Ballerina married Sir Matthew Barker 2 days ago, responsible for security at Gant's Hill aircraft factory. She claims to be able to provide ongoing intelligence for use against the installation and other targets, because of her position. She was forced to marry and I am satisfied she is a working asset. Her beacons recovered.

Zebra was captured and held at Camp 020, but reported by MI5 as having escaped. Cannot confirm. His beacons recovered.

Sundown was replaced by MI5 agent posing as him. I am tracking him down. Will report outcome when known.

Require a further beacon test, imperative it reaches target near London at 23.50 10th January. Timing is crucial, number sent and settings as before.

New trained agents needed to place future beacons. I will be leaving for Europe 20th January but head for airlift from Calais to Alderney to provide the training. Facilitate this without exception, I have committed.

I will find Raven and eliminate.

Glass br5s28n

Peter called Sundown, from a telephone box in Chelsea.

"Good morning, is that Mr Marshal? Mr Glass here, about the encyclopaedia."

"I need to get a copy to you immediately, how can I do that please?"

"I think we should meet the same as last time, I have something that you need. Can you make it the same time?"

"I will be there, goodbye Mr Marshal."

Peter was delighted that Cathy wanted to come with him, it was doing her so much good, and the family were delighted to have their happy daughter back after months of emotional hell. Although they were worried about what would happen to her when Peter left again.

***

The newsagent's shop was near where Peter had parked.

"Sorry Cathy, I need you to wait for me in the car. The person I have to meet does not like strangers and it is vital I see him."

She scowled, but said nothing.

The moment Peter smelled the mothballs and lavender, he walked up the street to the alley, the old lady following him.

Without turning around to face Sundown, Peter offered him a folded sheet of paper.

"Will you transmit this message today, it is crucial to Germany. There will be no reply, they just have to make it happen."

"No problem Mr Glass, consider it done.

"You remember Dan Stockley, don't you, the man who drove you to the safe house."

"I am not likely to forget, that was a very close call. I was driving away after clearing everything out, when the place was surrounded by police."

"Well, he will be receiving a visitor later today.

"The other good news is that I have found the person posing as me. He reports directly to Sir Philip Stern, one of the chiefs at MI5."

Peter stiffened with surprise.

"Ah! You know him. Well I suppose you should, because he is the one suspected of raping your sister."

"Do you think you can ensure your Sundown imposter can be at Sir Philip Stern's house at 23.45 on the 10th January at the very latest?"

"That will be tricky Mr Glass, there will be a lot of factors in play and the unknowns are impossible to predict. I will try though."

"I might also need your help with another matter there Mr Marshal, so be prepared to step up at a moment's notice."

"I will do whatever I can, you know that" assured Sundown. "I will be in touch very soon Mr Glass. Goodbye for now." Sundown made his way back up the alley to the street and merged with other passing pedestrians.

##  A warning to others. 5th January 1944

It was late evening when a thick set man, wearing a dark greatcoat and fedora, walked up the garden path towards the police constable. The policeman had been huddled in the corner of the porch trying to keep warm, but his heavy cape failed him on this bitter winter night. He stepped forward from the shadows and challenged the visitor.

"What is your business here sir?"

"I have come to speak with Mr Stockley about a small building project. I need an estimate." The man kept walking and was now very close to the officer.

"I suggest you telephone him and make an appoint...

"Argh!" The single silenced shot came out of nowhere and burned agonisingly in the policeman's heart. He sank quickly to the ground. Another shot passed through the back of his head as the man walked past.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The heavy door knocker made it clear the caller had urgent business there, and was determined to be heard.

Moments later Dan Stockley opened the door and assumed the stranger was from MI5, until he noticed the dark heap laid out on the path.

His worst fears were confirmed when the still smoking silencer punched into his forehead, jerking him backwards.

Relentlessly the gunman followed him in, and motioned him to lead the way down the hall.

"Who is it Dan?" a woman's voice called from the kitchen.

The gunman gestured with his gun for Dan to go to the voice.

Mrs Stockley gave a stifled scream when she saw the gunman, and knew these would be her last moments alive.

With his free hand, the gunman pulled from his pocket a long length of thin cord, with a noose formed at the end. He offered it to Dan Stockley.

"Put the noose around your neck."

Anticipating his protestations, he aimed the gun at the woman's face and Mr Stockley quickly slipped the rope over his head.

Circling past the couple to the table, the man pulled out a sturdy kitchen chair and ushered them both into the hallway, by the stairs. Mrs Stockley picked up the trailing cord and followed her husband. She didn't want the end to snag and choke her husband.

"Dan, I want you to stand on the chair. Mrs Stockley, take the rope up the stairs and tie it tight to the handrail on the landing."

Obeying, she climbed the stairs. Dan Stockley stood quietly on the chair. He was prepared to play along with the gunman, just for now.

"Make sure you pull the rope tight, before you tie it off," he commanded, and the rope tightened causing Dan to stretch up and stand on tiptoe.

The gunman edged past Dan and looked up the stairs to check the cord was tied.

"Come down here Mrs Stockley." She hurried down in the belief that her cooperation would somehow change the outcome.

"Kick the chair away Mrs Stockley."

She started to protest and so did a white faced Dan Stockley, he knew in his heart this was real and final, but clung to the hope that it was just a warning. It had not fully sunk in that he was seconds away from strangling to death.

The man shoved the woman hard, she fell against the chair and it skidded sideways. Dan Stockley clutched at the cord around his neck as he tried to regain support from the chair, inches from his thrashing feet.

Mrs Stockley grabbed at the chair and tried to replace it, but was dragged away and held by the neck of her dress with the gun pressed to her temple. All she could do was watch, horrified, as her husband's face turned purple, his mouth opened and closed calling silently for help and his legs thrashed with decreasing vigour.

The swinging body stopped thrashing, the swollen tongue stuck out from the open mouth and the bloodshot, bulging eyes stared sightlessly ahead. A final shudder and kick, followed by a slight rumbling sound like a wet fart and finally, a rapidly expanding wet patch spread over the crotch of his dark blue boiler suit.

Dan Stockley was dead.

The gunman walked quietly away from the house, leaving the wife shuddering and sobbing with shock.

"Mummy, why are you crying?" came the frightened voice of a little girl from her bedroom.

***

As the assassin drove away, he contemplated whether he should charge for killing the policeman, an unexpected complication, but on reflection it was a pleasure.

##  The target. 10th January 1944

As the last rays of the setting sun vanished behind surrounding buildings, Peter glided silently into the ink black icy water. Using the wetsuit and rebreather from his lockup, he swam underwater into the London Dock area and stealthily climbed aboard a moored oil tanker. The Plimsoll line indicated it was full of fuel oil, and so it would cause considerable damage when ignited.

He lay still in the shadows of the gunwale, recovering from the bone numbingly cold water. He watched and timed the security patrol, as he thought over the possibilities ahead of him.

There would be an external power outlet, but connection would be tricky, little more than bare wires jammed into the plug socket. He would need to provide adaptors in future, he thought, and mentally added it to the training list.

The beacon could not be inside the ship because of the screening effect of the steel superstructure, and it was unlikely that it could be dangled over the side, unseen. He would have to rely on the dark during the blackout and the general complexity of shapes around the ship, to hide it in plain sight.

He crept around the deck and eventually found a power outlet. He unscrewed the waterproof cover and wearing dry rubber gloves, wedged the naked wires of the power lead in place with matchsticks. As an engineer, this was as taboo as it could get, but next time he would be better prepared.

Peter merged into the shadows as a guard approached. Attacking the guard was never an option, because he would be missed and a search was bound to reveal the beacon.

The guard passed and Peter's heart rate dropped back to 150 beats per minute, the thumping in his chest and roar of blood in his ears appeared louder than the lap-lap of the water below. His breathing subsided, and his dry mouth would eventually become moist again once he was safely back on land.

There were no indicator lights to show there was power in the beacon. Was it a fault, a poor connection at the socket, or just a lower voltage on the ship?

Using the glass tool, he turned the voltage selector. Joy of joys, the neon bulb lit. Give it a few minutes for the circuit to warm through and stabilise, then he could make final adjustments.

The guard returned and decided to have a smoke, out of sight. The man practically stepped on Peter as he dragged away at the glowing weed.

This was serious. Once powered, the beacon had to be tuned in or it would become unstable after 10 minutes or so. It was a design fault that was never resolved. How long would the guard stay?

The cigarette was quickly consumed. The guard moved off and vanished in the black of the night.

By now, the set would be warmed up, so he fitted the aerial and proceeded to initiate oscillation, indicated by the intense blue of the ionised gas in the neon bulb. Everything was working.

He only had to set the tone and cover the glowing bulbs with tape to hide them.

A final check and Peter vanished, back the way he had come, to dry land.

***

With his wet suit and rebreather stowed in the car boot, he slipped into warm dry clothes, inside the Jaguar. Next stop, Sir Philip Stern's home, just a mile away from Sir Matthew Barker's house and Lady Anna.

It was now 7pm and he needed the next five hours to enter the house, get set up and away, before the V-1 struck. On the face of it there was more than sufficient time, but security around the house would be tight and he had to break in to find power, and connect up the beacon. There were so many unknowns on this mission that he would have to improvise every step of the way.

As he entered the long avenue of trees with the high earth banks on both sides, he realised this was where the newspapers reported Sir Matthew Barker had died in a tragic accident, just two days after his wedding.

First his wife died, then he quickly found a new one in Anna and now he was dead. Anna must have been laughing all the way to the Bank. He wondered if she could have manipulated the situation in which she now found herself, but while she was quite bright, this was way out of her league. It was just a twist of fate.

His thoughts moved on as he crawled along at 15 miles per hour, he could not afford an accident with a boot full of spy ware.

He had heard nothing from Sundown since they met in the alley, so he must have everything in place. The man was a true master spy and Peter admired him.

Entering a void of deeper blackness, there was the smell of charred wood. Deep gouges in the weathered smooth banks and the twinkle of broken glass confirmed to Peter that this was where Barker had died.

Peter was stunned when he read the news several days ago, and somewhat mystified at the limited detail and coverage about a man of such importance to the country. Without him, the aircraft factory was open season for sabotage. News was restricted only when the government wanted to cover something up.

The eeriness passed and five minutes later he was back in the open and getting closer to his perilous mission. Whatever else, he had promised Cathy that Sir Philip Stern would never be seen again.

***

Stern's house was apparently surrounded by a tall brick wall, with the main entrance through wrought iron gates, and a single solid door in the back wall. There were trees inside the wall to soften the view from the house and areas of open lawn up to them, for security. Apart from numerous flower borders and stone statues, there was no real cover.

Security patrolled with dogs, which made life very difficult. However, as with most things, there were flaws that were only noticed by criminals and spies.

Peter drove past the house and parked on the grass verge, just by the telegraph pole carrying telephone lines to the house. From the boot, he took out a long rope with a lead fishing weight fixed to the end, and threw it over the wires high above him. He tied the other end to the car bumper, and drove off tearing down the wires.

He gathered up the rope and packed it into his knapsack with tools and beacon, and drove the car close to the wall so he could use it to climb over. The sensitive ears of a dog picked up the almost inaudible thump as he dropped to the ground. The animal barked and was racing towards Peter.

As it crashed through the undergrowth, the 'phut' and a brief yelp was all the running handler heard. The second 'phut' delivered the handler into oblivion.

As other guards and dogs came one by one to investigate, they joined the heap of bodies. Peter had never subscribed to subtlety if it was not needed. If all went well, insufficient flesh would be found to know they had all been shot.

His next task was to enter the house and kill everyone inside. There was something poetic about letting Stern die by the V-1, but the longer he lived, the greater the chance however remote, that he might escape.

Peter eased through the back doorway into a boot room, by the smell of it. No lights were on, because of the blackout laws. Very sensible too, smirked Peter as the weak beam of his torch lit the room. He slipped into the hall, a dim table lamp illuminated the way towards the sound of music and laughter. It was a radio receiver tuned to the BBC. He listened at the door for live voices and then peered in through the keyhole. He senses the presence of someone in there, but could see no-one.

He could just walk in, but there might be a number of personnel in there, distributed across the room, with weapons. He might get lucky and surprise a couple, but one unsilenced shot from his enemy would bring everyone to him.

Peter set off and checked every room, dusting talc on each door knob. Lady Stern was in bed reading a thriller by Dennis Wheatley, when she died. The bullet passed through her left eye, redecorating the wall and headboard in blood red spray.

Her grey cat dashed for cover under the bed. Peter turned out all the room lights and opened the window, to 'shoo' it out. He had nothing against the cat, though a noisy dog was quite different.

All the rooms were clear and he went back to the hall. One door knob was shiny, so someone had entered. Peter listened at the door for movement, but heard only the sound of slippered feet behind him.

##  A cosy night in.

Lady Anna sat in the drawing room reading a leather bound book and drinking sherry, when she rang the bell for the butler.

"Drake, that dreadful reporter Henry Roberts will be calling at 7pm. I have to see him, so please show him into the drawing room.

"As a thank you for all your support during the tragedy we have all been through, please take the night off with the staff. I will see Roberts out when he has finished.

"I am going to bed early. This has been a terrible affair." Everyone was familiar with her odd way of speaking at times of stress, and hoped the elocution lessons would continue to help.

"Thank you my Lady, if that is your wish.

"I will see you in the morning."

##  Tempus Fugit.

The slipper clad feet behind Peter were those of Sir Philip Stern.

"Good evening Mr Strom, I have not had such a quiet but interesting evening for a long time. The telephone seldom stops ringing and I wondered what I must do to silence the infernal thing. The solution was so simple I completely overlooked it.

"Ah! Where are my manners? The gentleman behind me with the gun is my personal bodyguard. Claud has so many medals and awards, he needs a particularly large room to display them all. He is consistently the best shot at Bisely and is a master in several martial arts.

"It would be foolish to attempt any heroics, because it would prove very painful, much more so than the hangman's noose. Claud has orders not to kill you, just to subdue you if necessary. I expect you have a high pain threshold, but I am confident Claud can rise to the challenge."

Claud's Beretta twitched and fired, smashing Peter's silenced Luger from his grasp, as it dangled from his right hand. Shrapnel entered the white painted door behind Peter, and his hand felt like it had been both walloped with a hammer and electrocuted. He cried out with pain and sank to his knees, cradling his throbbing hand.

The young man was now aiming at centre mass, and using both hands to grip the Beretta. His posture was excellent and he was so rock steady, he could have been a Madame Tussauds wax figure.

"There you are Peter, we understand each other. I can see we will get along famously.

"Pick yourself up now and sit with me in the lounge. You are not bleeding, so feel free to make yourself comfortable in the armchair.

"I feel the need for a De Luze Cognac. I would offer you one, but in your predicament, it would be a waste.

"I have a few questions before I hand you over for official interrogation. I suspect you will be more forthcoming talking to me, once you appreciate what I have in store for you."

Peter got to his feet and walked meekly to an offered seat in the lounge.

"I am in no hurry to end the evening, though I expect police and agents are rushing here as I speak. Your decision to cut the phone lines was a mistake, response time from the police is just 20 minutes. It all takes a bit longer because of the blackout, don't you know."

Peter was not actually listening to Stern, he was wondering what the man would do when he discovered his wife was dead upstairs.

There was a loud knock at the front door. Stern looked at his wrist watch and raised his eyebrows.

"Less time than I thought, their response time has improved."

He got up and swaggered to the front door.

"Good evening Sir Philip, could we talk inside please, perhaps in your lounge?"

An ashen faced Sir Philip Stern walked shakily in, followed by Stan Carter.

Stan spoke. "I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news Sir Philip.

"Oh! You have guests," he exclaimed, sounding surprised at seeing Claud and Peter in the room.

A bullet plucked the side of Sir Philip's maroon silk smoking jacket and Claud dropped to the floor, blood pulsing into the Axminster carpet from a fatal body shot.

Peter grabbed the fallen Beretta from Claud's left hand and shot Stern through his open mouth, as he turned to speak to him. Whatever he had to say, Peter was not interested.

"Well, what brings you out here at this time of night?" Peter asked in a casual dinner party sort of way.

"Unlike you with your private vendetta, I am trying to fight a war against the enemy.

"You have rather spoilt the surprise I laid on for the counterfeit Sundown. The moment he sees the place has been compromised, with no guards on patrol, and no dogs sniffing around, he will run. We were not set up to chase him." Stan was rather indignant at having his plans ruined.

"I am sorry about that old chap, you didn't share your plan."

"And you didn't share yours either Peter. Whatever you have in mind, is not due to start until 11.45 pm."

"Point taken Stan, but we ought to leave before the police get here."

"Ah yes Peter, that is the thing, my team were at the next telephone pole along when you tore down the line. We have been monitoring and intercepting calls all evening. With the lines to the house down, we've had to handle all the calls here. It is fortunate Stern is, sorry, was such a pompous tyrant, we were able to fly into a tantrum and slam the phone down the moment things got dicey. So we don't need to worry about the police, old chap, they won't be coming to our party.

"We also spoke to the fake Sundown after we established how Stern speaks to him. He is instructed to be here just before 23.45 hours as you asked.

"Unfortunately, we cannot be sure whether the fake Sundown will come here or not. I mean, any person who arrives could be him, we just can't be certain."

Peter could see the problem. If some unsuspecting agent turns up and the fake doesn't, the fake will remain at large.

"How would you have known if I hadn't ruined things?" Peter asked, suspecting a flaw in the infallible Sundown's logic.

"It would be the hell factor," replied Sundown as though Peter would know what that was.

"What do you mean by 'hell factor'?

"Quite simply, all hell would break loose when the imposter turns up and discovers Stern had never asked him to come. They would know they had been exposed."

"Yes, I see. They would go to action stations, suspecting a trap had been sprung."

"You've got it Peter, there would be no doubt about it."

"So what do we do now Stan?"

"Some of my men will use the dead guards' clothes and pose as security. Your tidy head shots did keep the men's clothing stain-free.

"If they bring the person into the hall, saying that Stern has company and can we pass on the message, the traitor will probably say he was ordered to come, and demand to see him. That is the best I can come up with!"

"Whoever turns up can't be allowed to leave here alive, so if he comes at all, we will have eliminated him, by default." Realising his mission was not yet over, Peter added, "I had better get on and install the beacon, time is pressing."

"I rather guessed you had some guidance device, based on the success at Becton Gasworks. Jolly nifty! How certain are you about timing though Peter. It needs to be pretty exact, I don't want to be here when the bomb drops."

"And neither do I. I believe Germany will move heaven and earth to comply, and err on the late side if necessary. The last thing they would want is to blow up the inventor of the device." There was a tinge of doubt in Peter's voice. Germany was a vast machine, and most of the people in the chain did not know the implications of any variations they might personally decide to make.

Peter made his way to the attic, plugged in and set up the beacon. Everything was working and now they had to wait until the last moment, before leaving.

***

At 23.30 hours, a car pulled up at the gates, a man got out and strode up to the guards.

"I have an urgent appointment with Sir Philip Stern."

"Of course sir, please follow me."

One of Stan's guards escorted the man to the front door and into the hallway.

"Please wait here sir, while I check if Sir Philip will see you."

"Of course he will see me, he sent for me. I am early, but I have things to do and I can't mess about here all night."

"Who shall I say is calling?"

"Mark Holland."

"Thank you Mr Holland, I will only be a moment."

At that moment Peter stepped out of the lounge, pulling the door closed behind him as he approached Holland.

"Hello Sundown, Sir Philip did not send for you. Who asked you to come?"

"I had a phone call from him earlier this evening, only he has my number.

"What is going on?"

"You had better come in and we can sort it out."

Holland followed Peter, and looked surprised at seeing Stan.

"You're Stan Carter, aren't you, what are you doing here? Where is Sir Philip?"

"Hello Sundown, meet the real Sundown." There was menace in Stan's voice.

"But the real Sundown is dead!"

"No, you are quite wrong Holland, the real one is alive. By the way, Sir Philip is over there, behind the sofa. That's what dead looks like."

Holland looked over to where Stan was pointing and saw the shattered head of his boss. He looked back and glimpsed the briefest flash as Stan shot him between the eyes.

"Right Peter that loose end is tied up. Let's go."

They dashed out into the still night air. Far, far away they could hear the burble of a V-1, then silence. The distant sky lit up and many seconds later the sound of an explosion reached them. The strike was early and had struck the first target, London Docks. The effect was devastating, as vaporised fuel oil ignited in a massive fireball.

The faint wail of air raid sirens, and the sweeping beams of searchlights stabbing and slashing the night sky, belatedly warned London, of the attack.

"The next will be in one minute's time, we are in great danger," Peter bellowed in alarm.

Both men broke into a run, shouting to everyone to get out of the area. Some ran to their own hidden vehicles and a couple followed Peter and Stan.

The four breathless men fell into the Jaguar, Peter started the engine and accelerated away. He tried to figure the line the V-1s would take after striking Stern's house. Some missiles would fall short and some would fly on. Roughly, the course would follow the road they were on, and there was no turn off for several miles.

The cold engine was sluggish and acceleration was hindered by the full load, the speedometer needle rose steadily to 25 miles per hour, at least 10 miles per hour faster than Peter could see ahead.

Both Peter and Stan wondered if their charmed lives were about to be cut short, as the very device Peter had invented was targeting a massive bomb directly at them. One lapse of judgement at the steering wheel and the Jaguar would crash, preventing their escape.

##  Henryk & Anna

Earlier that evening at 7.00pm, Drake the butler showed Mr Henry Roberts (Henryk) the reporter into the Drawing Room. The butler poured drinks and retired for the night.

After some preliminary pretence that they were conducting an interview, Anna stood up and checked outside the door. The hall was empty and they were alone. She switched off the lights and stood in front of Henryk.

Although she did not feel like it, she pulled Henryk to her and resumed the kissing and stimulation of their previous encounter several days ago, in the warm glow of the firelight...

Anna and Henryk lay by the fire recuperating, and after more drinks they made their way up to the master bedroom, to continue leisurely lovemaking.

Irony being what it was, it was amusing that at that moment, the second V-1 struck Sir Philip's house. They were so close that the earth did move for them.

A minute later as they tried to dash from Barker's house, the next explosion was the last sound they would ever hear.

##  Straddled.

As they charged blindly through the night in the Jaguar, away from Stern's house, the three men with Peter felt confident they would be safe. The third missile fell short of Stern's house, so they wrongly assumed they had left the danger behind them. Peter knew better and could only hope luck would stay with them.

A minute later there was a brilliant explosion about three miles ahead, where they would turn off. It might well be that they were driving into the barrage.

The light from the explosions had adversely affected Peter's night vision and he was forced to slow to 10 miles per hour, or they risked running off the narrow road. Not only would a crash raise questions as to why they were there, but the equipment in the car boot would hang them.

Later explosions were miles ahead, and they were able to turn off and head for London. Stan and his two men got out at the newsagent's where the messages were posted, and split up. Peter headed home to Chelsea.

Forbes was surprised to see Peter in such a bedraggled state, but it was not his place to pry. Totally exhausted and relieved to be alive, he sank gratefully onto his bed, dragged the covers over his weary body and fell into a deep and satisfying sleep.

***

Peter was woken up by the sound of Forbes drawing back the thick bedroom curtains. He would have to get a move on, or be late for breakfast, something that was almost unforgiveable.

His right hand bore an angry red and black bruise. It was agony to move, but the hot bath and gentle exercise eased it considerably.

In her mind, Cathy had pieced together Peter's recent activity and his mysterious meeting at the newsagent's. She hadn't overlooked the tragic news of the bomb strikes last night, or his injured hand. They were linked.

Having worked in MI5, she first thought he was working for them. That would explain why he worked a lot in Europe. Every secret was safe with her, so she would never speak to him about it, even to satisfy her boundless curiosity.

Peter had promised her she would not see Sir Philip Stern, ever again, how did he know that a bomb would fall on him? It upset her to some extent when she read that Lady Anna Barker had also died in the air raid. That family seemed to have such awful luck.

Peter took the opportunity to tell the family he was leaving for Europe again on the 19th January and would be away for several weeks. He made it quite clear he would be meeting Helga, with the hope of marrying her after the war.

His father's tone as he wished him luck confirmed he still disapproved of the relationship. His mother was warm and sincere with her best wishes, whilst Cathy imagined Helga would be a female version of Peter. That would be huge fun.

##  Alderney. 20th January 1944

When Peter read again the newspaper report about the bombing, there was a brief mention of the sad loss of the Stern family and their staff. There was more though about Lady Anna and an unidentifiable male visitor. Their charred remains pulled from the house rubble led the papers to speculate about the late night visit, as they always do. Peter wondered if it might have been Henryk, he could have made contact by now if he were free.

He was sad to think of his team no longer alive and unable to appreciate their mission had been such a success. Andrzej had started out as an immature boy, eager to impress, who had matured quickly and proved very useful. He had survived longer than expected.

Henryk was consistent and on reflection, Peter was not overly surprised that he had broken from the team. He had his own agenda and dead or alive, he would never surface again.

Anna was probably the deepest character in the team, smart and devious too. He always admired that in a woman, although in his experience, they missed out on life. Perhaps because they grabbed every opportunity, endlessly plotting and scheming to get their way, they disregarded the simple things that less complex women experience.

In pursuit of the handsome, wealthy man of power, they rejected or overlooked the man who would actually love them and bring them true happiness.

He could imagine, under other circumstances, Anna would have been a fantastic companion. She had the wit to know he could never love her, but would take great care of her and protect her, as long as she played her part. She would always there for him, bright, witty, exciting and beautiful on his arm. The endless hours of indulgent passionate love making was a given. So what if she was not in the mood, in an effort to keep him she would have to fake it!

That is what separated her from Helga.

Helga would have her moods, good and bad, but they would be genuine. So long as she loved him, it would be unconditional and nothing would be too much trouble. Her reward would be his love, his unswerving devotion and loyalty. She would certainly not be his slave or submit to his domination, she would spark back.

He knew he was fantasizing about her; she might well have moved on. If so, then it was not to be. Better it had ended when he left to start the mission, but he would know soon enough.

His stomach was fluttering like that of a pubescent girl with a crush. Soon he would know whether or not Helga was there.

Did she want him, or not?

***

Whoever it was in Berlin, that Sundown had passed Peter's message to, they had arranged everything perfectly. Not only the V-1 launch but his fast track passage to Alderney. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he was about to land on the island. He had fallen asleep, the deep dark secret he kept was not the beacon, but the revenge he would take on the person who had raped Cathy. Now he shared the secret with Stan Carter and, probably, Cathy herself.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

He doubted the revenge he planned for the Alderney spy (Raven) would be cold, there would be little chance of that.

***

The float plane circled for its final approach. The island spread out below looked almost tropical, the white fluffy clouds and blue sky above, the blue sea twinkling calmly below. That it was wintertime was hard to believe. A good omen he hoped, as his anxiety racked up another notch.

As the floats kissed the water, the spray sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, reminding him of the jewels he had placed in his Bank for safe keeping. Peter and his team had stolen them in London, immediately after they snatched Andrzej from the MI5 agents. He had kept an engagement and wedding ring from the haul, for Helga. He would never tell her how he had come by it. Another of his dark secrets.

***

During the 35 days since he left the island, a lot had changed. Food and fuel supplies were very low, and so was morale. The Oberst sent a car to meet Pieter Klein, as he was still known there. Pieter wondered how the man would receive him if he had discovered the affair with Helga.

Nervously Pieter walked into the entrance hall of Fort Clonque and was greeted enthusiastically by Dedrick Schwalm, the Oberst.

"Hello Pieter, we are all delighted to see you back here safely and congratulate you on the success of the mission."

Herman respectfully approached, offering his hand and a warm smile.

I wonder if you are the Alderney spy (Raven) Pieter thought.

"Well done Pieter, I had not expected to see you again, but I am pleased to be wrong."

"Thank you Herr Oberst, thank you Herman, I am delighted to be back and intact. I never expected to survive and sadly, I lost the three members of my team.

"As you know, we were betrayed by the Alderney spy, even before we left here, and the British were on to us the moment we went ashore." Pieter noticed Herman's eyes harden and look away for an instant. It could mean nothing, but then it might.

"Did you ever catch the spy, Herr Oberst?"

"No, we have not caught whoever it was, but we have been told that the British code name for the Alderney spy is 'Raven'. It took a while to filter back here from Berlin," remarked the Oberst.

"Well, one of the reasons why I came back was to catch the traitor, and plug the leak."

"Now you are here, I guarantee Raven will tell MI5 about it, tonight."

There was an awkward pause in conversation.

Pieter wondered where Helga was. He expected her to find some excuse to greet him.

Dedrick wondered whether Pieter would take up with Helga again.

Herman was thinking about Pieter's betrayal.

"Herman, please organise lunch now Pieter has arrived and tell Helga to come here, I have orders for her."

"At once Herr Oberst."

Pieter's heart thumped hard in his chest. Emotions swept through him. Surely the Oberst could hear the beating?

His fear of losing Helga made him feel queasy, he could not face her rejection. She had been the only thing that kept him going. He could face anything, but not losing her.

He heard her light, quick footsteps on the stone floor and turned. He glimpsed a man's profile as it ducked back into the kitchen. It could mean nothing, but the cook and his assistant were in a good position to gather intelligence, right next door to Helga's pristine office. Hiding in plain sight, a perfect opportunity for a spy.

Helga walked up to the Oberst, and gave no indication that she had noticed Pieter.

"Herman said you had orders for me, Herr Oberst."

"Yes Helga, they are on my desk. They are urgent, please deal with them immediately." Dedrick smiled warmly at her, her eyes flicked up and held his gaze for a moment. Something was going on between them. She turned and saluted Pieter, but made no eye contact, then scuttled away.

The smile and expression on Dedrick's face could be taken as a look of triumph that she had snubbed Pieter. Ludicrous though the thought was, her reaction just then could have been disappointment and anger that Pieter had returned.

If she were Raven, it would explain a great deal. Pieter had toyed with that possibility. She was always out and about, she was intelligent and had no cast iron alibi for when the Raven was active. The big snag with that ridiculous idea was, how could she have carried him and shoved him off the cliff on the night Raven had clubbed him unconscious. He thought about the cunning black cape the Raven had used to hide under in the dark. The silhouette it created was unlike that of a person, but whoever wore it was slightly built and of average height, as far as he could judge. Slightly built was the key here, that slightly built person carried his body several hundred metres to the cliff edge. So could she have carried him?

The cook and his assistant were also of slight build. Damn it, this speculation was getting him nowhere.

"If you wish Herr Oberst, we could update one another with news and events, and then plan the next session of training."

"I would like that Pieter, though your exploits will be much more interesting than what I have to say."

The two men sat down and shared their stories.

***

After lunch, Pieter made a request. "Herr Oberst could I borrow a Luger, a couple of clips of ammunition and a powerful torch. I feel the need to do a bit of target practice after dark."

"I will give you a requisition and you can draw it from the armourer.

"When do you think you will be back, Herman has probably made up your old room and will provide necessities, I believe you travelled very light."

"I have a plan to expose the Raven, I cannot say more, because even I don't know the details yet. I will be back at daylight tomorrow, as far as I can tell. Obviously this is strictly between you and me."

"Yes, I understand. I will simply say I don't know where you are, but probably in the town chasing women." There was a twinkle in his eye, although the reason was not clear.

Pieter walked up to the armourer, who filled the requisition. He also asked if he could use some of the tools he needed, to test the gun and make adjustments. The armourer left him to do what he wanted; he had his own work to take care of.

Pieter's plan placed him at considerable risk. He removed a third of the propellant from each cartridge in one clip, replacing it with wadding. He intended to shoot the Raven, but hoped not to kill him. If Raven was armed, Pieter would be at a disadvantage until he swapped clips.

Armed with the Luger, the torch and a large dark grey blanket, he went out to look around the island. He headed towards the cliffs where he last saw Raven. It was also where he made love to Anna, which made him feel sad and ashamed. He stowed the blanket in the hollow where Raven had passed by during their lovemaking, and would sneak back for it at dusk.

The rabbit trails criss-crossed the area in relatively short tunnel-like narrow paths burrowed through the long grass. The cliff path was worn, and it kept well in from the cliff edge and the steep slopes to the sea below. However, there was one other trail of flattened grass, formed by a regular user. Sometimes the trail varied a little, like the user had wandered off course slightly and then got back on it again. It was also possible it was made by a courting couple walking side by side.

Pieter looked along the path and observed that it headed for a distinctive tall lump of rock. A thrill ran through him, if he needed to reach a particular point along the cliff at night, the rock would show against the lighter grey of the sea. This begged the question, who would come here regularly at night?

The Raven would!

By following the poor trail, he crossed the worn path and now searched along it for a similar track. He spotted several faint ones that ultimately converged and he homed in on that point.

He reasoned, if he were Raven, he would approach the target of his walk from different angles, so any trail would be hard to spot.

The grass and vegetation were well compacted in one small area, like someone had lain down there.

Apart from an old partially buried rusty pipe pointing out to sea, and a large flat stone, there was nothing here. It was inconceivable that anyone would lay here and sunbathe at this time of year; although a sunny day, it was bitterly cold.

He idly lifted the flat stone, and swore in astonishment. There was a deep hole under it with something inside, wrapped in oilcloth to keep it dry. He eased it out carefully in case it was booby trapped. It was a powerful hand torch with a large lamp or reflector. It was a signalling device to someone across the sea, perhaps a boat, or even France itself.

"Got you!" Peter muttered to himself. "Raven you are about to get caged."

Everything was carefully put back and nothing looked disturbed. He had to find a hiding spot for the night, close enough to pounce when Raven showed up. Apart from the little hollow, there was no other cover, so it would have to suffice.

Pieter was confident Raven would report tonight, because he had arrived today. MI5 or MI6 would want to be informed, immediately. Resources there were scarce enough, without wasting manpower looking for someone who had left the country.

***

It was 9.00pm, the wind was building and gusted icily over the headland. The long grass rustled loudly, drowning out the sound of the sea as it smashed into the cliff face, hundreds of feet below.

Pieter was well prepared, he lay on his back under the blanket, facing the cliff. There were two large holes in the blanket pulled over his head, to look through. He didn't want his white face to contrast with the dark grass. Shivering in the numbing cold and becoming drowsy, he pinched himself frequently to stay alert.

His Luger was cocked and the safety was off, he could raise and aim in an instant. A body shot was all he needed, nothing vital like head or upper spine. The reduced power of the ammunition should prevent deep and damaging penetration. Raven had to be taken alive.

It occurred to Pieter that it would be best to shoot after Raven had sent his message. He would stow the torch and then stand. A shot in the back might be cowardly, but being a spy was not an honourable profession. If Raven didn't go down with the first hit, Pieter could get another off before he could turn and could shoot back.

Pieter felt the vibration of footfalls as Raven ran in a low stoop to the cliff. He saw the cloaked figure float by, looking more like a moving rock than a man. A faint smell hung in the air, borne by the wind. He knew that smell.

The shape had vanished as it lay out flat under its cloak, and proceeded to remove the torch. Pieter crawled slowly towards his foe.

He was now close enough to hear the faint mechanical sound of the light switch, as it sent the coded message. Close though he was, the person was invisible in the darkness.

With the transmission over, the torch was pulled out of the pipe and re-wrapped. The figure partly turned, hunched over the hole in the ground, to replace the torch and flat stone.

Peter fired at the spot where he thought the buttocks would be, and the shape whirled round, lunging at Pieter with the flat stone as a weapon.

The bullet must have passed through the folds of the cloak, because Raven was uninjured.

The flat stone hurtled towards Pieter's head. He instinctively fired again and rolled to one side. The bullet ricocheted off the stone, and Raven was on him.

Even a man in the dark would have the faint manifestation of limbs to grab. However, this amorphous shape offered no such possibility.

As it reared up over him, Pieter fired twice. The shape let out a high pitched scream and collapsed on him. He couldn't fire again, the gun was pinned between them.

The person was still alive, the body moved, so he pushed up with all his strength to throw it off him.

Pieter felt the sting and searing agony, he heard his own scream as a long knife blade slipped into his side, lacerating his liver.

Raven quickly rolled away and vanished into the darkness.

Pieter clutched at his wound and attempted to stem the flood of hot, sticky blood. He was panting and initially felt hot and shaky, but now as a greater darkness closed in on him, a chill emanated from his core, like nothing he had ever known before.

Running feet were approaching him, but at the same time, drifting further away. A nonsense of course. Pieter felt for his Luger and gripped it. Willing himself to point the immense weight of it away from him, he pulled the trigger and managed two shots into the ground. Confusing torch light flashed in his face, and voices shouted things he knew, but couldn't comprehend.

He would be safe now, the guards had come and help would be on the way.

He relaxed and let them get on with it.

His fuzzy mind recalled the smell on the wind and where he had smelled it before. It had been present when he was talking to the Oberst, the aroma of cooking food.

The high pitched scream that emanated from Raven when he fired, was a surprise. Could it have been a woman's scream?

The significance of the fleeting figure, the runt-like assistant cook, behind Helga as she had approached the Oberst, seemed to be so important now, but he hadn't the strength to think about it.

Helga? He still didn't know where he stood with her. Would she like the rings he brought for her?

Someone was pulling and pushing his body. He was being lifted, he was floating. What was happening to him?

A voice penetrated his consciousness... Helga, she was laughing and talking... at dinner. He could see her face now.... smiling at him... and he could feel the softness of her warm kiss caress his lips....

***

It was 2.00am when the doctor who had attended to Pieter, arrived at Fort Clonque. He was greeted by the Oberst, who bore an expression of hope and with the fervent expectation of good news, displayed upon his face. It quickly dissolved into open mouthed disbelief, as he listened to Doctor Brandt's grim conclusion.

"I regret to report Herr Oberst, that Pieter Klein is dead."

"This is terrible news Herr Doctor Brandt. He was stabbed, I know, but tell me please, what was the actual cause of his death?"

"His liver was sliced through and he died of exsanguination. There was no way of saving him, even if he had been close to a surgical team. He would have died peacefully and with no pain. His blood drained away, he would have just drifted into unconsciousness."

"There is some comfort in that, I suppose. As soon as I have your written report, I must inform Berlin. So much depended on this man, Herr Hitler will be disappointed to have lost him at such a crucial stage."

With a smart salute and click of his heels, Brandt turned and left. There was nothing more he could say and an appendectomy was urgently demanding his surgical skill.

Herman said nothing as he watched the Oberst walk slowly out of the foyer and head for the stairs. His superior was in a daze, he had greatly admired Kline for his ability and courage. Germany would pay heavily for his loss.

In the tranquillity of his bedroom the Oberst quietly undressed and gently eased into bed. Helga stirred and raised her sleepy head.

"What has happened Dedrick? You are very quiet, it must be the early hours of the morning. Is it serious?"

"Both serious and dreadfully sad, my little one. Pieter Klein has just died; we believe the Alderney spy, Raven, fatally stabbed him through the liver. He bled to death, out on the cliffs on the side facing towards France. The troops are again combing the island for Raven.

"Pieter fired several shots and there are traces of blood leading away from the scene, so Raven may be badly wounded. I think that will be his undoing in the end."

Dedrick realised he had just been talking to himself. Helga's head was buried deep under the thick bedcovers and she was trying to sob quietly. He could feel the mattress shuddering beneath him, as she wept uncontrollably. He said no more, lying very still alongside her, wondering if this was the moment of truth. Did Helga still harbour feelings of love for Kline? Had she returned to being his mistress until Kline came back for her, hedging her bets, in case he had died in England. Perhaps she was just upset at losing someone she knew. He hoped that was the truth, but deep inside, he was certain he had lost her for ever.

***

When morning eventually arrived, Herman pulled back the curtains, letting the dim winter light fill the room. It was a dull day, which only added to his gloomy mood. Helga had drifted off to sleep and he decided to leave her there, to face the day as best she could.

At breakfast, he noticed she had done a remarkable job with her cosmetics, but it was fooling no one.

"Herr Oberst, I wish to be transferred back to Berlin. I have been away from my family for so long and I feel I need to be with them again. I beg of you, please grant permission."

It was a bolt out of the blue, he had not expected it, but there was no way of fighting this battle.

He nodded; his chair screeched across the stone floor as he stood up smartly. She saw the tears well up in his eyes as he turned and strode out of the room.

***

Hitler read through the detailed report from Oberst Schwalm. It outlined the circumstances surrounding Klein's tragic death and the disappearance of Raven. He flew off into another savage rant.

He held a meeting to discuss Klein's replacement. Eventually it was agreed that, although they might well find someone to lead another trained team to England, by the time others already living there were trained, it would delay the planned V-1 attack, and that most definitely must not be postponed.

As a result of Klein's tests, the British had been alerted to the guidance system and by now, every target would be heavily guarded to prevent a beacon being placed. They had lost this precious advantage, so now London would be levelled by indiscriminate bombing. The loss of civilian life, buildings and infrastructure was the price the British Government would now have to pay. This was Hitler's revenge, in its cruellest form.

***

Later that morning, Helga slipped away to the mortuary and Doctor Brandt pulled back the sheet covering Pieter, to allow her to see the body. Someone had done the decent thing, washed his face and tidied his hair. She was surprised at the pale yellow pallor of his skin, and the shock went some way to holding back the flood of emotion that brimmed within her.

She had never seen a corpse before, and expected it to look more like a person sleeping. It looked just like Pieter, but did not seem real. His shrunken skin made him look 15 years older and accentuated his facial hair as if he had not shaved for a day or two. His nostrils looked unpleasantly large, because of her viewing angle. When they had lain together, their heads were almost side by side, and the feature was not as pronounced or disturbing.

Brandt walked away and she was alone now. Calm settled upon her and she spoke to Pieter in a whisper.

"I regret not giving you a smile when I saw you earlier in the Oberst's office, but I was not sure if you still loved me, now that you were back safe. I did not want to jeopardise my relationship with Dedrick, if you had changed your mind. I had hoped to speak to you alone to tell you how much I loved you, and how each hour away from you was the worst pain I will ever feel.

"I did not expect you to return when you did. I was in a turmoil. I just didn't know what I should do. I saw the hurt on your face when I appeared to ignore you, but it told me that you still cared and that you still loved me. Seeing you here like this is the cruellest pain of all, knowing I will never be in your arms ever again, or be able to tell you how much I love you.

"I believe your spirit can hear me Pieter, and now you know the truth. You know that I am leaving Dedrick to return to Berlin. I will never forget you and no one will ever take your place, in my heart. I may meet someone, perhaps marry, but you are my first and only true love."

Helga leaned over and kissed Pieter's slightly warm, but clammy lips, for the last time.

***

When Helga returned to her office, Herman came in. He was carrying an envelope, which he handed to her and left, without uttering a word. She could see her name written on it, but what was inside?

There was a letter. She pulled it out and read it with trepidation.

20th December 1943

My darling Helga,

I have every reason to believe I will never see you again, because we have all been betrayed and have just slipped away with only seconds to spare. I have put this letter in a safe place in case I am captured and in due course, I believe someone will find it and get it to you.

I want you to know that I love you with every fibre of my being and if I do manage the impossible and get back to you, I want you to come away with me to a safe country where we can marry, live a happy life and raise a family. I fervently hope you feel the same way about me and that you will want to spend the rest of your life with me.

Things are grim here and my belief that you will want me if I get back to Alderney is the only thing that drives me onwards.

With all my boundless love,

Pieter.

P.S. 21st December. I enclose the token of my love and devotion. Win or lose, know that I have made this irrevocable commitment, come what may.

I think of you endlessly. You fill my dreams and every waking moment. Having you with me in thought, gives me the strength to fight on and complete all the commitments I took on, before I met you. It would be tempting to just give up and rush back to you, but I know you would think less of me, for that.

Forever yours,

Pieter.

Helga felt for the small, hard lump in the bottom of the envelope. Whatever it was, Pieter had wrapped it in paper to stop it breaking through the brown paper around the letter, and being lost.

She ripped away the wrapping to reveal the token, her heart beating fiercely with emotion. Pieter had lovingly enclosed this item with only the thought that one day, she would see it and know how he felt about her.

The outer wrapping was torn free, leaving two items enfolded in tissue. Her heart would burst at any moment. The square parcels contained something that was not square. She instinctively knew what they were, but at the same time denied that possibility.

She saw them and let out a loud and unfettered scream, that tailed off to a wail of abject misery. Sinking slowly to the floor she cried like never before. The whole fort heard it!

Before her very eyes there was an exquisite engagement ring. The three small diamonds threw off a brilliance that any girl would treasure in such a token of love. The polished gold band was pristine, free of the finger prints or scratches that always occur the moment someone touches it.

The wedding ring was a matching gold band, also pristine. Apart from the jeweller, no one else had ever touched them, they were made just for her, and no one else.

Still on the floor sobbing, she tried them on. They were a perfect fit.

Herman stood in the doorway, having guessed what the commotion was about, and helped her up into her chair. He pulled out the clean white handkerchief he knew she kept up her sleeve and gave it to her to dry her eyes.

All sobbed out, she thanked him and pulled herself together. He smiled warmly to show he understood and left the room, closing the door behind him.

***

The cook and his runt assistant were in the foyer, wondering what the commotion was all about. They ducked back at the sight of Herman.

Herman grabbed the runt, who gasped with pain.

"You are bleeding through your shirt" Herman snapped. "Why is that?"

The runt pulled a knife and slashed him across his belly. It was not a deep cut, but Herman released the man and tried to staunch the gush of blood with his hands. The assailant vanished out the entrance of the fort and made for the parked staff car.

The tide was full and the causeway was awash with the large waves breaking over it. The Alderney spy, Raven, had to make his escape that way, it was the only choice he had. Once across the causeway, he knew he would stand a chance of escape and staying alive.

The car started; the cook and guards chased after the accelerating vehicle, but they were seconds too late.

The runt had some clue as to the edges of the causeway by the way the water broke up as it washed over. However, he could not know was how deep it was, or understand the power of the waves.

With the great engine revving hard in bottom gear, the car ploughed through the sea. The water came up to the hubcaps and he was now half way across. Everyone watching knew the bastard had got away and rushed back inside to phone ahead to warn the patrols.

The runt could no longer see through the windscreen, even with the wipers at full speed so he wound down the side window and drove with his head sticking out.

A massive wave broke ahead of him and the heavy vehicle came to a shuddering stop, a combination of skidding and waterlogged brakes. Time was against him. By now the patrols would be alerted and would soon be closing in from every direction. Should he abandon the car and make a run for it? Should he wait for the wave action to subside and then plough on?

At some point, he would have to enter the sea and swim into a cave at the base of the towering, unclimbable cliff. He had done it before, following the last radio transmission when Klein and his team left Alderney to start their mission. But on that occasion, he was not seriously wounded.

As he weighed his chances, the fickle ocean swept the car off the causeway and out to sea. It disappeared from view, sinking out of sight within seconds.

***

The occupants of the fort, and the patrols at the other end of the causeway could see no sign either of the car or the runt. Assuming the cook's assistant had swum for the cliff, boats were called for and every inch along the base was searched thoroughly. From there the island was combed, twice, but Raven had vanished completely.

The end.

Kind regards and thank you for reading.

I hope you enjoyed reading this story and I would be honoured if you mention it to friends and on social web sites.

A positive review on Amazon and where you bought this book would also help enormously.

Email JohnDayAuthor@gmail.com

Other books by John Day

Extinction Event (Book 1) a Max & Carla adventure thriller

Fire Ice (Book 2) another Max & Carla adventure thriller

Fugitive (Book 3) the final Max & Carla adventure thriller

Espionage - London (this book) a WW2 thriller

Bent Penny .(Book 1) A DS Penny Britain crime thriller series

Girl on a string (Book 2) A DS Penny Britain crime thriller series

Unlawful Death (Book 3 of DS Penny Britain series)

Secret Cargo an adventure thriller

Alderney Ghosts

Contact me on johndayauthor@gmail.com

Yours sincerely

John Day

SEE NEXT PAGE FOR BREAKING NEWS

#  Hitler's secret weapon found!

World War 2 Spies, secret weapons and a twist of fate exposed as hoarder dies.

Carla Day reporter

Posted: 12/09/2015 08:42 AM EDT | Edited: 12/09/2015 12:12 PM EDT

The recent death of Fred Fillmore 4 weeks ago revealed a dreadful secret, one that could have won the war for Hitler.

Jane Fillmore, his daughter, was clearing out her eccentric father's east London garage and discovered German munitions and several small metal boxes, amongst many other items he had horded away over the years. Believing the dark matt grey boxes were German spy transmitters, she tried to sell them to Ronald Faulkner an electronics expert, and collector of German radios. He admitted he had seen nothing like them before. It was a technology, way beyond that achievable at the time, or so he believed. He concluded that the high powered, very high frequency transmitter was actually a beacon.

All photographs, the beacons, a fabric pouch of small hand tools, some made of glass, and the munitions found with them, were confiscated by the security forces. However Mr. Faulkner was able to describe the devices.

They were 17.5 cm in length, width and height and had 3 small neon bulb indicators. There were also 3 small holes in the case to make tuning adjustment on the outside, using the tools in the pouch. Inside were 3 glass plates with lacquered silver foil conductors adhering to them. In his opinion, this form of fabrication was probably the only way Germany could make such an advanced transmitter work reliably. There were small thermionic valves and other glass encapsulated components screwed in place on the conductors.

He was unable to power the device to test it, because it was fitted with an explosive charge. He believed that once the device was powered, any tampering would cause it to explode. In fact a booby trap, in case a planted beacon should be discovered. The detonation was intended to destroy any identifiable circuit or components, rather than kill.

Jane remembered the exciting stories Fred used to tell her, about secret agents and spies during WW2. The hero of the tales was a British man called Sundown. A spy working for the Germans. At the time, she believed they were just stories he made up from an over active imagination, but what if they were based on fact? Sadly, we will never know for sure. All his stories, and the truth, died with him, or so we thought.

Two days ago Jane received a letter of condolence from John Day, an author who had visited Fred many times, before he died. The author found Fred's stories intriguing and recorded them. He mentioned in the letter that he has recently completed a fascinating World War 2 spy thriller, based on Fred's stories, called Espionage - London, which may explain this disturbing mystery. The book will be published very soon.

I can hardly wait to read this book and discover what Fred knew.

What part did this beacon play in Hitler's plans?

Why all the secrecy from the security forces about this unique discovery?

What was it that changed the course of history?

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