‘All right.’ Schellenberg put up a hand defensively. ‘There’s a meeting in France on the twenty-first of January. The Fuhrer, Rommel, Canaris and Himmler. The Fuhrer doesn’t know about Operation Eagle. The ReichsFuhrer would like to produce Steiner at that meeting. Introduce him.’
‘And why would he want to do that?’
‘Steiner’s mission ended in failure, but he led German soldiers in battle on English soil. A hero of the Reich.’
‘And all that old balls?’
‘Added to which the ReichsFuhrer and Admiral Canaris do not always see eye to eye. To produce Steiner.’ He shrugged. ‘The fact that his escape had been organized by the SS…’
‘Would make Canaris look bad?’ Devlin shook his head. ‘What a crew. I don’t much care for any of them or that old crow Himmler’s motives, but Kurt Steiner’s another thing. A great man, that one. But the bloody Tower of London…’
He shook his head and Schellenberg said, ‘They won’t keep him there. My guess is they’ll move him to one of their London safe houses.’
‘And how can you find that out?’
‘We have an agent in London working out of the Spanish Embassy.’
‘Can you be sure he’s not a double?’
‘Pretty sure in this case.’ Devlin sat there frowning and Schellenberg said, Thirty thousand pounds.’ He smiled. ‘I’m good at my job, Mr Devlin. I’ll prepare a plan for you that will work.’
Devlin nodded. ‘I’ll think about it.’ He stood up.
‘But time is of the essence. I need to get back to Berlin.’
‘And I need time to think, and it’s Christmas. I’ve promised to go up country to a bull ranch a friend of mine called Barbosa runs. Used to be a great torero in Spain where they like sharp horns. I’ll be back in three days.’
‘But Mr Devlin,’ Schellenberg tried again.
‘If you want me, you’ll have to wait.’ Devlin clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come on now, Walter, Christmas in Lisbon? Lights, music, pretty girls? At this present moment they’ve got a blackout in Berlin and I bet it’s snowing. Which would you rather have?’
Schellenberg started to laugh helplessly and behind them, Frear got up and went out.
Urgent business had kept Dougal Munro at his office at SOE Headquarters on the morning of Christmas Day. He was about to leave when Jack Carter limped in. It was just after noon.
Munro said, ‘I hope it’s urgent, Jack. I’m due for Christmas lunch with friends at the Garrick.’
‘I thought you’d want to know about this, sir.’ Carter held up a signal flimsy. ‘From Major Frear, our man in Lisbon. Friend Devlin.’
Munro paused. ‘What about him?’
‘Guess who he was locked in conversation with last night at a Lisbon club? Walter Schellenberg.’
Munro sat down at his desk. ‘Now what in the hell is the good Walter playing at?’
‘God knows, sir.’
‘The Devil, more like. Signal Frear most immediate. Tell him to watch what Schellenberg gets up to. If he and Devlin leave Portugal together I want to know at once.’
‘I’ll get right on to it, sir,’ Carter told him and hurried out.
It had tried to snow over Christmas, but in London on the evening of the zjth, it was raining when Jack Carter turned into a small mews near Portman Square not far from SOE Headquarters; which was why he had chosen it when he’d received a phone call from Vargas. The cafe was called Mary’s Pantry, blacked out, but when he went in the place was bright with Christmas decorations and holly. It was early evening and there were only three or four customers.
Vargas sat in the corner drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He wore a heavy blue overcoat and there was a hat on the table. He had olive skin, hollow cheeks and a pencil moustache, his hair bril-liantined and parted in the centre.
Carter said, ‘This had better be good.’
‘Would I bother you if it were not, senor?’ Vargas asked. ‘I’ve heard from my cousin in Berlin.’
‘And?’
‘They want more information about Steiner. They’re interested in mounting a rescue operation.’
‘Are you certain?’
That was the message. They want all possible information as to his whereabouts. They seem to think you will move him from the Tower.’