‘Who lives there in splendour so solitary that in June nineteen forty-one he jumped from a balcony and tried to kill himself. No, that’s no good.’ Munro went to the window and looked out. The rain had turned to sleet now. ‘Time I spoke with friend Steiner, I think. We’ll try and make it tomorrow.’
‘Fine, sir. I’ll arrange it.’
Munro turned. ‘Devlin – there is a photo on file?’
‘Passport photo, sir. When he was in Norfolk he had to fill in an alien’s registration form. That’s a must for Irish citizens and it requires a passport photo. Special Branch ran it down. It’s not very good.’
‘They never are, those things.’ Munro suddenly smiled. ‘I’ve got it, Jack. Where to hold Steiner. That place in Wapping. St Mary’s Priory.’
‘The- Little Sisters of Pity, sir? But that’s a hospice for terminal cases.’
‘They also look after chaps who’ve had breakdowns, don’t they? Gallant RAF pilots who’ve cracked up?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’re forgetting that Abwehr agent Baum in February. The one who got shot in the chest when Special Branch and MI 5 tried to pick him up in Bays-water. They nursed him at the Priory and interrogated him there. I’ve seen the reports. Ml5 don’t use it regularly, I know that for a fact. It would be perfect. Built in the seventeenth century. They used to be an enclosed order so the whole place is walled. Built like a fortress.’
‘I’ve never been, sir.’
‘I have. Strange sort of place. Protestant for years when Roman Catholics were proscribed, then some Victorian industrialist who was a religious crank turned it into a hostel for people off the street. It stood empty for years and then in nineteen ten some benefactor purchased it. The place was reconsecrated Roman Catholic and the Little Sisters of Pity were in business.’ He nodded, full of enthusiasm. ‘Yes, I think the Priory will do nicely.’
‘There is one thing, sir. I would remind you that this is a counter-espionage matter which means it’s strictly an Ml5 and Special Branch affair.’
‘Not if they don’t know about it.’ Munro smiled. ‘When Vargas phones, see him at once. Tell him to leave it three or four days, then to notify his cousin that Steiner is being moved to St Mary’s Priory.’
‘Are you actually inviting them to try and mount this operation, sir?’
‘Why not, Jack? We’d bag not only Devlin, but any contacts he would have. He couldn’t work alone. No, there are all sorts of possibilities to this. Off you go-‘
‘Right, sir.’
Carter limped to the door and Munro said, ‘Silly me, I’m forgetting the obvious. Walter Schellenberg is going to want a source for this information. It’s got to look good.’
‘May I make a suggestion, sir?’
‘By all means.’
‘Jose Vargas is a practising homosexual, sir, and there’s a company of Scots Guards on duty at the Tower at the moment. Let’s say Vargas has picked one of them up in one of those pubs the soldiers frequent round the Tower.’
‘Oh, very good, Jack. Excellent,’ Munro said. ‘Get on with it then.’
From a discreet vantage point on the concourse at the airport outside Lisbon, Frear watched Schellenberg and Berger walk across the apron and board the Junkers. He stayed there, watching it taxi away, and only went out to the cab rank when the plane had actually taken off.
Half an hour later, he went into the Lights of Lisbon and sat at the bar. He ordered a beer and said to the barman, ‘Where’s our Irish friend today?’
‘Oh, him? Gone.’ The barman shrugged. ‘Nothing but trouble. The boss sacked him. There was a guest here last night. Nice man. A German, I think. This Devlin had a row with him. Nearly came to blows. Had to be dragged off.’
‘Dear me,’ Frear said. ‘I wonder what he’ll do now?’
‘Plenty of bars in Alfama, senhor,’ the barman said.
‘Yes, you’re certainly right there.’ Frear swallowed his beer. Til be off then.’
He went out and Devlin stepped through the bead curtain at the back of the bar. ‘Good man yourself, Jose. Now let’s have a farewell drink together.’