It was late afternoon and Munro was at his desk in his office at SOE Headquarters when Carter came in.
‘Another signal from Frear, sir. Schellenberg left for Berlin by plane this morning, but Devlin didn’t go with him.’
‘If Devlin is as smart as I think he is, Jack, he’s been on to Frear from the start. You can’t be a military attache at any embassy in a place like Lisbon without people knowing.’
‘You mean he’s gone to Berlin by another route, sir?’
‘Exactly. Twisting and turning like the fox he is and all to no avail.’ Munro smiled. ‘We have Rivera and Vargas in our pockets and that means we’ll always be one step ahead.’
‘So what happens now, sir?’
‘We wait, Jack, we just wait and see what their next move is. Did you arrange the meeting with Steiner?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Munro went to the window. The sleet had turned to rain and he snorted. ‘Looks as if we’re going to get some fog now. Bloody weather.’ He sighed. ‘What a war, Jack, what a war.’
Chapter FOUR
As the car went along Tower Hill, fog rolled in from the Thames. Munro said, ‘What’s the situation here now?’
The whole place is guarded, Brigadier. Public aren’t allowed in like they used to be before the war. I understand they run sightseeing trips for Allied servicemen in uniform some days.’
‘And the Yeomen?’
‘Oh, they still function and still live in the married quarters with their families. The whole place has been bombed more than once. Three times while Rudolf Hess was there, remember?’
They were stopped at a sentry post to have passes checked and moved on through the wool of the fog, traffic sounds muted, an anguished cry from the Thames as a ship sounded its foghorn on the way down to the sea.
They were checked again then carried on over the drawbridge and through the gate. ‘Not exactly a day to fill the heart with joy,’ Munro observed.
There wasn’t much to see with the fog, only grey stone walls as they carried on, eventually reaching the Inner Ward, everything cut off around them.
‘The hospital’s over there, sir,’ Carter said.
‘You’ve made the arrangements as I ordered?’
‘Yes, sir, but with some reluctance.’
‘You’re a nice man, Jack, but this isn’t a nice war. Corne on, we’ll get out here and walk across.’
‘Right, sir.’
Carter struggled to follow him, his leg the usual problem. The fog was yellow and acrid and bit at the back of the throat like acid.
‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ Munro said. ‘Real pea-souper. What was it Dickens called it? A London particular?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
They started to walk. ‘What a bloody place, Jack. Supposed to be haunted by ghosts. That wretched little girl, Lady Jane Grey, Walter Raleigh ceaselessly prowling the walls. I wonder what Steiner makes of it?’
‘I shouldn’t think it exactly helps him to sleep, sir.’
One of the Tower’s famous black ravens emerged from the fog, enormous, wings flapping as it cawed at them.
Munro started violently. ‘Get away, you filthy great creature.’ He shuddered. ‘There, what did I tell you, spirits of the dead.’
The small hospital room was painted dark green. There was a narrow bed, a cupboard and a wardrobe. There was also a bathroom adjacent to it. Kurt Steinei, in pyjamas and towelling robe, sat by the window reading. The window was barred although it was possible to reach through and open the casement. He preferred to sit there because in better weather he could see out into the Inner Ward and the White Tower. It gave an illusion of space and space meant freedom. There was a rattle of bolts at the stout door: it opened and a military policeman stepped in.
‘Visitors for you, Colonel.’
Munro moved in followed by Carter. ‘You may leave us, corporal,’ he told the MP.
‘Sir.’
The man went out, locking the door. Munro, more for the effect than anything else, was in uniform. He shrugged off his British Warm greatcoat and Steiner took in the badges of rank and red tabs of a staff officer.
‘Oberstleutnant Kurt Steiner?’
Steiner stood up. ‘Brigadier?’