‘Father Harry Conlon then?’ she said.
‘Yes, but more than that. Major Harry Conlon, Army chaplain, on extended leave after being wounded.’
‘Where?’ Schellenberg asked.
‘In my head.’ Devlin tapped the bullet scar. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Geographically speaking.’
‘How about the Allied invasion of Sicily this year?’ Schellenberg suggested.
‘Excellent. I got clipped in an air strike on the first day. That way I don’t need too much information about the place if anyone asks me.’
‘I’ve seen a cross-reference with British Army chaplains in the military documentation file,’ Use said. ‘I remember because it struck me as being unusual. May I go and check on it, General? It would only take a few minutes.’
Schellenberg nodded. She went out and he said, ‘I’ll make the arrangements for your flight to Ireland. I’ve already done some checking with the Luftwaffe. They suggest you take off from Laville base outside Brest.’
Talk about deja vu,’ Devlin said. ‘That’s where I left from before. It wouldn’t happen to be a Dornier bomber they suggest, the good old Flying Pencil?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Ah well, it worked last time, I suppose.’
Use came in at that moment. ‘I was right. Look what I found.’
The pass was in the name of a Major George Harvey, Army chaplain, and there was a photo. It had been issued by the War Office and authorized unrestricted access to both military bases and hospitals.
‘Astonishing how powerful the need for spiritual comfort is,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Where did this come from?’
‘Documents taken from a prisoner of war, General. I’m certain forging will have no difficulty copying it and it would give Mr Devlin the photo he wanted.’
‘Brilliant,’ Devlin said. ‘You’re a marvel of a woman.’
‘You’ll need to see the clothing department as well,’ she said. ‘Will you want a uniform?’
‘It’s a thought. I mean, it could come in useful. Otherwise, a dark suit, clerical collar, dark hat, raincoat, and they can give me a Military Cross. If I’m a priest, I might as well be a gallant one. Always impressive. And I’ll want a travel voucher from Belfast to London. The kind the military use, just in case I do want to play the major.’
‘I’ll get things started.’
165
She went out and Schellenberg said, ‘What else?’
‘Cash. Five thousand quid, I’d say. That’s to take care of my having to hand a few bribes out as well as supporting myself. If you find one of those canvas military holdalls officers carry these days, the money could go in a false bottom of some sort.’
‘I’m sure there’ll be no problem.’
‘Fivers, Walter, and the real thing. None of the false stuff I happen to know the SS has been printing.’
‘You have my word on it. You’ll need a code-name.’
‘We’ll stick with Shaw’s. Falcon will do fine. Give me the right details for contacting your radio people at this end and I’ll be in touch before you know it.’
‘Excellent. The Fuhrer’s conference at Belle Ile is on the twenty-first. We could be cutting it fine.’
‘We’ll manage.’ Devlin stood up. ‘I think I’ll try the canteen.’ He turned at the door. ‘Oh, just one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘When I was dropped by parachute into Ireland in forty-one for the Abwehr, I had ten thousand pounds in a suitcase, funds for the IRA. When I opened it I found neat bundles of fivers, each one with a Bank of Berlin band around it. Do you think they could do better this time?’
Schellenberg said, ‘And they wonder why we’re losing the war.’
Asa was in the canteen drinking a beer and reading a copy of Signal, the magazine for German forces, when Devlin came in. The Irishman got a coffee and joined him.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Asa said. ‘I hardly recognized you.’
‘The new me, Father Harry Conlon, very much at your service. Also Major Harry Conlon, Army chaplain, and I’m on my way tomorrow night.’
‘Isn’t that pushing it?’
‘Jesus, son, I want to get on with it.’
‘Where are you flying from?’
‘Laville, near Brest.’
‘And the plane?’
‘Dornier zi5.’
‘Okay, I’ll fly you myself.’
‘No, you won’t, you’re too valuable. Say you got me to Ireland and dropped me off, then got shot down by a British night-fighter off the French coast on your way back. A right old balls-up that would be.’