Authors: Bill Aitken
Unknown to them all, the last movement of the boat had freed the stern and the recoil from the forward motion had left only a few radio wires across the
Walther’s
bows.
Looking Beitzen in the eye, Bader defiantly bellowed out, “Stand by below! Blow all tanks!”
A deep, grinding roar echoed through the hull of the submarine as she fought against her dead prey. And then, she was free. It was so sudden. An ear-splitting shriek of metal against metal heralded a violent jolt and the boat sped towards the surface.
Stolz looked up at Beitzen, the relief shining through his eyes and the shriek echoing in his ears. “My God, Kapitän, talk about the dead wanting company!”
Beitzen held up a finger. Talk like that was infectious in a small boat. “Now then, Karl. Chief, sort things out. I don’t want us popping up on to the surface like a cork. We don’t know what’s up there. Bring me to periscope depth first.”
Bader made to go below and take charge but Beitzen laid a hand on his shoulder. “Well done, Roman,” he said quietly. Lady Luck had smiled on them. This time.
**********
Kell and Thompson headed back up to London in the care of the fearless Mason. Neither had spoken for half an hour, each wrapped in his own thoughts.
“How do you see the Farmer thing, Kell? Is it
really
going to work, do you think?”
“Who can tell? The real question is ‘what choice do we have?’”
“God Almighty!” grunted Thompson, explosively, as the car hit yet another rut. Wartime, clearly, had an effect on road maintenance.
“We either try this or we wait for the IRB announcement or we announce it ourselves. Not much of a choice really. I just hope to God he’s as close to the real thing as Hubert has led us to believe.”
“Amen to that. I suppose if we can keep him out of the limelight, it might just work.”
Kell paused. “Perhaps.”
Thompson glanced quizzingly at him and sneezed loudly. “Is there a problem here you might share with me?”
Kell waited until the other had finished blowing his nose. “Hubert’s idea that this might be in revenge for the Government’s repression of the Easter Uprising has some merit but we both know that there are groups other than the IRB who have no love for Lord Kitchener. However, since we hope to hide the death from public view, only we and the IRB will know that anything untoward has happened. The others will therefore continue their work blissfully unaware.”
“I see what you’re getting at. In fact, I meant to tell you that my people are looking into an Indian husband and wife team who are up to no good as regards His Late Lordship. We expect to arrest them in the next week.” Thompson coughed lugubriously and turned sharply to Kell. “Did you have anything particular in mind, yourself?”
“Sadly, yes. We both know that Lord Kitchener has many enemies within the Government itself. I could name one very highly placed Minister who is known to be involved in a smear campaign. We have infiltrated a group – the Casement lot – who have been tracking His Lordship’s every movement in support of that campaign. Their objective is to create a false case, complete with names, places and dates, with the intention of branding him a homosexual.”
“For God’s sake!”
“Quite. We have information that Casement is shortly to return to Ireland, courtesy of the German Navy. One of the creatures in his party is a man called Daniel Bailey – a former Sergeant in the Royal Irish Rifles and erstwhile POW of the Germans – they released him to join Casement’s faction. We believe he’s carrying documents that would lend an aura of veracity to this story and it’s his task to release the information to the Irish press when he gets there. My people are working round the clock to find out exactly where he will land so that we can intercept them. The very scandal would spell the end of an impressive career at just exactly the wrong moment – it would have finished the real Kitchener but Heaven knows what it would do to the good doctor.”
“I see what you mean. We can hardly call them up and tell them not to bother any more since someone has literally beaten them to the gun, as Hubert puts it.”
“Precisely. And so you can see that, while Hubert must give all his attention to keeping this Colonel on the straight and narrow, we have to close down these clandestine operations before they have the chance to give the game completely away. There are just so many groups and individuals bent on Kitchener’s destruction that any one of them, at any moment, could expose our subterfuge. We have to re-double our efforts to prevent this – even more so than if he was still alive. That’s the irony of it.”
“I take your point. And you’re perfectly correct – we
have
to make sure we shut the stable door, even though the horse has already bolted, so to speak.”
“And then the other thing is this business of information leaks from the War Office.”
“Well, yes. My people are heavily into that investigation, too.”
“I am aware of that. But the purpose of those leaks has yet to be determined. It is my opinion that political leverage will be made of the information in the near future. And anything which causes the world to look closely at ‘Lord Kitchener’ is a bad thing.” He paused for a moment. “And there is another possibility – one we should seriously examine if the IRB prove to be innocent of this crime.”
“Do tell.”
“We have, of course, had to inform His Lordship’s sister of his demise. She was understandably distraught. The problem is that she is convinced, and convinced loudly, that the Black Hand is behind his murder.”
“God save us! Let’s not start that hare running!”
**********
On the surface, Beitzen and his crew assessed the damage. The main periscope was badly bent and would not retract. That wasn’t too much of a problem but it gave the boat a rather sad, deflated look. It would considerably reduce their speed under water.
“Willi?”
“Yes, Kapitän?”
“I haven’t mentioned this before but Kiel issued us with a ‘Special Mission’ moments before we left port. I’m supposed to open sealed orders right about now so I’m going below to find out just what they’ve landed us with. You have the con.”
Beitzen went below to his cabin, opened his safe and extracted the thick manila envelope, marked with ‘Secret - Captain’s Eyes Only’. He pulled the curtain across and opened his orders. Most of the bulk was taken up with Admiralty charts – Heligoland and Ireland.
Ireland?
He looked for the expected signal and found a small slip of paper, informing him that he was to make all speed for the island of Heligoland and to collect the Irish Member of Parliament, Sir Roger Casement, and his two companions – Monteith and Bailey – by 0600 hours tomorrow morning. Beitzen was then to transport the said passengers with all speed and to deposit them, under cover of darkness and complete with rubber dinghy, in the Bay of Tralee. He looked at his watch – half past ten – he’d have to move if he was to pick them up. The only issue was the main periscope. Still, he had a standby scope and Kiel would not thank him for taking the safe way out by aborting the mission. He stood up from his bunk and swept the curtain aside.
“Willi?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Make course for the Heligoland mole – all speed. Button everything down in the conning tower and let’s get under way.”
**********
Gallagher woke with a start as the train arrived in Dublin. He gathered up his things and waited until the last person in the carriage had left before peeking outside to check for any unwanted attention. There was nothing to tell from the masses of people milling around the station – some arriving home from the Front, others leaving for it and saying goodbyes they thought might be their last. At least, he couldn’t see anyone he knew. He stepped down onto the platform and joined the stream of passengers wending towards the barrier. The noise was deafening but, even so, when the familiar voice spoke behind him, he froze and waited for the speaker to take his arm like an old friend.
“Hello, Sean, it’s yourself is it?”
“As ever was, Cassidy.”
“We’ve been worrying about you for a day or two, and here you are safe and sound at last.”
“Nice to be missed. Who’s the gorilla?” Another hand, a large one, had gripped his free arm.
“Don’t worry about him, Sean, he’s just along for the ride. You’ve other things to concern yourself with. MacNeill wants a word with you in private. To be honest with you, Sean, I think he has a hair up his arse about something.”
Gallagher looked steadily at Cassidy. Another labourer like Riordan, a bit thick and strictly low calibre but good enough for this job. He knew him from the old days, good at mixing Paxo in bathtubs. They’d had some good times together once upon a time but there were no friends in this business – barely even acquaintances. The point was, however, that there was no chance of breaking free, even if he had wanted to, with the King of the Jungle hanging on to him. He stared, through basilisk eyes, at the unknown man.
“Now, then, Sean. Don’t you be looking at him like that. MacNeill just wants a talk. No idea what it’s about. I was just trying to put the wind up you, so I don’t want any problems. OK?”
Gallagher said nothing. During the conversation, they had made their way outside the main concourse of the station onto the street outside where a nondescript car, which had seen better days, was waiting for them.
“Inside, Sean,” said Cassidy looking around, “and we’ll take you for a wee hurl around the town. No charge.
”
Sunday 21 May 1916 1700 hours – Tuesday 23 May 1916 1800 hours
Cassidy led Gallagher up to the bodyguards flanking the open door and whispered a short message. At a curt nod from one of them, Gallagher was pushed into the back room of a pub in a run-down part of Dublin. MacNeill sat at the back of a booth with a half-finished glass of Guinness and the Sunday papers in front of him on a ring-stained wooden table.
“Here he is, Eoin. Picked him up at the station.”
“Well done, yourself, Fergus,” said MacNeill, “I’ll see you later.” Cassidy took that as a dismissal and vanished into the darkness, leaving Gallagher standing in the middle of the small room. From somewhere a draught was blowing, swirling the gaslight into twisting shadows in the sticky gloaming. MacNeill picked up his glass and supped a little of the dark liquid, deliberately forgetting to offer Gallagher a seat. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet, conversational tone but, for Gallagher, there was no mistaking it - MacNeill
was
mad.
“Where have you been, Sean? We was all that worried about you – no news, no telephone calls. No
nothin’!
” He crashed his fist down on the table, making the liquid slop on to the surface. “There, now, you’ve made me spill my drink.”
Gallagher froze and stared stolidly at the other man. He could sense the two bodyguards moving in the shadows, getting into position in case they were needed.
“Well?” asked MacNeill. “You were given clear instructions as to how to contact us. Either done or blown, you had a signal to follow but I have to get Cassidy pick you up at the bloody station when the RIC are at every street corner looking for us. We can hardly move for them, they’re that mad to catch any left-overs from Easter. What are you playin’ at, for Christ’s sake?”
Gallagher remained silent for a few moments, then said, “The job’s done. He’s dead.” He glimpsed the flicker of excitement flashing in MacNeill’s eyes and he knew that he was on firm ground. “I got him fair and square, in the chest and one right between the eyes.”
“OK, then, that’s the only thing that’s keeping you inside your skin, right now. Any problems?” He nodded at the other’s shake of the head and then relaxed back into the corner of the booth. He flicked a hand at the empty seat. “Sit down, for God’s sake, Sean. Do you want a drink? Feeney, get Sean a Guinness.” He turned back to Gallagher, now seated opposite him at the table. “Sean, Sean. Why do you give us so much trouble? Why couldn’t you just do as you were told and give the signal? You’re goin’ to go too far one of these days and land yourself in the shite.”
“That’s just why I keep clear of the telephones,” said Gallagher, contemplating MacNeill. “Just in case anyone wanted to underline the point by arranging a personal tour of Scotland Yard for me.”
MacNeill looked shocked and, to tell the truth, played it well. “God, Sean, you’re a suspicious bastard, right enough.”
“Sure, and that’s what keeps me young and clear-complexioned.”
MacNeill threw his head back in a loud guffaw. “Good for you, Sean!” The laugh expired on his face as he studied Gallagher for a few moments. “All right, then, let’s leave all that on one side for the minute. We’ve decided that we’ll wait for two or three days to see how the Brits try to get out of this one. With any luck, we’ll catch them telling fibs to their adorin’ public and the fat’ll be in the fire, then. Two hits for the price of one – Kitchener
and
the British Government. The bastards have a lot of answering to do for the Dublin Post Office.”
“What if they come up with something good - something you can’t argue your way out of?”
“We think we’ve got the angles covered. Anyway, that’s the way it’s to be.”
Gallagher leaned on the filthy table top and rubbed his bleary eyes.
“Tired?” asked MacNeill.
“Tired enough.”
“All right, then, be off with you and get some rest. I’ll debrief you tomorrow. Lie low for the minute.”
Gallagher got up to leave.
“Sean?” MacNeill was looking down at the remains of his drink. Gallagher, near the door, turned to face him. “I don’t see young Riordan.”
“Right you are, again, Eoin.”
MacNeill looked up to stare into his eyes. “Hope you put him somewhere safe, like.”
“I did,” said Gallagher, simply, and left.
**********
On the following day, Monday, Kell sat back in his chair in his Strand office and gazed at Farmer over steepled fingers. “We’re facing a major crisis, Colonel. I know you see the tragic results of it all but I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that thousands more could be lost, directly and indirectly, as a consequence of the IRB’s assassination of Lord Kitchener. The War will be lost without doubt and from the political point of view we’ll be back in the Stone Age.”
Farmer looked across the room at Hubert and smiled inwardly at his answering wink. It cheered him but could not relieve the feeling in the pit of his stomach. “But, Major Kell, can you really believe that a country doctor could carry off such a preposterous act?”
Kell shifted himself a little and re-arranged one or two items of stationary on his desk, a sure and certain sign that he was concerned.
Farmer leaned forward in his seat. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I would do anything for my country. More than that, I would consider it a great honour even to
pretend
to be Kitchener and keep him alive, so to speak, for a little longer but I am terribly afraid I would make a mess of things – a real mess that would just make things worse.”
“I feel you underestimate yourself, Colonel and you must also remember that
we
will be controlling the stage, as it were. It is at our discretion alone that you will appear in public or give an interview – anything of that sort. In that respect, you have little to fear. Indeed, we will ask you to do very little in the first week or two until you feel comfortable with the role and we can assess your potential. Honestly, we will ask no more of you than we believe you can deliver. It’s not in our interests to ask for more and I’m sure Hubert has stressed all of this already.”
Kell paused for a moment – for effect, Hubert suspected. “However, I confess that I
have
thought the matter over since he’s been off finding you.” He gave a wintry smile. “More than once, in fact. It may be that the Government will still fall when the news is eventually released. Accusations of incompetence, perhaps even collusion, will inevitably be levelled at one prominent figure or other. Public confidence will vanish and the Government will suffer catastrophic upheaval.”
He glanced over at Chris and wagged a finger in his general direction. “It’s all about
timing
. The great point of Hubert’s strategy is that we have a better chance of being able to
choose
the time of disclosure. If we manage matters well, not only might we survive the crisis but the effect might be to turn the country against the enemy with renewed vigour – if you are not found out, that is.”
Farmer wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and looked firstly at Hubert and then at Kell. “And Hubert will be able to accompany me? To help me through it? I don’t think that I could ...”
“Do not concern yourself with that, Colonel. We will arrange for him to be attached to your staff as a liaison officer. Nothing could be simpler. He will stay with you until we have resolved the situation one way or another.”
“Well,” said Farmer, “if that’s the case, I’ll do my best to help you. I just hope it will be good enough.”
Kell stood up and walked around to where Farmer was seated. Hubert opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. Kell was not normally demonstrative. “Colonel,” said Kell, shaking Farmer’s hand, “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am. I know I speak for Commissioner Thompson and, indeed, the Prime Minister himself, when I tell you that you are doing a very great thing for your country. It may be, indeed, that this operation will never be publicly known – indeed, it’s my intention to ensure it won’t – but I hope that the knowledge that you have served your country, as no-one else can, will suffice.”
Farmer mumbled something inaudible by way of reply.
Kell became brisk. “And now, there is no time to lose. It is almost eight in the evening and we have to get you measured up for uniforms. We have a tailor standing by in a room to which Hubert will conduct you. As soon as that business is concluded, you must be off to Broome. I left Colonel Fitzgerald down there, yesterday. Tomorrow, you must start the process of becoming Lord Kitchener and, by Tuesday or Wednesday, you will have to be good enough to appear back at the War Office.”
Farmer groaned. “Oh, God!”
“Quite. Hubert?”
Hubert took his cue and wheeled a deeply disturbed Farmer out of the room.
**********
Farmer was undergoing the ritual indignity of having his inside leg measurement taken. The whole process had dragged over an hour by now, with the tailor chattering incessantly like a little robin.
“Just a little more on the waist than His Lordship, sir, and probably an inch or so shorter in the leg.”
“Just take the line of least resistance and grunt intelligently, Henry,” said Hubert.
Farmer’s complete inability to respond ‘intelligently’ was written all over his face and Hubert was fidgeting in his seat by this time. Lack of sleep over the past couple of days and trundling around the countryside in cars had conspired to make him bad tempered. Besides, his chest hurt like hell.
“Come on, Solly, shift yourself, will you? The Colonel and I have still to travel down to see Lord Kitchener tonight.”
Farmer looked sharply at Hubert, who narrowed his eyes and held his hand up slightly.
“Hold that position just a little longer, sir,” said Solly.
“We don’t want you to make him a second skin, just alter the uniforms so that you can’t see any light through the gaps.”
“Doing my best, sir. I’ll be as quick as I can but we
do
have standards.” He shook his head, primly. “We have our reputation to think of.”
Hubert exhaled a stage-sigh and flopped back into the armchair. Another hour later, and Solly was content that he had measured his customer from every possible angle and across all dimensions.
“Now, let me get this straight, sir,” he said, taking the pins out of his mouth. “You don’t want a brand new uniform made. You have two uniforms of His Lordship’s – one daily working and one dress uniform – which you wish me to alter according to the Colonel’s measurements.”
“Absolutely right, Solly. Can you do it?”
“Certainly, sir. There’s more than enough material to cover the alterations.”
“As long as it covers the essentials, Solly” said Hubert, chortling.
Solly remained unamused. “Yes, sir, I think we can do that.”
“By tomorrow afternoon?”
“Not easy, sir. I told Mr Kell so, too. You can only put so many people to work on a single garment before they start getting in each other’s way. But we’ll do it.”
“Good man, Solly,” said Hubert, getting up with an effort, “and Solly ...?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thanks for not asking
why
– keep doing that, there’s a good lad.”
“Sir!”
“Yes, I have been told that you are very discrete and that this is not the first time you’ve been called in by my lot to perform Herculean acts of bespoke work for cloak and dagger stuff. But this is something
really
special.” Hubert spluttered an involuntary cough for a moment and continued, “If any word of this were to get out, heads would roll – and I’m not being overly-dramatic when I say that. Understand?”
Solly nodded, rather offended, and started to gather up his working materials.
“I say, old man, are you feeling unwell?” Farmer had been too busy with Solly to notice the pallor in Hubert’s face but it was unmistakeable, now.
“Feeling a bit rough, right enough. But we haven’t got time to hang about, Henry. We have to get down to Broome, grab a few hours in the sack and then get started on your training.”
“Forget it, Chris. You first. I have my bag with me – force of habit.” He looked around to see Solly pack up the last of his things and open the door to leave. “Thank you, Solly.”
Solly nodded with a smile and went out.
“Right Chris. Strip to the waist and sit on the edge of the couch. Don’t argue. You need an examination.” He dragged his stethoscope, with an effort, from his medical bag. “I ought to have done it this morning, for you looked bloody awful then, too, but I thought that might have just been the effects of the angelic Shaw. Anyway, you knocked me sideways with this lunatic escapade you’ve got me into. Sit up and take a deep breath.”
Twenty minutes later, Farmer had completed a conscientious and professional examination, given the limitations of the situation. He grimly replaced his equipment in the bag and snapped it shut. “Chris, you’re still in a bad way. You haven’t improved as quickly as we had expected you to. I’m sorry but, in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have signed your release.”