‘You admit your father tried to profit from his knowledge of Lemmer?’
‘Yes. Love blinded him, I’m afraid.’
‘And it was late love, of course,’ Schmidt said reflectively. ‘The worst kind.’
‘If you have me arrested, someone else will come for the file. Someone loyal to Lemmer.’
‘You are right.’
‘Well, then?’
‘Do you know what the Grey File contains?’
‘No. I’d have said if I did. I’m not keeping anything from you.’
‘No. I believe you are not.’ Schmidt swivelled his chair round and drew back a curtain beneath a set of shelves stacked with charts and almanacs. Behind the curtain was a safe. He rotated the combination dial several times, then opened the door. He lifted out a grey file fastened with string and dropped it on the desk. ‘This is what you came for.’
The letters NBM were stencilled boldly on the cover beneath the eagle insignia of Imperial Germany. It was the Grey File.
‘My wife worships Lemmer. It would be easier for me, I think, if she simply loved him. But no. She worships him. She believes he cannot do wrong. He is her emperor. N is the
Nachrichten-Abteilung
, our secret service. BM was the secret department of it Lemmer ran.
Besonderen Massnahmen
– Special Measures. He holds the rank of commodore. He answered only to Tirpitz and the Kaiser himself. Anna worked for him at his office in the Admiralty building in Berlin. He trusted her. Clearly, he still trusts her. For a time, Anna and I trusted each other as well. She told me some of the things Lemmer did and how he did them. She told me about the Grey File: his record of the spies he recruited in other countries. Every country, whether they were allies or enemies of Germany. The spies are all named here. The dates of recruitment. The money paid to them. The information is in code. But I expect the British Secret Service could break the code if they had the chance.’
‘I can give them the chance.’
Schmidt nodded solemnly. ‘I know.’
‘How did you obtain the file, Captain?’
‘I stole it. There should never have been a war. It was certain to be a disaster for my country. The Kaiser is to blame, of course. But he was badly advised. Worse, he was encouraged, by people like Lemmer, to believe his dreams of conquest could be made real. So, should I let Lemmer survive to scheme and spy and help to ruin Germany a second time? No. This’ – Schmidt tapped the file with his forefinger – ‘is my strike against him.
‘I believed war was folly. But I believe every sailor in the Kaiser’s Navy should do his duty. I was horrified when so many crews mutinied last autumn. There was chaos in Kiel and Wilhelmshaven. I was one of several commanders called to the Admiralty in Berlin to report on what had happened. But by the time I arrived, there was disorder in the capital as well. The Kaiser had fled to Army headquarters at Spa. His government – his empire – was falling apart. There was no one for me to report
to
. I went to see Anna to find out how my son was. Lemmer’s office was closed. I found her at home. She said he was well. I pray he still is. Anna said so in her letter, but . . .
‘Lemmer was not in Berlin. Anna would not say where he was or how long he had been gone. “He will make everything right,” she insisted. I remember her words. And the look in her eyes. Such loyalty. Such certainty. I decided in that moment to do what I could to damage him. And Anna, of course. My motives were not pure. Whose are?
‘I knew where Anna kept the keys to Lemmer’s office. I stole them before I left the apartment. That was the day the Kaiser’s abdication was announced. November the ninth. I heard the news from a stranger running along Königgrätzer Straße towards the Reichstag. “They’re going to proclaim a republic,” he told me. A vast crowd was gathering. No one paid any attention to me at the Admiralty. Most of the staff had left. I let myself into Lemmer’s office. There was simply no one to stop me. I had the key to Lemmer’s filing cabinet. I opened it. And I found what I was looking for.’ He tapped the Grey File with his forefinger again.
‘I took it back with me to Wilhelmshaven and resumed command of my ship. The Armistice was signed two days later. There was drunkenness and desertion in the fleet while we waited to be told how and where to surrender the ships. But Admiral von Reuter pulled us together when the order came. We sailed in good order.
‘And now we sit here, waiting for the treaty that will decide what happens to our ships. We have been here five months. We could be here another two or three. It is a long time when there is little to do but think too much about the past and the future. I have thought a lot about what to do with the Grey File. Lemmer knows I have it. He cannot let me keep it. So, you are right. If you fail, he will send someone else.
‘I could have handed it over to the British many months ago. I hesitated because it would be an act of treason for me as a serving officer in the German Navy to surrender a secret intelligence document to a foreign power. Perhaps Lemmer realized I would hold back for that reason. Perhaps he judged he could wait until the treaty was signed and I returned to Germany before attempting to retrieve it. If that is true, something has happened to change his plan. His need of the file has become urgent. And he has sent you to get it.’ Schmidt smiled faintly.
‘What’s amusing you, Captain?’
‘Lemmer has solved my moral problem for me. You are his representative. And as far as I know he is still the head of NBM. Therefore, in passing the documents to you, I am not guilty of treason. Take it, then. It is time to use it against him.’
Max stepped forward and picked up the file. ‘One more question, Captain.’
‘Yes?’
‘Has your wife ever mentioned someone – or something – called Farngold?’
Schmidt thought for a moment, then said, ‘No. I have never heard the name. Maybe it is in the file.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You will try to trick Lemmer, I suppose. You will copy the contents of the file and deliver the original to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘He is not an easy man to trick.’
‘I know that.’
‘As long as you do.’ Schmidt held Max’s gaze. ‘Do you think you are cleverer than he is?’
‘No.’
‘Then be careful. Be very careful.’
SCHMIDT GAVE MAX
a waterproof chart envelope to carry the file in. Max concealed it inside his gaberdine coat, buttoned up and tightly belted to hold it fast, then went back on deck to wait for Wylie.
He did not have to wait long. Wylie’s drifter chugged out of the darkness on schedule and drew alongside. Max went down the ladder and jumped aboard.
‘Got what you came for?’ Wylie asked, looking round from the wheel as he drew away again.
‘Just take me back to Stromness.’
‘Oh, pardon me for breathing.’
‘You have your orders, Wylie. I have mine.’
‘Aye. But I’m skipper of this boat and I give the orders while we’re at sea. I’ll thank you to go below. The lamp’s lit for you in the cabin.’
The shadowy bulk of the
Herzog
diminished as the drifter picked up speed, the size of it apparent in the drizzle-smeared darkness only because of its bow and stern lights. A few of the boxes Max had to share the confined space in the cabin with were empty now. But most were not. He wondered if Wylie’s nocturnal trade had been curtailed by the need to return him to Stromness. Well, there would be many other nights for Wylie to make up the difference. He would just have to tolerate the inconvenience.
Max sat down at the table, loosened his coat and laid the envelope by his elbow. Then he lit a cigarette and steeled himself to ignore the wallow of the vessel as it ploughed on. He would be in Stromness soon enough. And in the morning he would be on his way.
Then a movement on the companionway caught his eye. Looking round, he was astounded to see Fontana standing in the doorway, holding a gun.
‘Hello, Max.’ Fontana nodded in the direction of the envelope on the table. ‘The Grey File, right?’
‘Are you mad? You’re not supposed to be here.’ Max started to stand up.
‘
Sit down
.’ Fontana motioned with the gun for emphasis. And Max obeyed. ‘Is that the Grey File?’
‘Yes.’
‘Show me.’
‘Not until you explain what the hell you think you’re doing.’ They were brave words. But Max had a horrible suspicion he already knew what Fontana thought he was doing.
‘There’s been a change of plan, Max. I’ll take the file from here.’
‘Why has the plan changed?’
‘Ours not to reason. Now, open the envelope, please. I need to see it.’
‘Does Lemmer know you’re doing this?’
‘He told me to do it. I’ll shoot you if you force me to, Max. You know I will. Look what happened to Selwyn Henty.’
‘Did you shoot him?’
‘No. That was an old-fashioned sandbagging. Then he went into Kirkwall harbour with a lump of concrete tied round his ankle.’
‘Where am I going? The bottom of Scapa Flow?’
‘Just open the envelope.’ Fontana levelled the gun. The clarity and calmness of his gaze left Max in no doubt that he meant what he said.
Max opened the envelope and slid the file out onto the table.
‘Good. That’s it, sure enough. How’d you get Schmidt to hand it over?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I guess not. The boss said you’d be able to pull it off and he was right. OK. Take your coat off. And your jacket.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to check if you’ve pocketed any of the contents of the file.’
‘What will I be doing while you’re checking?’
‘Take them off, Max.’
‘OK.’ Max raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He shrugged his coat and jacket off his shoulders. As he pulled them down towards his waist, he reached into the outer coat pocket, where his fingers closed round the handle of Schmidt’s revolver.
‘
Take it
,’ Schmidt had said. ‘
I think you may need it. I think Lemmer may not trust you as much as you suppose
.’ How right he had been. Lemmer could have sent Fontana after the file. But Schmidt would never have surrendered it to such a man. The secret of Max’s success was that he was not loyal to Lemmer. And Lemmer must have known that from the outset. In fact, he had been counting on it.
‘You can stand up now,’ said Fontana.
Fontana intended to shoot him. Probably not here, in the cabin, but up on deck, where the blood could easily be washed away, after Max’s body had been thrown over the side with something heavy tied to it. Yes. That was how Fontana meant to arrange it. He was only following orders, after all. It would be nothing personal.
But this would be. Max swung the gun towards Fontana as he jumped to his feet and fired. Fontana jerked back. The bullet missed him, piercing one of the wooden risers on the companionway behind him.
Then Fontana fired. But the boat lurched to starboard as he did so and the bullet flew wide, sinking harmlessly into the panelling of the rear wall of the cabin. His feet entangled in the bench, Max was thrown across it by the motion of the boat. A second bullet splintered the edge of the table and narrowly missed him.
Wylie must have wrenched the wheel in surprise when he heard the first shot. Now he pulled it back to port to compensate. Max rolled under the table as Fontana stumbled forward into the cabin. He rolled again, onto his stomach, took aim at Fontana’s right knee and fired.
The bullet hit. Max heard the fracturing of bone in the instant before Fontana cried out in pain. The leg gave way beneath him. He hit the floor hard, but kept hold of his gun and focused on Max as he squeezed the trigger. Max fired in the same moment, his head still and upright, whereas Fontana was lying on his side, his shoulder twisted under him, pain coursing up from his knee. He missed. Max did not.
He crawled out from beneath the table, watching Fontana’s eyes for signs of life. There were none. Max scrambled to his feet and started up the companionway. With a gun to his head, Wylie would cooperate. He owed Fontana nothing. He was a smuggler, not a spy, and a pragmatist to boot.
But the wheelhouse was empty. The boat was chugging forward slowly under its own steam, with the wheel lashed to hold its course.
Max took in the scene for no more than a second. As he started to turn away, something hard struck his wrist, causing him to cry out and drop the gun. It fell to the deck with a thump. He saw a moving shadow reflected in the glass ahead of him and swung round just in time to raise his arms and block the descending blow.
He was driven back against the wheelhouse. Wylie was armed with a gaff, but Max wrestled it to the horizontal, the hook clear of his face. The shaft, though, pressed at his throat as he scrabbled for a hold.
He was grateful for the days he had spent in the gymnasium in Glasgow. He felt the pressure easing as he strained to push the gaff away from him. And in Wylie’s eyes he read the realization that Max was marginally the stronger man.
‘Listen to me, Wylie,’ Max said, forcing out the words. ‘I’ve no quarrel . . . with you. I got . . . what I came for. Fontana’s dead . . . but there doesn’t have to be any more killing . . . We put him over the side, weighted to make sure he sinks . . . Then you take me back to Stromness, as agreed . . . and we go our separate ways. What d’you say?’
Wylie gave no immediate answer as the gaff wobbled back and forth in their contesting grasps.
‘For God’s sake, man. See reason . . . Some dangerous people will come looking for what Commander Schmidt gave me . . . if I don’t leave with it. They’ll kill you without blinking . . . I’m your best chance of surviving this.’
‘You’ll never make it to shore without me,’ Wylie growled.
‘Probably not. So, you see? . . . We need each other.’
Suddenly, Wylie broke away. But he did not lower the gaff. ‘The two guns, yours and Fontana’s, go over the side with him. I don’t want you double-crossing me when we reach Stromness.’
‘All right.’
‘You’re tougher than you look, Mr Hutton. You should know Fontana never told me he meant to kill you.’ As Wylie spoke, he slowly lowered the gaff to his side.
What, Max wondered, did Wylie imagine Fontana had been intending to do? Offer Max his heartfelt congratulations on a job well done? ‘Where did he come aboard?’