Giles said that war was probably remote, but thought one should be aware of possible enemies. ‘It’s the same here,’ his voice betraying fatigue. ‘Politicians, like the people, of this country, are more occupied with preserving the status quo; the military live on past battlefields, and plan old campaigns. Neither learn from history.’
After a short silence, Marcel gave his wife a sidelong glance. ‘Marie is doing all she can. As you have instructed.’
Giles smiled, as wintry as the weather outside, asking if his daughter was still keeping up the pretence of a liaison with the German Military Attaché.
There was no humour when Marcel growled that there were doubts about the pretence of the liaison.
‘Hypocrites!’ Marie became angry. ‘I love my husband, and nobody else. France is my adopted country, and I’m also still British.’ Suddenly she grinned, ‘Anyway, he’s not the Military Attaché; he’s the Attaché’s assistant.’
‘Klaus von Hirsch,’ Marcel spoke without enthusiasm, ‘has an unfortunate reputation with the ladies.’
‘Which, as my father has pointed out, makes him all the more vulnerable.’ She said the German Military Attaché’s assistant in Paris talked a great deal once you had his confidence.
‘And you have that confidence?’ Giles made no exceptions, treating his daughter as he would any other agent.
‘Enough to be within months of getting details of the German battle plan – should they ever need to use it’
‘Which plan?’
‘Oh, you know some of it – the Graf von Schlieffen’s famous plan. I’ll have the whole thing for you in time.’
Giles suggested that von Schlieffen’s plan was almost certainly out of date, the Kaiser’s Chief of General Staff having retired some three years ago, plagued by ill health. His successor – the able General Moltke – would doubtless have his own new battle order and plan.
‘I would not be too certain, Marie could be as stubborn as her father. ‘Von Schlieffen is still held in great awe. The General Staff of the High Command still report to him. Klaus as good as told me Moltke dare not make changes – and the plan certainly concerns France and Belgium. So, I continue? Yes?’
Giles nodded. ‘You go on as before. Get as much of the battle plan and order as you can. Any way you can.’
As he thought back on these things now, while returning home from briefing Monique, Giles Railton realized he had no compunction about allowing his daughter to form what could be an immoral alliance with the German officer.
He was not a squeamish man. Some years ago, in the late 1880s, he had garotted one of his oldest friends on discovering that he had passed information to Irish agitators. He did not think twice about it, and lost no sleep after the act. Later he had a recurring dream in which he was carefully pulling the wings off exotic butterflies. He still had the dream occasionally, but never associated it with the act he had performed, of his own volition, for his country.
It was well past ten o’clock when he got back to Eccleston Square, and the house was in darkness. He ate and retired to the Hide, selecting a large-scale map of the field of Crécy from the case which housed his comprehensive collection. He had drawn the map himself – as with all the others – now he pulled out several trays of finely detailed lead soldiers: the troops of Edward III and the Black Prince; archers, foot soldiers, cavalry, baggage waggons and accoutrements, together with the larger forces of Genoese archers, the men of Bohemia and Alencon, Blois and Lorraine, with the armies of Philip VI.
Setting the English army back behind Abbeville, Giles started to study the moves which had occurred in the late August of 1346. He was a firm believer in the theory that one learns from the follies and wisdoms of the past, but, as he moved the blocks of fighting men around the map, part of his mind dwelt on his daughter-in-law, Bridget, who, with Malcolm, would now be well on her way back to Ireland. He hoped that, in spite of Malcolm’s lack of interest, Bridget – now a Railton in Giles’ eyes – would see where her loyalties lay.
*
As his train finally pulled into the Lehrte Railway Station, Gustav Steinhauer recalled the Kaiser’s particular orders to him, on that day just before Christmas 1908.
The Kaiser had discovered the officers of the Army High Command were anxious to take over all matters concerned with intelligence, including the handling of agents already placed by the Foreign Ministry into other European countries. They were planning to effect this take-over within the next two to three years.
The Kaiser had confided in Steinhauer that his great worry was the way in which this would affect matters of intelligence – particularly over the question of sea power.
‘I realize that you are in a position to contact our spies already buried on foreign soil, Steinhauer,’ he said, ‘but these men and women will come under military control when the High Command gets its way. What I .need is my own man, and I see you as my man. Am I correct?’
‘Of course, Majesty.’
‘Good. Then you will report certain matters to me, and to me alone. When the military establish themselves as the Fatherland’s spymasters, you will co-operate with them. But you will not betray this one confidence to them. You will place your own agent – a man who is well trained, knows about naval matters, is familiar with sabotage and the other skills of spies – in England. You will control him. You will not betray him to those who will be your new masters.’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
‘You would be able to do this, and mislead your military spymasters?’ The Kaiser frowned, looking directly into Steinhauer’s eyes.
‘Of course, Majesty. They’ll never be able to find, or identify, him.’
‘Good,’ the Kaiser gave a short nod. ‘Very good indeed. Now, to this man, who will live as a ghost, you will select him; train him; send him out; and report the full facts to me alone. You understand?’
Steinhauer understood. He interviewed eleven possibilities, all of whom turned out to be flawed. Then the petty officer, Hans-Helmut Ulhurt, came to his notice – the ideal choice. A man with all the right credentials, but a man who would have to be not only trained but also tamed. A man who required discipline.
As he boarded the Stadtbahn train for Neuweissensee, Steinhauer hoped the crushing of Ulhurt’s leg had almost performed the taming for him. Soon, the training phase would end, and his tame spy could be tested in the field. Ireland, perhaps, would be a good starting point. He was pleased with that idea.
Chapter Four
Giles Railton had trained himself to manage on only four hours of sleep each night. Between three in the morning and dawn he was often at his best. Some of his most constructive plans came to mental fruition in those twilight hours; though, sometimes, he was out and about.
On a Wednesday night, a few weeks after The General’s funeral, he walked the streets of London. He knew every road and alley blindfold and, in fact, could always find his way, even in pitch darkness or thickest fog. It was not a knack, but a self-taught art, for he could do the same in most of the great capitals of Europe, not to mention places as far away as Cairo and Calcutta.
On this morning the journey was simple – Eccleston Square to his son’s house in King Street. The task was one which a messenger could easily have carried out, but the intriguer in Giles’ nature made it a pleasure for him to do the job alone.
Nobody either heard or saw him enter King Street, slip quietly to the house door, and deposit a letter through the box.
In the morning, Lieutenant-Commander Andrew Railton RN rose early, out of habit. While shaving he peered hard into the mirror. The General had seemed indestructible. Now he was gone – like a man dying in battle. Many Railton men had looked hard at themselves over the past days, as though searching for the seed of destruction which lies in all men.
Examining his reflection, Andrew found it hard to credit the fact that he had passed his mid-thirties, let alone the rank of Lieutenant-Commander. He also marvelled at his happiness and good fortune. Though, like all sailors,
he preferred to be in a ship, he was content with his profession. One of his sons, Caspar, was nearing the moment of decision regarding his future; while the twins, Rupert and Ramillies, now approached the first hurdle which would shape their futures. Andrew was inordinately proud of his sons.
There was also the intense happiness of his private domestic life. In all respects, even after the seventeen years of their marriage, Charlotte was an unbelievably ideal wife and mother. She had a good, interesting mind, always anxious to learn, so that the couple could talk about most subjects under the sun. She also ran his home with an almost naval precision, even if she occasionally took a little more drink than was good for her.
After all this time, she appeared to enjoy their lovemaking, with the kind of abandon Andrew associated with a completely different sort of woman. Certainly the two years they had spent together when he was on the China Station – and the one in the Mediterranean – could never make up for the years spent apart. Yet, undoubtedly, Charlotte had learned many ways to please her husband when living in those hot climates.
Dressed, he went through to Charlotte’s room. In spite of the early hour, she was awake. He said he would be home at the usual time that evening, and merely wished to see her before breakfasting and leaving for the Admiralty.
She gave a sleepy smile. ‘Oh, my dear, what do you find to do with yourself all day at the Admiralty?’ Then, suddenly becoming wide awake, ‘Andrew, you never talk about it nowadays. What do you find to occupy yourself? You used to say so much…’
Andrew had been reluctant to tell his wife about the nature of his work with the Director Intelligence Division (Admiralty). ‘It’s just that the Admiralty isn’t quite as exciting as the old days: not quite the same as being Jacky Fisher’s Gunnery Officer in Renown.’ He hoped the question had been turned.
Her face fell. ‘Poor Lord Fisher. Oh well, I suppose you’re working with this new Naval War Staff, now they’ve chucked Jacky out on his ear.’
‘Something like that.’ He bent over to kiss her. ‘I shall see you tonight, my darling.’
‘And I shall look forward to it: she grinned, sinking back onto the pillows.
Tonight, he thought. One of these tonights he would have to speak to her about the very sensitive nature of his work. Wives needed to know these things in order to avoid gaffes in public, particularly at naval functions.
He went down to the dining room for breakfast, which stood ready in its various dishes on the sideboard. An envelope lay by his plate, and he immediately recognized his father’s hand. Inside, a single sheet of paper was neatly covered with a series of numbers. Urgent it might be, but he would eat first. Helping himself to bacon, eggs, and an excellent sausage, Andrew applied himself to The Times. When he had finished, he took a second cup of coffee and went into his study, on the far side of the hall.
Having locked the door, he spread his father’s message out on his desk, and took a book from the case which stood against the right hand wall.
Andrew was barely fourteen when he became interested in secret writings and codes. As a quiet, secret pastime, his father devised the simplest form of cipher, an ordinary book code with messages passed by giving blocks of figures equivalent to page, line and number of the word. It was hardly professional, though most serviceable, for the numbers were useless to anyone else, unless they knew what book was being used. Initially they used the works of William Shakespeare, for all the Railtons were dedicated to the Bard – some said they used the plays more than the Bible, and certainly regarded them with greater reverence. Then, Giles made the cipher more obscure by discovering two copies of a three volume history with the pompous title: A View of Universal History, from the Creation
to the Present Time.
It had been published in 1795 by G. Kearsley No. 46 Fleet Street London, and written by The Revd J. Adams AM. They had often used the cipher to communicate with one another during the intervening years.
The current message, left by Giles in the small hours, was ciphered to Volume One, and Andrew took less than three minutes to unravel it. The book, being old, was written in a flowery language which made literal messages sometimes difficult.
When deciphered, this one read:
The author suggests you be not with your captain at the military tribunal this day.
So? Andrew allowed himself a cynical smile, was this a case of father not wishing to be distracted by son? Or was it merely a question of too many Railtons spoiling the broth of intrigue? ‘The Military Tribunal’ was the first full meeting of the CID’s sub-committee for the reorganization of the Secret and Security Services. Under normal circumstances, Andrew would have accompanied his superior, the DID.
On the way to the Admiralty, he thought of Charlotte’s remarks concerning the unfair treatment of Admiral Fisher, recently resigned from his duties as First Sea Lord.
It was so damned unjust, for Jacky Fisher had changed the whole shape and capability of the Royal Navy more than any one man since Henry VIII.
Arriving at his office, Andrew went straight to give his excuses to the DID, and make sure he was not at the meeting that afternoon. Then he got on with the important, most secret, work entrusted to him.
*
After that very first meeting with the Kaiser, during which he was left in no doubt as to his orders and duty, Gustav Steinhauer contrived to take care of his own situation lest anything should go badly wrong.
He managed two more private conversations with the Kaiser, and overcame the vain man by the use of his own silver tongue, extracting from him two things. First a general-purpose letter, so phrased that the reader would be left in no doubt that Steinhauer was acting on the Kaiser’s personal orders. Second, he pleaded for money. The cost of recruiting and training the kind of man required by the Kaiser was, Steinhauer explained, prohibitive. The Kaiser appeared to understand this, just as he saw that Steinhauer would be unable to get funds directly from the Foreign Ministry – and certainly never from the military, once they took over.
In this way, Steinhauer had gained a special private kind of power, and was in a position to make certain Hans-Helmut Ulhurt was properly cared for at the clinic in Neuweissensee. He simply bought the place out, and introduced his own staff.
When he was in Berlin, Steinhauer tried to visit the clinic every other day. He found that the big sailor had started to respond. The aim was to make Ulhurt dependent on him alone.
Soon, he discovered two things – Ulhurt could be gentle, kind, and talk with great knowledge about a hundred different subjects; he was also full of pent-up anger, and could be as dangerous as a snake. He would be trained, as one taught an intelligent dog, to flush out quarry, to bring home messages, to maim and to kill. Altogether a most suitable subject.
Steinhauer told him there was special training ahead. He already knew a good deal about wireless telegraphy, but there was more to be learned; there would also be certain violent skills, as well as some kind of a course in ciphers. The violent part would include explosives.
‘As soon as you’re really moving well, and are fit,’ Steinhauer told him, ‘I shall want you to take a trip to sea once more.’
‘To get my sea legs back?’ The sailor flashed a rare smile.
‘Something like that. There are people to meet, and countries just over the horizon. Call it experience.’
‘Call it what you like.’ Ulhurt pulled himself from the bed and walked, unaided, to the door and back again.
‘Soon we shall have some new instructors here.’ Steinhauer was only just starting to formulate the course he wished Ulhurt to follow. ‘There will be people to teach you many skills – and some gymnastic experts.’
‘I smashed up the teeth of a gymnastic instructor one time,’ Ulhurt looked at his hand. ‘Tried to practise some physical jerks on me – know the kind I mean?’
‘I think so.’
‘Look,’ he held up a hand the size of a small bunch of bananas. ‘Look, you can still see the scars, whe
re his teeth went.’
‘You have a good, interesting future,’ Steinhauer tried a smile, for the big sailor appeared to have become sullen.
‘Even without a leg?’
‘Especially without a leg.’
‘Shithouse English pig-dogs!’ Ulhurt slapped his wooden thigh.
‘You blame the English sailors?’ Steinhauer’s face blank.
‘Who else? A life and career ruined.’
‘I’ve already told you, your career is not ruined. Far from it. The reason you are here is to prepare you for future work for the Fatherland…’
‘Fuck the Fatherland!’
‘Ulhurt, my friend, do I have to remind you of your luck? Others have…’
‘Died? I know, died. Damned bastard English sailors are the ones I want to see rot.’
‘And you may well have that chance. Listen for a moment. The sooner you can get used to this wooden leg, the sooner you can get your own back on English sailors. Already you have achieved miracles. I know it is hard, but I will let you into one small secret. And kindly remember it is a secret. Something between us alone.’
The big head gave a surly nod.
‘The work I am to prepare you for concerns English sailors. It will bring you into close contact with them. If the opportunity arises, you will be able to exact revenge. Work hard. Learn what we are about to teach you, and there is a good life ahead.’ Steinhauer smiled, one hand patting the large man on the shoulder. He felt the hard flesh under his palm and thought, not for the first time, that this man had enough power in his body to kill with consummate ease.
All things were possible: he had the strength, experience at sea, and in countries throughout the world; he spoke French, Italian, Swedish and English like a native. How, Steinhauer wondered, could a man with this kind of intelligence have allowed himself to become a person of two faces – the good professional sailor, and the drunken, whoring bar-fighter?
In a moment of near affection for the wounded giant he asked if there was anything he needed.