Night of the Fox

Carter balanced on his walking stick and Munro stood, hands in pockets, and looked out to sea. He shivered suddenly. ‘Anything wrong, sir?’ Carter asked.

‘Someone just walked over my grave, Jack. To be honest, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. Come on, let’s get back to London,’ and he turned and walked away along the beach.

‘So, Berger, you understand what I am saying to you?’ Konrad Hofer demanded.

Heini Baum stood rigidly at attention in front of the desk in the office which the CO had been happy to lend to the field marshal at Campeaux. He tried to ignore the fact that Rommel stood at the window looking out into the garden.

‘I’m not sure, Herr Major. I think so.’

Rommel turned. ‘Don’t be stupid, Berger. You’re an intelligent man, I can see that, and a brave one.’ He tapped the Iron Cross First Class with the tip of his crop and the band around the left sleeve with the Gothic lettering. ‘The Afrika Korps cuff-title, I see. So, we are old comrades. Were you at Alamein?’

‘No, Field Marshal. Wounded at Tobruk.’

‘Good. I’m a plain man so listen carefully. You did a wonderful impersonation of me last night, in both appearance and voice. Very professional.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now I require a second performance. On Friday, you will fly to Jersey for the weekend accompanied by Major Hofer. You think you could fool them in Jersey for that long, Berger? King for a day? Would you like that?’

Baum smiled. ‘Actually, I think I would, sir.’

Rommel said to Hofer. ‘There you are. Sensible and intelligent, just as I told you. Now make the arrangements, Konrad, and let’s get out of here.’

The cottage was built in the same kind of granite as the house. There was one large living room with a beamed ceiling and a dining table and half-a-dozen chairs in a window alcove. The kitchen was on the other side of the hall. Upstairs, there was one large bedroom, a storeroom and a bathroom.

Rather than negotiate the stairs, Gallagher had laid Kelso out on a long comfortable sofa in the living room. The American was still unconscious, and Gallagher found his wallet and opened it. There was his security card with photo, some snaps of a woman and two young girls, obviously his family, and a couple of letters which were so immediately personal that Gallagher folded them up again. He could hear Helen’s voice from the kitchen as she spoke on the telephone. Kelso opened his eyes, stared blankly at him and then noticed the wallet in Gallagher’s hand.

‘Who are you?’ He grabbed at it weakly. ‘Give it back to me.’

Helen came in and sat on the sofa and put a hand on his forehead. ‘It’s all right. Just be still. You’re burning up with fever. Remember me, Helen de Ville?’

He nodded slowly. ‘The woman on the beach.’

‘This is a friend, General Sean Gallagher.’

‘I was just checking his papers,’ Gallagher told her. ‘The identity card is a little damp. I’ll leave it out to dry.’

She said to Kelso. ‘Do you remember where you are?’

‘Jersey.’ He managed a ghastly smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not quite out of my mind yet. I can think straight if I concentrate.’

‘All right, then, listen to me,’ Sean Gallagher said. ‘Your leg is very bad indeed. You need hospital and a good surgeon.’

Kelso shook his head. ‘Not possible. As I told this lady earlier, no Germans. It would be better to shoot me than let them get their hands on me.’

‘Why?’ Sean Gallagher demanded bluntly.

‘She called you General. Is that true?’

‘I was once in the Irish Army and I served with the Brits in the last war. Does that make a difference?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘All right, what’s your unit?’

‘Engineers – assault engineers, to be precise. We lead the way in beach landings.’

Sean Gallagher saw it all. ‘Is this something to do with the invasion?’

Kelso nodded. ‘It’s coming soon.’

‘Sure and we all know that,’ Gallagher said.

‘Yes, but I know where and I know when. If the Germans could squeeze that out of me, can you imagine what it would mean? All their troops concentrated in the right place. We’d never get off the beach.’

He was extremely agitated, sweat on his forehead. Helen soothed him, easing him down. ‘It’s all right, I promise you.’

‘Is George Hamilton coming?’ Gallagher asked.

‘He was out. I left a message with his housekeeper that you wanted to see him urgently. I said you’d cut your leg and thought it needed a stitch or two.’

‘Who’s Hamilton?’ Kelso demanded.

‘A doctor,’ Helen said. ‘And a good friend. He’ll be here soon to see to that leg of yours.’

Kelso was shaking again as the fever took hold. ‘More important things to think of at the moment. You must speak to your resistance people here. Tell them to get on the radio as soon as possible and notify Intelligence in London that I’m here. They’ll have to try to get me out.’

‘But there is no resistance movement in Jersey,’ Helen said. ‘I mean, there’s a hell of a lot of people who don’t care to be occupied and make life as awkward for the enemy as they can, but we don’t have anything like the French Resistance, if that’s what you mean.’

Kelso stared at her in astonishment and Gallagher said, ‘This island is approximately ten miles by five. There are something like forty-five thousand civilians. A good-size market town, that’s all. How long do you think a resistance movement would last here? No mountains to run to, nowhere to take refuge. Nowhere to go, in fact.’

Kelso seemed to have difficulty in taking it in. ‘So, there’s no resistance movement. No radio?’

‘No links with London at all,’ Gallagher told him.

‘Then what about France?’ Kelso asked desperately. ‘Granville, St Malo. They’re only a few hours away across the water, aren’t they? There must be a local unit of the French Resistance in those places.’

There was a significant pause, then Helen turned to Gallagher. ‘Savary could speak to the right people in Granville. He knows who they are and so do you.’

‘True.’

‘Guido was leaving as I came up from the beach,’ she said. ‘He told me they were trying for Granville this afternoon. Taking advantage of the fog.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘They won’t have the tide until noon. You could take the van. There are those sacks of potatoes to go into St Helier for the troops’ supply depot and the market.’

‘All right, you’ve convinced me,’ Gallagher said. ‘But if I know Savary, he won’t want any of this, not in his head. That means writing it down, which is taking one hell of a chance.’

‘We don’t have any choice, Sean,’ she said simply.

‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ Gallagher laughed. ‘The things I do for England. Look after our friend here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’