Cold Harbour

‘You know him, too!’

‘Oh, yes,’ Craig said. ‘I worked for SOE from the beginning. Before we came into the war. We’ve had dealings, me and Dougal. A ruthless old bastard.’

‘Which is how you win wars, old boy,’ Edge commented from the rear.

‘I see. You’re an anything goes man, are you?’ Craig asked.

‘Thought we all were in our business, old son.’

For a moment, Craig saw General Dietrich’s frightened face through the confessional grille. He turned away, uncomfortable.

Hare said, ‘He hasn’t changed – Munro. The motto really is anything goes, but I expect you’ll see for yourself soon enough.’

He turned in through cross gates and braked to a halt in a flagged courtyard. The house was grey stone, and three storeys high. Very old, very peaceful. Nothing to do with war at all.

‘Does it have a name?’ Craig asked.

‘Grancester Abbey. Rather grand, eh?’ Edge told him.

Hare said, ‘Here we are then.’ He got out of the jeep. ‘We’ll beard the ogre in his den if he’s here.’

But at that precise moment, Brigadier Dougal Munro was being admitted into the library at Hayes Lodge in London, the house which General Dwight D. Eisenhower was using as temporary headquarters. The General was enjoying coffee and toast and an early edition of The Times when the young Army Captain ushered Dougal Munro in and closed the door behind him.

‘Morning, Brigadier. Coffee, tea – anything you want is on the sideboard.’ Munro helped himself to tea. ‘How’s this Cold Harbour project working out?’

‘So far, so good, General.’

‘You know war is a little like the magician who fools people into watching his right hand while his left is attending to the real business of the day.’ Eisenhower poured more coffee. ‘Deception, Major. Deception is the name of the game. I had a report from Intelligence which tells me that Rommel has done incredible things since they put him in charge of the Atlantic Wall.’

‘Quite true, sir.’

‘This E-boat of yours has taken engineer officers in by night to the French coast to get beach samples on so many occasions that you must have a pretty good idea where we intend to go in?’

‘That’s right, General,’ Munro said calmly. ‘All the indications would seem to predict Normandy.’

‘All right. So we’re back with deception,’ Eisenhower said and walked to the wall map. ‘I’ve got Patton heading a phantom army up here in East Anglia. Fake army camps, fake planes – the works.’

‘Which would indicate to the Germans our intentions to take the short route and invade in the Pas de Calais area?’ Munro observed.

‘Which they’ve always expected because it makes military sense.’ Eisenhower nodded. ‘We’ve already got things moving to reinforce that idea. The RAF and 8th Air Force will raid that area frequently, considerably closer to the invasion, of course. That’ll make it look as if we’re trying to soften things up. Resistance groups in the region will constantly attack the power cables and railways, that sort of thing. Naturally, the double agents we’re running will transmit the right, false information to Abwehr headquarters.’

He stood there, staring at the map and Munro said, ‘Something worrying you, sir?’

Eisenhower moved to the bow window and lit a cigarette. ‘Many people wanted us to invade last year. Let me now be explicit with you, Brigadier, as to why we didn’t. SHAEF has always been convinced that we can only succeed with this invasion by having every advantage. More men than the Germans, more tanks, more planes – everything. You want to know why? Because in every engagement fought in this war on equal terms, facing either Russian, British or American troops, the Germans have always won. Unit for unit, they usually inflict fifty per cent more casualties.’

‘I’m aware of that unfortunate fact, sir.’

‘Intelligence sent me details of a speech Rommel made to his Generals the other day. He said if he didn’t beat us on the beaches they’d lost the war.’

‘I think he’s right, sir.’

Eisenhower turned. ‘Brigadier, I’ve always been sceptical of the exact worth of secret agents in this war. Their material is usually sketchy at the best. I think we get better information from the decoding of cyphers by Ultra.’

‘I agree, sir,’ Munro hesitated. ‘Of course, if major information isn’t processed by Enigma in the first place, the facts aren’t there to be decoded and they could well be the most important facts.’

‘Exactly.’ Eisenhower leaned forward. ‘You sent me a report last week I hardly dare to believe. You said that there was to be a Staff Conference headed by Rommel himself quite soon now. A conference concerned solely with the question of Atlantic Wall defences.’

‘That’s right, General. At a place called Château de Voincourt in Brittany.’

‘You further stated that you had an agent who could penetrate that conference?’

‘Correct, General.’ Munro nodded.

Eisenhower said, ‘My God, if I was a fly on the wall at that meeting. To know Rommel’s thoughts. His intentions.’ He put a hand on Munro’s shoulder. ‘You realise how crucially important this could be? Three million men, thousands of ships, but the right information could make all the difference. You understand?’

‘Perfectly, General.’

‘Don’t let me down, Brigadier.’

He turned and stared up at the map. Munro let himself out of the room quietly, went downstairs, picked up his coat and hat, nodded to the sentries and went to his car. His aide, Captain Jack Carter, sat in the rear, hands folded over his walking stick. Carter had a false leg, courtesy of Dunkirk.

‘Everything all right, sir?’ he asked as they drove away.

Munro pulled the glass panel across, cutting them off from the driver. ‘The de Voincourt conference has assumed crucial importance. I want you to get in touch with Anne-Marie Trevaunce. She can go on another false trip to Paris. Arrange a Lysander pick-up. I need to talk with her, face-to-face. Say three days from now.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘Anything else I need to know?’

‘Message came in concerning Cold Harbour, sir. Seems the OSS had problems yesterday. One of their agents knocked off General Dietrich, the SD chief in Brittany. Due to bad weather, their Lysander pick-up had to be aborted, so they asked us for help.’

‘You know I don’t like doing that, Jack.’

‘Yes, sir. Anyway, Commander Hare got the message direct, went across to Grosnez and picked up the agent concerned. A Major Osbourne.’

There was a pause and Munro turned in astonishment. ‘Craig Osbourne?’

‘Looks like it, sir.’

‘My God, is he still around? His luck must be good. The best man I ever had at SOE.’

‘What about Harry Martineau, sir?’

‘All right, point taken, and he’s another bloody Yank. Is Osbourne at Cold Harbour now?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right. Stop at the nearest phone. Call the CO at RAF Croydon. Tell him I want a Lysander within the next hour. Priority One. You hold the fort here, Jack, and handle the Anne-Marie Trevaunce affair. I’ll fly down to Cold Harbour and see Craig Osbourne.’