Blackest of Lies (10 page)

“You’re clearly not impressed”, said Hubert.  “Don’t moan at me, right now.”

Farmer was in no mood to be anything other than business-like.  “Never mind that.  I’m not speaking to your as your friend.  I’m speaking now as your doctor.  Chris, you’re not fit for military service.”

Hubert saw which way the wind was blowing.  “Now, look, Henry, think on this.  What’s the alternative for me?  Back to Canada or Switzerland to stay with my old man and wait to die.  And I’d die all the quicker for it.  Here in the Army, I can do something – anything – that might make a difference.  That’s what keeps me going.  It means
everything
to me, Henry, believe me!  You make a recommendation like that to the medical board and I’m dead for sure.  And, besides, there are about half a dozen chaps like me working in ‘Five’ right now.”

Farmer had seen too many young men go through his hospital not to understand Hubert’s feelings.  He looked into the young man’s sunken eyes, stark against the pale face.  “I know, dear boy,” he said, patting him on the shoulder.  But I have to think of what’s best for you in the long run.  And I really do believe that the Swiss air will do the world of good for your lungs if we could get you out there.  The linings were all but stripped away by the chlorine. They’ll never really heal completely.”  He held up a forestalling hand, seeing Hubert about to reply.  “Yes, I know you’re aware of that but you
can
make the most of things and put a few more years on the score card if you just take care of yourself.”

“And what about the boys at the Front?”

“In what respect?”

“Do they ‘take care’ of themselves?”

“That’s completely different, Chris.  We are at war.  No-one would
choose
to live like that.”

“That’s just my point, Henry.  This
is
war.  And you need me.  Invalid me out and it will make not one jot of difference to your impending acting career.  But you’ll have to face it without me.”

“That matters not in the least.  I must think of what’s best for you, not my own peace of mind.”

“But Henry – what if it should all go pear-shaped just because I wasn’t there to help you?  Yes, they’ll probably put someone in my place, perhaps someone more knowledgeable or more genned-up on things, but will he know you as I do?  Will he be able to spot the brickbats before they land on you?  I’m beginning to get a line on these Intelligence sorts and, believe me, they’re slippery customers.  Think of what will happen if the ‘charade’, as you call it, is discovered!  My health
has
to be secondary to that.”

Farmer saw the logic but Hippocrates could be a stubborn companion.  “I don’t know, Chris.  I hear what you say but ...”

“Do you think Kell would allow it, anyway?”

Farmer’s head snapped round as he gathered up his greatcoat.  “If I say a person is unfit, he stays unfit, Kell or no Kell!”

Hubert nodded in contrition.  “Sorry, Henry, You’re right, of course.  But you must see that I
have
to go through with this.  It may be the single most important thing I have ever done in my life or ever likely to do.  It may even turn out to be the critical, unsung action of this war.  It may not.  All we can say is that, if we don’t succeed, it’s all over.”

Farmer smiled, torn between his duty as a doctor and that of a soldier.  “Very well, I’ll say nothing for the moment.”  He held up a finger in warning.  “But, remember, if we get through this, I’ll have to make that recommendation – for your own good.”

“Understood, Henry,” said Hubert.  “Understood.”

**********

In the last hours of Monday evening, Hubert and ‘Kitchener’ arrived at Broome.  Henry had been equipped with an Imperial moustache of impressive proportions but had retained ordinary civilian clothes of the type Kitchener normally wore, courtesy of Solly.  He had agreed to the clothes without demur but had questioned the moustache.  Hubert had carried the day with the argument that
someone
would have to open the door for them.  It would be as well to start the ball rolling.  Word would get around like wildfire – particularly in the village.  He hadn’t told Farmer yet but he intended walking him around the local village tomorrow.  It was a low-risk opportunity that could give him the early confidence boost he needed.

In the event, MacLaughlin opened the door to them, nose still on one side from his interview with Thompson.

“Good evening, sir.”

“‘Evening, MacLaughlin.  You haven’t seen us, understand?  Particularly
this
gentleman.”  Farmer moved into the light that was spilling out onto the driveway from the hall.  MacLaughlin’s eyes widened as the two visitors walked in.

Hubert confided into Farmer’s ear, “Told you, Henry.  You’ll do nicely.” He turned round to MacLaughlin, who was closing the door after depositing their luggage on the floor. “Colonel Fitzgerald still up?”

“No sir, he went to bed hours ago.  I was told to arrange for the preparation of two rooms in the east wing and then to dismiss the staff.  I was to wait for your arrival and direct you to your quarters.”

“Great, I’m dying for a bath and bed.  Lead on, MacDuff.”             

“MacLaughlin, sir.”

**********

MacNeill turned sideways in the back passenger seat of the car to look more easily at Gallagher.  “OK, Sean, give us the full SP.”

“What’s there to tell?  We got in.  We shot him.  We got out.”

MacNeill closed his eyes for a moment.  “Sean,” he said, “let’s be straight on this.  Brigade is pissed off w'your prima donna act.  You, my son, are becomin’ a liability.  You’re good at what you do but you’re a wee bit unpredictable and that bothers people, y’see?  Questions are bein’ asked and that’s a Bad Thing. Now I’ve asked you for a debrief and I’m not goin’ to ask again, you follow?”

“Right, Eoin, don’t get worked up.  Let’s just say I’m still around because I’m not always where I’m supposed to be.  That’s good for me and it’s good for you, ‘cause if you don’t know where the hell I am, how’re the Brits to find me?”

“You have to follow orders, Sean.  Anyway, let’s have the story.”

“Riordan and me made our way down to Broome and then hung around the place.  It was obvious that the only way we were goin’ to get in was as ground staff.  The place was crawling with Special Branch.  So, we swiped some working clothes at the back of a house in the village and got over the wall of his gardens.  After we had grabbed a couple of hoes and started pokin’ at the ground here and there, sure, you couldn’t tell us from the English Murphies.  Anyway, we moved down the grounds towards the house, like this, lookin’ for him.  And that’s when Riordan walked right into him.”

“Jesus!  What did he say?”

“Riordan or Kitchener?”

“For Christ’s sake, Sean, you’d try the patience of a saint!”

“Kitchener said nothin’.  He just stared down his nose at him. 
Riordan
nearly wet his pants.  We got away with it 'cause Riordan tugged the peak of his cap and we moved on before any damage was done.  But I saw the big fellah watching us and that got me worryin'.  Meant that we couldn’t wait until darkness in case he got the Specials on to us.”

“Good.”

“We got ourselves under a bush at the back of the garden ...”

“What kind?”

“Christ, how the hell should I know?”

“OK, OK, get on with it.”

Gallagher looked sideways at the other man. “We could see him from the bush but it was bloody hot under it, let me tell you.  The two of us were nearly boiled away.  In the end it got that bad that we were just about to get out.  I gave it five more minutes.  Just as well I did, ‘cause he came past the bush a few minutes later.  Anyway, we got ourselves out of the place half an hour or so after.”

“Anybody hear or see you?”

“No.  They were all down at the house end of the garden.”

“Then what?”

“We found the local church in the wee hours the following mornin’ and got into the tunnel.  Brought us up in the kitchen.  It was easy then to find the bedroom. No coppers in the house by royal command.  I put four bullets into him and left the same way.  Got to London and caught the train.  The rest, as they say, is history.”

“And Riordan, Sean, what about young Riordan?” asked MacNeill.

Gallagher stopped for a moment to think.  “What about him, Eoin?”

“Well, y’see, Sean it’s like this – the General Staff are a bit upset that he’s not put in an appearance, so to speak.”

“So?  The operation comes first, Eoin, you should know that.  Nothin’ gets in the way.”

“I’ll come to the point, Sean.”

“I wish you would.”

MacNeill looked at him sharply.  “You’re to be court martialled, Sean.  The boys want to know why you dropped him.  Can’t have our own soldiers goin’ around killin’ their partners.  Sure, an’ it would play the very devil wi’ recruitment.”

“And the General Staff have nothin’ better to do than waste time on the likes of Riordan?”

“So it would seem, Sean.  They’re fair horn-mad about it.  All down to them, my son.”  He looked hard at Gallagher.  “Absolutely nothin’ to do with him bein’ my wife’s wee brother.”

**********

For most of the time, the U75 had sailed on the surface on her way over from Heligoland, only submerging when enemy shipping appeared.  The May weather being clement, Beitzen’s passengers had enjoyed the experience.  Casement, in particular, had been friendly and spoke excellent German.  When Beitzen had picked them up, all three men wore large, bushy beards.  Now that they were approaching the drop-off point, they had gone below to shave them off.

Casement climbed up into the conning tower to speak to Beitzen.  Both men nodded to each other in greeting in the dim red light of the instrument panel and stood in silence for a few minutes.  “You know, Captain,” he said, “if your people had only listened to me and had attacked from the Pas de Calais, Britain would be in German hands by now.”

“Such is military strategy, Sir Roger.  The science of missed opportunities.”

Casement smiled at the riposte.  “How long before the drop-off point?”

“No more than half an hour.  We’ve made good speed since most of the voyage has been on the surface.”

“Very well.  I should go back down below and start our preparations to leave you.”

Within the hour, the
Bruder Walther
was rocking on the dark surface of the Bay of Tralee.  All hands were on deck to say farewell to their Irish passengers and Sir Roger Casement went from man to man shaking hands and saying a few words to each.  He ended up with Beitzen.

“So, Captain, this is goodbye,” said Casement, shaking his hand.

“Indeed it is, sir.  May I wish you all the very best of good luck?”

“You may, indeed, but that, as we say, is in the hands of the fairies.”  In the dim half-glow of that false dawn, he looked Beitzen in the eye.  “And you, Captain, stay safe and come home to your loved ones, wherever they are.”

“Amen to that.”

“Gentlemen,” said Casement, nodding to the crew in general.  He climbed down into the dinghy where his two companions were already waiting among a number of bulky parcels and they pushed off from the hull.  Shortly after, the dark outline of the inflatable rowed away into the gloom.

Beitzen turned to the Navigation Officer.  “Right, Willi, take us back to the Channel.  Quick as you like.”

**********

“Very well, Colonel Farmer.  We have a single day to turn you into a Field Marshal.”  Fitzgerald hated the whole idea of impersonating Kitchener and clearly did not intend to go out of his way to help matters along.  That said, he had to admit that as a temporary substitute Farmer had the looks sorted without the shadow of a doubt.  And the clothes worked to perfection.

“Look, Oswald – may I call you Oswald?” asked Farmer, tentatively.

“If you must but …”

“Please call
me
Henry.”

“Very well!”

“Oswald, I am petrified at the prospect of walking into the War Office on Tuesday.  I know there’s no possibility that I can ever truly
be
Lord Kitchener but I’m not doing it for myself, you understand.  We’ll be in a devil of a pickle if we can’t hold this together for a few weeks.  Anyone can see that you were very attached to Kitchener – what PSO doesn’t eventually become firm friends with his Commanding Officer?”

Fitzgerald nodded.

“The problem is, old fellow, that I need you watching my back.  The whole thing pivots around
you
.  The only person who can make me into a facsimile Kitchener in the time we have available to us is Colonel Oswald Fitzgerald.  So, please, help me.”

“If you put it like that, it would be churlish indeed to refuse.”  He gave a frosty smile.  “Well, then, let’s start with the basics.  Kitchener was born on ...”

“Excuse me, Colonel,” said Hubert. “I think we should get into the habit right away of referring to Colonel Farmer as if he really
were
Lord Kitchener.  He has to live the part right from the word ‘go’.  He needs to leave his past life behind him from this moment on, if he is to have any chance of looking the part tomorrow.”