Blood Red City (6 page)

*   *   *

Jed glanced down at the map unfolded on the passenger seat of his car. It looked like it would take him about another hour. Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he traced his finger along the paper road towards his destination.

It had seemed simple enough back in the city. Just set off towards where he had seen the strange aircraft heading and see if anyone had seen anything. But now he was on his way, driving through miles of deserted countryside and wasteland, he realised what a mammoth task it really was. The empty space on the map translated into hundreds – maybe thousands – of miles on the ground.

Even if someone had seen it, the chances of Jed finding them were probably minuscule. Even if they remembered – it was weeks ago now, but this was the first chance he'd had to get out of the city. Looking up from the map, Jed ran his hand through his curly, dark hair and continued down the road.

*   *   *

He hated touching them. Hoffman was quite sure it wouldn't work, but it was still the obvious thing to do – and if he had not suggested it, Kruger probably would have done.

The Vault was deep beneath the castle, secured behind a huge metal door, like the airtight hatch of a submarine. The guard snapped out a ‘Heil Hitler' as Hoffman approached, then spun the locking wheel in the centre of the heavy door and swung it open.

Hoffman entered what looked at first like an operations room. Maps hung on the walls, plans and documents were spread out over wooden tables under a high, vaulted ceiling. Alcoves stretched into the distance, shadowed in darkness though Hoffman knew exactly what each contained.

He walked briskly down the long chamber, past the tables and into an area that was more like a laboratory. At the end of it was another identical hatchway door. Few people knew what lay beyond that, and Hoffman shuddered at the memory of what he had seen there.

But his interest was in a workbench to one side, against the wall. Laid out on it was a variety of artefacts – pottery, glass, metal, ceramic, all neatly labelled. All ancient. At one end of the workbench lay several bracelets, rings of chunky metal inlaid with a gleaming silver tracery.

He reached out a tentative finger towards the nearest bracelet. Nothing. Carefully, warily, he picked it up, holding it only by the edges. Immediately the silver tracery glowed a brilliant white and the inside of the bracelet erupted. Thin orange filaments sprang out, probing, searching for flesh. If he put the bracelet on, Hoffman knew, the filaments would find his wrist. Metal spikes would spring out to hold him immobile as the filaments burrowed through his skin.

Hoffman had a wooden box in his other hand, already open. He dropped the bracelet into it, and at once the filaments drew back inside the metal.

Number Seventeen was still drawing – a hazy view of a street with hollow doorways and scattered dustbins. Nothing to distinguish where the city or town might be. And over the top, the same symbol sketched again as on all the other drawings.

‘The Reichsfuhrer should be told,' Kruger said to Hoffman as he handed him the wooden box.

‘I shall inform him when he returns,' Hoffman said. Himmler was at meetings with Hitler all week. Often, Hoffman went with him. He didn't enjoy the experience.

Kruger opened the box. If he thought it odd Hoffman had put the bracelet inside, he didn't comment. He removed the bracelet. It was hinged and he pulled it open. He closed it round the girl's right wrist. It hung heavy and inert as she drew.

‘Nothing,' Kruger said, disappointed.

‘Hardly surprising,' Hoffman told him.

‘I suppose not. But we can always hope. I wonder if it is worth trying the other bracelets we have? One of them may be a match.'

‘It needs to establish a link at both ends,' Hoffman pointed out. ‘It must match not just the girl but whoever, whatever she is seeing through. We can establish a link at one end with the ritual but even that doesn't always work, and we never know which of these it might link to.' He waved his hand to take in all the sleepers across the whole room.

‘Then this is probably as good as it gets,' Kruger said.

‘We are lucky she is picking up anything at all,' Hoffman said. He gently pushed back a strand of the girl's hair that had fallen forward across her face. Not that she noticed.

*   *   *

Sarah hardly noticed the passage of the days – the weeks. Spring was turning to summer without her really noticing. Most of the time she had no idea where she was. The people she was with changed constantly, as everyone seemed to do the training stages in a different order. Maybe, she thought, it was a deliberate policy to dissuade any of them from becoming friends. Not just a security consideration, she realised, but because for many of them this training would lead to almost certain incarceration or death.

Knowing that meant she saw her colleagues in a different way. She realised that the bluster and arrogance of some of the men, the spiky abruptness of some of the women, was down to nerves more than character.

The final stages of the training seemed more sedate. Sarah spoke some French, and learned more. She was shown how to forge documents – which required a lot more patience that she'd ever believed she had. She spent a day learning to fire and handle enemy guns and explosives – almost as long as they'd spent teaching her about Allied weapons.

Arriving at the Beaulieu estate in Hampshire to complete the final stages of her training was almost a rest.

‘Here you will learn surveillance techniques as well as deception,' the chief instructor, Major Woolridge, informed Sarah and the others. He was a tall, slim man with a plummy voice and a thin moustache. About a dozen trainees were assembled outside the impressive country house, standing on the gravel driveway. ‘But don't believe for a moment that the heat is off, because it isn't. So I'll see you back here at oh-six-hundred tomorrow for a visit to the assault course.'

Every day started early with the assault course, or a run through the extensive grounds, or both. Sarah reckoned she was fitter than she had ever been. As exhausted as she had ever been. It was a surprise as well as a relief to be given some free time one sunny, warm afternoon. One of the instructors gave Sarah and several other trainees a lift into Southampton. He ‘suggested' that they should not be seen together, so they each went their separate ways.

It was a refreshing change of pace just to wander round the town. But it wasn't long before Sarah realised she was being followed. She first saw the man as she was walking along a quiet street. He paused to light a cigarette as she glanced back, turning out of the wind, but also so that his face was hidden. She recognised the same man from his raincoat and hat later as she turned a corner. Then she saw him reflected in the plate-glass window of a large shop on the main street. He stood on the opposite side of the road, obviously watching. As she turned, he also turned away, and pretended to walk on.

Was this part of her training, Sarah wondered? Or was it more sinister – someone actually watching her because of her connection to Station Z? Either way, her best option was to lose him, and as soon as possible.

She wandered apparently aimlessly round the main streets as she decided what to do. When she finally decided, she walked into the largest clothing store she had found, and made for the ladies' underwear department. There were a few other people browsing, all women. As she had hoped, the man kept his distance rather than make himself obvious.

Taking a selection of items to the changing rooms, Sarah smiled at the attendant. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said. ‘I don't really want to try any of these on.'

The middle-aged woman outside the line of changing rooms raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?'

‘It's just that…' Sarah hesitated, feigning nervousness. ‘There's a man following me. He's been following me round all the shops. I know him slightly, but I would really rather not see him.'

The woman smiled back. ‘Oh, I quite understand.' She glanced past Sarah to where the man was making a pretence of examining a rack of women's coats. ‘He does look rather an unpleasant type,' she agreed.

‘I just wondered if there is a back way out of the shop, or something?'

The woman pointed past the changing rooms. ‘Turn left at the end, you'll find a door that leads out into Melvyn Street. I'll distract him for a moment for you.'

Without another word, the woman marched off towards the man. He glanced up as she approached, while Sarah made sure he saw her step into the nearest changing room. She put down the clothes and peered out again, watching as the woman took the man by the arm, turning him expertly as she showed him one of the coats.

As soon as the man's back was turned, Sarah hurried from the changing room and round the corner. Soon, she was sitting in a tea room several streets away, positioned so she could see the street outside without being seen herself. There was no sign of the man who had been following her.

‘Is this seat taken?'

She thought at first it was the same man. But he was younger, wearing a jacket rather than a coat.

‘No, please.' Sarah gestured for him to sit down opposite her.

‘Have you been here before?' the man asked as he waited for the girl to come over. ‘The tea cakes are very good. If they have any.'

‘My first time,' Sarah said, returning his smile.

She was happy to sit and chat for a while, all the time keeping a discreet watch on the street outside for the man who had been following her.

He introduced himself as Charlie. ‘I work down at the docks,' he told her. ‘Boring, really. An office job, but they say it's too important for me to be allowed to join up, so…' He shrugged. ‘What about you? What do you do?'

‘I work in an office too,' Sarah said, choosing her words carefully.

Charlie sipped his tea. ‘Doing what?'

‘Oh, this and that. I'm a sort of secretary.'

‘Sort of?'

She watched him carefully, noting how intent he suddenly seemed. The bead of sweat above his left eyebrow. She hadn't noticed before, but there were several empty tables further into the tea room, so why had he sat here with her?

‘Very boring,' she said, forcing a smile. ‘Typing mainly. I'm sorry, but I have to go.' She drained the rest of her tea in a swallow and stood up.

Charlie – if that really was his name – seemed amused. ‘Will I see you again?'

‘I doubt it.' She left without looking back, pausing only to pay at the till on the way out.

‘Charlie' got up almost immediately. He handed a few coins to the girl at the till, not waiting for his change, and followed Sarah out into the street.

As soon as he stepped through the door, a man appeared in front of him. Charlie made to step round him, but the man moved with him.

‘Leave her,' the man said.

‘I beg your pardon?' Charlie frowned, tried to push the man out of the way.

But the man resisted, catching hold of his arm. ‘I said leave her. You had your chance, you did you best, and she didn't fall for it.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Yes you do. So don't be a poor loser. She passed the test, she didn't tell you anything about herself, did she? Probably not even her name.'

Charlie's silence gave the man his answer.

‘So make your report and leave it at that.'

‘Afraid she might crack if I keep at it?' Charlie demanded. ‘Isn't that the point?'

The man smiled. ‘Usually, perhaps. But Sparrow Hawk is a very special case. I don't want her upset or intimidated.'

Charlie made to go, but the man's hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing it painfully tight. The man's eyes were flint-hard and there was an unpleasant edge to his voice. ‘Understand?'

‘Yes,' Charlie muttered. ‘Yes, you've made your point.' He stared at the man for a moment as he tried to twist free, seeing him closely for the first time. ‘Hey – aren't you…?'

The man let go of his shoulder. ‘I get that a lot,' he said.

*   *   *

Sarah's suspicions were confirmed the next day. Summoned to Major Woolridge's office, she was surprised to find that there were already two other men in the room.

‘Come in, Sparrow Hawk,' Woolridge said. ‘I believe you already know Captain Philcox, and Corporal Innes.'

Sarah nodded. ‘Hello, Charlie,' she said to Philcox. She turned to the corporal. ‘And I assume you're the man who wanted to buy me a new coat. Or was it a pair of knickers?'

Innes coloured and stammered a greeting.

‘You did well,' Woolridge told her. ‘Not many people spot they're being tailed on the first outing. Even fewer manage to lose their minder.'

‘And what about Charlie?' Sarah asked.

‘You'd be surprised how many of the ladies fall for a handsome young man with a plausible manner. Though I have to say a higher proportion of the men are taken in by a pretty young woman. It gives the secretaries here an amusing side line.'

‘And if I had been taken in, as you put it?' Sarah asked. She glanced at ‘Charlie'. It would have been easy to succumb, easy to tell him a bit of what she did to try to impress him.

‘Well, you're something of a special case, I gather,' Woolridge said. ‘But for anyone else, it's the end of any career they might have thought they had with SOE.'

‘So, a lucky escape,' Captain Philcox said with a smile.

‘Or,' she told him, ‘it's just possible I know what I'm doing and wasn't taken in for a second.' She smiled back at him, as his own expression froze. ‘And anyway,' she added, ‘you're not my type.'

*   *   *

For weeks she drew similar pictures. Hoffman checked through them whenever he could, but the initial novelty had worn off, and both he and Kruger left the nurses to take shifts providing paper and pencil.