Night Sky (57 page)

There was a long silence. Doenitz’s staff eyed their commander nervously. Goering frowned and, staring out of the window, thoughtfully patted his large belly.

Doenitz stared at Schmidt, but didn’t see him. His mind was in the Bay of Biscay, seeing the enemy bombers hunting, tracking, killing his U-boats with their magic new eyes; and on the convoy routes, in the wastes of the North Atlantic, seeing British destroyers lying in wait, ready to pounce, without warning …

‘May we understand this more completely?’ Doenitz spoke softly. Everyone looked at him. ‘Are you saying that this radar is completely unknown to us?’

Schmidt licked his lips. ‘Yes.’

‘And – you believe it might be very effective?’

‘We have no way of knowing, not yet …’

‘And are you saying that, in the event of it becoming widely used by the British, we have no defensive measures against it?’

The Chief Scientist shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘We do not have any way of detecting it at present …’

Doenitz leant forward. ‘But
will
we?’

‘It … would take time. We would have to understand exactly how this new apparatus worked. It is based on entirely different principles, you understand;
entirely different
!’

‘Entirely different …’ Doenitz echoed. ‘I see. I will not enquire as to why we ourselves have never investigated these entirely different principles!’

Goering gave Doenitz a hard stare. ‘May I remind you, Herr Admiral, that our radar has proved to be extremely effective in everything except this, er, field! We have led Britain, led the world, in early warning systems. Not a British bomber nears Germany without our knowing about it!’

Doenitz nodded and said testily, ‘Yes, Herr Reichsmarschall, most effective when defending a land mass, but not very effective for protecting U-boats, wouldn’t you agree?’

There was an awkward pause. Suddenly Goering slapped the table. ‘Quite so! I assure you, my dear Admiral, that everything possible is being done! I have taken every possible measure to ensure that we crack this Rotterdam problem as soon as possible. First—’ For emphasis the Reichsmarschall pushed his right fist into the open palm of his left hand. ‘–
First
, all firms in this field have been ordered to start research! Second, we are releasing all the necessary personnel from active service,
however
many people are needed!’ He turned abruptly to Schmidt. ‘How many, Schmidt, five thousand? Ten thousand?’

‘Impossible to say yet, Herr Reichsmarschall. But maybe as many as ten thousand. Yes.’

Doenitz asked, ‘Why so many?’

Schmidt frowned. ‘We have to follow several avenues of research … We have to try lots of different approaches to make sure we find the right one.’

My God, thought Doenitz, they haven’t a clue, not a clue. He said, ‘But how long will it take to develop a warning device?’

‘Ah, not too long, hopefully.’

‘In the meantime …’ Doenitz stared at Goering. ‘In the meantime, we are defenceless.’

‘Not entirely!’ exclaimed Goering with a smile. ‘Telefunken tell me they have not entirely stopped research into other wavelengths. They might be able to produce a detector quite quickly.’

‘Might?’

‘You will be kept fully in the picture, Herr Admiral, I assure you!’

‘Yes,’ Doenitz said tightly. Doubtless the picture would be the same as ever – the bare minimum imparted with the maximum reluctance. ‘And shortwave radar itself. What would be its advantages?’

Schmidt said, ‘It is small … compact. For the rest, as I say, we cannot be sure, not until we can actually get a Rotterdam Apparatus working.’

‘And when could we have this radar ourselves?’

Schmidt breathed deeply. ‘Eighteen months … Or two years.’

For ever. Doenitz looked at Schmidt with contempt. The man had sworn that shortwave radar was impossible. The man was incompetent. Doenitz said shortly, ‘There is no more to be discussed, then, is there?’

Except, he thought, with the Fuehrer, in private. Then he would make quite sure Hitler knew who was to blame for this appalling catastrophe.

Everyone began shuffling papers. Suddenly a thought stirred in the back of Doenitz’s mind. ‘Schmidt!’ he called sharply.

‘Yes, Herr Grossadmiral.’

‘A long time ago, on the
Welle
, when you first demonstrated radar to us …’

‘Yes, Herr Grossadmiral.’

‘… there was a scientist of yours, someone who’d worked on radar from the beginning. He talked to me about shortwave radar. He said it was possible.’

Schmidt looked pale. ‘I – I don’t remember exactly …’

‘But I do! He was a round, jolly little man. One of
your
men, Herr Schmidt. I can have him looked up if you like. I’m sure I’ll recognise the name when I see it. I remember speaking to him: he was quite definite about shortwave radar. He said it could be done.’ Doenitz shook his head. ‘I’m surprised you don’t remember. You seemed quite agitated about the matter at the time.’

There was an indefinable electricity around the table. There might be a fight, the staff sensed it.

‘Ah …’ Schmidt said, as if remembering for the first time. ‘I think I know who you must mean. A fellow called Freymann.’

‘Yes, that was the man. That was him.’

Schmidt said quickly, ‘Herr Grossadmiral, we have already asked for this man! Of course we have! He was an obvious first choice! Yes indeed, he has been earmarked for the main team …’

‘But his ideas were not worth investigating before?’

Schmidt looked injured. ‘Why indeed they were! But they were unworkable, quite mad! Whatever this new device may be, I’m sure it can’t be anything like Freymann’s ideas!’

Doenitz was unconvinced. He said, ‘I see. But he
is
about to join your staff?’

‘Yes, indeed! We have made a request!’

‘A request?’

‘Yes. Of the SS.’

‘Ah! He was detained?’

‘He is a Jew.’

‘Where is he detained?’

‘Ah.’ Schmidt smiled slightly. ‘We have just been informed that he is working at a Naval establishment – at Brest in France!’

There was a short embarrassed silence. ‘And a request has been made?’

‘Through the appropriate channels.

Doenitz barked, ‘I find it surprising, Herr Schmidt, that this request was not made immediately, direct to myself. I am sure that, addressed through the highest possible channels, Freymann would be with you by now!’

Schmidt looked as if he had indigestion. ‘But until we realised the nature of the device we were not to know …’

‘That this man was vital?’

Schmidt coughed. ‘Indeed.’

‘What about documents – research papers and so on. Surely something of his work remains?’

‘Nothing. Apparently it was all mislaid.’

‘Then I hope to hear that he is with you very shortly!’ Doenitz stood up. ‘And I look forward to hearing that the research programme is progressing with all speed. Until then, good day!’

There was a shuffling as people got to their feet. No-one bothered with Heil Hitlers nowadays.

Schmidt watched Doenitz stride angrily from the room and sighed. It was a nightmare, the whole thing. But not as bad as it would be if Freymann didn’t come up with the answer. When Doenitz had called Freymann ‘vital’ he’d hit the nail on the head.

Without Freymann it would take months, years.

It pained Schmidt to admit it, but that conceited little Jew was their only hope.

‘Y
OU LOOK WONDERFUL
today, madame!’

‘Thank you, madame.’ Julie smiled broadly at the shopkeeper and, picking up her basket from the counter, went out into the road. She walked briskly, waving and nodding to the people she met. Some of the villagers looked at her rather strangely. No woman had ever worn trousers in Tregasnou before. But then few women had ever been cowhands before. She grinned to herself. They would soon get used to it.

She’d given up her job before Christmas and it was the best thing she’d ever done. She now worked for Jean – which meant she worked from dawn until well after dusk for her keep and no money. But it was the best salary she’d ever had; she’d never been happier. The outdoor life suited her, the physical work made her feel better than she had in years, and, best of all, she saw much more of Peter. A pity she hadn’t done it years ago.

It was the second big decision she’d taken.

The first had been even more important: she’d decided to escape to England.

At the right time. To disappear overnight would be to put her family at risk. She’d decided to do the thing properly. First, she’d left her job. Then she’d told people she was thinking of moving away – to Rennes, or another large city. Now all that remained was to leave, quite publicly, with farewells and luggage.

She’d even set her departure date: she’d told everyone she was going in two weeks.

Julie walked over the crossroads and down the road that led to the west of the village. Ahead, a front door opened and an old lady in Breton dress emerged from one of the smaller cottages. The old lady nodded at Julie, her tall white lace coiffe bobbing forward, and mumbled, ‘You’re away, I hear. Thought you’d be off sooner or later!’

Julie smiled and passed on. She thought: Silly old woman. But nothing could annoy her today: she was too happy. It wasn’t just the thought of the actual journey and of being with Richard, it was the way everything had changed. For the first time she felt as if she was really in control of her own life. The decision to go had been hard – but once made, it was as if an enormous weight had been taken off her shoulders.

She’d seen Richard only three times the whole winter. The weather had been atrocious. Sometimes the boat didn’t come at all; sometimes it was so late there was barely time to load any passengers; at other times she guessed he had had to stay on board because of the terrible conditions out at the anchorage. The last time she’d seen him he had urged her to leave straight away. But there were always so many passengers waiting to go, always more than there were places for, that she couldn’t.

Also there was Maurice and the group. They still needed her and that was important to her. She’d never felt really useful before and, well, she liked it. She couldn’t let them down. It would be disloyal and she wanted to be honourable and to do what was right. By staying this extra time, until the scientist was well enough to go, she would have done enough. After that she could leave with an easy mind.

She swung round a corner into a tiny lane that led between a number of small cottages. She knocked firmly on the front door of a cottage and, without waiting for a reply, walked straight in.

There was an old man beside the hearth.

‘Good morning, Monsieur!’

The old man nodded and Julie went past him, through a door into a back room.

Maurice was already there.

‘All right?’ he asked.

She nodded happily. ‘Yes. And you?’

‘Fine.’

She sat down and, delving into the pocket of her trousers, handed him an envelope. He opened it and pulled out an identity card and a small box.

She said, pointing to the small box, ‘I brought the ink pad. All it needs is the thumb print and the photograph, then give it back to me and I’ll stamp it.’ She had inserted the name – a totally fictitious one – and the details of birth and parentage. Maurice had already given her the age and colouring of the new owner.

She had only two cards left after this. But Maurice knew they were precious: he wouldn’t have asked her for one unless it was important.

Maurice nodded. ‘Right. We’ll do the card in just a moment.’

Julie glanced up in surprise. That must mean that the new owner of the card was here, or nearby. She wondered who it could be. But she didn’t ask: one had learnt not to.

Maurice began, ‘First, the scientist. What’s the news?’

Julie remembered the brief talk she’d had with Michel the day before. ‘Everything’s set for this week, but I don’t know any more. They wouldn’t give me any more details.’

‘They wouldn’t say exactly when?’

‘No.’

‘But the scientist’s out of the hospital?’

‘Yes.’

‘And fit enough to travel?’

‘So they say.’

Maurice made a wry face. ‘I hope they’re right.’ He thought for a moment. ‘We’d better aim to get him away in about ten days, then. I don’t want him hanging about, but at the same time I do want to be sure he’s everything he says he is … There’s still something about the whole set-up that makes me uneasy …’

He looked hard at Julie. ‘Will you help me to interrogate him? You have an instinct for it, you know.’

Julie smiled self-consciously. ‘Thank you. Yes, of course I’ll help if I can.’

‘There’ll be someone else, too. Helping us, I mean.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, a friend. From Paris. He’s been with us for some time now, but further up the line.’

Julie frowned. A stranger. She had a dread of strangers. ‘But – why’s he come here?’

‘He needs to lie low for a bit. He was spotted at Gare Montparnasse the other day and now the Boches are on the lookout for him. It was too dangerous.’

Julie looked down unhappily. Whatever the reasons, she wished the man hadn’t come here.