Vengeance 10 (49 page)

He shook his head, muttered, ‘Just a wrong number,’ and kissed her soundly, then nuzzled the hollow of her throat.

‘The steaks,’ she protested, the phone call and his expression already forgotten. ‘We should start them, shouldn’t we?’

‘When I was a boy,’ Memling offered impishly, ‘we followed family tradition and always opened our presents on Christmas Eve, before supper.’ He undid the gown’s single tie and slipped it from her shoulders. ‘I believe in tradition, don’t you?’

Janet lay quietly against his chest. Her breathing had evened, and he thought she might be asleep. For a long moment he revelled in the silky feel of her body and its gentle pressure, but only for a moment, as the memory of the telephone call came crowding back.

As much with Janet’s help as the psychiatrist’s, he had come to terms with himself, and with her, after his return from Poland. Not even the committee’s disappointing rejection of his contention that the A-4 rocket was not radio-guided, as the rocket recovered from Sweden suggested, could surmount the satisfaction and contentment that Janet had brought to him during the past months.

Both the doctor and Simon-Benet had suggested that he take a long holiday in the Irish Republic, away from the ‘alarms and excursions’, as Simon-Benet had phrased it. For once, he had done as he was told, and Janet’s patience and humour had helped him overcome his imagined impotence. Looking back then, he was astounded that he could have taken fear so seriously, could have built it into such a mountain. He realised that continually dwelling on one’s own problems was the height of selfishness and that to do so until they assumed such awesome proportions as to block every other consideration was worse than selfish - it was the path to insanity.

Surprisingly, the doctor had agreed with his self-analysis, and as the weeks passed, Memling had gradually cancelled so many of his appointments that two weeks had gone by before he realised he had completely forgotten the last one. When he phoned to apologise, the doctor pronounced him out of danger.

The V-2, or Vengeance Weapon Two - as the A-4 had been renamed - offensive began on 8 September 1944. The first rocket fell on Paris, near the Porte d’ltalie, and caused minor structural damage. The following morning two V-2s smashed into London, one on Chiswick Road and the other in Epping Forest, killing three people and smashing water and gas mains.

Eight more V-2s fell on or in the neighbourhood of London during the next five days. At first the Ministry of Home Security’s Research and Experiments Department tended to dismiss the V-2 as a no more effective, and a good deal less accurate, weapon than the V-1 unmanned bomber aircraft. Memling had argued, but without success, that the German launch crews needed time to break in, and that for the first weeks it would be impossible to judge the effectiveness of the V-2s, much as it had initially been difficult to rate the effectiveness of the V-1s. But his argument had been dismissed, and Home Security had presented a chart of the first week’s operational use of the V-2 showing that the average number of people killed or wounded was similar for both the V-2 and V-1:2.7 killed and 8.5 wounded per launch, as against 2.7 and 9.1, respectively.

Because of his active and very loud opposition to measures being taken to defend London, Memling’s involvement with V-2 analysis came to an abrupt end. A week later, direction of the ‘New Battle of Britain’, as the newspapers were calling it, was transferred to a special committee, code-named Big Ben, that was charged with the responsibility of ferreting out launch sites and perfecting defences against the rocket. Before his transfer to Combined Operations Headquarters in London where he was to begin planning commando-style actions against the Japanese home islands, Memling had the distinct pleasure of seeing his original suggestion for a concerted bombing campaign against operational launch sites of both the V-1 and the V-2 put into operation by direct order from the Prime Minister. He had only just received orders to report to Honolulu in April and had been saving that, and the news that he had wangled Janet a place on his personal staff, as a Christmas present.

Now everything was shattered by Simon-Benet’s phone call. As before, it had been put to him as a voluntary operation. He could accept or refuse as he wished; yet the general had known he would go.

Janet mumbled something and lifted her head. She smiled sleepily at him. When he was certain she was asleep again, he got up and went out to the kitchen. The steaks lay ready on the sideboard, and he picked up the bottle of barbecue sauce given to him by a ranger captain from Lubbock, Texas.

He shook his head impatiently. Why delay any longer? The general had said three hours. He looked at his watch, then sat down at the writing desk and thought about what to tell Janet. After a few moments he scribbled a brief note to the effect that he had been called away and would be back in a few weeks. He thought briefly of telling her about Hawaii, decided that it sounded too much like a bribe, then did so anyway.

Memling dressed quickly in the bathroom, found his overcoat in the closet, and felt along the top shelf for his knife. He paused in the bedroom doorway for a moment while he strapped it to his leg. When he left the flat, the gleaming Buick was waiting for him in Montague Street.

As they sped north out of London the general gave him a quick rundown on the mission. ‘The Russians have had agents active in the Peenemunde and Nordhausen areas for several months now. We believe they made their first contact with the German scientists in Poland and are trying to follow up. In any event, your friend Englesby at MI-Six is of the opinion that unless we take immediate action, we may come out of this with little more than a handful of broken rocket parts while the Russians carry off everything else. He pushed very hard and General Eisenhower is concerned enough about this matter to give it the go-ahead. SHAEF has set up the mission and code-named it Project Paper Clip. When SHAEF asked SOE for an agent, they suggested you. The Big Ben committee and MI-Six endorsed the suggestion, and SHAEF asked me to sound you out.’

Memling swore violently enough to cause the driver to jump. ‘For seven years everything I’ve said has been ignored. Each time I’ve been proven correct and still no one cares. Now they come up with this ridiculous idea and everyone points to me. Why, for God’s sake?’

‘Don’t be a damned fool,’ the general snapped. ‘There is no one else with your qualifications. You know Wernher von Braun personally and you’ve been to Peenemunde. Because of that, von Braun might listen to what you have to say.’

‘Or throw me to the Gestapo.’

Simon-Benet snorted at that. ‘You will be wearing your uniform. They can’t shoot you as a spy. For God’s sake, the war is almost over.’

It was Memling’s turn to snort. ‘Has anyone told them yet?’

‘You will do it, won’t you?’ Simon-Benet said.

‘You know damned well I will.’

‘Good.’ The general sat back, satisfied. ‘You’ll be given brush-up training at Northolt and then sent over by air. They’ll drop you right on the island this time. Agent reports and reconnaissance indicate the place is nearly deserted. We’ve infiltrated a few people who will be able to help you. All you have to do is persuade von Braun to come to us and bring anyone he, and you, trust. A submarine will be standing by in the Baltic to take you off. If for some reason the submarine cannot come in, there will be an aircraft standing by in Sweden. We have the full co-operation of the Swedish government in this matter. They don’t want to see the Russians in possession of these people any more than we do.’

‘There is one thing you have to do for me,’ Memling said, turning to face the general. There was a full moon and the sky was ice-clear; he could see Simon-Benet watching him.

‘I want you to tell Janet where I’ve gone and why.’

When the general started to protest about security Memling cut him off. ‘Damn it, don’t give me that nonsense. She’s worked for MI-Six for four years. If I don’t have your solemn promise that you will see her first thing tomorrow morning to explain where ‘I’m going and why, then you can turn this car around now.’ Simon-Benet studied him for a moment, then nodded. ‘You have my word.’

Memling sat back against the cushions, relieved. The car sped north between hedgerows glistening dark against the snow- covered fields and grey hills.

27 January was cold, overcast, and threatened rain. Kammler telephoned early to check on the V-10’s progress and promised to fly in by mid-afternoon. Bethwig then drove to Administration Building 4 which had been established as V-10 headquarters. He trudged wearily to the third floor, as the elevator was out of order. Everything is falling apart, he thought. Just like the war effort. Department heads waited for him in the director’s conference room, and he took his place at the head of the table. Von Braun came in a moment later, and as Bethwig stood to begin, the door opened and an out-of-breath Gestapo agent looked in.

‘Come in or stay out, you fool,’ Bethwig roared, ‘but don’t leave the door gaping. It’s cold enough in here as it is.’ The man gave him an embarrassed glance and stepped in while the others in the room contrived to look elsewhere.

‘Sit over against the wall there’ - Bethwig pointed - ‘and keep your mouth shut.’ He turned back to the table, glanced at the clock, and began:

‘Gentlemen, it is now nine in the morning. We have exactly fifteen hours remaining before the launch. You know your jobs and you know the importance of this mission.’

He grinned, and eyebrows went up. This was the first time in weeks they had heard anything from Bethwig that even approached humour.

‘You might even say this is the culmination of a dream we have shared for more than fifteen years. Tonight, before midnight has come, we will have taken man’s greatest stride into the unknown reaches of space. You all know what this mission represents and why it is important.’

Bethwig stole a glance at the young Gestapo officer who was watching with a puzzled frown, and nodded to the propulsion plant chief to begin his report on the oscillation problem that had plagued the project from the start.

‘We completed successful firing tests at four this morning,’ he concluded with a wry grin. That part of the announcement was unnecessary, as the roar of the twenty-one engines had been heard for miles. ‘The solution is patchy at best, but I believe it will work.’ The other department heads gave him a tremendous round of applause. The solution was a brilliant piece of engineering accomplished under the most difficult conditions. After the oscillation problem, fuel had been their greatest concern. With the loss of the Dutch liquid oxygen plants and the great damage done to German facilities over the past year, obtaining the full 3.9 million kilograms of fuel and oxidiser had become a tricky proposition. Peenemunde’s own liquid oxygen plant had been put back into service late in the fall, and the last refrigerated tank cars were at that moment moving on to sidings for loading. Fuelling was scheduled to begin at 6 p.m. An additional half million kilograms had been diverted from the Nordhausen V-2 production plant at Kammler’s reluctant order. The Russian offensive had overrun East Prussia and western Poland before the autumn harvesting of potatoes - the raw material from which the alcohol was distilled - had been completed. The Logistics Supply Department had been forced to use meagre reserves of hard currency to buy sufficient potatoes from Sweden, but the shipments had never arrived, delayed first by the Allied Baltic submarine offensive and then by a Swedish ban on all strategic raw materials to the Reich. Alcohol reserves, as a consequence, were down to less than fifty thousand kilograms stored in a single tank in the almost deserted Luftwaffe storage yards. No one worried any longer about a second launch attempt.

The meeting broke up at noon, and everyone scattered to offices and command centres to begin the final vigil. The most intensive stage in the launch operation had begun, and there would be no rest for anyone before midnight.

Bethwig gathered up some papers while he and von Braun discussed last-minute details. As they were leaving, the Gestapo agent called to Bethwig and motioned him to the table. Annoyed, Bethwig shook his head and started to follow von Braun, but the man ran around the table and grabbed his arm.

‘You had damned well better listen to me,’ he whispered angrily.

Bethwig jerked his arm free, but the young man kicked the door shut and thrust a photograph at him. ‘Do you know this man?’ Bethwig was surprised, and his anger now changed to puzzlement. The face seemed familiar, but he could not recall when or where he had seen it before.

Before he could respond, the Gestapo agent said in a low voice, ‘I know what you people are up to.’

Bethwig stared at him. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’ The agent shrugged. ‘The war is lost. Perhaps you can still accomplish something useful.’

‘What...?’

‘I am talking about the rocket you are going to send to the moon.’

Bethwig’s face was a mask of astonishment.

‘Herr Doktor, there is no time for games. I am not stupid. I may not be a scientist, but I did spend two years at university. You people always overrate the ignorance of non-scientists.’

He went to the door to listen, then glanced at his old-fashioned pocket watch. ‘We haven’t much time. I believe in what you are doing and will do what I can to help. My superior, Major Walsch, is watching you closely, more so than you think. There are others besides me. The man in this photograph is an English spy named Jan Memling. He was captured early this morning with three others, just after landing by parachute in the salt marshes to the south. Walsch seems to know him personally. I had time for a quick look at his file. He is a friend of Doktor von Braun’s from before the war. There is also a notation that you and Doktor von Braun met him in 1938, in the Ruhr.’

‘Good God,’ Bethwig muttered. ‘Not again.’

‘Walsch hates you and Doktor von Braun for some reason. The Englishman and the three others are undergoing interrogation. Afterwards, I am certain, Walsch will send to Berlin for your arrest warrants.’