cultivate an image of an occasional, but gifted, actress on the look-out for a rich man. This allowed her to move in the privileged circles of the Nazi party é lite. Her beauty and confidence meant there was always a man in attendance. Her smile, the kind that starts in the eyes, had an effect on men that was undlilutedly chemical. They would literally do anything she wanted. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to Peter; he couldn’t see her.
Did De Witte ever get jealous about Eva’s professional affairs? No, Chainbridge thought not. He and De Witte were too wise to let petty emotions get in the way, well aware of the morass Europe was sliding into.
Chainbridge turned away from them allowing them a private moment together. Staring out at the autumnal rain streaming down the window panes, he asked, ‘Tell me more about this Donald T Kincaid chap, Eva.’
* * *
Guy Maynard Liddle of B5B section looked up from his desk at Chainbridge after reading the assessment from Eva and De Witte. As Chainbridge’s immediate superior; he answered to Department head Vernon Kell, who in turn answered to the Foreign Office and effectively the Prime Minister.
The summer rain had been pouring out of the heavens in titanic bursts, washing Whitehall in a deluge, flooding its corridors and rooms with an unseasonal gloom. Chainbridge had risen early and driven through the rush hour traffic. London, bustling as ever, was glistening in the early morning light. Eva and De Witte had left his chambers for a safe house near Kensington to unwind. Later that week they would be guests of Oswald and Diana Mosley at a BUF rally, maintaining their cover as journalists sympathetic to the Fascist cause.
He ascended the steps to a discreet doorway on King Charles Street and was ushered through the Georgian foyer, past the armed serviceman who saluted him, to Liddle’s office. It was a small room off a non-descript corridor, filled with the smell of beeswax and tobacco, and peppered with maps of Europe around the walls. In common with Chainbridge’s chambers, it was piled high with sensitive intelligence from all over Europe. Unlike Chainbridge’s chambers, it had no windows. Chainbridge couldn’t function without being able to observe the seasons and marvelled at Liddle’s fortitude. He never left this broom closet.
The room, like the corridor, was as quiet as a monastic cell. The whole environment here made Chainbridge feel uneasy, the slow pace and old school tie feel of the place. From these corridors, ministers directed soldiers and spies, sometimes deliberately, to their deaths for the greater good of the Empire. He was an old soldier who found the peacetime uncomfortable, yet he never wished to see wholesale slaughter again.
He stood beside the desk, refusing the chair he was offered. He always preferred to stand before a superior.
‘ Henry, how solid is this?’
Chainbridge assumed his intelligence was being dismissed out of hand. He bristled. ‘Miss Molinaar has a better insight into the way a Russian mind works than we have. This Russian attaché is well connected within the Politburo at a political and family level. I trust her judgement. And we still have no word as to the whereabouts of Leonard and McGowan. We’re assuming the Gestapo intercepted them.’
Liddle hummed tunelessly for a moment as he reviewed the dossier. There was a possible redoubt beyond the Urals and no-one to verify it. He trusted Chainbridge’s views; he wouldn’t have come to him with this without due consideration.
Chainbridge and De Witte had broken several Communist rings operating within the Oxbridge universities. Now B5B section’s focus was Oswald Mosley and his bunch of thugs. Mosley could yet be a British Hitler or Mussolini in the making should a war ever break out. The section was juggling the forces of the extreme right and the extreme left, both Leviathans heading on a collision course across Europe. B5B was underfunded and
Did De Witte ever get jealous about Eva’s professional affairs? No, Chainbridge thought not. He and De Witte were too wise to let petty emotions get in the way, well aware of the morass Europe was sliding into.
Chainbridge turned away from them allowing them a private moment together. Staring out at the autumnal rain streaming down the window panes, he asked, ‘Tell me more about this Donald T Kincaid chap, Eva.’
* * *
Guy Maynard Liddle of B5B section looked up from his desk at Chainbridge after reading the assessment from Eva and De Witte. As Chainbridge’s immediate superior; he answered to Department head Vernon Kell, who in turn answered to the Foreign Office and effectively the Prime Minister.
The summer rain had been pouring out of the heavens in titanic bursts, washing Whitehall in a deluge, flooding its corridors and rooms with an unseasonal gloom. Chainbridge had risen early and driven through the rush hour traffic. London, bustling as ever, was glistening in the early morning light. Eva and De Witte had left his chambers for a safe house near Kensington to unwind. Later that week they would be guests of Oswald and Diana Mosley at a BUF rally, maintaining their cover as journalists sympathetic to the Fascist cause.
He ascended the steps to a discreet doorway on King Charles Street and was ushered through the Georgian foyer, past the armed serviceman who saluted him, to Liddle’s office. It was a small room off a non-descript corridor, filled with the smell of beeswax and tobacco, and peppered with maps of Europe around the walls. In common with Chainbridge’s chambers, it was piled high with sensitive intelligence from all over Europe. Unlike Chainbridge’s chambers, it had no windows. Chainbridge couldn’t function without being able to observe the seasons and marvelled at Liddle’s fortitude. He never left this broom closet.
The room, like the corridor, was as quiet as a monastic cell. The whole environment here made Chainbridge feel uneasy, the slow pace and old school tie feel of the place. From these corridors, ministers directed soldiers and spies, sometimes deliberately, to their deaths for the greater good of the Empire. He was an old soldier who found the peacetime uncomfortable, yet he never wished to see wholesale slaughter again.
He stood beside the desk, refusing the chair he was offered. He always preferred to stand before a superior.
‘ Henry, how solid is this?’
Chainbridge assumed his intelligence was being dismissed out of hand. He bristled. ‘Miss Molinaar has a better insight into the way a Russian mind works than we have. This Russian attaché is well connected within the Politburo at a political and family level. I trust her judgement. And we still have no word as to the whereabouts of Leonard and McGowan. We’re assuming the Gestapo intercepted them.’
Liddle hummed tunelessly for a moment as he reviewed the dossier. There was a possible redoubt beyond the Urals and no-one to verify it. He trusted Chainbridge’s views; he wouldn’t have come to him with this without due consideration.
Chainbridge and De Witte had broken several Communist rings operating within the Oxbridge universities. Now B5B section’s focus was Oswald Mosley and his bunch of thugs. Mosley could yet be a British Hitler or Mussolini in the making should a war ever break out. The section was juggling the forces of the extreme right and the extreme left, both Leviathans heading on a collision course across Europe. B5B was underfunded and
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