When he got stuck, they parachuted Devlin in to get him out for them. Unfortunately Goertz was caught, and Devlin spent several months on the run before he managed to make it back to Berlin via Portugal. From then on, Ireland was a dead end as far as the Abwehr was concerned, and Devlin took a job lecturing at the University of Berlin. Until the autumn of nineteen forty-three." Ferguson reached for the marmalade. "This really is very good. I think I'll ask him for a jar."
"The autumn of nineteen forty-three," Fox said patiently. "How much do you know about the German attempt on Churchill's life in November of that year, Harry?"
Fox laughed out loud. "Come on, sir, an old wives' tale, that one." And then, continuing to watch Ferguson's face, he stopped laughing. "Isn't it, sir?"
"Well, let's assume it's just a good story, Harry. The scenario would run something like this. Devlin, bored to tears at the University of Berlin, is offered a job by the Abwehr. He's to parachute into Ireland, then make his way to Norfolk to act as middleman between the most successful woman agent the Abwehr had in the entire war and a crack force of German paratroopers, led by a Colonel Kurt Steiner, the object of the exercise being to apprehend Churchill, who was staying at a country house outside the village of Studley Constable."
"Go on, sir."
"All for nothing, of course. It wasn't even Churchill, just a stand-in while the great man was going to Tehran. They die d a nyway, Steiner and his men. Well, all except one, and Devlin, with his usual Irish deviousness, got away."
Harry Fox said in amazement, "You mean it's all true, sir?" "It's a few years yet before those classified files are opened, Harry. You'll have to wait and see."
"And Devlin worked for the Nazis? I don't get it. I thought you said he was antifascist?"
"Rather more complicated than that. I think if someone on our side had suggested that he should attempt to kidnap Adolf Hitler, he'd have thrown himself into the task with even greater enthusiasm. Very frequently in life we're not playing the game, Harry. It's playing us. You'll learn that as you get older."
"And wiser, sir?"
"That's it, Harry, learn to laugh at yourself. It's a priceless asset. During the postwar period, Devlin was a professor at a midwestern college in America. He returned to Ulster briefly during the border war of the late fifties and went back again during the civil rights disturbances of nineteen sixty-nine. He was one of the original architects of the provisional IRA. As I said earlier, he never approved of the bombing campaign.
"In nineteen seventy-five, increasingly disillusioned, he officially retired from the movement. He's a living legend, whatever that trite phrase means. Since nineteen seventy-six, against considerable opposition from some quarters, he's held a post as visiting professor on the English faculty at his old university, Trinity College."
Ferguson pushed back his chair and they got up to go. "And he and Brosnan were friends?" Fox asked.
"I think you could say that. I also think what happened to Brosnan in France was a sort of final straw for Devlin. Still." He stood in the entrance looking across the dingy carpark and waved to his driver. "All right, Harry, let's press on to Hereford."
Barry was working at the maps in his apartment soon after breakfast, when there was a discreet knock at the door. He opened it to admit Belov.
"How about the passports?" Barry asked.
"No problem. If you would go to the usual place at ten o'clock for the photos, they'll be ready this afternoon. Is there anything else you need?"
"Yes, documentation for the Jersey route--that's the way I'll go. French tourist on holiday."
"No problem," Belov said.
Once in Jersey, he would be on British soil and able to take an internal flight to a selection of airports on the British mainland where customs and immigration procedures were considerably less strict than they would have been landing at London
"The autumn of nineteen forty-three," Fox said patiently. "How much do you know about the German attempt on Churchill's life in November of that year, Harry?"
Fox laughed out loud. "Come on, sir, an old wives' tale, that one." And then, continuing to watch Ferguson's face, he stopped laughing. "Isn't it, sir?"
"Well, let's assume it's just a good story, Harry. The scenario would run something like this. Devlin, bored to tears at the University of Berlin, is offered a job by the Abwehr. He's to parachute into Ireland, then make his way to Norfolk to act as middleman between the most successful woman agent the Abwehr had in the entire war and a crack force of German paratroopers, led by a Colonel Kurt Steiner, the object of the exercise being to apprehend Churchill, who was staying at a country house outside the village of Studley Constable."
"Go on, sir."
"All for nothing, of course. It wasn't even Churchill, just a stand-in while the great man was going to Tehran. They die d a nyway, Steiner and his men. Well, all except one, and Devlin, with his usual Irish deviousness, got away."
Harry Fox said in amazement, "You mean it's all true, sir?" "It's a few years yet before those classified files are opened, Harry. You'll have to wait and see."
"And Devlin worked for the Nazis? I don't get it. I thought you said he was antifascist?"
"Rather more complicated than that. I think if someone on our side had suggested that he should attempt to kidnap Adolf Hitler, he'd have thrown himself into the task with even greater enthusiasm. Very frequently in life we're not playing the game, Harry. It's playing us. You'll learn that as you get older."
"And wiser, sir?"
"That's it, Harry, learn to laugh at yourself. It's a priceless asset. During the postwar period, Devlin was a professor at a midwestern college in America. He returned to Ulster briefly during the border war of the late fifties and went back again during the civil rights disturbances of nineteen sixty-nine. He was one of the original architects of the provisional IRA. As I said earlier, he never approved of the bombing campaign.
"In nineteen seventy-five, increasingly disillusioned, he officially retired from the movement. He's a living legend, whatever that trite phrase means. Since nineteen seventy-six, against considerable opposition from some quarters, he's held a post as visiting professor on the English faculty at his old university, Trinity College."
Ferguson pushed back his chair and they got up to go. "And he and Brosnan were friends?" Fox asked.
"I think you could say that. I also think what happened to Brosnan in France was a sort of final straw for Devlin. Still." He stood in the entrance looking across the dingy carpark and waved to his driver. "All right, Harry, let's press on to Hereford."
Barry was working at the maps in his apartment soon after breakfast, when there was a discreet knock at the door. He opened it to admit Belov.
"How about the passports?" Barry asked.
"No problem. If you would go to the usual place at ten o'clock for the photos, they'll be ready this afternoon. Is there anything else you need?"
"Yes, documentation for the Jersey route--that's the way I'll go. French tourist on holiday."
"No problem," Belov said.
Once in Jersey, he would be on British soil and able to take an internal flight to a selection of airports on the British mainland where customs and immigration procedures were considerably less strict than they would have been landing at London
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