Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [36]
Nazism is fact, Nazism is the future. The Shape of Things to Come. You have a simple choice, Doktor: join us or be destroyed.’
‘You want me to join you?’ the Doctor spluttered. This was not what he had expected.
Benny passed the Gaumont cinema. She had never been inside. From an historical point of view it would have been fascinating to see all those Nazi propaganda films. Last week they’d put on a Rienfenstahl documentary, no copies of which existed in her century. Most scholars agreed that the last existing print had been destroyed in 1945. Withdrawn, de-accessioned and junked. The islanders, though, found it difficult to be objective, and anyone who went to the cinema these days was labelled a collaborator. Takes one to know one. She’d been here three months, but had not visited one of the dolmen or tumuli that dotted the island. The prehistoric ruins didn’t seem terribly relevant in 1941, a year that was quite capable of creating ruins of its own.
There was a wind blowing, and it whipped the breath away from her face. Even the air here was rationed. Clouds dashed across the sky like Zeppelins.
God, when you’re drunk you don’t half get maudlin, Bernice Summerfield. She’d been saving her bottle of Scotch for a special occasion. One hadn’t come, so she’d drunk it early that morning before leaving the guest-house. It was her first alcohol for three months, and she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it.
Come on, Doctor, if you’re coming.
She was walking through the harbour now. That would explain the smell of fish. She giggled, and turned a corner.
Herr Wolff was standing over the body of a young woman. The Nazi turned to face her.
Benny made a run for it, but he had caught up with her within twenty yards. Expertly, Wolff kicked Benny’s legs from under her and she fell to the pavement.
‘I have done nothing. I’m just drunk. I’m lost,’ she stammered. Wolff bent down, trying to place her face. He mustn’t find out about Ma and Anne. She’d told him her name, her false name, at the hotel a couple of days ago, hadn’t she? The game was up. Give him the answer.
‘I am Bernice Summerfield. I am an agent of a hostile power. I am unarmed. I surrender.’
Christopher Cwej ordered himself another coffee and a croissant. There were half a dozen other patrons outside the café, most of them octogenarians. Chris had been here for just over an hour. Twenty minutes ago, a Nazi had asked for his identity papers. The soldier had peered at the document for a minute or so, checking it very carefully, but had been satisfied.
You would hardly need to be a secret agent to realize that the Nazis had something planned here. There was a steady stream of armoured cars, motorbikes and tanks.
Soldiers guarded checkpoints all over Granville. Fighter patrols constantly circled overhead. He’d arrived just before dawn by surf boat. The Nazis were on the verge of completing their sea defences, but hadn’t quite done so yet, and so it was still possible to slip a small boat in. Half a mile from the coast, the Prometheus had surfaced, and he’d rowed the rest of the way in. Once on the shore, he’d signalled to the submarine with his hand-lamp, then deflated the dinghy. Finally, he’d removed his waterproof clothing and buried them above the water line.
On the way into town that morning, he’d walked past fortress-like observation towers and gun emplacements. The beaches and cliffs were heavily mined and ringed round with barbed wire. He had been very lucky not to have been spotted.
His mission briefing was very clear. It had been hoped that the French Resistance would make contact here and they’d compare notes on Hartung. For some reason, they hadn’t come. Intelligence reports placed Hartung at an airstrip two miles north of here. Chris would have to make his own way across the country.
* * *
It was six o’clock, and it was getting dark outside.
Reed had come back to his office after an hour in the file room, and was surprised to find the door ajar.