Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [58]
“What did you notice about this fellow?” Bloggs interrupted him.
“Nothing. That was it, see—I couldn’t make him out at all. Almost like he was trying to be inconspicuous, know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean.” Bloggs paused. “Now, I want you to think very carefully. Where was he going—can you remember?”
“Yes,” said the fat clerk. “Inverness.”
“THAT DOESN’T MEAN he’s going there,” said Godliman. “He’s a professional—he knows we can ask questions at railway stations. I expect he automatically buys a ticket for the wrong destination.” He looked at his watch. “He must have caught the 11:45. That train is now pulling into Stafford. I checked with the railway, they checked with the signalmen. They’re going to stop the train this side of Crewe. I’ve got a plane standing by to fly you two to Stroke-on-Trent.
“Parkin, you’ll board the train where it’s stopped, outside Crewe. You’ll be dressed as a ticket inspector, and you’ll look at every ticket—and every face—on that train. When you’ve spotted Faber, just stay close to him.
“Bloggs, you’ll be waiting at the ticket barrier at Crewe, just in case Faber decides to hop off there. But he won’t. You’ll get on the train, and be first off at Liverpool, and waiting at the ticket barrier for Parkin and Faber to come off. Half the local constabulary will be there to back you up.”
“That’s all very well if he doesn’t recognize me,” Parkin said. “What if he remembers my face from High-gate?”
Godliman opened a desk drawer, took out a pistol, and gave it to Parkin. “If he recognizes you, shoot him.”
Parkin pocketed the weapon without comment.
Godliman said: “You heard Colonel Terry, but I want to emphasize the importance of all this. If we don’t catch this man, the invasion of Europe will have to be postponed—possibly for a year. In that year the balance of war could turn against us. The time may never be this right again.”
Bloggs said: “Do we get told how long it is to D-Day?”
Godliman decided they were at least as entitled as he…they were going into the field, after all. “All I know is that it’s probably a matter of weeks.”
Parkin was thinking. “It’ll be June, then.”
The phone rang and Godliman picked it up. After a moment he looked up. “Your car’s here.”
Bloggs and Parkin stood up.
Godliman said, “Wait a minute.”
They stood by the door, looking at the professor. He was saying, “Yes, sir. Certainly. I will. Good-bye, sir.”
Bloggs could not think of anyone Godliman called Sir. He said: “Who was that?”
Godliman said, “Churchill.”
“What did he have to say?” Parkin asked, awestruck.
Godliman said, “He wishes you both good luck and Godspeed.”
15
THE CARRIAGE WAS PITCH DARK. FABER THOUGHT OF the jokes people made, “Take your hand off my knee. No, not you, you.” The British would make jokes out of anything. Their railways were now worse than ever, but nobody complained any more because it was in a good cause. Faber preferred the dark; it was anonymous.
There had been singing, earlier on. Three soldiers in the corridor had started it, and the whole carriage had joined in. They had been through “Be Like the Kettle and Sing,” “There’ll Always Be an England” (followed by “Glasgow Belongs to Me” and “Land of My Fathers” for ethnic balance), and, appropriately, “Don’t Get Around Much Any More.”
There had been an air raid warning, and the train slowed to thirty miles an hour. They were all supposed to lie on the floor, but of course there was no room. An anonymous female voice had said, “Oh, God, I’m frightened,” and a male voice, equally anonymous except that it was cockney, had said: “You’re in the safest place, girl—they can’t ’it a movin’ target.” Then everyone laughed and nobody was scared