The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [108]
Bogge said: “We were just working on an idea we had for a deception plan—”
“Yes, I saw the memo.”
“Ah, Vandam sent you a copy,” Bogge said. Vandam did not look at Bogge, but he knew the lieutenant colonel was furious with him.
“Yes, indeed,” said the brigadier. He turned to Vandam. “You’re supposed to be catching spies, Major, not advising generals on strategy. Perhaps if you spent less time telling us how to win the war you might be a better security officer.”
Vandam’s heart sank.
Bogge said: “I was just saying—”
The brigadier interrupted him. “However, since you have done this, and since it’s such a splendid plan, I want you to come with me and sell it to Auchinleck. You can spare him, Bogge, can’t you?”
“Of course, sir,” Bogge said through clenched teeth.
“All right, Vandam. The conference will be starting any minute. Let’s go.”
Vandam followed the brigadier out and shut the door very softly on Bogge.
On the day that Wolff was to see Elene again, Major Smith came to the houseboat at lunchtime.
The information he brought with him was the most valuable yet.
Wolff and Sonja went through their now-familiar routine. Wolff felt like an actor in a French farce, who has to hide in the same stage wardrobe night after night. Sonja and Smith, following the script, began on the couch and moved into the bedroom. When Wolff emerged from the cupboard the curtains were closed, and there on the floor were Smith’s briefcase, his shoes and his shorts with the key ring poking out of the pocket.
Wolff opened the briefcase and began to read.
Once again Smith had come to the houseboat straight from the morning conference at GHQ, at which Auchinleck and his staff discussed Allied strategy and decided what to do.
After a few minutes’ reading Wolff realized that what he held in his hand was a complete rundown of the Allies’ last-ditch defense on the El Alamein Line.
The line consisted of artillery on the ridges, tanks on the level ground and minefields all along. The Alam Halfa Ridge, five miles behind the center of the line, was also heavily fortified. Wolff noted that the southern end of the line was weaker, both in troops and mines.
Smith’s briefcase also contained an enemy-position paper. Allied Intelligence thought Rommel would probably try to break through the line at the southern end, but noted that the northern end was possible.
Beneath this, written in pencil in what was presumably Smith’s handwriting, was a note which Wolff found more exciting than all the rest of the stuff put together. It read: “Major Vandam proposes deception plan. Encourage Rommel to break through at southern end, lure him toward Alam Halfa, catch him in quicksand, then nutcracker. Plan accepted by Auk.”
“Auk” was Auchinleck, no doubt. What a discovery this was! Not only did Wolff hold in his hand the details of the Allied defense line—he also knew what they expected Rommel to do, and he knew their deception plan.
And the deception plan was Vandam’s!
This would be remembered as the greatest espionage coup of the century. Wolff himself would be responsible for assuring Rommel’s victory in North Africa.
They should make me King of Egypt for this, he thought, and he smiled.
He looked up and saw Smith standing between the curtains, staring down at him.
Smith roared: “Who the devil are you?”
Wolff realized angrily that he had not been paying attention to the noises from the bedroom. Something had gone wrong, the script had not been followed, there had been no champagne-cork warning. He had been totally absorbed in the strategic appreciation. The endless names of divisions and brigades, the numbers of men and tanks, the quantities of fuel and supplies, the ridges and depressions and quicksands had monopolized his attention to the exclusion of local sounds. He was suddenly terribly afraid that he might be thwarted in his moment of triumph.
Smith said: “That’s my bloody briefcase!”
He took a step forward.
Wolff reached out, caught Smith’s foot, and heaved sideways.