Chapter 191
SOE Station Cairo
29th November
“But....”
“No buts, Captain. I have decided such, and you will bloody well obey my orders. Sending in a Commando team in the middle of the bloody Austrian Winter and at such short notice is nothing short of suicide, and as long as I am holding the Office of Prime Minister of the British Empire and Minister of Defence, I will order no such operation, and if I am I will certainly not base it on a hunch and an obscure reference by a German agent made to an Arabian salesman.”
At this point the telephone rang and the PM decided to take this call. Ian was very close to saying something that would cripple his career even further, but managed to reign himself in. Instead he held the diary even closer, and gripped his other hand into the arms of his chair. He was convinced of what he had learned, and as he waited, his mind went back to two days ago.
Two days earlier, Haifa
“You know that my plane is supposed to leave in an hour, do you?” Ian asked the policeman who was leading him through the streets of the older part of the city after spending most of the previous day in a rickety old car that was probably almost as old as himself and had travelled to the ancient city on the calling of a local commisioner who had asked for someone to come up and 'look at something we found'. Ian had been the logical choice, even though he hated leaving his real job alone like this for that long, knowing at the same time that Stirling was more than able to fill his shoes, given that most of the work right now was preparing to move the whole operation to Sicily, something that had to be done before the SOE could conduct further operations on the mainland beyond those running themselves. He had also taken the time to get a feel of how the country was behaving now in the parts he had seen, and the many, many Army checkpoints and police patrols told him that London was taking it all serious.
In Haifa he had then immediately demanded to be led to what he was supposed to look at, and on the way there he had been filled in, immediately getting the feeling that this was all a waste of time. When they had however told him who was actually behind the letter-box Company that had rented the place, his interest had slightly awoken again, for it was the same man who had been mentioned in the documents that had tied him to this whole matter in the first place. Still, he thought that there was nothing more to be found, and was therefore itching to go back to his real work. Down in the Harbour district he quickly changed his mind when he saw that the police, supported by a Squad of Indian riflemen had ringed the warehouse.
'I hate warehouses...' was what Ian though before entering.
After showing his credentials to a police Sergeant, he was allowed inside and saw that at first it was nothing more than a warehouse for a merchant who im- and exported various goods and wares in Palestine, and that in itself was not illegal, but when Ian entered the Office on the second floor, a constable was standing beside a filing cabinet that had been fitted on slides. Behind it Ian could see a small compartment where he found a treasure trove of intelligence.
Among these things was a diary and general notebook and inside it, after reading it in the lamplight of his hotel room, he found that less than a year ago the man had been visited by a group of Italians that turned out to be Germans. They had traded back and forth, and over a pot of coffee and some smuggled Scottish Whiskey, they had recruited the man, and much much later, no more than three months ago the merchant had met with one of the Germans again and when Alcohol had loosened tongues, the German had begun to talk. The Merchant had had a meticulous nature and had written everything down afterwards, even though to him this had not really made sense. Ian though had access to more information and he knew that the name he had read in the little book had been referenced somewhere.
SOE Station Cairo
29th November
The Prime Minister was no longer on the phone and looked at Ian again who felt like an intruder in his own office. He had come back to the compound only to see that the Prime Minister had appropriated his quarters until Ian delivered his report.
“Sir, I realize why you decided for an airstrike, but I think that if we act fast, before the Germans realize that we might have this information might yield intelligence that is far beyond anything...”
“Might is the operative word here, Fleming. I can see your point, but I hope you can see mine too. I have ordered the RAF to take it out, because we cannot risk a team like that.”
Churchill paused and then said after a few moments:
“I am sure Colonel Stirling will approve.”
“Sir, I don't demand that you risk a team just like that or call of the airstrike. All I want is that a team is sent in before the airstrike, to get out again before we bomb the place flat.”
Time for a broadside.
“As it happens, 12 Patrol is already in Taranto in preparation for a mission into....somewhere, and we could easily divert them.”
The look on the PM's face was priceless and it told Ian that he had been spot on. It was a mixture of surprise and admiration at being outmanoeuvred like this. He obviously knew that Ian was one step ahead of him, and that his hand had been forced. At the same time Ian knew that he was about to pay the price.
“Good enough. When can you leave?”
Ian was stunned and unable to move or talk. He hadn't believed that the PM could be swayed this easily, but nor had he believed that he would have to pay that high a praise. He had promised Sandra that he wouldn't go on 'these crazy things' again often enough, but it seemed that he would still have to do it again. He remembered what had happened last time he had gone into enemy territory and shuddered inwardly.
“How on earth can you do that in less than a week anyhow? You have no intelligence, you have..”
The PM stopped when he saw the smug look on Ian's face.
“Actually Sir, we, or rather Lord Mountbatten came across this installation before back in 1940. Back then a planning group was assembled and intelligence gathered, but then the Frogs decided to loose their country, and since it was a low-priority mission to begin with, so it was scrapped. That gives us something to go on, and London could....”
The PM held up his hand and interrupted Ian.
“So conveniently located eh, Captain?” Before Ian could say anything, the PM spoke again. “Never mind, Captain. I would never imply that you did this on purpose to get back home to your family. I would understand it though. Even so, I will communicate with Lord Mountbatten immediately. Meanwhile you go up to Taranto and make sure 12 Patrol is available.”
Ian sensed the dismissal and rose to his feet. He saluted and began to walk to the door. Halfway there he stopped turned and asked:
“If I may Prime Minister, what changed your mind?”
The PM looked up and began to chew on his customary cigar again.
“Your determination. That and the fact that you adapted to the situation very fast.”
The real reason was that he liked Ian personally and that he had learned that if Ian was this determined he would see it through, no matter what. And if he was to be perfectly honest, he had wanted to be convinced, because this was an operation to his liking. It was the kind of daring, against the odds raid that the SAS had been founded for, and if anyone could do it it were the men of 12 Patrol. These men had caught his attention when they had snatched the Dutch Royal Family from under the noses of the Germans, and he had followed their exploits ever since, particularly so after they had been instrumental in crushing the Quebec Uprising that had deprived the Allied War effort of all but three Canadian Divisions it so badly needed. He felt that now these men were the only ones that could do it again, and even though he knew that Ian had promised his wife not to go onto this sort of mission again, but he also knew that Ian would most likely make it, and he made himself promise to look after his family if he didn't.
Ian meanwhile walked over to the perimeter of the compound where he had parked his Landy. He climbed in, started the engine and drove through the open gate in the fence and about halfway towards the main road. Once there he stopped, got out and climbed up to sit on the bonnet, leaning against the windscreen and bathing in the setting sun. He had to decide if he really was going to go... no. He really had to decide if he could ever make enough amends for breaking his promise, even though it was a war, so what real choice did he have? No, the real issue her was that he felt like he was betraying his wife, and that was something he simply could not do, he loved her too much for that. But he had been ordered. In the end he decided that there was little he could do and he realized as he was driving back that he had done this each and every time he was about to go into combat since Felix had died, and it was more about summoning the courage to actually go do to someone else what he had experienced on that day.
[Notes: If this seems to weird and disjointed, I am somewhat sick, so please bear with me. The grand finale to this will come by the end of the next week, and this update is of minor importance for this anyway.]