Chapter II: Part I
Chapter II: The Gambit of the West
Part I
February 5, 1936
The streets of London were frosted with snow as Charles Randall tipped his cab driver and climbed the stairs to the unassuming Aldersgate office of the Secret Intelligence Service. On entering, he presented his newly-issued credentials to the doorman, who directed him to the third-floor offices of a Thomas Condon, VC. Randall climbed the stairs, finding Condon’s office at the end of a long corridor. He knocked. “Enter,” came the voice from within.
The office was not small, but was so filled with shelves and cabinets so as to feel distinctly cramped. A man in his forties with sandy-gray hair, Condon at once seemed likeable to Randall. He had classically Saxon features, and an altogether healthy look -- a growing rarity in Britain.
“My name is Charles Randall, I was directed to speak with you. Alan Baldwin brought me on this past Monday.”
“Good! Tom Condon.” He held out his hand. “Do pull up that -- oh dear.” Randall had pulled up a seat for himself across Condon’s desk, causing the collapse of a precariously-stacked pile of folders. “Just leave them, Charles.”
“Sorry.”
“Quite alright. So according to the letter they sent me, you’ve been assigned to this humble corner of Christendom due to particular knowledge of human psychology. Correct?”
“I reckon so, sir. That’s what my degree is in, at least, and I spent three years in the twenties in Heidelberg working with Dr. Verzlig in his research on the psychology of lying.”
“Oho!” Condon roared, “then how do I know you’re not lying to me about having even been to Germany?”
“Well, if I hadn’t gone to Heidelberg I wouldn’t have learned how to lie well enough to convince you that I’d gone in the first place.”
“Well played, Charles. I like your reasoning.”
“Thank you.”
“Now I suppose you’re going to be wanting to set about catching foreign spies, but sadly things have been rather different since the War. There have been relatively few attempts to place agents in the Home Islands, and most of our own espionage has been diplomatic in nature. About the closest this office comes to anything that glamorous is sharing a maid with Sir Richard.”
“Sir Richard, sir?”
“Turnstyle. The real spymaster. The best use you’ll have here for your talents is rounding up all the mendacious buggers who keep making off with my ink.” Condon laughed.
“I see. What will my actual duties entail?”
“Right then. John Pierson is working on profiling some of the German leadership, actually. He can use all the trained men he can get, and I expect you can do the most good with him. Come on, I’ll take you down there now.”
Condon rose and led Randall down to the second floor. They passed through a large open workspace where a dozen professional-looking women worked mechanically at their typewriters. At last they came to a private office with its door ajar. “John? The new psychologist is here.”
In seconds, a wiry old man appeared. Condon introduced Randall, and the three men entered an office even more cluttered than Condon’s own.
“Well I must say that I’m glad to have you, Charles. The work is rather dull, but peacetime does not exactly lend itself to danger and gallantry.”
Randall frowned. “What about Belgium? Will we not be stepping up intelligence work on the Continent in light of the war?”
“Hah.” Condon shook his head. “That, Charles, was not so much a war as a conflict. After Hitler’s speech yesterday, sentiment in Parliament is so divided we’ll be lucky if we’re not ordered to reduce intelligence work in Germany.”
Pierson grasped Randall’s hand. “Alright. I shall expect you tomorrow at eight. I’ll have Briley move another desk into the office and we’ll begin work then.”
Randall nodded his thanks. “Mr. Condon, I’ll be in tomorrow, then. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I look forward to it, Charles.”
The men shook hands and parted, Randall making his way down the stairs and onto the street. The afternoon air had a chill to it, and he found himself furiously rubbing his hands together to stay warm. Three blocks away, he slipped into a red telephone box.
When he had been connected, the line rang several times before being picked up. He could hear breathing on the other end. “Emma, please don’t be cross. I called as soon as I could.”
A pleasant female voice laughed. “Oh Charles, you know I’d wait here for hours for you to call.”
“I know, darling. I’ve got to pick up some groceries on the way to your flat, though.”
“That’s fine Charles. What are you getting?”
“I’m going to buy eggs, raisins, flour, onions, lard, and grapefruit.”
“Very good. See you at five, then?”
“See you then, darling.”
Randall hung up the phone. By dinner time, Adolf Hitler himself had been informed of the good news.
Chapter II: The Gambit of the West
Part I
February 5, 1936
The streets of London were frosted with snow as Charles Randall tipped his cab driver and climbed the stairs to the unassuming Aldersgate office of the Secret Intelligence Service. On entering, he presented his newly-issued credentials to the doorman, who directed him to the third-floor offices of a Thomas Condon, VC. Randall climbed the stairs, finding Condon’s office at the end of a long corridor. He knocked. “Enter,” came the voice from within.
The office was not small, but was so filled with shelves and cabinets so as to feel distinctly cramped. A man in his forties with sandy-gray hair, Condon at once seemed likeable to Randall. He had classically Saxon features, and an altogether healthy look -- a growing rarity in Britain.
“My name is Charles Randall, I was directed to speak with you. Alan Baldwin brought me on this past Monday.”
“Good! Tom Condon.” He held out his hand. “Do pull up that -- oh dear.” Randall had pulled up a seat for himself across Condon’s desk, causing the collapse of a precariously-stacked pile of folders. “Just leave them, Charles.”
“Sorry.”
“Quite alright. So according to the letter they sent me, you’ve been assigned to this humble corner of Christendom due to particular knowledge of human psychology. Correct?”
“I reckon so, sir. That’s what my degree is in, at least, and I spent three years in the twenties in Heidelberg working with Dr. Verzlig in his research on the psychology of lying.”
“Oho!” Condon roared, “then how do I know you’re not lying to me about having even been to Germany?”
“Well, if I hadn’t gone to Heidelberg I wouldn’t have learned how to lie well enough to convince you that I’d gone in the first place.”
“Well played, Charles. I like your reasoning.”
“Thank you.”
“Now I suppose you’re going to be wanting to set about catching foreign spies, but sadly things have been rather different since the War. There have been relatively few attempts to place agents in the Home Islands, and most of our own espionage has been diplomatic in nature. About the closest this office comes to anything that glamorous is sharing a maid with Sir Richard.”
“Sir Richard, sir?”
“Turnstyle. The real spymaster. The best use you’ll have here for your talents is rounding up all the mendacious buggers who keep making off with my ink.” Condon laughed.
“I see. What will my actual duties entail?”
“Right then. John Pierson is working on profiling some of the German leadership, actually. He can use all the trained men he can get, and I expect you can do the most good with him. Come on, I’ll take you down there now.”
Condon rose and led Randall down to the second floor. They passed through a large open workspace where a dozen professional-looking women worked mechanically at their typewriters. At last they came to a private office with its door ajar. “John? The new psychologist is here.”
In seconds, a wiry old man appeared. Condon introduced Randall, and the three men entered an office even more cluttered than Condon’s own.
“Well I must say that I’m glad to have you, Charles. The work is rather dull, but peacetime does not exactly lend itself to danger and gallantry.”
Randall frowned. “What about Belgium? Will we not be stepping up intelligence work on the Continent in light of the war?”
“Hah.” Condon shook his head. “That, Charles, was not so much a war as a conflict. After Hitler’s speech yesterday, sentiment in Parliament is so divided we’ll be lucky if we’re not ordered to reduce intelligence work in Germany.”
Pierson grasped Randall’s hand. “Alright. I shall expect you tomorrow at eight. I’ll have Briley move another desk into the office and we’ll begin work then.”
Randall nodded his thanks. “Mr. Condon, I’ll be in tomorrow, then. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I look forward to it, Charles.”
The men shook hands and parted, Randall making his way down the stairs and onto the street. The afternoon air had a chill to it, and he found himself furiously rubbing his hands together to stay warm. Three blocks away, he slipped into a red telephone box.
When he had been connected, the line rang several times before being picked up. He could hear breathing on the other end. “Emma, please don’t be cross. I called as soon as I could.”
A pleasant female voice laughed. “Oh Charles, you know I’d wait here for hours for you to call.”
“I know, darling. I’ve got to pick up some groceries on the way to your flat, though.”
“That’s fine Charles. What are you getting?”
“I’m going to buy eggs, raisins, flour, onions, lard, and grapefruit.”
“Very good. See you at five, then?”
“See you then, darling.”
Randall hung up the phone. By dinner time, Adolf Hitler himself had been informed of the good news.
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