The man was a clerk in the dockyard, too frail for military service, but very useful when it came to ledgers and lists of requirements for the ships under construction or repair.
He was on his way home, at exactly his usual time, pausing only at this one shop to buy some cigarettes and an evening paper. Then he would take his dog for a walk, and sit down for the evening meal with his wife and mother-in-law. All as usual.
The man behind the shop counter nodded to him and passed over a pack of cigarettes. The little clerk gave him in return a small envelope. Then he went on his way, knowing his dog would be at the gate, waiting impatiently for him.
The shopkeeper bolted the door and went into his back room, opening the envelope without haste and whistling quietly to himself.
In an hour the contents of the envelope would be flashed across the ocean, a thousand miles or more. To the German raiders.
COMMODORE RODNEY STAGG
took a heavy lighter from the desk and lit his cigar with great concentration.
Across the desk, his face lined with fatigue and pain, Captain Quintin watched him warily. He had been in his office for most of the night, in spite of his wife’s protests, and Stagg’s booming cheerfulness was getting on his nerves.
Through the windows he could just discern the early morning sounds of Melbourne coming to life for another day. But the office, and those adjoining it, were already busy, and had been for the past two days. The clatter of a teleprinter, the murmur of voices on telephones, the occasional clink of coffee cups, it was as near to a flagship as Quintin would ever get now.
Stagg asked, ‘What time’s Fairfax getting here?’ He looked meaningly at a wall clock. ‘In my day . . . .’
Quintin groaned. ‘This
is
your day, sir. Or soon will be.’
Stagg grinned. ‘Sure thing. It’s all dropping into place, and I must admit we couldn’t have had a hope in hell without your department’s aid. Yours, too, of course.’
Quintin gave up. ‘True.’
The commodore’s massive shadow loomed over Quintin’s map of the Indian Ocean and at the latest markers placed there by his staff.
‘No more sinkings reported. Not from the raider anyway. It makes sense. The bastard’s running out of fuel and supplies. I’ll bet my pension that Blake was right about the Spaniard. That’s two supply ships down and another prevented from reaching the area.’
Quintin smiled wryly. It was a change for Stagg to admit anything at all.
Stagg added, ‘You’ve checked everything yourself?’
Quintin sighed, hating the smell of the cigar. ‘Yes. I had a signal from NOIC Aden. A fleet oiler, the
Empire Prince
, is ready to sail. She’s loaded with fuel, too. Any extra subterfuge like filling her with ballast instead of oil would only involve more people. We want security down to a minimum of personnel.’
Stagg nodded, his copse of hair shining in the bright overhead lights.
‘Good thinking.’
Quintin said, ‘The Second Naval Member was not slow to point out what would happen if we make a mistake. The raider will get his hands on enough fuel to last him for months, and we’ll have egg on our faces.’
‘
Worse
, if I know him!’ Stagg moved back to the map. ‘A small, hand-picked crew of volunteers, with Fairfax in command. I’m not sure about him though.’
‘Hell, sir, he’s a good man. His captain says so, and I agree.’
‘Huh. Well, we shall see. What about the latest on the German agent?’
Quintin grinned. ‘He’ll be taking his dog for a walk about now, before he goes to work.’
‘The bastard. I’d like to choke him to death with my own hands!’
Quintin said, ‘Any other way would have been a risk. To lay a false trail to some useless Q-ship or the like would have been smelled a mile off. This way the Germans will know it’s real and that the bait is worth the taking.’
A Wren looked through the door. ‘Commander Fairfax, sir.’
Stagg growled, ‘About bloody time.’
Fairfax entered, carrying a briefcase and looking surprisingly fresh after a flight with the Navy’s mail.
It took Quintin about fifteen minutes to describe the mission and what was required. When he had finished he said, ‘If you’ve any thoughts, I’d like to hear them.’
Fairfax glanced at Stagg, but there was no reaction.
‘I’d say it was a good idea, sir. It could work.’
Stagg said shortly, ‘Could? It bloody must!’
Quintin said, ‘It was the dockyard office which gave my people the idea. There is no other place where so much information comes in about stores and equipment which will be needed by incoming ships, berths and slipways required for this or that type of vessel. The
Empire Prince
will make a signal when she’s on her way to Williamstown. To say that she has suffered damage and needs immediate dockyard facilities on arrival. That way she will be able to point out the necessity of off-loading her fuel without delay. I imagine that our little spy will be only too eager to pass on that information.’
Fairfax asked, ‘You said that he had already sent a message to his contact, sir?’
‘Yeh. I had it spread around that I am preparing a decoy which will be sailing in a couple of days from Perth. I have even drafted a signal to that effect, repeated to
Fremantle
and
Andromeda
.’
Stagg had been watching Fairfax’s profile with some irritation. ‘Well?’
‘If I was the German captain I’d think it about perfect, sir. The two cruisers away in another direction with their decoy, while a real, fat prize comes unexpectedly from Aden. I’d also know all about
Empire Prince.
She was captured by the Germans in Holland at the outbreak of the war and later used as a supply vessel for the
Bismarck
. The Brits retook her and learned a lot from her gear which the Germans had fitted. Having no bases, they had equipped the ship for oiling at sea.’
Stagg looked at Quintin and said grudgingly, ‘He’s done his homework.’
Fairfax said, ‘We’ve had our differences, sir. But I still maintain I was right. I couldn’t have saved your men without losing every passenger under my command.’
Stagg rolled the cigar in his thick fingers. ‘Maybe. But if you’d been made to watch your boys lined up and slaughtered, and then had the little bastards going over you with their knives and bamboo needles, I guess you’d be a bit sour on the subject!’
It was as near to an agreement that they would ever reach, Fairfax thought.
He looked at the map and remembered Sarah’s arms about his neck as he had left for the airfield. They had become closer than ever, and the Navy’s casual acceptance of a marriage had given way to something stronger, something which, if he could stay alive, would last.
Stagg said slowly, ‘I’ve given orders for both my ships to be ready to sail tomorrow afternoon. It won’t do any harm for people to see us doing what we say we are going to do. It’s got to work this time. There’s a big troop convoy due at Cape Town shortly. The soldiers are needed for the Pacific. If we let the raider slip past us, that convoy will be delayed. The good old chain reaction which starts from the top.’
Quintin kept his face blank. ‘Never mind, sir, when you are at the top you’ll be able to change all that, eh?’
Stagg glared at him. Then his face split into a slow grin. ‘Sonofabitch!’ He made for the door. ‘I’ll be in touch. About Blake?’ He raised an eyebrow.
Quintin replied coolly, ‘I’ll tell him.’ As the door closed he looked at Fairfax and smiled. ‘Later.’
A young Wren entered with a tray of coffee and toast. Quintin liked morning toast, a habit he had gathered with the Royal Navy.
He looked at the girl as she poured the coffee, wondering what Claire was doing, hating what he would have to do. But he would delay it as long as possible.
Fairfax seemed calm enough. What was he? A potential hero or a probable sacrifice?
He said, ‘You’ll have a very small crew for the auxiliary. Just enough to keep her moving. The cruisers will be shadowing you all the way, and the first hint you’ll probably get will be a Jerry aircraft coming to take a look at you. If they order you to shut down your radio, do it. You’ll be riding on real juice, and I don’t want you blown up just to prove something. Besides, your lovely wife wouldn’t like it.’
‘About Captain Blake, sir.’ Fairfax watched the older man for a reaction. ‘I met his wife in Sydney. If there’s anything I can do. . . .’
Quintin grinned. If Fairfax could worry about Blake and his bloody-minded wife when he was about to begin a
mission, which to put it at its best was extremely hazardous, he was a good hand.
‘It’s being taken care of. The best I can do. And thanks for the offer.’
The door from the operations room opened and a tired looking lieutenant said, ‘Transport’s here for Commander Fairfax, sir.’
Quintin noticed that the officer did not look at Fairfax as he spoke. Perhaps he had seen too many leave the building on some hare-brained scheme, never to return.
Fairfax walked round the desk to prevent Quintin from struggling to his feet.
‘So long, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘If anything happens, goes wrong, maybe you could see Sarah for me?’
‘Will do.’ Quintin shook his hand. ‘Do the same for me if I fall out of this bloody chair, eh?’ He forced a grin. ‘Have a good flight.’
Once more Quintin was alone. He sipped his coffee and went over the plan for the millionth time. If there was a flaw Rietz would see it. If circumstances changed in the next few days, a lot of men would die for nothing.
He thought of Blake again and the cruelty of life which might deny him the happiness when he almost had it in his grasp.
The telephone jangled on his desk. He picked it up, his thoughts automatically clicking into order again.
‘Staff Officer Intelligence speaking.’
The car stood like a half-drowned rock at the roadside, the roof and bodywork streaming in the downpour.
The girl was sitting at the wheel, just as Blake had remembered her. Except for the one big difference. She was not wearing her uniform. Blake had never seen her in a dress before, and when he had waited at the airport to meet the plane from Melbourne he had been almost sick with disappointment as he had watched the hurrying passengers.
Then he had seen her. In the simple yellow dress she was wearing now, looking at him across the busy concourse, her
eyes shining with pleasure, and yet somehow unsure of herself.
They had dropped off her case at the hotel, and then she had told him of a small restaurant on the city’s outskirts, one she had discovered during her time in Sydney.
The restaurant was there now, separated from them by a pavement and the biggest, noisiest downpour Blake had ever encountered.
But it did not matter. Nothing did. He put his arm round her shoulder and touched her hair, seeing a small pulse move in her throat, the quick heart-beat under her dress.
She said, ‘We can’t sit here for ever. Shall we make a dash for it?’ Then she turned and put her arm round his neck, her breath warm on his mouth as she said, ‘I’m suddenly not hungry, are you?’
They sat quite still, the implication as strong as being shouted aloud.
‘No.’ He put his hand on her neck, feeling his longing, not wanting to spoil it, to repel her by his eagerness. ‘I love you, Claire.’
She kissed him, gently at first, and then as he came closer she pressed her mouth against his, her lips parting as if she could no longer help herself.
Blake was dimly aware that the rain had stopped and that the car was streaming with water. Two people had stopped on the pavement to peer into the car, and one of them gave a thumbs up sign and called, ‘Good on yer, mate!’
She pulled away, but there was no longer the shy defensiveness, the uncertainty, as she said, ‘I think we’d better go. If you’re still sure about the meal?’
He nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak. ‘I’m
certain
!’
The drive to the hotel was all like that, vague and indistinct, broken here and there by a quick word or the touch of hands. At the hotel they gave the keys of the hire car to the doorman and together they went straight to Blake’s room.
It was like a delicious madness. Blake knew he should have taken a separate room for her, should have made certain his wife had already left Sydney to rejoin her lover, ought to have
done so many things, but for these few, precious moments he could think of nothing but the girl.
A bottle of champagne stood glistening in a pail of ice, the hotel did not apparently run to a proper ice bucket. Nor to champagne either, for that matter. Blake had seen a Free French destroyer in the harbour, and with a vague recollection of meeting her in the Med and using the Navy’s special Old Pals’ Act, had obtained the bottle from her wardroom.
She said breathlessly, ‘I feel wicked!’
She came against him and said, ‘How long do we have?’
Blake felt her tense as he loosened the strap across her tanned shoulder. ‘Only tonight, my darling.’ She nestled against him, her resistance gone before it could hurt. ‘Next time it will be what
we
want.’
She put her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away. For an instant longer Blake imagined it was because of his actions, his clumsiness. Then she said quietly, ‘Let me.’
She stepped out of the dress and then turned momentarily away as she threw it on to a chair. She said, ‘You do the rest. I’m shaking so much, I. . . .’
He kissed her shoulders, and saw the pale skin where her costume had covered her from the sun. Then he turned her, holding her away, taking in every detail of her perfect breasts, her skin, the nakedness which was her way of putting the seal on their love.
She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him, her eyes misty as he undressed and then struggled with the champagne cork.
Side by side on the bed they drank a glass of champagne as if it was the most normal, the purest thing in the world. Then she lay back, her arms above her head as she said, ‘No matter what happens, my darling, this is for ever.’ Once more the almost childlike doubt crossed her face. ‘Isn’t it?’