Shattered Teapot: Picking up the Pieces

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Thursday, November 14th 2013, 3:46pm

Friday July 19, 1944
The recalcitrant typewriter clattered away as the clock wound down towards 3:40pm. It was sunny outside, which had been a rare sight this month, as it had been unusually cloudy and wet. Opposite, Thomas Maypole was busy reading the latest batch of reports and was still annoyed at having been told to give up his treasured Saturday afternoon cricket to trail a deceived and traitorous woman around West London.

Quoted

Subject: Miss Nadya Gardner
Five foot five, brown eyes, dark brown hair, mole on lower right cheek.
Address: Flat 18, Hendon Park Mansions, Queens Road, Hendon, N.W.4
Born on May 3, 1919 at Enfield Maternity Hospital to Hubert Gardner and Ljubica Gardner (nee ¦umanovi). Father was a tax inspector employed by the Ministry of Munitions during the war. Her mother was Serbian, immigrant to Britain in 1911 as a nanny and was naturalised during 1917. Subject's parents married in Enfield on May 9, 1918. A younger brother, Thomas, was born in 1921.

Nadya was educated at the Enfield Girls Grammar School, left school at sixteen in 1935 and took a secretarial course. Employed at a local solicitors firm. Moved to Hendon to take up position as typist at the War Office in October 1939, on recommendation from Victor Tracepurcell, a medium-grade administrative civil servant in the Supply Section believed to be at that time courting Nadya. Security check was carried out and clearance given. Worked in Typists Pool C until May 1941, promoted to be Deputy Director of Personnels typist. Promoted to current position as Clerical Head of Typists Pool F, on February 3, 1943. Pool F serves the Western & Northern & Central European Desks, Military Intelligence Division. This corrects previous information that subject only had access to Western Europe Desk material.

There are some unexplained financial irregularities. The main National Provincial Bank account stands at £39 1s 7d plus £90 8s in another Midland Bank savings account. The last cash deposit into the NPB account was £14 on June 8, 1944. The previous cash deposit was £18 on May 1, 1944. Not substantial sums but still large deposits to make regularly on the wage of 68s 10d a week. This is a high amount of savings given the rent expenditures for the Hendon flat of £110 per annum on the subject's current wages.

Nadyas personal life can only be a patchwork at this stage of the investigation. She is believed to have been engaged sometime during 1938 before meeting Victor Tracepurcell. He is now employed at the Dominions Office, Whitehall. They do not appear to have seen each other since the summer of 1941. She is a member of St. James Club, Piccadilly; the Marquee Club, Kensington and the West London Bridge Club, Hendon.

The father, Hubert Gardner, works as a tax inspector for the Enfield area and the mother, Ljubica Gardner, volunteers two days a week at the Enfield General Hospital and is an active member of the Pan-Slavic Society based in Tottenham. This organisation is a social club for expat Slavic residents in London. There are no financial irregularities with the parents banking. Their total accounts stand at £124 9s 8d plus 150 shares in ICI which Mr Gardner has held since 1934.
The brother, Thomas Gardner, is currently employed as a junior draughtsman at Enfield Lock. He has been security vetted for this position previously and fresh enquires have revealed nothing unordinary. He is engaged to be married. There are no financial irregularities. The account stands at £69 6s 4d. In view of his employment position however there are some grounds of concern that information unsuspectedly gleaned from the subject's brother may be transmitted to the handler and out of the country.

The subject, and Major Lorand Utassy de Uljak, are under constant surveillance with a two teams of six watching the Hendon Flat, one team of three on the underground a backup team of ten and a female operative inserted into the Typists Pool. Another two operatives have been installed at the St. James Club undercover as waiters.

Movements Report
Wednesday July 17: Start of operation. Left flat at 07:43. Walked short distance to Hendon Central Underground station. Caught Northern Line underground train and disembarked at Parliament station and walked straight to War Office, Whitehall. Arrived 08:09. Subject had lunch along the Victoria Embankment on a public bench, met no one. Operative took opportunity to search subjects desk. No incriminating material found. Subject took lunch break in the building. Subject still working when typist operative left at 17:00. Subject observed leaving building at 17:39. Nothing extra visible in hands, no other bags other than handbag. Embarked on Northern Line underground train at Parliament Station and disembarked at Hendon Central and returned home at 18:11. At no point in any of these journeys did the subject employ any tradecraft. Major Uljak arrived in Mercedes embassy car at 19:52. He went inside for ten minutes, both left the flat and proceeded to St. James Club. Observed there until 22:06. Major Uljak then drove the subject home. He did not depart until 01:14.

Thursday July 18: Subject left flat at 07:41. Caught Northern Line underground train, disembarked at Parliament station and arrived at War Office, Whitehall 08:10. At lunchtime subject went to Waterloo Station, appeared to check railway timetable, bought a copy of the Evening Standard and went to the lockers and reclaimed a brown shopping bag. Typist operative reports post-lunch subject claimed to have bought it during lunch. Subject still working when typist operative left at 17:00. Subject observed leaving building at 17:19 with the brown bag and handbag. Subject proceeded on foot to St. Johns Gardens next to Westminster Hospital. Waited there until 17:50. A woman, aged around fifty, five foot six, brown hair, well dressed, met subject on a bench. Woman had come from Westminster Hospital. Subject handed the woman the bag, they talked for ten minutes and then subject left and headed to Parliament Station at 18:13. The other woman left on foot walking towards the west. She alighted on a bus and contact was lost. Subject Embarked on Northern Line underground train at Parliament Station and disembarked at Hendon Central and returned home at 18:19.

Friday July 19: Subject left flat at 07:43. Caught Northern Line underground train, disembarked at Parliament station and arrived at War Office, Whitehall 08:12. Nothing else of note yet reported.

Both the subjects residential and work telephones are tapped.
Telephone Report Home Number
Wednesday July 17: Start of tap. No calls.

Thursday July 18: One incoming call, duration 18:02-18:05, Hendon 4859. Confirmed as West London Bridge Club. Transcript indicates arranging Bridge meeting at 19:00 Saturday July 19. One outgoing call, duration 18:47-18:54, Mayfair 8769. Private number, Colonel (Ret) & Mrs. Purvey. Transcript indicates discussion of bridge meeting Saturday and returning loan of Collected Works of Charles Dickens.

Friday July 19: Final report not yet in. No calls recorded today so far.
Nothing of note on the workplace tap has been recorded so far in connection with this case.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

22

Friday, November 15th 2013, 3:31pm

Wednesday July 24, 1944
Railway stations are always interesting places. The comings and goings and public shows of farewell and sorrow and the happiness of holidays and reunions. The noise is overpowering, the stench of steam and soot and the porters hurrying around wheeling peoples possessions around like sacks of spuds. Railway posters always brighten up the walls, these ones looked a little out of season; mountain peaks, skier's defying gravity, toboggan races, one of Monaco and a finally a few with modestly dressed bathers exclaiming the virtues of the Adriatic Sea. The good thing about stations is that people can loiter around and never look out of place.
"Ah Herr Poole?" Ricky turned round, the cigarette hanging from his lips. His shifty eyes gave the man the once over. He looked a little overdressed but very dapper under his thick coat. He immediately recognised the face. "Yes. That's me." "Head office have sent me to collect you." "Very kind I'm sure."

The two men walked out of the station towards a little black Opel. They got in and the man turned and smiled at Ricky as he turned the key in the ignition and began to look over his shoulder as he reversed, "Good to see you again Ricky." "Really Mr Esterhase? To tell you the truth for the past fortnight I've been given the round around." Ricky wasn't in the best of moods, he was hot and no one had told him a damn thing. The little Opel clattered around the traffic around Geneva. They had no particular place to go, it was a mobile conference. Ricky lit another cigarette which he could tell annoyed the hell out of Esterhase. Just to make sure he puffed extra hard following his next drag. "I've had word from London. I can't brief you on the entire operation. The man you went to see was Tibor Meghy." "Tell me something I didn't know," Ricky rolled his eyes. The car rolled to a stop at a pedestrian crossing. A pretty blonde caught Ricky's eye. Within a moment they car jerked forwards and they were mobile again.
"His girlfriend, an agent of ours that gave us the tip off, is making a noise that she wants him repatriated. You're the only one who has seen him and London wants your opinion on whether he could be of use to us. The whole operation is very, very delicate and we can't afford any slip ups." Ricky took a few more puffs and then put his arm out the window so he could touch the top of the door as he turned towards Esterhase. "London wants my opinion do they?" "For their sins. Yes." "Well if anyone thinks he's a trained hood they can forget it. Oh, he might think he is but the way he sets himself. That alone. He's no damn good, the only reason why he got this far is because his big daddy is running the show. Personally the man is a bundle of nerves, he was practically falling apart at the seams. Another week of paranoia and he'll put his own damn neck in the noose."
The car trundled around. Another blonde took Ricky's eye. "London has to decide whether it's best to leave him in situ as a stooge or bring him for thorough debriefing. He has in-depth knowledge we desperately need. If he is that unstable then it is probably best he be removed or silenced." Ricky loved the way Esterhase avoided using the word killed. "Might make the girlfriend a bit pissed if we do him in Toby," Ricky grinned. Esterhase, distracted by an erratic cyclist snapped back, "It might make Control more pissed if he's interrogated and reveals he has informed us about the mole they have in London." Ah, so that was it. Ricky smiled to himself; London was really in a pickle with this one. "Most likely his matey boss Homlok would hush it up. He has before, numerous times and if his protégé goes down the pan it won't do his neck much good would it?" Ricky grinned again before throwing his cigarette stub out the window. Esterhase ignored him. "You can catch the next train to Berne. The Stromberg safe house, I'll be in touch with London's reply. If there is an operation, then we will have to plan it and carry it out. And while you're in Berne, stay low and behave."

This post has been edited 2 times, last edit by "Hood" (Nov 15th 2013, 3:34pm)

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

23

Sunday, November 17th 2013, 11:13am

Thursday July 25, 1944
It was hot and dull, the air wet with humidity, the air was thick and yet everyone insisted on smoking. Everyone had taken out pipes and lit up cigarettes. Great clouds of smoke wafted towards the window and then a slight draught wafted them back around the room. Richard looked at his thick pile of files on the green baize in front of him. He felt like a schoolboy on interview day. Not often had he come to the Circus and now he was with the top ten men of SIS sitting around the large oak table in a sparse high-ceiling room decorated with the odd sepia photograph. They all seemed to stare at him as if he were a foreign agent. One of the men got up and closed the windows and the secretary outside doubled checked the door was tightly closed. At the head of table was Control. He was stocky, his broad shoulders made little movement as he moved in his chair. He arm rested on his papers, he knew what he wanted to say without looking at them. He didn't smoke and his shrewd eyes pierced around the room.
He spoke low and sparsely, just like his assistant Mendel sitting to his right. Mendel outlined the story so far, who was who and who had said what. Ricky Tarrs transcript from Budapest was compared with GABBIEs testimony in Cairo.

After an hour or so Control turned to Richard Guthrie, "Well Mr Guthrie of MI5 should be able to tell us everything about Miss Gardner and the attaché in question we need to know." Richard indeed knew an embarrassingly large amount about her and her life, family and similar details about Major Uljak.
He cleared his throat before he spoke; being the only MI5 man present he didn't want to make a poor impression. "We have been watching both Nadya Gardner and Major Uljak since the sixteenth, we've had our people infiltrated into the places they work and socialise and I'd like to thank the Lamplighters for making penetrating the Hungarian embassy so much easier. All phone calls have been tapped and we've built up a large dossier on both subjects. Miss Gardner shows no formal training, she employs no tradecraft, makes no attempt to dodge would be followers and seems completely unaware of our activities. Financially she earns a hundred and seventy-six pounds a year but her rent is one hundred and ten pounds and she has savings of around a hundred pounds at present. Far more than she could amass from her own wages and there are no other obvious means of income which indicates to us she is receiving cash payments from Major Uljak despite Meghy's claims to the contrary. She stays late at work perhaps two nights a week, not too long so as to avoid the cleaning staff but long enough to copy documents. She meets Uljak the same nights as she works late which implies material is passed then without the danger of storing it. There was one occasion when he reclaimed a large brown bag at Waterloo station and handed it to a woman who came out of the Westminster Hospital. We have not been able to trace this woman and no further contact between them has been noted and Miss Gardner has not returned to Waterloo Station since and neither has Major Uljak. The operative we have working undercover with Miss Gardner offers no psychological motives, she appears distant, standoffish with her staff, fairly quiet but diligent in her work. She never openly displays wealth at work but outside of work she often dresses very well with fine jewellery. At her social groups she portrays a woman with means and position beyond that beyond her true situation. One might be tempted to say she has delusions of grandeur. There is no doubt her and Uljak are lovers but whether hes using her purely for information is not clear. Whatever motive she has is mostly likely linked to this relationship. She is no trained agent and she is out of her depth and therefore might prove cooperative with us to avoid prison. We have not, of course, interviewed anyone close to her at present as instructed."

So now came the crunch. What would be done? Everyone took a little breather, some tea was brought in and a few groups huddled around and more cigarettes and pipes were sparked up.
Control brought the meeting to order. "So there is no doubt that we have a leak in security. We know from the information Meghy gave us that Miss Gardner is stealing secrets from her department in the War Office. The types of reports she has access to match those described by Meghy and we know from him the Hungarian military attaché is doing his job well. His mistake was not ensuring the loop was closed. Miss Gardner is exposed and by using her we can either seal the leak or use her as a channel for our own ends. We know from Meghy this material reached Berlin. We cant use Miss Gardner and the attaché to feed deception material though because Meghy knows that channel is blown and he could tell his boss." One of the other men butted in, "And redeem himself in the eyes of Homlok, his dear friend to repay his loyalty in him." "Indeed," was Controls obvious and laconic answer.
"Now. We could publicly prosecute Miss Gardner by proclaiming her as a Hungarian spy without revealing any links to the events in Germany but her links to Major Uljak are diplomatically awkward and would blow any chance of using the channel to feed Berlin, circuitously, false information." Controls mouth lifted at one corner, he never showed much emotion but the thought of feeding Berlin useless information that was costing them was just deserts. He was going to let his second most important triumph of his career to be lost without a fight. He continued, "The best thing to do is to leave Miss Gardner and the Major oblivious for the time being. They will do no real harm when we put her somewhere less dangerous, but somewhere still able to supply enough of our chickenfeed to keep her useful to the Major. I want Meghy here." His fingers tapped on the table top to emphasise his wishes. Control had spoken.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

24

Monday, November 18th 2013, 2:51pm

Sunday July 26, 1944
The clouds were low, the dark, bubbling clouds were letting their load out across the valley. A rumble of thunder echoed up the valley. Alone stood a scruffy man in a beige raincoat, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He moved from his dry location underneath a bandstand and walked across the wet cobbles towards a small green Renault, its windscreen wiper flicking to and fro and its headlights casting pools of light on the cobbles. Turning the neck of his coat up and stepped out, opened the passenger door, throwing his cigarette to the ground with his left hand. The car briefly halted and then carried on, its springs jumping across the cobbles as it turned left and back onto the main road.

Monday July 27, 1944
He slipped into the entrance of the apartments and bounded up the steps two at a time. Feeling much less suspicious he did not stop to check if he was being followed. As he got to the door he got out a bunch of keys, selected one and put the key into the lock and turned the handle. It had been days since the visitor had been and he was no longer expecting him to return. He threw his hat onto a peg, stretched his arms momentarily and walked into the small kitchen. The man was sitting there. Not just sitting there, he was munching his way through a beetroot sandwich, a little pile of crumbs rested on the table.
“Hello Mr Meghy. Thought I’d fix myself a snack since I know where everything is.” Tibor felt like snapping at the man and telling him to get the hell out of his apartment. But he was too scared of the purpose of the man’s visit. Was it good or bad news? “Why are you here?” Tibor scraped the chair across the floor and he sat down opposite Ricky Tarr. He took a hunk of bread and some of the beetroot and began to chew. Finally Ricky finished his mouthful. “My bosses are worried about your welfare.” This did not sound good. “They don’t feel its right you should be jostled about on trams. Dirty noisy things. What you need Mr Meghy is a car.” Tibor let out a laugh, seriously had this man come all the way from England to tell him to buy a car? “I don’t really need…” “Oh the money. Don’t worry,” Ricky cut off Tibor and took from inside his raincoat a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Tibor rubbed the crumbs from his hands, picked up the packet and opened a corner. It was banknotes. “You said you had never owned a car. Now you can. There’s a nice little garage in Fay Street. Volkswagen. Nice cars. Buy one. As soon as you can. When you have, ring this number from a public booth,” Ricky slipped across a piece of paper, “Then we’ll give further consideration to your lifestyle.” Ricky smiled and got up. Tibor knew if he accepted this money he would be a double-agent, he knew what danger that meant. But somehow he felt if he did not accept it the strange German-speaking Englishman would probably get rough. The German-speaking Australian certainly would have. He left, leaving a pile of crumbs and Florints.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

25

Wednesday, November 20th 2013, 12:40pm

Tuesday July 28, 1944
The telephone rang and the woman behind the desk tutted loudly. She already had more than enough to deal with and was halfway through some mental arithmetic. The sharp bell continued. She picked it up. “Personnel Department, Mrs Winter speaking. Hello Sir. Who Sir? I see. Well I’ll have to check my files. I will. Vacancies are scare at the moment. I understand. I will try my best. Well, yes. Today. I’ll telephone you later today.”
She scratched underneath the bun of her hair with the end of her pencil, curious as to the purpose or reasoning behind the urgent request.

Thursday July 30, 1944
It was a relief to be out of that room of clacking typewriters but unnerving to be sitting at the desk of the head of clerical personnel. It took some time for the news to filter through her brain because the news was unexpected. Had the dear Major pulled strings for her? If she lost her role would she still be able to serve him loyally?
“But I don’t want to leave. I like my job, it’s all I’ve ever aspired to.” He soft pleading voice may have melted a Hungarian officer’s heart but Mrs Winters was brisk woman who dealt in absolutes.
“Nonsense Miss Gardner. This promotion to be the secretary to the G7 Intelligence Assessment Office is a worthy assignment. It is a new post so you can make the most of the job. A fresh perspective. Perspective Miss Gardner is what you need.” The words Intelligence Assessment stuck in her mind more than the word perspective. Her objections faded. “I see your point. I’ll accept the position. When do I start?” “Monday. I hope you make the most of this opportunity Miss Gardner. The extra four shillings a week will be equally worth it.”
In that tidy, officious room in the bowels of the War Office building Nadya Gardner could hardly have guessed that somewhere else within the building a Major was receiving his brief for Monday morning and that he was a counter-intelligence officer.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

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26

Friday, December 6th 2013, 5:00pm

Saturday August 1, 1944
After walking around for a while, Tibor Meghy had finally found a small café that had a telephone booth. He slid the door closed, taking care to glance back at the room. Only an elderly couple were seated at a table and the owner was busy polishing some glasses with his apron. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thin strip of paper. In his other hand was a fistful of coins which he inserted. He noted the number was Swiss. He hoped he had enough coins. He dialled the operator and she dialled the call through. It rang twice and a German-speaking voice answered. It was not the nameless man's voice.
“Hello. I have bought the car. I take delivery on Thursday.” Tibor had been surprised that the amount of Florints in the paper package had been the exact amount for a Volkswagen sedan. The mysterious voice on the other end sounded cheerful. “Oh, that’s good news. Well enjoy it. Drive about, don’t be afraid to tell your friends that you saved up and decided to buy a car and become an upwardly mobile young man. We hope you will be happy.” The phone then clicked off. Tibor cautiously put the receiver down and with a little shrug opened the door and strode across the room thanking the owner as he left. As he walked down the street he wondered why he had not been given any instructions. He assumed the car was perhaps his payment for the information given. It was not as much as he had hoped for. He had hoped to have gone to England and there married the beautiful Katalin Bodri. Maybe it was just not to be.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

27

Tuesday, December 10th 2013, 11:42am

Monday August 3, 1944
The room was small, with two desks crammed inside, a series of metal filing cabinets, a small safe in the corner and a window overlooking the street below. On one desk was an IN tray and an OUT tray, a photograph in a frame, a pen holder, ink well, an angle-poise lamp and some leather-bound books. On the other were similar trays and inkwells and a typewriter carefully covered. This would be her desk. She had just put her handbag down on the tabletop and was about to get out her mirror when a uniformed officer walked in. Only as she turned did she see the hatstand behind the door and that hanging on it was an officer’s cap.
“Hullo. You must be Miss Gardner.” He smiled and seemed quite breezy and he came in and put some papers on his desk. “I am Major Ernest Hargreaves.” “Morning Sir. I am reporting for duty.” The officer ran his right hand over his chin and leant back against the front of his desk. “Don’t look so nervous I’m a new boy here too.” Nadya had hoped her worry had not been so obvious. The Major smiled again, “Well I expect you want to know what the form is. This is a new department, we shall be dealing with several highly classified intelligence reports. You come recommended from your work elsewhere in the department. I’m seconded here so I’ll only be in two or three days a week. Your duties are the usual; typing letters, arranging visits and meetings for me, handling calls and the post and so on. You will have a typist help handle the writing of reports.” It sounded easy enough work and her mind flashed with images of secret papers that might come across her desk and the existence of another typist offered a convenient scapegoat. “I will try and do my best to keep everything running smoothly Major.” Her voice was soft and warm. The Major moved towards the door, “Let’s go meet the other two staff who will be doing some compiling…”

He was not happy. First his daughter had decided to occupy the bathroom longer than necessary delaying him, his wife had burned the toast because the blasted cat had been ill, the journey into work had been the usual hell despite the holidays and generally his temper was up. The real reason was that he had spent weeks planning and gathering information. For once he had enough evidence to lock a traitorous subject behind bars or even send them to the gallows and he was not to do anything.
Richard Guthrie slammed the office door shut and his assistant, Thomas Maypole, jumped as he was unlocking the safe. “Morning Sir. Good weekend?” “Morning. Don’t bother taking the Garnder file out. Instead put a 'Hands Off' label onto it.” “Sir?” Thomas was puzzled since he thought the case was ready for handing to the legal team at the Special Branch. “Word from on high. We are to watch them, more cautiously mind, for another fortnight and then the case is dropped. No persona non grata for the dodgy Magyar and no prison for the sweet, innocent Miss Gardner. No bugger all.” Richard threw his briefcase onto his desk for emphasis. “Why Sir. I mean…” “No questions. It is highly secret Thomas. Instructions from the top-floor that no-one beyond a tiny circle knows anything. After the next fortnight of observation the files go for deep storage.” Around 1994 someone might get access to look at the files, maybe his grandchildren or perhaps in 2044 some sliver-suited bureaucrat might look at the dusty file out of historical interest.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

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28

Thursday, December 12th 2013, 3:36pm

Friday August 14, 1944
She licked her lips to wet them, her stomach was tight. The ticks of the clock seemed agonisingly loud and slow. She looked at her wristwatch again to double-check; it was two-past-five. Wendy would be on the street by now. She was alone. She tiptoed to the door and looked through the glass. The other room was empty. She could hear no noises of movement. She licked her lips again nervously. She moved back to the desk and laid out a report page by page across her desk. Lorand had told her to be careful, it had been a fortnight now since she had begun her job and this was just the kind of material he said he needed. She read the title mentally, ‘Notes on Comparisons of British and Italian Tank Production’. She unclipped her handbag, unzipped a small compartment inside and took out a small silver box. The sound of the ticking clock was accompanied by the sound of a lens shutter clicking and a film being wound on. When she was done she gathered the pages, stapled them and slid them into a brown envelope already thoughtfully handwritten by Wendy. She licked the top of the envelope, sealed it and made for the door. As she left she dropped in into the post tray on Wendy’s desk in the room outside. She smiled as she left the room. Lorand would be pleased tonight.

The note pushed under his door had been brief. It simply read told him to ‘ring’. The handwriting matched the previous note the nameless man had given him. He went out that evening and nervously rang the number from a public telephone in an alehouse several streets away from his apartment. The noise echoed through the glass of the door and made good cover so that he was not overheard, but the quiet voice on the other end was hard to hear. “You have a cousin in Nagygyimót do you not?” Tibor wondered how they knew about cousin Nikolai, then he remembered mentioning him to Katalin one day during their short, sweet romance. “Yes.” He wondered where his cousin fitted in. “You will call him tonight and tell him you are visiting him tomorrow for the weekend. Drive through the village of Bakonybel, carry on north into the forest when you come to a small sawmill pull off the road. Make it for no later than nine am. You will be met with further instructions. Do not pack anything more than overnight things. Good luck.” There was a click and the line went dead. Unsure what to do he paused a moment before picking the receiver up again and he began dialling a number.

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Hood

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29

Saturday, December 14th 2013, 10:21am

Saturday August 15, 1944
Tibor had left early, he had only packed a few things and the small canvas holdall was on the seat behind him. The roads were clear and the morning sun was already hot. He reached Bakonybel at quarter to nine; the small rural village flashed past as he drove along the only main road and witnessed the inhabitants going about their daily routines. A little girl waved as he drove past, after all traffic here was rare. He carried on up the road, which although rough was at least baked mud in summer. Alongside to the left a hollow carried a small river. The canopy of trees thickened and the heat dropped in the shade. He carried on, making sure to keep the revs up. He carried on, straining his eyes for a sawmill through the filtered sunlight. His mind was running wild, was he to be offered an assignment? Was he going to leave the country? Was his cousin Nikolai a foreign agent too? The endless possibilities had been replaying in his mind since last night and it felt like he had little needles behind his eyes from tiredness.

Eventually he spotted the small sawmill with a little hut beside a track and there was an ambulance, just hidden around the back of the hut. He pulled in. Out of the hut stepped two men, another man was sitting in the driver’s seat of the ambulance. He recognised one man, the stranger who had visited him in Budapest and the other was taller and dressed smarter. He turned off the engine, took a deep breath and got out. The other man did the talking, he seemed excitable but Tibor was unsure whether it was an act.
“Ah, Tibor. You made it. We must hurry.” The man spoke perfect Hungarian and had the accent of a true Hungarian rather than an imposter. Tibor wondered whether he worked for Homlok. Had the Colonel discovered his indiscretion? A few words stumbled out, “The roads were clear. Why the ambulance? Has there been an accident?” Toby Esterhase waved his arm towards the ambulance and smiled, “It’s for you Tibor. You are going to die you see. A nasty accident.” Tibor took a sharp intake of breath; the unnamed man he was already familiar with looked capable of anything. But before any words came to his gaping mouth Toby slapped him on the back, “Don’t worry you won’t feel a thing. In fact you will be going on a little trip. Come and see.”
He led Tibor to the back of the ambulance, Ricky Tarr threw the doors open. Inside on a stretcher was a corpse. A fairly fresh one too. “Who is that?” Tibor nervously asked, at first he wondered if it was his cousin. Ricky spoke up for the first time. “Why it’s you Tibor.” “We need your rings, wallet, any personal items you have,” Toby gripped Tibor by the left arm and began to lead him to one side, “we put them on him and he becomes you. Sad the car has to go too.” Tibor began to take his wallet from his trouser pocket, “What happens to me?” Toby smiled. “We wrap your face in these,” he pointed to a pile of medical bandages on the other stretcher of the ambulance, “and you begin your journey to England. Just think, a few days and you’ll be free. We’ll even arrange a meeting for you and Katalin, eh?” He winked and even Ricky smiled.

The plan was simple enough. The driver of the ambulance put the corpse in the car, once the rings were forced onto its fingers and the wallet and other items added to him. Tibor’s overnight bag was left in the car as well. Ricky walked off down the road via the wood so the trees screened his movements. Toby and Tibor got into the cab of the ambulance and followed the third man who was driving the Volkswagen. They drove in convoy a little way and then the driver got into the passenger side, moved the corpse into the driver’s seat. The car moved off again, the third man leaning over to steer and press the accelerator.
“A Beetle eh? Good cars I believe.” Toby was trying to make conversation but Tibor did not feel like talking. “We can watch the fireworks!” Toby brought the ambulance to a standstill and rubbed his hands in glee, looking at Tibor with a broad smile. He then turned to look in the wing mirror to check the road was clear.
The little Volkswagen sped up and passed over a sodden patch in the road. The car swerved and jumped over the verge to the left and veered down the bank below. The driver jumped and the car with a little high pitched rev, flicked over the edge. The two men in the ambulance could hear the crump as it hit a tree stump and rolled over. A few seconds later Ricky let loose with several cans of petrol and moments later the third man, bruised but unhurt, made sure the car caught alight.
The explosion was quite loud and echoed through the valley. The inhabitants of Bakonybel might have heard it but by the time anyone got here the fierce fire would do its work. Nothing much would be left of the corpse for anyone to ask questions whether it was Tibor or not. And there was no reason for it not to be him. “Fantastic! Good Eh! Let’s get the hell out of here.” The ambulance lurched into gear, moved up the road past the blazing Volkswagen, Ricky and the third man jumped into the back. They drove about ten kilometres further north, not seeing any traffic on the way. Behind them the fire had caught hold in the dry wood and a serious blaze had broken out. They came onto a side road. The third man took over driving and Tibor made his way into the back and as they bumped over the dirt tracks heading back towards Budapest, Tibor, Ricky and Toby talked, making sure to keep Tibor occupied so could not have second thoughts.

By the time they entered the city limits that afternoon, Tibor’s face was tightly bandaged. He was now Victor Stewart. A British tourist with severe skull injuries and brain damage following a nasty mountaineering accident being urgently flown to Switzerland for a risky neurological operation. His passport confirmed his identity, the handsome face was a phoney but no one was going to take the bandages off the face of a man barely clinging onto life to check it. They drove to the airport where a chartered Lockheed Electra was waiting. Soon it was airborne. Two men died that day. Tibor Meghy and Victor Stewart.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

Posts: 8,155

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Tuesday, December 17th 2013, 11:31am

Friday September 11, 1944
It was a solemn day. Mr and Mrs Meghy, his cousin Nikolai Meghy, Uncle and Aunt Meghy, Colonel Homlok and a dozen other friends and colleagues gathered around the grave as the Priest began to speak from the good book and his coffin was lowered into the bowels of the dark Hungarian soil. The Colonel seemed absent-minded. He had the face of a sad man bu he knew that the body within the wooden coffin was not Tibors but he was saddened that the he couldn't tell his family the truth. They would forever think he was dead and for all purposes he was as good as dead, he would never visit them again and by now he would have a new identity and life. Everyone else believed the official verdict on his death. Twenty acres of forest had burned that day. It had taken nearly a day and a half to get the fires under control. Enough was left of the charred remains to identify the car was a Volkswagen. A little girl and her grandfather had later identified the driver as Tibor as he drove through the village. Nikolai had been waiting for him to arrive all day and by dusk had notified the police he was overdue. By then the news of the forest fire had spread. The road was charred, the police supposed he may have hit an oil slick, lost control and crashed into the tree stump. Trapped as the car rolled over he was burned alive as it caught fire.

It was a frustrating day. For days he had been stuck in his room. He was in a country house, he could look out over the green hills and fields and he could clearly see the east wing of the house. Below was a herb garden and a few sheds. He had been treated well, the food was good but he had been thoroughly questioned and different people kept asking the same questions. Mentally he was torn between his former life in his tatty little flat and now an unknown future. He was no longer Tibor Meghy; he was Lazlo Madesky, a Viennese immigrant who had lived in Birmingham since 1938. His mind was not entirely happy living a fictitious life, especially a life alone. Would they ever let him go? What would he have to do for them? He lay on his bed looking at the fluffy clouds drifting past in the afternoon sunshine and wondered about his family and whether he had already been buried. Suddenly the door opened, he turned round in stepped Katalin Bodri. They had kept their promise. Both looked at each other, smiled and then Katalin ran into Tibor’s arms.

A hundred miles away another woman, devoted to her lover, was anxiously awaiting the end of day watching the clock ticking down to when she could be alone. On her left Major Hargreaves noticed this and smiled to himself, he knew the report she was handling was exactly what Major Uljak was wanting. A few streets away Control was sat in his office, mentally picturing the delight on the Major’s face tonight and of the Abwehr contact in Budapest. They were unaware of the ticklish delight he had in knowing they were spending one hundred thousand Reichsmarks a month for his new fabricated information and the satisfaction of restoring some kind of balance in the dark world of espionage, at least for the time being.

THE END...?

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BruceDuncan

Ex chaos ordo

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Tuesday, December 17th 2013, 4:13pm

Well done! :thumbsup:

I like it when a story comes together with a complete ending.

How well "some kind of balance in the dark world of espionage" of course remains to be seen. The connection to Major Hargreave's office is not necessarily the only contact that Hungarian intelligence has in London, and certainly not Colonel Homlok's only source of trading materials across Europe. There is little doubt that that Control's minions will cross swords - figuratively or literally - with the agents of Admiral Canaris or his allies.

It's what makes for interesting stories.

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Hood

Ugly Aircraft, Inc

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32

Wednesday, December 18th 2013, 11:26am

Thanks Bruce, its been fun to write this and co-operate on this storyline.

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WesWorld

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