WesWorld

Seeking to plug the leak Control , the head of SIS, fears exists in London and which he fears ultimately blew the remains of the TEAPOT spy network in Germany, the intelligence organisations begin their secret work.

***


Wednesday June 14, 1944
As the carriage of Zagreb-Budapest express rocked side-to-side as it chugged its way along the eastern shore of Lake Balaton, with the afternoon sun flickering through the windows, Katalin Bodri was absent-mindedly fiddling inside her handbag. Her mind wandered to her cousin Ella's forthcoming wedding. This was the first time she had visited her homeland or seen her family since 1938 when she left to join a rather dubious touring music hall act around Southern Europe. The last time she had seen Ella, she had been twelve years old. Her stomach churned as she wondered what her parents would say on her return. She pushed thoughts of her job in Cairo to the back of her mind. As she looked at her passport in her handbag she felt rather grateful that her employer had provided one, indeed it was her first passport.

In London the heat was oppressive; a warm draught of humid air was coming through the window. Below were the sounds of a typical street; comings and goings, shoes clattering along, the odd car horn, a few snatches of words and the tinkle of a bicycle bell. None of that helped Richard Guthrie concentrate. He scratched the nape of his neck as he looked at the list of names. Seventy-five various civil servants had seen the raw transcripts of the reports from the TEAPOT network during the past twelve months. Countless others had seen the reports derived from them. Probably a thousand since the early 1930s. The SIS had not wanted the Security Police to investigate, the fallout would have been too great. The head of SIS, Control, had a sixth sense that the Germans had learnt more than they should about the network from a leak in the capital. The job had been handed to MI5, experts in counter-intelligence. From on high it had landed onto Richard's desk with the advice not to mess it up unless he fancied emigrating. Richard knew he would have to think of something novel to break this case.

Thursday June 15, 1944
It had been a busy day. Katalin had arrived in Budapest at five past five, just at the start of rush hour and she was lucky to find a taxi at the rank. Having made it to her parents' house after some delay there had been a reunion. Her mother had tears in her eye and her father looked pleased his eldest daughter had had the sense to come home. The evening had passed with a large family meal and talking into the small hours. Katalin handed out the small oriental gifts she had brought. Her sister Gavril was there, her brothers Thomas and Gyorgy and her uncle Laslo. Katalin tried hard to avoid discussion of her job in Cairo. Today had been spent getting ready for the wedding on Saturday. There was much to do, mother was preparing her baking and Gavril took Katalin shopping for a dress since Katalin had not wanted to bring one back from Egypt. In the afternoon she had visited her cousin Ella and they spent a happy time discussing wedding dresses, men, wedding cakes, dancing and flower arrangement. Katalin had not felt quite so happy for as long as she could remember.

The Tube in June was not a healthy place to be. In fact it was never a healthy place to be. Richard was squashed in; his nostrils too close to some businessmans armpit. He tried to turn his head away but soon found the corner of a briefcase poking into his left shoulder blade. The carriage rocked as the train whizzed along with a whirr and the gaps in the rail sent jolts through his legs. In his mind, despite the stench and discomfort was deep into secret agent land. Richard had a hunch that whatever leak existed had occurred only recently and perhaps so trivially that no-one had noticed it. The resident German Abwehr head was being discreetly watched, his telephone was tapped and nothing had come to notice for a fortnight. What if a seemingly innocent typist or secretary had picked up some information? Then what if they worked for another nations intelligence service. It didn't have to be German, he could think of several European nations who traded chickenfeed among themselves. Even we did it. What if that nation then sold this not-so chickenfeed to the Abwehr. Sounded good but how would he prove it? Which nation and who? He could narrow the suspects to around five thousand diplomatic staff across London and perhaps as many Whitehall staff. He pondered on as the train screeched to a halt, the briefcase digging deeper.

Friday June 16, 1944
The sun was high and the day was hot. Shoppers were out enjoying the summer weather and spending in tune with their goodwill. Katalin had spent the morning in the kitchen, her mother wanting to ask more about Cairo but supressing her concerns. Now it was a release to be out and Katalin had begun to walk around the city and had consciously felt a desire to see what employment she might find in Budapest. She had just stepped off the tram and was feeling weary and spotted a café sign swinging over a door. She went inside and sat at a small table about halfway into the room so as to avoid the glaring sun. A waiter came across to take her order and she ordered a coffee in a glass. The waiter said a coffee in a glass comes with Schnapps, she did not want any Schnapps but feeling unwilling to argue simply nodded. She fussed with the napkin on the table and gazed out onto the street through the window. She turned back as the waiter brought the two glasses back on a small platter. As she thanked him and passed him a few coins to settle the bill her eye caught two men sitting more or less opposite. Her trained eye kicked her brain into action without her consciously thinking about it. The two men looked natural enough but her instincts told her the men were not what they appeared. One had a German accent. She observed them but not directly, her reflexes as an agent kicked in even though she had not been aware of it. She had noticed one of the men pass the other his newspaper. Looking at her watch she noticed the time and remembered that her mother had wanted her back for three oclock to help prepare dinner so she got up, she glanced down and noticed a book of matches lying in the ashtray on the table with the name Cafe Ruszwurm on them. She hurried out leaving her Schnapps untouched.

Monday June 19, 1944
Katalin had butterflies in her stomach. The tram had rattled along Magdolna Street and around the curve into Dobozi utca; there was a little patch of grass to the right and a mixture of residential and commercial dwellings to the left. At the end of the road was a large junction and the tram paid no heed to the cars as it rumbled into Teleki László tér. As it rounded the bend Katalin had a good look at the café on the corner. She thought she saw him inside. She got off the tram at the next stop which was at the next crossroads. She then walked back along Teleki László tér. Children were playing in the small grass park across the road and she hurried along. In her mind was Tibor Meghy. She had met him at Ella's wedding on the Saturday. He was a friend of the best man and had spotted Katalin and asked her to dance that evening at the celebrations. She could picture his face clearly, Tibor was not stunningly attractive but was not unattractive, she remembered how his hair had been stuck to one side with hair cream and how well his suit fitted him. He was of average height but had danced well. He wasn't a brave man and indeed seemed quite ordinary but he confessed to Katalin that it has taken some courage to ask her to dance. Katalin did not consider herself beautiful, but trapping the boards in Cairo she had picked up a fair number of admirers and lovers from her slender, dark looks. Only with some trepidation did Katalin agree to meet Tibor again but she found he had a warmth her life had lacked for so long.
She got to the café on the corner of Dobzi Street and went inside. Tibor immediately noticed her and invited her to sit while he waved to the waiter to bring a bottle.

Tuesday June 20, 1944
It didn't look much like the kind of place where espionage was planned and executed. The sign read 'Sunlight Laundries Limited' and as he stepped out of his Austin he could smell the steam from hot, wet laundry and the vans outside were piled with white sheets. The only odd thing was two burly men fiddling with the electrics of a Wolseley Ten saloon; he noticed a whip aerial on the front wing. This was in fact the secret headquarters of SIS's 'Lamplighters'. If an embassy needed bugging, a safe house priming or some film required for illicit photography the Lamplighters would oblige. Richard Guthrie had an appointment with the assistant to the assistant chief of operations, a rather skinny man called Ronald Gower. A man who had an annoying habit of talking whilst peering over his eyeglasses perched on his nose.
"Welcome to the Laundry Mr Guthrie. Its not often we get visitors here from MI5." Gower slammed the metal window behind his desk shut to cut the noise below.
"Well I wanted to plan an operation. A rather bold one it must be said." Richard scratched the nape of his neck, as usual his wife had starched his collars too thoroughly again. "What kind of operation?" Gower sat down in a soft chair opposite Richard. "Well its in connection with the Teapot affair. I'm in charge of the internal investigation. We've got the German staff under observation but it seems likely a third party may have been the source of the leak. While the local resident intelligence heads are being watched I thought we should be more thorough. I wanted to have the diplomatic mail from certain embassies checked. "Gower's face dropped and he waved his hand, "Impossible. Quite impossible. You know that all diplomatic bags are sealed and guaranteed. It would take too long to examine and tampering would be too obvious. You might find bugging far more effective."
Richard stroked his chin, "Well its not likely the phones will&" "No, not telephones Mr Guthrie," Gower interrupted, "microphones, theyre pretty good these days. We might get a few in place; indeed we already have a few. Of course Id need a list." "I was thinking the Polish embassy, the Nordish, the Romanian, Hungarian and the Iberian." Gower's face dropped again and he took off his glasses to wipe them, "That kind of operation is beyond my remit. You would need ministerial approval, the Cabinet, the PM. It's not as if youve a list of suspects to go on. We can't bug half of London just because someone may have employed someone who may have found a titbit of information. We all know the German's got what they wanted under interrogation and if that courier hadnt been run down the whole thing would never have happened. Sorry the operation is totally unfeasible unless you can give us specifics. Of course you're welcome to whatever transcripts we already have, with approval from the fifth floor of course."

OOC - Most interesting developments. Ethical Lamplighters? Who would have thought.

Friday June 23, 1944
A fly was buzzing around the ceiling and it momentarily distracted Katalin's eye. She was cuddled up to Tibor in his apartment on his rather tatty old sofa looking out over the rooftops of Budapest. His kitchen tap was dripping slowly and she could hear his breathing as her head lay on his chest. She felt peaceful and indeed was perhaps in love. "What do you do in Cairo Katy?" Tibor asked as he yawned. "I told you. I'm a dancer, what the English call a chorus girl. Four nights a week. Two shows a day." She snuggled her head into his shirt. "Cairo is a shady place is it not?" "Not in the summer darling." "No, I mean dirty, you know, criminal." Katalin raised her head, "It can be. I won't lie to you; I've been involved in things, known people who are like that." She paused, "I don't have to go back." Tibor got up and went across to a small table and picked up a packet of cigarettes and lit one, he offered Katalin one but she shook her head. He seemed agitated as he paced towards the window and back.
"I must tell you the truth too my darling. I do not work at the state pensions office." He took a heavy drag of his cigarette, "Well I did once, when I left school. I was no use and was fired after a few months though." He shrugged and sat on the sofa beside Katalin. "My father knew a Major Homlok, they had fought together in the war. The Major took a shine to me and offered me a job." "In the Army?" Katalin asked as her eye again caught the fly buzzing around. "No. Well sort of. He worked for military intelligence. This was Christmas 1934, yes around then. That is where I work now. I am a clerk there." Katalins mind was spinning, just as she thought she was free from the world of agents and codes and deception her lover had thrust her back into it. She smiled, "So? That is only a white lie." "I'm supposed the say I work at the pensions office if anybody asks." Tibor got up and stubbed out his cigarette. Katalin could tell he was nervous, she knew he had hidden the truth, that he too was a trained agent. She knew he suspected she was too. She sighed and closed her eyes.
"It's the way we look isnt it? I mean we know how to look without appearing as though we do. Not like pickpockets or prostitutes or tourists. We know how to conceal ourselves or how to seemingly innocently ask the right questions. We can tell each other from a crowd of strangers. The crowd that is our home." Tibor looked at Katalin as her voice trialled off, he had guessed the truth from her mannerisms. "Where could we go Katy? I love you dearly but we cant live these lies here and where could we go?" Katalin loved Tibor dearly too and jumped into his arms, the tears running down her cheeks.

Saturday June 24, 1944
It had been a long day. The children had been pestering to see the Empire Exhibition since Mrs Patterson had shown the poster in class a month ago. His wife had been selectively hinting at wanting to go too. As they travelled to Wembley on the Metropolitan Line from their house in Harrow-on the Hill, Richard had been reading the Times and in particular scouring for any information that might be of use. The Empire Exhibition had been open for only a fortnight and thousands of tourists and visitors had flocked to the 216 acres. Yesterday had been the King's fiftieth birthday and that had added to the crowds.
The Palace of Industry, the Palace of Engineering, the Palace of Arts, the Palace of Science should be joined by the Palace of Ways to Part Punters from their Cash, Richard thought as the wife dragged them off to see the Nigerian Pavilion, "There are some simply lovely wooden carvings youll enjoy..." her voice was lost among the crowd as Richard noticed a familiar face. It was Carl Bardette, a junior clerk at the Nordish Embassy. As he moved closer he realised it wasnt Carl but a Liverpudlian down in the Big Smoke with his girlfriend. He shook his head and as he caught up with his family pointing at carved bits of wood an idea began to germinate. In fact, by three pm as he perched on a bench, while his children were making every effort to make themselves dizzy and sick on the fairground rides and his wife was getting another souvenir brochure for the annoying busybody neighbour next door, he had a grand plan.

In downtown Budapest Katalin and Tibor lay in bed. Tibor was smoking and blowing rings that rose to the ceiling. The plaster was cracked and there was a nasty patch of damp in one corner. "Do you think I am a nobody?" Katalin was taken aback by the question, "Why of course not my love." "I am supposed to be you know. I always have been. Professionally I mean. You get to strut around half naked and get a load of fat, bald, divorced colonial Englishmen drooling over you." Katalin chuckled, "Some of them are not so fat and not so bald." Her mind drifted to Cairo and her friends there.
After a while Tibor spoke again, "Have you ever been to London?" No." Katalin felt she was lying but actually she had never been further north than Vienna for an audition in 1934. "I thought you had, you working for the English." "I never said I was working for the English." Her voice was soft and cool, "Just because I work in Cairo it doesnt mean I do. Besides, I've never been to London." "I have. I was a driver at the embassy there until three months ago. I was supposed to be a nobody, drive the fat ambassadors wife to Harrods and that sort of thing." They both chuckled as he described one of these shopping trips. Then he turned and Katalin caught his face change as he excitedly began to whisper in her right ear. "Actually I was the right-hand man of Major Lorand Utassy de Uljak, military attaché to England. I handled communications for him and blended into the background and parties, listening for information to send to Homlok."
Katalin didn't respond to his boast, it sounded impressive but she could her own tales of running a four-girl team of spying chorus girls getting similar chickenfeed from the pillows of travelling diplomats and Army officers. She propped her head on the pillow, "So what are you doing here filing records my little master spy?" Tibor took a last puff of the cigarette. My tour had ended, a whole year. Besides the de Ujak had no further need for my services to find him suitable women." Katalin smiled at the thought of Tibor, a rather shy figure, procuring prostitutes. "Nothing like that," Tibor read her thoughts, "He liked respectable women. He was just lonely. Anyhow he found a woman at some club while playing cards."
A peal of thunder echoed in the distance. "I know a secret so great that it would pay handsomely. Your bosses in London would pay for it. We might even be able to marry and settle in England." Katalin put her finger on Tibors lips. In her mind a terrible flashback seared across her memory. "I dont want to know. I knew of a Greek woman, Anna Agiraki, the former mistress of the chief of the Italian SIM in Athens, she defected to the British when he wanted her bumped off. She got involved with an arms smuggler and she talked about his whereabouts. She was found the next day, her head smashed open with a pickaxe. Secrets can be deadly Tibor. We live on secrets but we live in fear of them to." Another rumble of thunder filled the sultry Hungarian air. "Perhaps you are right my darling. I just thought that we could start a new life." Katalin turned away her eyes full of tears, "I want that too, but not that way."

Honeypot, Tibor. She's called a Honeypot. Tsk tsk, you ought to know this one...

Monday June 26, 1944
On Richard's desk were two reports. One was from SWEET, an MI5 channel employed at the Iberian embassy in London, recruited by Iberian intelligence and sending controlled data via Iberian diplomatic bag. The other was from PEPPERMINT, another MI5 channel, the assistant press attaché in the Argentine Embassy sending controlled information via diplomatic bag to Argentine military intelligence. Neither man had discovered or knew anything about the supply of military intelligence either intended for Germany or regarding issues based on the TEAPOT-derived reports. These tallied with a report from BOOTLE, another channel within the Deuxieme Bureau.
Richard was narrowing the suspect embassies. He turned to his assistant sat at his desk across the office. Thomas Maypole had been recruited at Balliol College in 1938 and was a high-flying young man. Having glowing recommendations following the break-up of a right-wing group of Welsh fanatics he had been posted as Richards assistant. "Tom, I want you to get lists of all the civilian employees of the War Office, Air Ministry and Admiralty departments which handled any of this Teapot stuff, no matter how trivial the report seemed. Then I want you to get all their bank details and check for suspicious payments. We are looking for someone who has enough time to copy these documents or steal copies. I want through checks of all the reports SIS has confiscated. I want every copy accounted for. Next I want you to check all civil employees who have left or retired or whatever for the previous six months. I want all their alibis checked. But before you do any of that, Id like a cuppa!"

Wednesday June 28, 1944
The carriage of Zagreb-Budapest express rocked side-to-side as it chugged its way along the eastern shore of Lake Balaton, with the morning sun flickering through the windows, Katalin Bodri was staring out of the window. She had left Budapest. Her mother knew something was wrong when she caught her packing two days before she was due to leave. Katalin confided the reason for the early departure, Tibor Meghy was a sweet man and she loved him dearly but there was no future for them. Even on the train she ran through her mind what he had told her that afternoon in his apartment. He had been sweating out the truth, he had to tell someone and he knew she could use the information in the best way. She still doubted they could ever be happy or live their rest of their lives together free from fear. Therefore she had decided to leave him a note and escaped back to Cairo.

Thomas Maypole placed another cream file on Richards desk, there wasnt much room and he had to manoeuvre around two teacups and a half eaten Eccles cake. Richard Guthrie came back into the office and sat down, noting the latest addition to his pile of papers he flicked open the cover. LEMON, a female channel in the Swiss Embassy had also reported a blank. Earlier he had read the latest despatch from RIO. RIO was a Greek thug who had worked for Greek intelligence before being fobbed off by them onto the Abwehr. Now he furnished naval information produced by the Admiralty and Greek intelligence for consumption for the Italians via Germany. It was typical of the knots Richard was trying to untie. The list of suspect embassies and intelligence staffs was still narrowing.

Monday July 2, 1944
The Metropolitan Line was less busy than usual. Now the summer holidays had begun many had gone to the coast and Richard found he could read his Times without someone's buttocks protruding over the top. He got to the office early, well earlier than usual, and found Thomas Maypole at his desk. As he entered Thomas's head spun round and his right forefinger jabbed out. The smile on his face said it all. "The data you asked for Sir." Thomas pointed to a thick stack of paper on Richards desk. Lists of names, bank account numbers, payments, report titles, copy numbers, double-checked figures, triple checks, more names and interview notes. Richard smiled, Tom certainly knew his stuff and not everyone was lucky enough to have a bright young intellectual as their assistant. Now the hard work would begin.

Two stunning blonde women were athletically throwing themselves around the untidy upstairs room practicing another dance routine when Katalin walked through the door. Both of them stopped, "Kata youre three days early! We would have met you at the station." "Dear Heidi and Trixie how Ive missed your company! Where is Sasha?" Heidi took Katalins case, "Oh she is out with Max. Shell be back this afternoon." And so the three girls gossiped and Katalin told them all about her cousins wedding but not about affair with Tibor Meghy or his wretched secret that she wanted to bury deep inside. After a while Sasha came in and once again there were drinks and talk and merriment. Katalin was glad to be back with her friends and her trusted network. There was no-one in the world she would trust more but she was not ready to reveal the truth of her early departure and love-sick heart.

Tuesday July 3, 1944
She hated visiting her real employer. First, the location of his office was a small rented office above a brothel, not far from the 'Garden City' and the 'Grey Pillars' office block where Egypt and Middle East was controlled from. Entering made her feel so self-conscious although her work was not unlike that of the ground floor occupants but with slightly more dignity.
Second her boss, Major 'Tufty' Thesinger, a retired soldier of Allenbys Army, was quite prone to bad moods. Today was no exception as one of the millions of flies in Cairo met its sticky end as his fly swat cracked down on the battered ancient desk. The papers on it fluttered slightly. "There goes another damned beast. Why the hell didnt you report in here yesterday Gabbie?" Katalin shrugged but Tufty wasn't satisfied. "One of my men saw you getting off the boat and followed you to the Adelphi Club. Three ruddy days early and not even a postcard." "I was eager to get back to work," she thinly said, her voice weak and wispy. Tufty was an astute man, he could see something was bothering Katalin and as GABBIE she was the leader of an important circuit and he needed to be sure. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of genuine Scotch and he poured two glasses. "Here Gabbie. You look like you need this. Not that you dont look your lovely self but travelling is always tiring isnt it?" He smiled, Katalin smiled back but said nothing. "Family ok are they? Pleased to see you?" "Yes. Very pleased, it was good. My cousins wedding was very good, lots of food and dancing. She is a lucky woman." Tibors face flashed across her memory. "Well thats good. Everyone needs a holiday and youve been working for six years now. You've earned it and that why weve looked after you." It was also why they had given her the passport, a favour that would have to be repaid. She had been an illegal immigrant and they could just as easily take it back again. "Anything to report from your journey? Professionally I mean." Tuftys words rang around her head, she wanted to blurt out the whole conspiracy she was now party to. Her lips moved, "No, nothing. Just a family visit. No spying, no anything like that." She smiled sweetly and Tufty leaned back.
That was not the end of the matter. That afternoon Heidi had taken Katalin aside and demanded to know the truth and whether she had told Tufty everything. Finally Katalin broke down in tears and the whole story of Tibor Meghy the nobody agent who witnessed a conspiracy deep in London was released.

Wednesday July 4, 1944
Heidi had driven Katalin to Tufty's office in a borrowed Fiat saloon and given her some last minute encouragement. Tufty feigned surprise at the return of Katalin so soon after their last meeting. He let the whiskey flow and Katalin began her story.
"While I was in Budapest I became involved with a man called Tibor Meghy. We became, are, were, lovers and he told me a secret in confidence and also in the hope that it would do us some good and allow us a fresh start. When he left school he had briefly been employed at a local pensions office but had been fired. His father knew a Major Homlok, they had fought together in the war I think, and he offered Tibor a job in military intelligence." "When was this? At all times please give the dates Gabbie." Tufty was writing notes in blue pencil. "Christmas 1934." "And did he tell you that Major Homlok is now Colonel Homlok, Chief of Military Intelligence?" Katalins mind went blank; she had no reason to suspect this at the time, "No. I did not know that." "Well you do now. Go on." More whiskey was flowing into the two glasses.
"After a few desk jobs, radio operator training he had a succession of local jobs and a spell at the Hungarian embassy in Warsaw. Then he was posted as a driver at the Hungarian embassy in London. That was March 1943. He was supposed to be a nobody; driving the ambassadors wife and serving drinks at diplomatic parties. In fact all this time he was the assistant of Major Lorand Utassy de Uljak, the military attaché. He handled communications and complied the reports sent back to Budapest, sometimes he had his own information to add. He was posted back to Budapest as a clerk this March." Tuftys mind began thinking of turning a double agent or getting a bounty of information when Katalin took a sip of her glass and carried on.
"One of Tibors unofficial tasks was to procure women for the lonely attaché. Then one day in July 1943, Tibor found that Uljak had sought his own mistress. They had met at a club in London, playing cards I think, and she worked for the British War Office. She was providing him with information from British intelligence, perhaps our organisation." A faint smile came to Tufty's lips, "Was or is?" "She was still his mistress when Tibor left in March." "Do you have a name?" Katalin stalled and Tufty swiftly changed tack, "What is the name of the club?" "I do not know. Tibor did not say." Tufty lifted his glasses and stared at Katalin hard, "What about the lady, who is she? What is her name?" "Nadya Gardner."

****

HANDEL 5254/5115*
4/7/44 ZULU 17:05
FLASH  HAND OF DUTY OFFICER ONLY

Station Report
Report from GABBIE
While on leave befriended BRONESBURY operative
Former assistant to BRONESBURY attaché in London March 43 to March 44
Information that attaché has live line into WO
Identity of suspect is GERNDRAG*ANYDAN
Rate this grade two information. Awaiting further instructions
Message Ends
***

[BRONESBURY is the code for Hungary, each nation is assigned a London Underground station as a cover name]

****

MACBETH 552218/525544/4G*
5/7/44 ZULU 09:16
FLASHMAN  HEAD OF STATION ONLY

Please supply name of HAMMERSMITH operative.
Supply date of induction sections employed head of sections and current location
This operation will be handled by London Station but you to liaise at your end
If information proves grade two will send you package to pass to source
Message Ends
***

Friday July 5, 1944
The heat was bearable for the time of year and it was still raining slightly outside. With the on-going Empire Exhibition and the previous Royal Wedding and Birthdays, London was buzzing with tourists adding to the traffic and flow of steps roaring through the window. It was almost lunchtime, the minute hand of the large wall clock jerked forwards, 12:27. Then the telephone rang. Typical, it always rang just before lunch or home time. Richard picked it up and gravelly voice on the other end identified himself as Mendel and asked whether Richard had a Grade 1B scrambler telephone. Richard didn't, in fact he knew few officers who did below the executive branch. The voice told him to find one fast and call him back.
Luckily, many of the offices were emptying out and he managed to slip into his section head's office with the permission of the secretary who was just heading out. He picked up the red receiver and dialled the number. A few clicks later the gravelly voice spoke in clipped tones, "This is Mendel, we want you to report to room 2C at the Circus, two-thirty. Sharp." The line went dead. It all sounded rather dramatic, surely he could have told him that on any telephone? But he knew that Mendel was the personal assistant of Control, the secretive head of the SIS.

So the afternoon found him snatching a quick ham and cheese sandwich and half a pint of bitter before he headed to the Circus. Being an MI5 officer he was treated with formal coolness on his arrival but he was shown into a sparse office on the fifth floor. Very few got into that part of the building. Mendel wasted no time, he was an efficient man. He wasted no words either.
"We received a message last night from one of our stations. One of our agents penetrated an operative of Hungarian military intelligence. He worked an entire year as the assistant to the Hungarian military attaché here until March this year. He has identified an agent the attaché is running inside the War Office. That agent goes by the name of Nadya Gardner."
Richard's face betrayed his eagerness to check the name against his long list of names. He figured this might be the key, obviously so did SIS.
"Since you are leading the investigation and the subject may be a British subject this falls into the jurisdiction of your organisation. We want daily reports, to this office delivered by hand. Those reports are to be typed by hand by you and youre to lock your copies away." Mendel slipped a piece of paper across the desk, the usual secret form to remind Richard of his obligations. "By the way, we want you to do nothing to contact the suspect until we've satisfied ourselves the claim in true. We don't want to risk blowing the operation at short notice."
Richard hurried back to the office. He took the weighty pile of foolscap out of the safe and began running his finger down the list of War Office employees. Furrier, Gander, Galister, Gambon, Gammon, Gardner. Two Gardners, one a Nicholas Gardner, the other Nadya Gardner. Head of Typing Pool, Military Intelligence, Western Europe Division, Whitehall.

Oh-oh...

Tuesday July 9, 1944
The public have an image of spies from the cinema. James Mason-type broody characters or wise-cracking Jimmy Cagney-esque guys who get the secrets and the girl and although theyre tough, their usually decent men underneath. Real agents are not like that. They are odd, temperamental characters. Some are sleeper agents who live dreary ordinary lives, waiting five, ten or even fifteen years before they are used. Others are double-agents, working for two sides at once, deceiving one of them or possibly both sides if they have the nerves to be a triple agent. Often they bear a grudge against one nation, a petty customs matter or a self-deluded fantasy life they want to construct for themselves. Other agents are bread and butter men and women who pick up loose talk, happen to take holidays by aerodromes and military camps, copying papers left carelessly lying around, sometimes acting as bait in a honey trap. Most of the time they are lonely, scared people living a series of lies. Some do it for money or because they were caught criminals who had no choice or because they have some sense of loyalty based on some twisted personal ideology.

Robert Henry George Tarr was a non-conformist lay preacher living near Adelaide in Australia. His wife, tired of being beaten by him in his drunken rages ran off to New Zealand with a sales agent in the Copra trade. The salvation of the rich became Robert Tarr's new mission. To do that he needed to be around wealthy people. So he took himself and his only son, aged nine, to Monaco in June 1921. Eventually the money extracted from rich widow's purses, in exchange for their souls, and the Martinis ran dry and he decamped to Marseilles during 1924. His son, Richard, better known as Ricky, grew up a rebellious sort. His father, Ricky would later admit, had tried to beat the sin from him, but had only driven it deeper in. Aged seventeen in 1927 he picked up his first conviction for theft. Then in 1936, whilst on a trip to Malta with some friends he was arrested for smuggling cocaine. His obvious flair for organising an effective undercover operation, his knowledge of four languages and good education and his innate toughness brought him to the attention of the local SIS 'Juju Man' and he was recruited in exchange for not prosecuting him.
Ricky Tarr always dressed like Fred Perry but his clothes were always creased and he never looked tidy. His thin hair was as unruly as he was and unusually for an Australian he spoke in a perfect English accent, reserving his mother accent for undercover work. His work name was Henry Poole and he was a travelling salesman in the kitchenware business. An unlikely character in an unlikely job. Ricky had been in Brno, Czechoslovakia when he got the message to return to Czechoslovakia where he was briefed by Major Thesinger, who had flown in that morning from Cairo. Ricky caught the last Malev flight that day to Budapest and on arrival booked into the Hotel Czernasky, an unspeakable little dive suited to travelling salesmen and secret agents.

Wednesday July 10, 1944
He had been under great nervous strain. He hoped it did not show. Even now he could not stop himself turning his head round to see if anyone was following him. Blank faces stared back as the tram jolted along the tracks. He got off the tram and stopped and brought an evening paper from an old man standing by the stop and generally shuffled about until the little crowd that had disembarked from the tram had dispersed. He walked slowly down the road, looking at a group of boys playing football a patch of rubble-strewn ground. He then jerkily stepped into the road and crossed just ahead of an oncoming car and quickly walked to the corner. Slipped into the entrance of the apartments and bounded up the steps two at a time. Then he suddenly stopped to listen. No footsteps. Only his heart thudding in his head, the sound of scraping saucepans and a gentle meow from a passing cat, slinking down the hall. He did likewise, he got to the door, put the key into the lock and turned the handle. He threw his hat onto a peg and let out an audible sigh of relief and smiling to himself walked into the small kitchen. A man was standing there. "Guten Abend. Ich habe auf dich gewartet. Ich möchte einen kleinen Plausch zu haben. Seien Sie ein guter Kerl und machen keinen Lärm jetzt."

Thursday July 11, 1944
Tibor Meghy looked at his watch on the sideboard. It was five-to-four. He still couldn't sleep. The previous evening's events were replaying themselves over and over in his mind.

As he had stood in the kitchen the man had spoken in German with a slight accent, perhaps a southern German. "Who are you?" Tibor had demanded, "And how did you get in here?" The scruffy man licked his top lip, "I could give you a name I suppose, but would it be much good?" Tibor's heart had gone into overdrive and he gripped the chair in front of him to steady himself. "What do you want?" The stranger remained silent for a moment, then raised an eyebrow, "We need to talk Tibor." Tibor's mind raced as to who this man was. Was he an English agent sent by Katalin or was he from the counter-intelligence service? Tibor was hungry and demanded to eat first before they spoke. The stranger agreed, he fancied a snack too but he warned Tibor not be stupid and try anything foolish with the cutlery. The man made sure he saw the outline of his concealed pistol.

So they sat at the small kitchen table, the tap dripping steadily and loud noises from the children next door were convenient so that they would not be overheard. They sat down to cold tinned ham sandwiches with beetroot and a bottle of Pilsner each.
"Not bad Tibor." Ricky was stuffing his face with sandwich and crumbs fell onto his shirt. "How to you know my name?" "Either you are Tibor or Im in the wrong flat. It's happened before you know." Ricky smiled. Tibor wasn't in the mood for jokes and gnawed at his sandwich. "A mutual friend of ours, lets call her Gabbie shall we? Just a name. Well she did what you asked and told us about your job. Your job with military intelligence. Your job in England. Apparently you have something to tell." Tibor felt happier, he knew his dear Katalin had not betrayed him despite her note and sudden departure to Cairo. He had tried to stop her at the station but had just missed the train.
"You know a Colonel Homlok. Rather powerful friends Mr Meghy. Youre a man to mark. Big friend, big job. Between the shafts and still functioning eh? I need you to testify to me. That means you tell me everything, tell it straight and dont fuck me around because youll end up hung by your own side and you'll never see Gabbie again. OK?" Ricky had revealed an unsettled nature that Tibor could not decipher between acting and a real psychotic nature, so he simply nodded in agreement. He mopped his brow, he was sweating. Ricky pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and lit one for him. A few puffs did the trick.
"Ok Sir. When I left school I was briefly employed at the pensions office as a boy runner. I was fired for loafing around and a comrade of my father, Major Homlok told me he could get me a job. I was trying to save for Christmas and thought what the hell. It was a good job, I had to collate reports, type letters and eventually he got me onto a radio operators course. He was my superior and we spent most of 1936 in Sofia. My Morse wasn't the best, and I was retrained as a driver. I'm a good driver. Never owned a car though." Both men smiled at this. "I was posted to the British Embassy in Budapest as a cleaner, then the German embassy as a maintenance man. I did five months at the Hungarian embassy in Warsaw in 1940. I never seemed to settle. By then the Major was a Colonel and was Head of Intelligence. My friends joked he could now pull real strings for me. And he did. After a long time buming around Budapest trailing foreign diplomats and photographing Czech fortifications I received a posting as a driver at the Hungarian embassy in London in March 1943. I was in fact the assistant of Major Lorand Utassy de Uljak, the military attaché. I collected my own small scraps of information during my duties but that was not much. I typed his reports and coded them and wrote his secret ink letters. Life was dull, driving the ambassadors fat wife around the West End, ferrying snot-nosed junior career diplomats to and from Croydon and at night serving drinks at diplomatic parties. The Major was bored too. He needed women, he said to me once 'Are you any good at chatting up pretty girls?' I lied and said I was. So that was added to my duties too, luring well-heeled women into his flat." "What a dirty old man. Don't suppose you have any blackmail shots do you?" "No, I was no good. One frumpish lady with buck teeth. That's what he said. Anyhow he found his own lady. He met her at some high-class club playing bridge. Ah, always bridge."
Ricky's ears pricked up, "When was this?" "Oh, around July I guess. It wasn't until November that he said she was working at the War Office. He had been giving me copies of papers she stole, I began making miniatures and hiding them in the usual capsules. Later it was film from a camera we supplied her with. We were big then! Big slaps on the back from Homlok. Until then we had fed back chickenshit, gossip and what we could get from magazines. Now she was giving him a report a week, sometimes twice a week. We were big men in Budapest. Promised medals and such." "What kind of papers did this woman provide?" "Oh, well, Army reports mainly, tank production figures, indoctrination leaflets, assessments of military events, like the Monaco situation, technical stuff." "Whose tank production. England's? Germany?" "A mix, mostly German, French, Italian with the odd Iberian item. The Major was only interested in German information, but the Colonel and so on would take the rest. Everything had value to someone and could be traded."

After a few silent gulps of beer Ricky decided to get to the heart of the reason for his visit. "So what was this womans name and what did she do?" "Her name I wasn't sure at first, the Major was secretive, he told me nothing. I had driven her a few times and found out her name was Nadya. Then one evening I picked her up at her house in Hendon. I happened to see her name on some mail by the door. It was Nadya Gardner." "Was this a cover name?" "No. I dont think so." "And her job?" "I dont know. He never said. I assumed she was a secretary, she looked that sort." Ricky wasn't entirely happy, there must have been a motive. "So did she provide the Major with all this stuff for favours in bed or money?" "I never made payments to her. The Major might have but they saw a lot of each other. You might call it love. Perhaps she felt she was doing the right thing. He is a persuasive man, charming and handsome. Not a ladys man but sophisticated, calm."

Ricky nodded, he knew the sort of thing. He'd done it himself in other times and places and his father was an expert on that technique. "Could you describe this woman?" "Yes, about five foot five, slim, dark hair, dark eyes, a very ordinary sort of woman really, she was about twenty-five I guess." Ricky wanted to wrap things up since it was getting late. "So what about your homecoming? Lots of medals in the filing clerks room these days?" Tibor lowered his head. "Well I had done my year, I came home and found some of my black market activities while I had been in Poland had caught up with me. I could have been fired, or worse. But Homlok, ever a dear friend to me, defended me and saw to it the charges were largely dropped, but I had to pay a fine and was demoted."
Ricky got tough. "So now you know where all those juicy files from London are kept don't you? And you know what happened to them. Whether all those non-German related War Office reports were of any use to another country and who they might have been sold to." Tibor knew if he said anymore it was treason but he had already said enough to stretch his neck. "Listen stranger. I love Katalin, I'm no spy. It's a job to me but I want to be free. She wants that too. We are on different sides and we can't love each other across this divide. I told her this story because I thought that is what was good for us both. I felt she was working for your side and that if she told her bosses it would be of such value that it would be worth a lot of money and perhaps offer us a new start. I like England. I would gladly go back with her and settle there. I won't tell you more unless you promise to get me to England."
Ricky was a tough man, he was in two minds whether to use some causal slapping to jolt him into talking or whether to believe this love-stuff. After all, his own wife was stuck in Turkey with his little girl, a similar situation. But what could he do, the man was a bundle of nerves, any slip up and Tibor would incriminate himself and wind up dead. He couldn't promise him five grand and little detached house in Metroland with an Austin Ten and membership to the Harrow Conservative Association. It was hard to promise a man a life he didnt know himself. He only knew Tibor was a failure, a no good dropout only held together by his big friend and he knew from what little he was told that GABBIE was a scantily clad, scheming dancer who collected pillowtalk. More likely they would end up in a little two-room flat in Liverpool with mildew up the walls, no job, suspicious foreigner-hating neighbours and money worries resulting in them hating each other's guts after three years.
Finally though, Tibor told Ricky what he wanted to know. He remembered giving a bundle of reports to a courier called Lazlo Farkas who, he had heard from someone else, was the official link with the Abwehr in Budapest. He did not tell him that Homlok had told him about the deal he had struck with the Abwehr for one hundred thousand Reichsmarks a month. He had to leave something juicy for London when he got there.

Friday July 12, 1944
Crackcrackcrack,CRACK. Another key got stuck. Richard Guthrie hated typing and the old Remington was recalcitrant at every press of the key. Muttering swearwords under his breath he carried on. He had reason to be happy though, since his subtle investigation of Nadya Garnder confirmed that she indeed was the head of the typing pool serving the Western Europe Intelligence Desk at the War Office. There was no file on her in the MI5 archives but he had a copy of her employment card and a bank account number and, after some pressure on her bank manager, her last year's worth of bank statements. It proved she was a real person but there was no obvious evidence as yet.

Monday July 15, 1944
Richard had heard more than enough about Henry V. Thomas Maypole was boring his boss about his latest cinematic Technicolor experience with his fiancée over the weekend. Earlier during the weekend his wife had been nagging him to take her this week to see it. Laurence Olivier's new epic, the first work of Shakespeare to be filmed in colour, featured Olivier both acting and directing the film. Richard admired a man who could double-task but he didnt really care for Shakespeare and at any rate, his mind was taken up with other matters.
Relief came in the form of a telephone call. Again it was Mendel, Controls assistant, and again he had to find a scrambler telephone. "This is Mendel. The last report from you was thin. However, we have confirmed our information. We want you to find out everything about the subject in question. Where they go, who they see, times, dates and places. Find out all the employment history, family background, friends, enemies, visitors. Get any evidence you need and keep us informed. On the basis of this information we must then decide the next steps. Don't forget this is diplomatically sensitive, remember you're treading on eggshells."
Richard hated being told his duties from a spy. He knew what he had to do and he would do it.