Berlin, The British Embassy, Monday, 9 August 1948
Burroughs rushed down to the Passport Control office and announced to Tanner, “Another postcard.” The latter looked at it – it was cheap tourist stuff, showing one of the many eating establishments in the Haus Vaterland.
“It’s ‘The London Pub’,” Tanner exclaimed. “How ironic.” The Haus Vaterland was an amusement venue in the Potsdamer Platz featuring a number of restaurants each themed to a different country or time. Tanner looked at the reverse of the card. “Tomorrow at noon” it read.
“That does not give us much time,” Burroughs acknowledged. “Do you still want to try and trail Blofeld?”
“If London wants to make permanent arrangements with him, we need to get away from these off-the-cuff meetings in public places.” Tanner had been adamant on that point – he was, after all, the intelligence professional. “It’s too easy for you, or me for that matter, to be picked up by the Abwehr with the goods on us.”
*****
Thus the following day saw Burroughs keep a rendezvous at the Haus Vaterland, sitting in ‘The London Pub’ with a pint of bitters before him. Despite his best attempts to watch the passing crowds Blofeld suddenly appeared at his table and sat down. “Good day Captain Burroughs”.
“Herr Blofeld,” replied the naval officer. “Your product has been well received, and we wish to establish a more permanent and – secure – relationship. Meeting in a public place like this…”
“Amuses me,” Blofeld replied. “I has been my experience that it is often better to hide in plain sight than to slink about in shadows. What can be sinister about two old friends meeting for a drink in the midst of Berlin’s mid-day crowds?”
Burroughs tried to think of something to day but before he could do so Blofeld produced a book from his pocket and laid it on the table. “I think you will find this an interesting volume. If so, please remit five thousand marks to the usual address.” And with that, Blofeld rose and walked away.
Tanner had brought two of his assistants and posted them to cover Burroughs from two different directions, intent on tracking Blofeld when he departed. Scott was ensconced at one of the tables in ‘The London Pub’ itself, and had watched the entire transaction; he rose and followed Blofeld out into the mezzanine around which the various restaurants were sited. Jones was standing at a kiosk seeming to admire the souvenirs on sale. He too began to pursue Blofeld, keeping Scott in his sight ahead of him. For his part Tanner crossed the Burroughs table, where the latter informed him of their brief conversation.
“Damn,” Tanner muttered. “You go back to the embassy and I meet you later. Right now I want to find friend Blofeld.”
Scott was carefully weaving his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed upon the back of Blofeld’s head. He failed to see the rather large knot of schoolchildren shepherded by a tall well-dressed man in a goatee crossing his path until he was engulfed by them. By the time he sorted himself out Blofeld had escaped his sight, though he tried to pick up the trail by heading in the direction he had been going in.
Jones saw Scott get caught up in the gaggle of children and lose the scent. No such problem afflicted him; he saw Blofeld turn a corner and quickened his pace to try and catch up. He was rewarded by seeing Blofeld duck into a stairwell that led to the floor below. He followed him through the door and was about to descend the stair when out of the darkness came a cosh that laid him out cold.
An exasperated Tanner rescued Scott from what was appearing to be a wild-goose chase, and the back-tracked to the corner where Jones had followed Blofeld; they tried the stairwell door and found Jones trying to raise himself from the landing. “He got away…” Jones said, his voice trailing off.
*****
Back at the embassy Tanner went immediately to Burrough’s office in the Chancery. He knocked and waited for the latter to unlock the door. He entered and explained that Blofeld had eluded them; obviously the spy had anticipated their attempt to trail him. “I hope what he passed us was worth it.”
“You tell me,” Burroughs said with a tinge of excitement. He proffered several folded sheets of paper. “A report on the German Navy’s training for underway replenishment, with photographs!”
“I think that they are worth the five thousand marks he’s asked for.”