identities of these two men, I hope? And where they might be found?’
‘Yes. You won’t be surprised to learn that, like Voss, they’re both American citizens, but they were born in Germany, and that’s obviously where their sympathies lie. Their names are Jonas Bauer and Lenz Kortig, but where they are I have no idea. They might even be back in the United States by now. But there is one place you might start looking for them.’
‘Where?’
‘According to Neumann, Voss told him he was joining a ship at Cherbourg tomorrow, so maybe the other two men are with him.’
Williams spelled the names of the two men and Mansfield Cumming wrote them down on a piece of paper.
‘Now we have their names,’ Cumming said, ‘we can try and find them, even if they are in Washington or New York or even somewhere over here in Europe, but obviously I’ll try and find out if they’re booked on a ship first. Did Neumann know if these two people were an integral part of the plot, or just recruited by Voss because of their positions? And what are they getting out of it if the plan goes ahead?’
‘What they’ll get is a lot of money,’ Williams replied. ‘I don’t pretend to understand the mechanics of the way it works, but making money is probably their prime motivation. Neumann claimed he’d never met these two men, but according to Voss they’re just as deeply involved in the plot as he is. I got the impression that even if you could somehow eliminate two of them, whichever one was left could – and probably would – continue what they’ve started. And make it happen.’
‘So we have to find all three of them?’
‘Exactly. We have to track them all down, find out the details of this plot they’ve constructed, and then kill them. As far as I can see, Mansfield, there’s no other solution if we want Britain and her Empire to survive.’
‘God help us,’ Cumming said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘God help us all.’
Chapter 6
9 April 1912
London
There was an air of ruthless and impatient competence about the tall, fair-haired young man who walked into Whitehall Court later that afternoon. The secretary who guarded the entrance to Mansfield Cumming’s inner sanctum glanced from the smart tweed suit he was wearing to the expression on his face, and simply nodded to him to go up. Alex Tremayne had an appointment – perhaps a summons would have been a better description – and he was already late.
Getting inside was the easy part. Actually reaching the office was rather more complicated, because Mansfield Cumming had just installed a false staircase, entry to which was controlled from the director’s office using a complicated system of levers and pulleys, which only occasionally worked properly.
It took three attempts before Tremayne was finally able to knock on the director’s door and then step inside.
‘Come in, Tremayne,’ Mansfield Cumming boomed. ‘You’re late,’ he added.
Tremayne sat down in front of the wide desk. ‘I wouldn’t have been quite so late if you didn’t always have to fiddle about with that ridiculous staircase. Why can’t you just have an office in a corridor, like anybody else?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Tremayne,’ Cumming replied, picking up a gold-rimmed monocle from the desk and screwing it firmly in his right eye. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, the first letter “S” of this unit’s designation stands for “Secret”. That means nobody is supposed to know who we are, or where we are. And that staircase would work perfectly well if the people who built it for me had been competent. After all, I designed it myself.’
Tremayne didn’t reply. The last sentence seemed to him to provide an entirely adequate explanation for any failings in the operation of the equipment in the building. Mansfield Cumming was a former naval officer who had been retired from the Royal Navy because of persistent seasickness, but who had shown a considerable talent
‘Yes. You won’t be surprised to learn that, like Voss, they’re both American citizens, but they were born in Germany, and that’s obviously where their sympathies lie. Their names are Jonas Bauer and Lenz Kortig, but where they are I have no idea. They might even be back in the United States by now. But there is one place you might start looking for them.’
‘Where?’
‘According to Neumann, Voss told him he was joining a ship at Cherbourg tomorrow, so maybe the other two men are with him.’
Williams spelled the names of the two men and Mansfield Cumming wrote them down on a piece of paper.
‘Now we have their names,’ Cumming said, ‘we can try and find them, even if they are in Washington or New York or even somewhere over here in Europe, but obviously I’ll try and find out if they’re booked on a ship first. Did Neumann know if these two people were an integral part of the plot, or just recruited by Voss because of their positions? And what are they getting out of it if the plan goes ahead?’
‘What they’ll get is a lot of money,’ Williams replied. ‘I don’t pretend to understand the mechanics of the way it works, but making money is probably their prime motivation. Neumann claimed he’d never met these two men, but according to Voss they’re just as deeply involved in the plot as he is. I got the impression that even if you could somehow eliminate two of them, whichever one was left could – and probably would – continue what they’ve started. And make it happen.’
‘So we have to find all three of them?’
‘Exactly. We have to track them all down, find out the details of this plot they’ve constructed, and then kill them. As far as I can see, Mansfield, there’s no other solution if we want Britain and her Empire to survive.’
‘God help us,’ Cumming said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘God help us all.’
Chapter 6
9 April 1912
London
There was an air of ruthless and impatient competence about the tall, fair-haired young man who walked into Whitehall Court later that afternoon. The secretary who guarded the entrance to Mansfield Cumming’s inner sanctum glanced from the smart tweed suit he was wearing to the expression on his face, and simply nodded to him to go up. Alex Tremayne had an appointment – perhaps a summons would have been a better description – and he was already late.
Getting inside was the easy part. Actually reaching the office was rather more complicated, because Mansfield Cumming had just installed a false staircase, entry to which was controlled from the director’s office using a complicated system of levers and pulleys, which only occasionally worked properly.
It took three attempts before Tremayne was finally able to knock on the director’s door and then step inside.
‘Come in, Tremayne,’ Mansfield Cumming boomed. ‘You’re late,’ he added.
Tremayne sat down in front of the wide desk. ‘I wouldn’t have been quite so late if you didn’t always have to fiddle about with that ridiculous staircase. Why can’t you just have an office in a corridor, like anybody else?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Tremayne,’ Cumming replied, picking up a gold-rimmed monocle from the desk and screwing it firmly in his right eye. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, the first letter “S” of this unit’s designation stands for “Secret”. That means nobody is supposed to know who we are, or where we are. And that staircase would work perfectly well if the people who built it for me had been competent. After all, I designed it myself.’
Tremayne didn’t reply. The last sentence seemed to him to provide an entirely adequate explanation for any failings in the operation of the equipment in the building. Mansfield Cumming was a former naval officer who had been retired from the Royal Navy because of persistent seasickness, but who had shown a considerable talent
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