Opening Moves

Fishing in his brief case, which Eisenhower noted was extremely tatty, another sign of extreme Englishness,’and that looks like blood?’, Dalziel produced a sheaf of papers bound with neat ribbon hinges.

“The C-in-C suggested that you would want to see these straight away, hence the trip by aircraft.”

Eisenhower could not help himself but stretch out a finger and sample the stain, examining the residue.

“Not mine Sir, one of yours I am sorry to say but he should pull through.”

Eisenhower nodded and produced a handkerchief to clean up with.

“So what is so important that you risk yourself to fly here and share this report with me Commander?”

“The report outlines the resources you can expect to receive which fall under our remit, either by way of army assets at sea or in port, or those that require our transporting to Europe from varying destinations such as Stateside Sir.”

“Ok, that would have been just fine by secure courier. I ask again Admiral, what gives?”

The naval officer looked around to see who might be listening and, easing his collar, he took the plunge.

“I am from Naval Intelligence and we have discovered security issues within the facility at Station X and possibly Bletchley as a whole.”

This Admiral had obviously taken a course in how to immediately get a superiors attention.

“Hence the need to relay matters personally.”

The ramifications of a communications issue involving Bletchley Park were huge.

“What’s compromised Dalziel?”

“To be frank Sir, we are unsure but we appear to have at least two personnel who have prima facie impeccable credentials but now appear to exercise poor judgement in the friends they keep, one of whom seems to have an awful lot of cash to spend.”

“Stroke of luck really, one of our chaps was on holiday in High Wycombe and happened to see one of the blighters having a confidential with a Soviet attaché from their Embassy, who just happens to be the official NKVD Rezident.”

He cleared his throat before continuing.

“We need to wring the offender but first we simply have to know who else bats for the same side, if any. Our advice at this time is to keep high-level radio communications to an absolute minimum and use couriers where possible.”

Eisenhower had a face like thunder.

“This will cripple my ability to react to events and control my forces. How long for?”

“Again I am unsure, but I suspect no more than a week Sir.”

Even those deep in thought on the far side of the room heard Eisenhower’s reaction.

“A goddamned week!”

Controlling himself again and gesturing to his watching staff to get on with their own responsibilities, he took the Admiral by the shoulder and steered him to a nearby recess.

“So, because there is a commie spy in X, I lose full control of my communications for a week. Is that what you’re saying Sir Roger?”

The fact that Ike remembered his title was of no consolation to Dalziel, the man could not have been more uncomfortable.

“We simply must find out if she has accomplices Sir, in order to ensure communications are safe once we have taken her out of the system.”

Eisenhower nearly had a fit.

“You mean she’s still working there?”

“For now yes, but we have our best working this case and we hope to be able to give you back full radio communications sooner than a week.”

Ike inhaled and exhaled deeply, composing himself.

“I think you should try very hard to do just that Admiral. Europe depends upon it.”

Lighting a cigarette, his offer to Dalziel having been declined, Ike thought for a moment.

“OK, I will look at these figures on troops as soon as I can. Please will you go and find the Headquarters Communications Officer and brief him in on the problems and your suggested temporary resolutions.”

Dalziel saluted.

“Yes Sir.”

“Oh and Admiral, get me my radio back or we will be in deep trouble here.”

The Admiral nodded curtly and strode off and with Ike’s statement; a line was drawn under the matter just for the moment.

0659 hrs Wednesday, 8th August 1945, Headquarters of Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, Schloss Schönefeld, Leipzig.

GRU Lieutenant Colonel Ahbramov walked slowly to the bench seat in the well-tended gardens of the Schloss Gundorf, although the aromatic early morning air was wasted on him, as he was nursing the mother of all hangovers.

He had finally bedded pretty Alexandra Greshkova, partially because he had promised his little ‘Anushka’ a move to an easier post and partially because good Asbach in large quantities loosened her resolve.

That brandy was now eating its way into his consciousness and bringing on the mother of all headaches, which in itself concerned Georgi because he never got hung-over. ‘Maybe age is taking its toll?’ The thought worried him.

A drag on his cigarette produced a wave of nausea and he vomited, the spasm producing almost unbearable pain in his head.