The Company of Strangers. Robert Thomas Wilson
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phoenix palms stood in the garden. A flame of purple bougainvillea climbed above a window. The blue of the Tagus was visible over the rooftops. For once Wallis didn’t say a word. The car dropped down a short hill, turned left and after a hundred yards Wallis nodded up the hill to where the Union Jack hung from a long pink building halfway up.
‘We’re practically neighbours,’ he said. ‘I won’t drive you up there. There’re always bufos hanging around outside looking for new faces, ready to report anything to the Germans.’
They went down the hill and came out at the Santos docks. Wallis turned right, heading west along the banks of the Tagus and out beyond the mouth of the estuary. The road hugged the coastline, the railway tracks alongside.
At Carcavelos, just by a large, brown, ancient fort they turned away from the sea and went through the centre of town and out the other side where they pulled up in front of a large, sombre house standing on its own behind a high wall. Two mature stone pines in the garden cast dark shadows over the windows. Wallis honked the horn and a gardener appeared from the shrubbery to open the gate.
‘This is Cardew’s house,’ said Wallis, ‘your boss at Shell, but your other bosses will see you first – Sutherland and Rose.’
Wallis lifted out her luggage, rang the door bell, got back in the car and reversed out. A maid came to the door, took her case inside and led her down the hall to a shuttered room where two men sat, one smoking a pipe, the other a cigarette. The maid closed the door. The two men stood. One tall and slim with brown hair swept back, introduced himself as Richard Rose. The other, shorter, with thick, black, undulating hair just said: ‘Sutherland’. Both were in shirtsleeves, the room stuffy even with the french windows half-open on to the lawn.
Sutherland stared at Anne from under dark eyebrows. He had blackberry smudges at the corners of his blue eyes. His skin was white and pasty. He pointed to a chair with the stem of his pipe.
‘Wallis took his time,’ he said.
‘I think he gave me the introductory tour, sir.’
He worked on his pipe for a moment. His lips were oddly bluish, kissing off the pipe stem. He was a still man, no expression around his eyes or mouth and little movement in his body. A lizard, thought Anne.
‘You’re what they call morena,’ said Rose. ‘Dark. Dusky.’
‘As opposed to loira,’ she said. ‘Blonde. Dizzy.’
Rose didn’t like it, too cheeky on her first day perhaps. Sutherland smiled so fast and with such little breadth that all she saw was a brown column on the left side of his front teeth – discoloured from smoking.
‘I didn’t think your ability to speak Portuguese was part of your cover,’ said Sutherland, his voice coming from somewhere down his throat, his lips parting to say the words but not moving.
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘This place…Lisbon,’ he clarified, ‘is…perhaps Wallis told you, a very dangerous city for the careless. You might think that the worst is over, now that we’ve landed in Normandy, but there are still some very critical situations, life and death situations, for men at sea and in the air. The idea of our intelligence operation here is to make those situations safer, not to exacerbate them with thoughtlessness.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Anne, thinking – pompous.
‘Information is at a premium. There’s an active market on all sides. Nobody is innocent. Everyone is either buying or selling. From maids and waiters to ministers and businessmen. The overall climate is quieter. A lot of the refugees have been shipped out now, so the rumour circuit is tighter and there’s less misinformation. We have won the economic war. Salazar no longer fears a Nazi invasion and he’s closed the wolfram mines. We’re doing our best to make sure that they don’t get their hands on any other useful products. As a result we see things more clearly but, although there are fewer players on the pitch, and less complications, it has become a much more subtle affair because now, Miss Ashworth, we are in the endgame. Do you play chess?’
She nodded, mesmerized by the intensity of his passionless face, her own blood zipping around her body faster now that she was close to the current, the live wire. All her training seemed like so much theory. In less than an hour a new world had been peeled open – not just the place, Lisbon, but also an immediate sense of the power of the clandestine. The privilege of knowing things that nobody else knew. Smoke trailed from the pipe held just off Sutherland’s face, curled through the sparse sunlight coming through the cracks of the shutters and disappeared up to the high ceiling.
‘Part of your mission is a social one. There are no lines drawn here. Who is who? Who plays for whom? There are powerful people, rich people, people who’ve made a great deal of money out of this war, out of us and the Germans. We know who some of them are, but we want to know all of them. Your ability to speak Portuguese, or rather understand it, is important in this respect and, equally, that nobody should know of this facility. The same applies to your German. You will only use that in the office for translating these journals.’
‘What specifically is it from these journals that the Americans are interested in?’
Sutherland beckoned Rose into the conversation, who gave a historical rundown of German nuclear capability from their first successful fission experiments back in 1938 through to Weizsäcker’s discovery of Ekarhenium, the vital new element that could make the bomb. As Rose spoke, Sutherland watched the young woman. He didn’t listen because he didn’t understand any of it and he could see that she was struggling too.
‘On 19th September 1939 Hitler made a speech in Danzig in which he threatened to employ a weapon against which there would be no defence,’ said Rose. ‘The Americans are convinced that he meant an atomic bomb.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about understanding any of this perfectly. There are probably only a handful of scientists in the world who do,’ said Sutherland. ‘The important thing is for you to understand the significance of this endgame that we’re all involved in.’
‘Why would the Germans tell you all this in a physics journal and published papers? Shouldn’t this be top secret?’
Sutherland ignored the question.
‘The fact is that the Allies have their own bomb programme. We have our own Ekarhenium, the 94th element, which for reasons of secrecy we refer to as “49”.’
Brilliant, thought Anne, to switch the numbers round like that.
‘In March 1941 Fritz Reiche, a German physicist on the run from the Nazis, passed through Lisbon on the way to the United States,’ Rose continued. ‘He was met by the Jewish Refugee Organization here and before they put him on a ship to New York we had a meeting in which he warned us that a bomb programme did exist in Germany. We now know that they’re building an atomic pile for the creation of Ekarhenium somewhere in Berlin. We also know that Heisenberg went to see Niels Bohr, the Danish physicist, and that they had an argument about whether atomic warfare was the right way for physics to be going. A rift developed between the two men over the Germans’ active bomb programme. Heisenberg also sketched out, in rough, the makings of an atomic pile. Since then Bohr has left Denmark and gone over to the Americans. You’ve been in London since June?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So you know about the doodlebugs…the V1 rocket bombs?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We believe that these are the prototype rockets for launching an atomic bomb on London.’
It felt suddenly cold in the room despite the grinding heat outside. Anne rubbed her arms. Sutherland sucked on his pipe, which bubbled like a tubercular lung in the stem.
‘Your day job in Cardew’s office will be to microfilm the two German physics journals Zeitschrift für Physik and Die Naturwissenschafen and provide Sutherland and me with typed translations of any articles which pertain to atomic physics,’ said Rose. ‘More important