I WAS MONTY’S DOUBLE Page 13

  “Yes, Rusty, I do. It’s a wonderful piece of work and well worth preserving.”

  As I said these words I heard the iron gates at the top of the garden shut with a clang. Two men were coming towards us down the centre path. Clean-shaven, in their later thirties, they were dressed in dark suits and carried hats in their hands.

  Pretending not to notice them I went on talking about the frieze. As the two men drew near, Sir Ralph whispered hoarsely, “Don’t be nervous, James. It’s a tricky moment—just keep your head.”

  Somewhat shaken by this warning I began to talk about the War Cabinet and Plan 303. The Governor touched me on the arm as if to caution me and I broke off abruptly, registering surprise at their approach.

  Sir Ralph greeted them cordially and they bowed in the Spanish manner. I was introduced, and both of them stood looking at me with just the degree of awe and respect which they would have accorded General Montgomery. I was polite but aloof, and as I spoke I kept my hands clasped behind my back, secretly blessing Monty for this habit of his since it meant that I could keep my false finger hidden.

  One of the Spaniards who looked as sinister as any spy in thriller fiction kept his snake’s eyes fastened on me, while the other pretended to be interested in what Sir Ralph was saying; but I noticed that at odd moments his eyes travelled over every inch of my figure.

  Looking back on the scene now, I can see them listening with ludicrous intentness to my babble of small talk about the weather, the flowers and the history of Government House.

  When I judged that they had seen enough of me I said briskly: “Well, I only hope the weather holds. I have a lot more flying in front of me.” And I half turned away.

  At once they took their leave of me and Sir Ralph ushered them into the house. It was all over very quickly, and yet in that brief space of time the fate of those two spies and perhaps of many thousands of our soldiers was profoundly changed.

  As I heard later, these Spaniards were two of Hitler’s cleverest agents. Gestapo-trained and quite ruthless, they had been planted in Gib. for the express purpose of spying on me.

  Some time before I met them, our own Secret Service had spread the rumour through underground channels that Monty was going to the Middle East on a highly important mission. When this news filtered through to Berlin the German High Command gave orders for the plane I was to travel in to be attacked and destroyed en route; or, if this plan miscarried, for Monty to be assassinated in Spain or Africa.

  But at the last moment the Germans decided to make sure in the first place that it really was Monty and not some other General. Accordingly these two top agents who some years before had been working in Spain were flown to Berlin, where they were briefed, given faked papers and false names. After reporting to Franco’s men they entered Spanish society as bankers and took up residence in Gibraltar, where they planted two of their underlings. One of these underlings got a job at the airport, the other, posing as a workman, was employed on the buildings of Government House.

  When Monty arrived he was to be watched very carefully in case the English were using a double. Each spy was to put in a separate report giving every detail which he had observed, and all these reports were to be forwarded to Admiral Canaris, Hitler’s Chief of Intelligence. Canaris was to decide when and where Monty was to be assassinated.

  All this was pretty black for me. But actually I owe my life to the Fuehrer, for when it came to the point Hitler gave orders that Monty was on no account to be killed until it was discovered beyond doubt just where he was intending to launch his invasion. This the Germans never did discover—apart, of course, from the cross-Channel invasion—and so no attempts were made on my life.

  The Spaniards must have worked pretty fast. Two hours after they left Government House, Madrid had the news that General Montgomery had arrived in Gib. and was proceeding to Africa by air. This was confirmed by our own agents in the Spanish capital.

  That same evening Berlin had the news, which was also checked back by our agents in Germany. In the code message sent to Berlin was a frantic appeal: “At all costs discover nature of Plan 303. Have you any information? Very urgent”

  At once the German counter-espionage department sent messages to all their embassies ordering their men to concentrate on this problem. The mysterious Plan 303 was given top priority. How the enemy spies must have cursed it!

  I don’t know if the complete failure of the German spy system to discover anything about this Plan aroused any doubts about my identity, but some weeks later when Monty attacked across the Channel the Germans realized how they had been hoodwinked. More dismayed than anyone were the two bogus Spanish bankers who had sent in the misleading reports.

  They did not wait to be caught and put to death by the Gestapo. Crossing to La Linea they went to earth among the easy-going millions of Franco’s Spain.

  Chapter XIII

  FANTASTIC TALKS WITH THE GOVERNOR

  When the Governor left me to show the Spaniards into the house I glanced up and saw the workman who was taking such a flattering interest in me leaning down and staring. He had given up any pretence of working. Ah well, I thought, he’s doing his bit to help us win the war.

  Presently I went back to Sir Ralph’s study. After a few minutes the door opened and my host came in. Throwing himself into an armchair he shook with laughter.

  “You and I have missed our vocations. We ought to be in the Secret Service. What do you say?”

  “Do you think they had any suspicions?”

  “Not the least. Did you notice their faces when you mentioned Plan 303?”

  “I thought they didn’t bat an eyelid.”

  “Oh yes they did. When you have a job like mine you have to cultivate the habit of watching men’s faces. The slightest start or muscular tension is sometimes enough, to give a man away.”

  I was with the Governor for about an hour. I suppose for all his apparent sang-froid he had felt nervous about how we should get through our act with the two Spaniards because now that it was all over, and most successfully, he evidently felt elated. And in this mood of elation he praised me so warmly that I began to feel embarrassed.

  Much more clearly than I he knew the vital importance of what we were doing. Within a few hours the news of Monty’s arrival at the Rock would be flying round the enemy capitals. He told me how much I had done towards shortening the war and saving the lives of thousands of our men. As he talked his imagination led him to picture me being loaded with honours and rewards from a grateful Government.

  “You’ve done an amazing job. After this the world will be at your feet,” he said enthusiastically.

  In view of what actually did happen when the war was over this conversation had a touch of grim humour. However, I am not grumbling. I am very lucky to be alive today.

  Sir Ralph began to explain what I was to do next.

  “Your next job is at Algiers. Time is short and you’re expected there as soon as possible. Your arrival at Gib. has had such a good Press that when you leave the airport I expect there’ll be a full house.”

  He picked up the telephone receiver. “Oh, Foley, come along here with Heywood, will you?”

  When the two of them came in we went carefully through the scene of departure at the airport. It was very much like the scene of my arrival—the Top Brass, the Guard of Honour, the plane’s crew, all standing to attention as I got out of my car. But this time Sir Ralph would be with me, and there was to be an important addition for the benefit of any enemy agents who might be within earshot. One of them would be a certain Norwegian refugee who was working in the airport canteen.

  “This Norwegian and several other enemy agents in Gib. carried faked papers and had no idea that they were even under suspicion. But actually they had given themselves away by some small error and were under close observation by our own people. They were allowed to pass messages through to La Linea and from there on to Madrid; but all these messages were intercepted and read by our agent
s before they reached their destination.

  After inspecting the officers and the Guard of Honour, I was to take Sir Ralph by the arm and stroll with him towards a point beside the Control Building. We were then to walk up and down together faking a discussion about some highly important war plans. I was to raise my voice a little so as to give the Norwegian a few tid-bits of bogus war secrets when he was within earshot. Also I was to throw my weight about and over-act to some extent for the benefit of the Spanish temperament.

  When the other two had gone, the Governor said good-bye to me, although of course this was by no means the last I was to see of him. By this time I was getting used to these premature good-byes: they were all part of the looking-glass world in which things happened backwards.

  Up in my room I studied my reflection in the mirror, put on my beret and came down the stairs as General Montgomery again. In the hall were my two aides with Sir Ralph. The Guard presented arms as the Governor and I got into the leading car, and we set off for the airport with an escort of armed motorcyclists.

  This time we followed a longer route. As we drove through the twisting streets I saw the same crowds of cheering Tommies and sullen Spanish civilians as I had noticed before. On the airport the bodies of Service personnel looked considerably larger. I got out of the car, bayonets flashed in the sun and a flight of Spitfires came over, dipping their wings in salute.

  The usual formalities over, I took Sir Ralph by the arm and we strolled up and down, turning always when we were just under the open canteen window.

  Raising my voice a little I said: “Now about these harbour defences, Rusty. I’ve told the P.M. that C 4 is perfectly safe. But I want the naval end tied up so that when the armour is loaded it’s shipped without any time-lag.”

  “Yes, I understand,” the Governor replied.

  Pointing across the bay I went on, “If we take about three o’clock right of the cape, the engineers can alter it to fit Plan 303.”

  Leaving Sir Ralph’s side and walking on a few paces, I shielded my eyes from the sun.

  “Rusty, come here a moment. You can see the exact spot from here. Get Digby on to it at once. There’s no time to waste. Understand?”

  Strolling up to the open window of the canteen I let loose a final salvo of nonsense.

  “I’ve sent a code message to Eisenhower to put Plan 303 into force. I want no belly-aching about it this end.”

  I can’t remember what else I said. It was all arrant twaddle, and I have often pictured the scene when this precious top-secret information reached Berlin and Hitler’s brain trust tried to piece it together and fit it into the general pattern of what they knew about the coming invasion. Imagine the Fuhrer’s wrath when his experts had to confess they could make nothing of it!

  I was about to end this nonsensical conversation when to my surprise I noticed on the edge of the crowd the two Spanish noblemen who had come into the gardens of Government House. This was too good a chance to miss, so taking Sir Ralph’s arm again I led him as near as I dared to where they were standing and this time I really let myself go.

  “Rusty, this is for your ears alone. The African coast is ideal for the project, and as you know, the War Cabinet are with us all the way. The French Resistance knows all the details. Only Codes 3 and 4 are to be used by the Navy. The Air Forces will use 35 A and B for the initial softening-up. Now this affects you vitally. When the Navy sets out, all ships will be concerned with only one object: ‘Prompt Side’. This is to be treated by the Admiral as a top secret.”

  Of course it would have been dangerous for me to be caught looking at the Spaniards, but for a split second I had a glimpse of them leaning slightly forward as if their salvation depended upon hearing what I said. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.

  We moved over to the aircraft. “Good-bye, Rusty,” I said. “It has been nice seeing you again. Give my salaams to Lady Eastwood.”

  “Thanks, Monty, I will.”

  His eyes twinkled and I could almost swear be gave me the suspicion of a wink. We shook hands, the Guard presented arms, and in a few moments we took off. My last glimpse of the Governor was a stalwart figure standing at the salute with a broad grin on his face.

  Well, I had completed my assignment at Gibraltar and by now the plan was becoming clear to me. On my flight out from England I had dreaded most of all the prospect of meeting high-ranking officers at close quarters, some of whom must have known the real Monty personally. I saw myself having meals at Staff Headquarters, or perhaps aboard a battleship. Although my false finger was a work of art, it would hardly bear very much close scrutiny and how could I hope to keep up a conversation on highly technical military affairs?

  But I had not realized the clevemess of MI 5. When it came to the point I found that things were so arranged and timed that although I was continually thrown in the path of enemy agents I always took my meals in private. And I was carefully prevented from meeting any officers who were likely to know the General personally.

  When you come to think of it, all the invasion plans had been worked out in detail long before I appeared in Africa. It would have been pointless for Monty to visit any of the Commands at this juncture. All I had to do was to let myself be seen by the enemy. Certainly I ran the risk of being liquidated by some spy, but even this was less terrifying than having to dismss high strategy with our own Generals, however carefully I had been coached beforehand.

  As the plane rose I thought of Colonel Lester sitting in his little room far away in Whitehall. I had read books in which master brains moved human beings about like pieces on a chessboard, but I had never expected to be a pawn in one of these fantastic games. I was now being moved to another square on the international chessboard. Looking down I could see the famous Straits of Gibraltar shrinking to the size of a bottle’s neck.

  I sat back and went over in my mind all that had happened in the last half-hour. Had I made any bloomers? The Brigadier sat down beside me and gave my arm a friendly squeeze.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Lousy. I’m trying to remember if I slipped up anywhere.”

  “Don’t you believe it. From all I’ve seen and heard, you were a huge success. Of course we shan’t know the results for some time, but I bet there’ll be some headaches in Berlin tonight.”

  I tried to take his advice and relax, but it wasn’t easy. Before landing at Gib. I had keyed myself up to a tremendous pitch. I’d had to remember every trick and mannerism of the man I was impersonating, every detail of the planned action I had learned at those rehearsals. For each landing and departure it had been the same. I had no idea how many more of them lay ahead of me.

  While actually impersonating Monty I felt calm and sure of myself, but these off-stage intervals between the scenes were nerve-racking. It was very different from coming off the stage at the end of an Act in the theatre.

  In the theatre you sat in your dressing-room with other members of the cast discussing how well or badly the show was going. All the friendly atmosphere of the theatre was there to comfort and support you. But now I had just stepped off the stage after playing one of the most dramatic scenes which any actor could hope for, and instead of the cheers or boos of the audience I could hear only the roar of the aircraft engines.

  After giving me a little time to rest and relax, the Brigadier told me about the next scene. We were due to reach Algiers airport at 2.15 p.m. Algiers, he said, was a regular hot-bed of intrigue with dozens of enemy agents posing as Free Frenchmen and loyal Italian collaborators. Our Intelligence Service had already prepared the ground. Rumours had been circulated that Monty was flying to North Africa. The story was put about that he might be coming to form an Anglo-American Army to stand in readiness for an attack on the South of France which would link up with the French Resistance Movement.

  These rumours had been spread all along the African coast through indiscreet telegrams, whispered reports in native bazaars, and even unguarded talk in brothels. They h
ad travelled as far as Sicily and the Italian mainland and of course they had been reported in Berlin. It was my job now to convince the enemy spies that there was truth in these rumours and that Monty was up to something secret and highly important. In fact, that a surprise blow was being planned from the south.

  We were to land at the Maison Blanche airport about twelve miles from Algiers, and our Intelligence Service had arranged that my audience should include the loyal Italian collaborators who, like our old friends the Spanish noblemen, had been briefed by the Gestapo.

  A still more important stall-holder would be a French Major who had ostensibly come over to our side. A week before, he had turned up in Algiers. His papers showed him as a member of the French Intelligence Service, but as our people knew, he was really an ace enemy agent. Almost immediately he expressed a strong desire to meet Monty if he should happen to visit Algiers, and I expect he was very pleased when he was told that his wish would be gratified.

  The spade-work carried out by our Intelligence people at each of the places I visited was really brilliant. Naturally the enemy would have been highly suspicious if knowledge of Monty’s impending visit had been an open secret. The news was spread subtly and surreptitiously. My arrival at each place was a top secret, and yet certain selected civilians were somehow given the chance to be in the grandstand: they were allowed to pass through the cordons of guards and military police as if by acts of negligence.

  To all appearances, the news was also kept secret from our own troops, but one or two obscure individuals—N.A.A.F.I. workers and others—were allowed to hear the rumour that Monty was coming. These men of course passed the news on, and in a short time everybody was talking about it—though where the rumour had originated no one knew.

  Presently the skipper of the aircraft came and joined us over a cup of coffee. He pointed to a tiny island far below us and handed me a pair of field-glasses. At one end of the island I could just see what looked like a ruined tower.