Read The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) for Free Online Page B

waded ankle-deep in the blood of my comrades, and not so much as blinked. But what we are doing now, what might happen as a result of our work here – to us, and to the whole world… It terrifies me.’
    Hess felt the blood drain from his face. He was suddenly light-headed.
    ‘I sense that we are of a similar opinion, sir,’ Hoffman went on. ‘I pray that the Fuhrer will listen to you.’
    ‘He must,’ Hess breathed.
    ‘Or if he does not,’ Hoffman said, ‘then I pray that
someone
will. There is no distinction between the Reich and her enemies in this coming war. There is only our world and the forces ranged against it.’
    Hess stared at him, not daring to speak. Fearful of what he might say. Afraid of the thoughts that were creeping into the back of his mind. If the Fuhrer would not listen to his warnings, then who would? All his doubts – about the war with Britain, the coming conflict with Russia, the future of his country… They all aligned behind this new danger.
    The silence was broken by the sharp crack of Hoffman’s heels clicking together. His salute was crisp and smart. ‘Heil Hitler.’
    Rudolf Hess, Deputy Fuhrer of the Third Reich, did not reply.

CHAPTER 6
    THE GREEK POLITICIAN spoke good English. But he seemed grateful to Guy for making the trip nonetheless.
    ‘I am sure there are some nuances – is that the word? Some
nuances
that might cause problems, Major Pentecross,’ he said with an apologetic smile. He shook Guy’s hand warmly as the meeting ended.
    The Greek minister’s words mitigated the frustration of another long journey. It was approaching midnight on 10 May 1941 and the plane was waiting to take the politician back to Crete. Guy was faced with the choice of a spare bed somewhere on the base at RAF Crosby-on-Eden or the prospect of a long ride back to London if he could beg a lift with one of the high-ups who’d attended the meeting.
    He got neither.
    As he handed his notes from the meeting to one of the secretaries to be destroyed, an RAF officer came up to him.
    ‘Major Pentecross? Telephone. Whitehall. Urgent.’ Then, as an afterthought. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Chivers here,’ the voice at the other end of the phone announced. Guy would have recognised the plummy tone anyway. ‘You still at Crosby?’
    ‘So it would seem.’ He was tempted to add: ‘That’s why I’m answering their phone.’
    ‘Good… Good. Got another little job for you.’
    ‘You want me to hang on here?’ His heart sank.
    ‘Not there exactly. Want you to cut along to Maryhill Barracks. Seems they’ve bagged themselves a German flyer. Need help with the debrief. Bit sensitive really.’
    ‘Maryhill?’ Guy had never heard of it. ‘Is that in Carlisle?’
    ‘Not quite, no. But you’re the closest man we’ve got. I’ll have someone ready to brief you as soon as you arrive. I’ve already arranged for the base to provide a car and driver to get you there. The chap you’ll be interrogating is…’ There was a distant rustle of papers. ‘Hauptmann Horn, apparently. Probably nothing, but you never know.’
    ‘Fine.’ Guy sighed. It would mean an early start. ‘I’ll get over there first thing.’
    ‘Um, tonight actually. If you would. The car should be waiting.’
    ‘Tonight,’ Guy echoed. ‘To Maryhill Barracks, was it?’
    ‘Spot on.’ Then the inevitable: ‘Rather you than me. It’s, er… It’s in Glasgow, actually.’
    They found him a staff car rather than a jeep, so at least Guy could sleep on the journey. He was too tired to be annoyed, and at least it seemed this was unlikely to be a false alarm. More than that, if they wanted him there tonight, then the German must be important.
    ‘Hauptmann’ translated roughly as ‘captain’. It was a Luftwaffe rank, and Chivers had described the man as a flyer. He’d probably bailed out after being shot down. Pentecross wondered where they had picked him up. No doubt the briefing would make everything clear, he thought as he slipped