Such A Dangerous Game

By Ken Ford

Lisbon 1941. Britain and Germany are at war inside a neutral country. The conflict between them has been reduced to a 'cat and mouse' game of espionage, dirty tricks and informants, as each side strives to gain the upper hand without upsetting their Portuguese hosts. Colonel Hulse, chief of Britain's MI6 station in the city believes he has a German mole in his organisation. The German Abwehr chief, Stenzel, has someone close to him who is ready to defect. An agent of the Portuguese secret service, the PVDE, has something of value he wishes to sell. They were all playing a very dangerous game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Ford
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005938215

Ken Ford

Ken Ford has been writing military books for over 25 years. To date (May 2020) he has 40 titles to his name. His original career took him from the Physics laboratories of Southampton University to a position in middle management within British Telecoms, with numerous experiences as a road-bound traveler along the way. He began his full time writing career in 1992. He now lives on the outskirts of Southampton in southern England with his wife Valda. He spends most of his time writing when he is not annoying his three grandchildren Katelyn, Adam and Joseph, with boring tales of his adventurous past. (his two daughters Amanda and Joanne have heard it all before and are beyond boredom). Oh, and he also supports Southampton Football Club from his seat in the stands. By the way, his profile picture is fifty years old!

Book preview

SUCH A DANGEROUS GAME

By KEN FORD

Published by KFMB

Chapter 1

Parsons studied the slim folder and looked intently at the photographs inside. ‘They look quite young,’ he remarked to the colonel.

‘Reasonably so, in their late twenties I believe.’

‘Both of them?’

‘Yes, both have to go. They are lovers, not husband and wife. We think the woman knows all about her boyfriend’s work. Can’t do one without the other.’

‘Any preference how I do it?’

‘None. Just be your usual efficient self. No blowback to the Service.’

‘That goes without saying,’ replied Parsons. ‘Do we want to make a statement with them, or do they just disappear?’

‘As you see fit. It wouldn’t hurt for there to be a story behind their deaths as long as the local police buy into it. Don’t be too fancy though, make it believable.’

‘Should I ask what was wrong with them? They obviously worked for us, or at least I suppose he did.’

‘Usual thing. He thought he could play both sides, as do many of the others. Trouble was, he managed to get some important stuff to the Jerries at the wrong time for us. Caused some problems and embarrassment. Ended up with one of our locals being eliminated. Up until then, we were sure he was playing straight and worked exclusively for us. He doesn’t know we are on to him, so it will come as something as a surprise. Actually, thinking about it, just before you do the business, make sure he knows it is us who are dishing out his punishment. I rather like that idea.’

‘Will do. Does he need to suffer, or just a final quick kill?’

‘Make the final part quick. Don’t hold with torture myself. Shows bad form.’

***

Henry Porter squinted in the mirror as he pulled the brim of the hat down over his eyes. He was ageing fast and he knew it. He still had his infectious smile and no doubt could still make himself attractive to older women, but youth had faded and now he was just another middle-aged colonial stuck in a Mediterranean dictatorship working for goodness knows what. Behind him he could see her getting dressed.

He watched as she tried to pull her tight dress down over her bulging thighs; the roll of fat across her stomach made the struggle difficult.

‘Will you see me again next week, as usual?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘Of course I will.’ He was lying. Today she revolted him more than she normally did. After they had completed their frantic coupling, he could not wait to get off her. She revolted him and yet he kept coming back to her.

‘But you didn’t come last week. Perhaps you grow tired of me?’

‘I told you, I was away. I tried, but it was impossible for me to get back in time. Yes, next week, as usual. Now, I must go.’ He turned and made for the door.

‘No little kiss for me?’ She pouted and looked hurt.

He smiled. ‘Yes of course.’ He leaned forward and gave her a quick glancing kiss before moving swiftly away.

‘And no little present for me today?’

The money. He had forgotten to leave the money on the bedside table. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled and drew a few hundred escudos from his wallet. He smiled warmly. ‘When I am with you,’ he lied, ‘I never think of money.’

Outside, he stopped for a moment and drew in great lung-fulls of fresh air, detecting perhaps a faint trace of the sea drifting across from the River Tagus. Lisbon in summer was not as stifling as an inland city, but the air was still oppressive. He was sweating; he could feel damp patches spreading beneath the armpits of his jacket. He felt tired, disillusioned and drained. He was weary of his mistress and of his need, his compelling need, to visit her each week. He reached into his pocket for cigarettes and lit up, drawing the tobacco smoke deep into his lungs.

Henry Porter knew he should go back to the embassy, but could not face the remainder of the afternoon shuffling more files and reviewing so-called intelligence from a bunch of useless informers. Instead he turned in the other direction, heading for the Sé de Lisboa. He thought he might sit for a while on one of the cool stone seats in the north transept of the mediaeval cathedral. He needed a little time to let the smell of his lovemaking evaporate.

Porter had only gone a few steps before he saw him, the unmistakable shape of Housemann. His sudden change of direction had caught the German by surprise. Porter suspected he was being followed, expected it rather, for the Germans struggled to tail him and his colleagues everywhere they went. They tried to be inconspicuous by working three or four agents together, but inevitably failed. It was something of a joke amongst the embassy staff how obvious the Germans were. Housemann attempted to slip into a doorway out of sight, but the doorway was shallow and evasion impossible. In a few steps Porter was on him. Tipping his hat in a mock greeting he uttered a gruff ‘Guten tag mein Herr.’ Porter chuckled, and then moved swiftly on leaving the embarrassed German fuming that his cover had been blown.

Life for a British civil servant employed in Lisbon during the war was slow and predictable, even though he worked for the security service. The city was drab; it was as if Lisbon had lost all of its lustre and become just a port and a dusty, dry seat of government. There were still fancy hotels and restaurants open, there was also an exciting, though limited, night life. There were even stimulating flesh pots to be visited when life became a little too jaded, but these were the province of the few rich and idle that remained in the country. For the rest, and this included the servants of His Britannic Majesty King George, life was often slow and entirely predictable.

The dictatorship of Dr Salazar had produced a nation, in this the second year of the war, that was strictly neutral. It remained neutral even though it had an historical alliance with England that dated back to the fourteenth century. Salazar was a president that ruled his country at a time of great peril. If he sided with the British, then Hitler, no doubt accompanied by General Franco’s fascist Spain, would invade and take over the whole of the Iberian Peninsula. If he sided with the Germans he would inevitably loose all of Portugal’s overseas possessions. The British with their Royal Navy would see to that. A neutral dictatorship, surrounded by other countries under the yoke of their own dictatorships, led for a bleak existence. And this bleak existence was beginning to take its toll on Henry Porter. Much of his leisure time was now spent drinking in bars with his cronies. But not all of his time. There was still the matter of his colleague Wiltshire to consider

***

Colonel Hubert Hulse stood looking down on the activity in the noisy street three floors below. He leaned to the side of the window frame half-concealing himself from any viewer opposite, not that there was any likelihood of someone observing him, but he was ever-cautious by nature. From his viewpoint he could see the people of Lisbon going about their peaceful daily business during a time when the rest of Europe was at war. He had always been fascinated watching people who were unaware of his presence. It was, perhaps, the voyeur in him.

Although he liked being addressed as ‘colonel’, Hulse’s rank was honorary within the Service. He had been a lieutenant colonel in the First War and brought his rank into the intelligence community even though he was in effect now just a civil servant. His still exhibited his military bearing in all contact with his people and was a stickler for efficiency and procedure. In many ways he demonstrated a well-mannered obedience to a long-gone age, but the secret service of his undisturbed and comfortable past now no longer existed. It had been swallowed up by war.

A faint knock on the door signalled the arrival of his visitor from London.

‘Come,’ bellowed Hulse.

‘Morning Colonel Hulse,’ said Stephens walking briskly towards the colonel with his hand held out as a greeting.

‘Stephens, good to see you. Good flight?’

‘Not quite uneventful, but at least I arrived safely. We were chased by one of Jerry’s long range fighters over Biscay. Fortunately our pilot got the better of him. They never engage for long, lack of fuel I think. They can’t venture out too far over the Atlantic.’

Hulse remained by the window and turned away from his visitor to resume his observation of the street. Stephens joined the colonel at the window and looked down.

‘You know Stephens, people wander around without the scantiest regard for the fact that someone somewhere might be watching them, even when they are up to no good. Take that woman down there on the seat by the bus stop. The one with the red and green dress. See her? Just watch, it’s almost two o’clock. Something will happen in a few moments.’

Stephens stood still just waiting for that something to happen. ‘There, look,’ said the colonel, becoming animated. ‘See the chap in the grey suit getting out of that Pontiac? Watch him. He will cross the road and go into that small hotel opposite. There you are, just like I said. Now, watch the woman. She will wait until she thinks he has signed in and paid for a room, then go across and join him.’ They wait. ‘There you go,’ said Hulse pointing down at the road. ‘She’s off for her afternoon round of illicit love. They do this twice a week. One day I might follow them just to see who they are, purely as a matter of interest you know. I suppose in our business you never stop watching people. Comes with the job.’

‘Yes, I can see your fascination colonel,’ remarked Stephens, thinking to himself that perhaps the colonel was loosing it somewhat. But then again, he has always been a little odd even when he was a field agent years before. Odd but an excellent.

‘I miss being out there Stephens. Life is not the same being stuck in the office. Promotion is one thing, but you do lose something on the struggle up the ladder.’

The colonel said nothing for a while, musing to himself. Stephens refrained from breaking into his thoughts and waited for the conversation to resume.

‘Messy business this,’ said Hulse when he came to his senses. ‘Always a messy business when something is not quite right. We think we know who the bad egg is, his name is Wiltshire and he is one of our best recruiters. He seems to have a knack of finding people who are willing to help our cause. We think he is a traitor, but we need you to finally flush him out and prove it. That’s why the Shop sent you out here. Apparently you are one of our best at this sort of thing.’

‘I’ll do what I can. Who is looking into it at the moment?’

‘That’s the problem, no one is. Henry Porter first brought the matter to me, but even he can’t really believe someone in the Service is batting for the other side. It certainly looks bad. He has his suspicions. You will have to prove it. I’ll arrange for you to see Porter tomorrow. In the meantime, does anyone out here know who you are?

‘Difficult to say. I have been with the Service for a long time, mainly stuck way out in Bicester, deliberately kept apart to preserve anonymity. My background work normally makes me transparent and I don’t venture into the Shop often, but the war has changed so much. It’s different back home investigating this sort of thing and still remaining incognito, especially now that we are at full stretch. Having to come out here does rather bring me into the open.’

‘Yes, well, the lower your profile the better. I want you to keep away from the embassy and avoid any contact with our people other than Porter. We have reserved a room for you at the Palacio Estoril. The place is full of well-heeled refuges and any amount of eavesdroppers, so be very careful, but it is great place to take stock of the gossip that’s circulating around Lisbon. Any nuggets of info about the Nazis you pick up should be passed on to me. Most of the Germans and their agents stay at the Avenida Palace, so steer clear of that place unless I tell you.’

‘Understood,’ nodded Stephens.

‘I also want you to spend most evenings at the casino in Estoril. We know Wiltshire has two vices: booze and gambling. As far as we know, neither has got the better of him yet, but both make him vulnerable to approaches from the Germans. We know he frequents the casino, so you should be able to make casual contact with him. It’s also a place of intrigue for various exiles and for every would-be agent and charlatan in Lisbon. There is always a number of Germans there also. Lots of rich women about every night too. For a man of your good looks, the evenings might prove to be fruitful,’ he grinned. ‘I want you to create an image of someone with connections to attract people to you. People are always drawn to others who look as though they are in the know. I have enclosed enough money in this packet for you to look the part. You are bound to be approached by some Germans chancing their arm, looking to either set you up for blackmail or to pick your brains. Encourage it and report directly to me on any contacts. Any Questions?’

‘Yes, who am I?’

‘Oh, right, yes your cover, its here in this envelope. You are the representative of the Manaus Shipping Company of Brazil. You are a Brazilian citizen, originally born in Canada to English parents, lived for the most part in Brazil but educated in England. Attended Brasenose College at Oxford, your old college I believe? Your parents are now retired from business and live in Salvador in Brazil. Divorced, no children. Is that enough? Your Brazilian passport is OK? The Shop usually does very well in that department I believe.’

‘Yes that is all in order. One other thing. If I win at the casino, do I keep my winnings?’ Stephens looked at the colonel with a questioning grin.

‘Don’t push your luck Stephens. It all has to be accounted for.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ replied Stephens, ‘I deplore gambling. I will have no problem to account for every penny. As for loose women, they do not interest me in the slightest,’ he added with some disdain.

‘Yes well, I will leave it to you then,’ said Hulse as a parting shot. He swept his arm in the direction of the door to indicate their meeting was over. What a prig, thought the colonel as his visitor left the office.

***

As a neutral country Portugal was obliged to have both German and British embassies in its capital city. The officials of both belligerent countries existed side by side and their activities were, in theory, carefully watched over by the Portuguese State. A relatively peaceful balance was kept without either side wanting to offend the host country. The animosity that existed between the warring nations was reflected in the attitude of the staffs of their embassies. They hated each other, but could do little to harm each other. The cat and mouse game they played relied on bravado and subterfuge to try to outwit the other side. In the British camp the agents of the Special Intelligence Service, or MI6, tried to gather as much information on German activities as possible, whilst the German Military Intelligence Service, the Abwehr, did the same for the Germans. Each more or less knew the identities of those working for the other side and monitored their activities as closely as they could. Both Porter and Wiltshire knew that their greatest adversary in the Abwehr was its head man in Lisbon, Norbert Stenzel.

Occasionally, very rarely, one side or other would be forced to implement direct action. This might take the form of a severe beating, or worse, to an informant who was playing for both sides. The task was usually given to an expert in such matters, someone who could hand out the beating in complete secrecy without the hapless victim knowing who had actually carried out the assault. On rare occasions someone would be made to suddenly disappear and the Portuguese police would be forced to investigate. The Portuguese Secret Service, the PVDE, might become involved and then pressure was applied from the Ministry of the Interior for everyone to behave. It had been known for an agent to disappear, but both sides usually shied away from such drastic action fearing tit for tat reprisals.

This was the world that Henry Porter found himself in and it was increasingly driving him to drink. The life he led might have sounded exciting to an outsider, but the reality was anything but. He likened it to person holding down a nine-to-five job in the city back in London. It was just as predictable. Monotony was becoming the order of the day; work, drink, sleep and the weekly visit to his mistress had expanded to fill the days and weeks of his life in Lisbon. And it wasn’t as though the work was rewarding, it wasn’t, nor was his sex life, nor was the drinking. To him life took everything and gave back little. Henry Porter was living out his life like someone sleep-walking towards their own suicide. Sometimes, whilst drinking alone, Henry Porter would gaze into the bottom of his empty glass and consider the various methods he might employ to carry out the act of self immolation which he now regarded as his inevitable fate.

Porter needed something, but he was unsure what. He longed to get back to England to do something positive in the war, although he knew such a move was hopeless. He was stuck in Lisbon as a punishment, all but forgotten by those back in the Service. Perhaps a new mistress might help, and then again perhaps not. His drinking and his confined surroundings at the embassy cut that out. He needed a jolt, a spark, to give him life again. He half- thought of assassinating Herr Stenzel just for the joy of creating pandemonium. What a thought!

***

Dusty streets, sun bleached houses and alleyways that led into dark courtyards; mangy dogs and wizened old men sitting in the shade smoking black cigarettes; lithe girls conscious of their blossoming bodies being scolded by dark-haired matrons; young men tinkering with noisy motorbikes; the sound of a church bell and the clarion call of a street peddler and then the heat, the sticky sweating heat of midday. All were absorbed by the senses of the Englishman slouching his way up the near vertical medieval streets of the suburb of Mouraria towards the top of Sao Jorje hill.

He reached the small Taberna de Adelina that nestled beneath the old castle just as his last gasp of strength