Next he contacted the BBC and asked for the senior man on duty. On the main nine o'clock evening news the BBC led with the story of a shoot-out in Earl's Court that had left two police officers dead and three others wounded. The story contained a description of Catherine Blake and Rudolf and concluded with a telephone number citizens could call with information. Within five minutes the telephones started ringing. The typists transcribed each well-meaning call and passed them on to Vicary. Most he tossed straight into the wastepaper basket. A few he followed up. None produced a single lead.
Then he turned his attention to the escape routes only a spy would use. He contacted the RAF and asked them to be on the lookout for light aircraft. He contacted the Admiralty and asked them to keep a careful watch for U-boats approaching the coastline. He contacted the coastguard service and asked them to keep a watch out for small craft heading out to sea. He telephoned the Y Service radio monitors and asked them to listen for suspect wireless transmissions.
Vicary stood up from his desk and stepped outside his office for the first time in two hours. The command post in West Halkin Street had been deserted, and his team had slowly streamed back to St. James's Street. They sat in the common area outside his office like dazed survivors of a natural disaster--wet, exhausted, defeated. Clive Roach sat alone, head down, hands folded. Every few moments one of the watchers would lay a hand on his shoulder, murmur encouragement into his ear, and move quietly on. Peter Jordan was pacing. Tony Blair had fixed a homicidal glare on him. The only sound was the rattle of the teleprinters and the chatter of the girls on the telephone.
The silence was broken for a few minutes at nine o'clock, when Harry Dalton walked into the room, his face and arm bandaged. Everyone stood and crowded around him--Well done, Harry, old boy . . . deserve a medal . . . you kept us in the game, Harry . . . be all over if not for you. . . .
Vicary pulled him into his office. "Shouldn't you be lying down resting?"
"Yeah, but I wanted to be here instead."
"How's the pain?"
"Not too bad. They gave me something for it."
"You still have any doubts about how you would react under fire on the battlefield?"
Harry managed a half smile, looked down, and shook his head. "Any breaks yet?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
Vicary shook his head.
"What have you done?"
Vicary brought him up to date.
"Bold move, Rudolf coming back for her like that, snatching her from under our nose. He's got guts, I'll say that for him. How's Boothby taking it?"
"About as well as can be expected. He's upstairs with the director-general now. Probably planning my execution. We have an open line to the Underground War Rooms and the prime minister. The Old Man's getting minute-by-minute updates. I wish I had something to tell him."
"You've covered every possible option. Now you just have to sit and wait for something to break. They have to make a move somewhere. And when they do, we'll be onto them."
"I wish I could share your optimism."
Harry grimaced with pain and appeared suddenly very tired. "I'm going to go and lie down for a while." He walked slowly toward the door.
Vicary said, "Is Grace Clarendon on duty tonight?"
"Yeah, I think so."
The telephone rang. Basil Boothby said, "Come upstairs straightaway, Alfred."
The green light shone over Boothby's door. Vicary went inside and found Sir Basil pacing and chain smoking. He had stripped off his jacket, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and he had loosened his tie. He angrily waved Vicary toward a chair and said, "Sit down, Alfred. Well, the lights are burning all over London tonight: Grosvenor Square, Eisenhower's personal headquarters at Hayes Lodge, the Underground War Rooms. And they all want to know one thing. Does Hitler know it's Normandy? Is the invasion dead even before we begin?"
"We obviously have no way of knowing yet."
"My God!" Boothby ground out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. "Two Special Branch officers dead, two more wounded. Thank God for Harry."
"He's downstairs now. I'm sure he'd like to hear that from you in person."
"We don't have time for pep talks, Alfred. We need to stop them and stop them quickly. I don't have to explain the stakes to you."
"No, you don't, Sir Basil."
"The prime minister wants updates every thirty minutes. Is there anything I can tell him?"
"Unfortunately, no. We've covered every possible route of escape. I wish I could say with certainty that we'll catch them, but I think it would be unwise to underestimate them. They have proven that time and time again."
Boothby resumed his pacing. "Two men dead, three wounded, and two spies possessing the knowledge to unravel our entire deception plan running loose. Needless to say, this is the worst disaster in the history of this department."
"Special Branch went in with the force they deemed necessary to arrest her. Obviously, they made a miscalculation."
Boothby stopped pacing and fixed a gunman's gaze on Vicary. "Don't attempt to blame Special Branch for what happened, Alfred. You were the senior man on the scene. That aspect of Kettledrum was your responsibility."
"I realize that, Sir Basil."
"Good, because when this is all over an internal review will be convened and I doubt your performance will be viewed in a favorable light."
Vicary stood up. "Is that all, Sir Basil?"
"Yes."
Vicary turned and walked toward the door.