Inspector Babbage sipped his Oolong thoughtfully and looked out of the first floor window of Parkside police station at the young people thronging Parker's Piece.
It was the first Friday of Michaelmas Term and the fine weather had enticed Town and Gown onto the city's open spaces.
Groups of students from the city's two Universities and numerous language schools were joined by office workers eating their lunchtime sandwiches on the grass.
Earlier on that October Friday the Chief Constable had summoned Babbage and Wallace to his top floor office for an urgent meeting.
Also present was his personal assistant, the oily constable Dawkins. There were long-standing rumours about the precise nature of the assistance which Dawkins provided to the Chief. Certainly the Chief rarely appeared without his minion close at hand.
"Well Babbage, I expect you have heard about the latest culture riot. We need to get to the bottom of this ASAP. As a Cambridge man I am looking to you to head up our response to these outrages".
The Chief was referring to a series of despicable episodes of looting which had erupted in Cambridge over the Summer. Bookshops and record stores had been trashed by tweed-wearing louts intent on stealing items of high-brow culture. In the latest episode Waterstone's had been stripped of every book by Murakami, right down to cassette recordings of the dreadful Hard Boiled Wonderland.
Boxed sets of Sibelius' symphonies were also targeted; whole Baroque sections were emptied.
Several valuable period instruments had been looted from Ray Stevens' shop in King Street.
Three crumhorns, a pair of lutes and a dulcimer were taken.
The perpetrators took care to hide their faces behind college scarves. The garish stripes of Trinity and the sensitive mauve of King's were the choices of preference, although a few of the looters sported the drab Caius design.
Babbage's long-time assistant Sergeant Wallace slipped in to the room clutching a single sheet of A4 paper.
"Another one Sir" she said, panting after climbing the stairs from the ground floor post room.
Babbage took the sheet and carefully read the message scrawled in crayon. It was similar to five previous messages which had all been pushed through the letterbox of the station under cover of darkness since August.
The clumsy and misspelt missive read:
Babbidge you will pay for yor crims soon
and it was signed Huntsman
The five previous messages had accused Babbage of unspecified crimes for which he could soon expect punishment.
Technically no crime had been committed by the sender of the letters apart from butchering the English language. No threat had been uttered but still they were unsettling.
Babbage had put a watching brief on the strange correspondence and awaited any further developments.
He put the latest missive with the others in a cardboard folder in his filing cabinet.
Looking at his watch he said "that's enough for today Sergeant. You can go home now". Sergeant Wallace thanked him and headed home to Comberton where her cats and elderly mother awaited.
Babbage had no pressing reason to remain in the office. He was on duty one weekend in three. This weekend it was the turn of his Scottish colleague Inspector Cowie to man the helm.
Babbage cleared away the cold case files he had been reading and popped next door to Cowie's office.
The amiable Scot was practising putting on the office carpet. He was a passionate golfer who on normal weekends would be out on the local course plying his niblick.
"Fine shot Hamish" joked Babbage as Cowie missed the target.
"Ye blethering Sassanach ...ye put me off ma stroke" replied the Hibernian, with a toss of his luxuriant black curls.
"If there is nothing needs doing I will be on my way; I need to do some shopping for the wife" Babbage said
"Be off wi' ye then before I change ma mind" Cowie answered.
Babbage retreated from the makeshift golf range and headed toward the stairs.
Just as he was about to descend he heard the phone ring in his office.
He could have pretended not to have heard it but conscience got the better of him and he returned to take the call. A decision which he would soon come to regret.
"Dad you must help me. I can't take any more. Pleeease...."
Babbage knew that this would be a long call and collapsed into his Ikea swivel chair ( it was called Skruvsta in the catalogue; one of their less inspiring furniture names ).
He rummaged in the top drawer of the desk and retrieved the bottle of single malt he kept for emergencies.
"Calm down dear... tell me what has happened" he replied between glugs of whisky.
"It's Piers... I think he has been involved in the riots..." sobbed his daughter Guinevere.
She was a post graduate student at Girton, studying for an MPhil in Physics. Since her second year at Cambridge she had been in a relationship with the enigmatic Piers Fitzgibbon. He was a thirty something graduate with no visible means of support who spent his time posing as an eminent academic-around-town and targeting vulnerable undergraduettes. He enjoyed considerable success in his endeavours; Guinevere fell for his bogus charm and refused to listen to the wise counsel of her friends and father who all saw through Piers' flim-flam.
Babbage was not displeased to hear that Piers was possibly involved in the culture riots. He could kill two birds with one stone; crack the looting ring and rescue his foolish daughter from her ill-conceived romance.
However he kept any trace of smugness from his voice as he probed Guinevere for details of Piers' misdoings.
"Well he keeps bringing home piles of books and CDs. They are always in his Real Tennis club bag, never in proper shop bags. And there are always several of each item. We must have at least twenty copies of Julian Barnes' latest novel, and a dozen discs of Lully's Atys. Something is not right. I challenged him last night but he just laughed and said he had to spend last Christmas' book tokens before they expired... I know he would never get mixed up in anything bad but I really want to know what is going on Dad"
Guinevere had lived on a houseboat moored at Midsummer Common since graduating the previous year. Piers had promptly installed himself and his impedimenta aboard the Beagle III.
Babbage was sure that any booty from the culture looting would be stashed on the boat. However he was loth to launch an official raid; that would devastate Guinevere and prompt Piers' henchmen to dispose of their own stuff.
Fortunately Babbage was able to obtain access to the boat unofficially. He had financed the purchase and was the registered owner. Guinevere was responsible for the peppercorn mooring fees. Babbage had installed a security system when his daughter moved in. The unlit towpath was a magnet for various ne'er-do-wells and drunks from the Fort St George used it as an al fresco toilet.
Guinevere had adopted an Alsatian dog from the police on the advice of her father. Helmut was a bit long in the tooth and preferred the quiet life but had not forgotten his training. Already he had seen off several burglars and bicycle thieves. Jehovah's Witnesses always gave the Beagle a wide berth.
Babbage decided to pay a visit to the houseboat at a time when he knew the occupants ( apart from Helmut ) would be away. He sent Guinevere a pair of tickets for a performance of Manon at Covent Garden in two days' time.
As the real life lovers were settling down to watch the fictional romance of Manon and Des Grieux Babbage slipped aboard their watery lovenest accompanied by a rather nervous Wallace.
She had never recovered fully from a traumatic hovercraft trip to Calais as a child; even the calm waters of the Cam induced feelings of nausea which Wallace did her best to suppress.
The riparian scene was illuminated by a gibbous moon which imparted an air of theatricality to the proceedings.
Helmut had been asleep in the foc'sle dreaming of cats. The rocking of the boat caused by the intruders woke him and he gave a few preparatory growls as a warm up. However Helmut quickly recognised the first intruder as his friend Babbage and the growls became happy yelps.
Babbage pulled a large sausage out of his trouser pocket. He knew that Helmut was addicted to bratwurst and had brought enough to keep him satisfied for the half hour they would need on board.
As Helmut munched happily on his German delicacy Babbage disarmed the security system with the correct four digit code. The two police officers began to search the boat for Piers' stash of looted booty.
A preliminary examination by torchlight revealed a typical postgraduate dwelling. Guinevere's science books and papers were neatly stored in the bow section. Amidships were a medium size telly and audio equipment. In the stern section were several shelves of literature; mainly English and French novels; they all seemed to have been read at least once. Next to the tiny kitchen were tidy stacks of CDs; a mixture of girl bands, seventies prog rock and classical music. None of these seemed obviously stolen; Babbage recognised several items he had given as Christmas presents, including Britten's Spring Symphony.
There was no sign of the Julian Barnes books or the Lully CDs.
Suddenly Helmut began barking furiously on the foredeck. An educated male voice called out "Bitte sein still Sie dämlich Hund. Das heißt ein Verordnung."
Immediately Helmut ceased his barking and lay submissively on the planking, keeping a watchful eye on his remaining portion of sausage.
Babbage and Wallace quickly switched off their torches and awaited developments.
The visitor did not enter the cabin but clambered onto the roof of the narrowboat and walked briskly to the bows. Babbage peered cautiously out of the small window. In the bright moonlight he could make out the figure of a well built man bending over the bow rail. He seemed to be pulling hard on a rope. His leather jacket was draped over the rail next to him.
Suddenly a voice rang out "Oi what's your game pal ?". One of the neighbouring boatmen cycling back from the pub had seen the man climb onto the roof of Beagle III and decided to investigate. The German swore furiously: "Du Hurensohn Blödes Fettsack !! Fahr zur holle du verdammter Arschficker !!".
He released the rope; whatever was on the end made a loud splash as it hit the water. The German leapt ashore, hit the inquisitive neighbour on the jaw and sped off on the man's bicycle.
The police officers knew that they could not catch up with the cyclist; Babbage decided not to alert the station. The intruder did not know that he was the object of police interest, and it was better to keep it that way for the time being.
Wallace went to see if the neighbour needed medical assistance but he refused her offers of help and staggered back to his own boat bemoaning the loss of his bike. She explained that one of her colleagues would visit the next day to take a statement regarding the assault, and left her card.
Babbage gingerly made his way forward to the bows. The man had left his leather jacket behind. It was clearly an expensive item of continental origin. A quick search of the pockets revealed nothing more sinister than three crayons and an old metal cigarette lighter with the name Jäger engraved on the side.
Wallace joined her colleague at the bows limping painfully. She had tripped over a watering can on the bank and laddered her tights. After a brief discussion the pair decided to see what the intruder had been trying to pull from the water.
Even with their combined efforts it was a struggle to pull the heavy object from the river's clammy embrace. Eventually it emerged from the depths and inch by inch they hauled it up to the rail. Babbage secured the nylon rope with a double sheep hitch to prevent the object falling back into the river.
After several minutes of struggling the officers succeeded in manhandling the heavy object over the rails and onto the foredeck where it sat in a widening puddle of riverwater.
At first it was difficult to see exactly what they had retrieved from the depths of the Cam. But it quickly became clear that it was a case for a large musical instrument. Babbage recognised it immediately as his daughter's cello case, which he had purchased for her fifteenth birthday.
It had been enclosed in thick plastic sheeting secured with duct tape to keep the contents dry.
Babbabe pulled one of the seams open and peeled the plastic away from the rigid black case.
He flipped open the three catches on the lid of the case and gently levered it up.
Inside were three separate bundles wrapped in binliners.
Taking care to preserve any forensic evidence Babbage slit open the first package with his trusty penknife. At least a dozen copies of Mr Barnes prize-winning novel "The Sense of An Ending"...
The second bundle yielded eight copies of the Lully CD "Atys" as well as a selection of Purcell and William Byrd recordings by the Early English Quartet. Cultural gold !!
The third and final package was far heavier and bulkier than the others. Babbage carefully inserted the blade of his penknife through the black binliner. It struck something solid inside.
Babbage pulled his knife back and held it up to the bright moonlight. Wallace gasped as they both recognised the unmistakeable glint of real gold at the tip of the blade.
Babbage decided to call in his remarkable find to the station. His daughter and her mysterious stud-muffin had some serious questions to answer...
The next day Babbage and Wallace pulled into the car park at the forensic science laboratory near Huntingdon. They made their way to the main entrance and were met by Professor William Stonewall the director. He was a tall elderly man with a neat grey beard and twinkling blue eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses.
He took them to his office overlooking the beechwoods of the neighbouring country park. His assistant brought in a tray with coffee and a selection of Danish pastries. Wallace dived in and scored a tasty apricot DP. Babbage declined although he was sorely tempted by a saucy cherry number.
The coffee was delicious; so different from the strange fluid provided at the police station canteen.
The Professor steepled his fingers and leaned back in his stylish swivel chair ( Ikea's Patrik, Babbage noted ) and began talking. His English was impeccable; his Danish origins betrayed only by a slight accent and tendency to clip his vowels.
"We have carried out a preliminary analysis on the metal bars you discovered on the barge, Inspector. As you suspected they are gold bullion. The markings appear genuine. I have contacted my opposite number in Berlin and he confirms that these are the stamps you would expect on Nazi gold bars. There are eighteen each weighing a kilogram. With the current price of gold at £35000 a kilo these are worth over £600000. However it would be impossible to sell them with these markings in the UK. Nazi gold is deemed to have been stolen from the victims of that vile regime."
Babbage was puzzled and asked the Professor for his interpretation of the find . "Well Inspector, you must understand that this is purely speculation on my part. I am not a trained detective or Nazi expert. However it is possible that these gold bars are the property of Nazi sympathisers; their value to fanatics would far exceed the commercial value of the metal."
"But surely all of the remaining Nazis would be well into their dotage by now" interjected Babbage.
"That is true Inspector, but there is a new generation of fanatical Neo-Nazis who take their inspiration from the original National Socialists. They believe that Germany was betrayed after the war and believe that the time is at hand for the instigation of a fourth Reich."
"But why on earth would this material surface in Cambridge ? Surely Berlin or Munich would be a more likely backdrop for this kind of activity ?" replied Babbage.
"That is the hundred thousand Reichsmark question Inspector !! I am as baffled as you are" admitted the elderly forensic expert.
Babbage asked the Professor if the lighter had yielded any clues.
"It is a Colibri Stormgard lighter, designed for British soldiers in the last war. It is in perfect working order and we managed to recover some excellent fingerprints. The engraving appears to have been carried out recently. Jäger is a fairly common name in Germany; it literally means hunter or huntsman".
Babbage and Wallace exchanged glances. Surely it was no coincidence that the author of the strange series of letters addressed to Babbage used the name Huntsman. The plot had certainly thickened.
The following evening Babbage was sitting with his wife Sandra in their favourite restaurant. The Ali Baba was a traditional Turkish kebab house in Mill Road, just a truncheon's throw from Parkside police station. It was very popular with the constabulary; the odious Dawkins himself was sitting at a table for two near the door apparently waiting for someone.
As they tucked into their spicy Meze dishes Babbage outlined the bizarre case to his wife.
Sandra was naturally upset that Guinevere was involved in a police matter. Babbage assured her that their daughter was not a suspect but merely an unfortunate bystander as far as the police were concerned. Guinevere and Piers had been asked to attend the station the next day for an informal chat about matters arising from the assault on their neighbour. They had both agreed.
"We now have grounds to arrest Piers on the matter of handling stolen goods; this may well lead to charges of riot, burglary and conspiracy. Hopefully that will make Guinevere think twice about continuing her association with him."
Babbage did not mention the mysterious German or the Nazi connection. The recent events on board Beagle III seemed strangely dreamlike, as if they were part of some avant garde student drama.
The waiter brought a bottle of sweet Turkish rosé wine. The label showed a sultry temptress gazing over the Bosphorus from a palace window.It went perfectly with the Meze and the kebabs which Babbage had ordered for their main course, but once it had left the restaurant the wine was virtually undrinkable... a paradox which many students had tried unsuccessfully to solve.
The next morning, which was a Tuesday, Babbage entered interview room 4 on the ground floor of the station. Wallace was already installed there with the two young houseboat occupants and a duty solicitor.
The room was furnished simply if not tastefully. The plastic chairs were definitely not Ikea.
Babbage introduced himself and explained that the two interviewees were not under arrest and could leave at any time. He did not caution them but thanked them for their willingness to help unravel the unpleasant assault on their riverside neighbour, a Mr Hitchens.
Piers was his usual smarmy self. "We are obviously distraught about Mr Hitchens' attack; it was so brave of him to tackle this intruder. I am not sure how we can help though. As you are aware we were in London at the time of these events, watching a splendid performance of Manon at Covent Garden".
Babbage did not reveal all his cards immediately: "We are aware that you were in London at the time of the assault of Mr Hitchens and the theft of his bicycle. I am glad that you enjoyed the performance ( for which I paid an arm and a leg, Babbage thought ) and am sorry that your special evening had such an unpleasant ending".
"I expect that you checked over your belongings to make sure nothing had been stolen, Mr Fitzgibbon"
"Yes Inspector, Guinevere and I have many objects of value to us although nothing of great value to a thief. Guin's research notes are all on board; they are literally irreplaceable".
Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat Babbage reached into his coat pocket and pulled out one of the gold bars and slammed it onto the scarred wooden table in front of Piers.
"Worin God's angebracht ist dieses? Sie besudeln Jüdisch Schweinehund. Sie werden reuen ihrer Mißachtung !!" The suave English gentleman mask had slipped disastrously. Before the solicitor could intervene to silence him Piers pulled a Luger 9mm pistol from his jacket and aimed it straight at Babbage.
"Well Inspector, you have been a clever little Jew. Yes I am German; my real name is Parsifal Von Feistgaben... it sounds not unlike Piers Fitzgibbon nicht war ?"
"Ermm, I think that Percival would have worked better..." interjected Wallace.
"Shut it slag !!" replied the German impostor.
"Let's all calm down" Babbage suggested soothingly; "I'm sure we can sort this out sensibly".
Piers/Parsifal edged towards the door of the interview room and glanced out into the corridor through the window.
"Give me the keys now" he ordered.
Babbage fished the bunch from his pocket and handed it over to the imperious Hun.
"Geliebte mitkommen mich nun jetzt. Wir könnten anfertigen ein neu Leben am Vaterland" the German addressed Babbage's daughter.
She replied in fluent German "Das heißt unmöglich mein goldig Parsifal. Sie muß übergeben. Ich wille warten auf Sie."
"Very well Guin... we will meet again "
Guinevere's partner snatched the heavy gold bar from the desk and departed, locking the door behind him.
As soon as the key turned Wallace slammed her hand against the emergency alarm to alert all the officers in the building.
Babbage motioned for the others to remain seated and tiptoed to the door. He could see the fleeing German hurrying down the long corridor towards the stairs.
He whipped out his mobile and called his Scottish colleague who was working upstairs in his office.
Cowie answered on the third ring. "Hamish we have been locked into interview room 4 by Piers Fitzgibbon... if you look out of the window you might see him".
Cowie grabbed his 5 iron and a couple of balls and headed for the exit.
He reached the main door and paused for a few seconds. Piers/Parsifal was twenty yards ahead, brandishing the ugly Luger parabellum pistol in his right hand and the gold bar in his left. He was heading across the road towards Parker's Piece. There were quite a few people strolling along the paths enjoying the early October sunshine. The evil German was not paying much attention to the weather though. He picked up speed and sprinted towards Hobbs' Pavilion where Guinevere's Smart Car was parked. Cowie had no option but to try and stop him with all the means at his disposal. He quickly set up a tee and placed the first ball on it. Taking careful aim he whacked the ball hard at the fleeing German. It whistled past his ear and bounced harmlessly into the perimeter road. By now Cowie's target was over a hundred metres away... the second ball flew slightly too high and hit an unfortunate seagull.
Only one ball left... Cowie put all his remaining energy into the swing. The ball flew straight and true over a hundred and fifty metres and hammered into the back of the German's neck. He dropped like a stone. The astonished onlookers burst into applause as Cowie arrived panting at the scene.
A few moments later Babbage and Wallace joined him. They had left Guinevere handcuffed to the radiator in room 4 for safety.
"Well Hamish, it looks like all your practising paid off after all !!" joked Babbage as he cuffed the stricken Nazi.
"Aye, not bad for an old feller" retorted Cowie. "The first two balls were just warning shots, ye ken..."
Two hours later Babbage watched as Von Feistgaben listlessly prodded a police sausage around the plate in his cell. "I must apologise about the cuisine Mr Von Feistgaben. Our sausages are not quite the same as your German delicacies."
The German remained tight-lipped.
Babbage held up a memory stick."You dropped this during your escape attempt earlier. We have had a quick look but the contents seem to be encrypted. Would you mind giving us the password ?"
Babbage ducked as the sausage flew across the cell and disintegrated against the wall.
"I'll take that as a no then. Sweet ?"
At the forensic lab the next day Babbage and Wallace watched as Professor Stonewall's technicians tried to crack the encryption on the memory stick.
"This method of encryption requires a 64 character code, not like your normal PIN; birthdays and pet's names are not long enough. We often find that people choose poems or literature as the key. We have tried the commonest 1000 English keys on our database. Perhaps you could suggest something else Inspector".
Babbage thought for a few seconds and then a flash of inspiration came to him:
"Perhaps a Nazi song; that would be easy to remember for someone like the suspect.
What was the name of their infamous marching song ?" he asked.
"Yes, you are right Inspector. The Horst Wessel Lied... every Nazi would know that by heart..."
A few moments later the words of the notorious song were displayed on a laptop.
"Die Fahne hoch! Die Reihen fest geschlossen!
SA marschiert mit ruhig, festem Schritt.
Kam'raden, die Rotfront und Reaktion erschossen,
Marschier'n im Geist in unser'n Reihen mit.
Die Straße frei den braunen Batallionen.
Die Straße frei dem Sturmabteilungsmann!
Es schau'n aufs Hakenkreuz voll Hoffnung schon Millionen.
Der Tag für Freiheit und für Brot bricht an!
Zum letzten Mal wird Sturmalarm geblasen!
Zum Kampfe steh'n wir alle schon bereit!
Bald flattern Hitlerfahnen über alle Straßen.
Die Knechtschaft dauert nur noch kurze Zeit!
Die Fahne hoch! Die Reihen fest geschlossen!
SA marschiert mit ruhig-festem Schritt.
Kameraden, die Rotfront und Reaktion erschossen,
Marschieren im Geist in unseren Reihen mit."
As they were leaning over the screen reading the chilling words a sneering voice rang out behind them; it sang the next verse of the Lied, one which had been added after the death of Horst Wessel:
"Sei mir gegrüßt, Du starbst den Tod der Ehre!
Horst Wessel fiel, doch tausend neu erstehen
Es braust das Fahnenlied voran dem braunen Heere
SA bereit, den Weg ihm nachzugehen
Die Fahnen senkt vor Toten, die noch leben
Es schwört SA, die Hand zur Faust geballt
Einst kommt der Tag, da gibts Vergeltung, kein Vergeben
wenn Heil und Sieg durchs Vaterland erschallt"
As one they turned to see a black clad figure wearing a peaked cap. Babbage recognised the sinister singer as their colleague Dawkins. Instead of his usual slightly dishevelled police outfit he was dressed in the dapper uniform of the SS-Panzer Division Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler.
At Dawkins neck was displayed the Knight's Iron Cross with Oakleaves, although only the Professor and one other person recognised the insignia.
As well as sporting the Nazi costume Dawkins was brandishing a very real-looking Schmeisser sub machine gun.
"Everyone stand quite still please. Give me the memory stick. Thank you.
I expect you are wondering why I am here and wearing my Army Uniform. I am working on behalf of the Fatherland with my brave comrades to reunite our two countries. England and Germany are natural allies. We share the same bloodlines; your Monarchy is of Teutonic descent. The collapse of the Jews' European finance union will herald a new dawn in our relations. The pound sterling and the Deutschmark will unite to forge an unbeatable industrial and political partnership. Any questions before I shoot you ?"
Babbage piped up "Ermmm Herr Dawkins, who was the man on the boat ? Was he one of your comrades ?"
"Yes Inspector, Hauptmann Ernst Müller. One of my finest men. You may know him better as Ernie Miller, the captain of the Cambridge University Blue boat."
Babbage was amazed. He had often seen the brawny rower in town and had never suspected that he was actually a Nazi agent.
"But why did his lighter have the name Jäger engraved on it ?" asked Babbage.
"So many questions Inspector !! His nickname at school in Nuremburg was Jäger...if no-one else has any questions I will shoot you all"
Wallace put up her hand
"Yes Sergeant ?"
"Ermm the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves was only awarded for extreme acts of valour on the battlefield; you are not entitled to wear it Herr Dawkins"
The Nazi reddened and a torrent of abuse poured out; the gist was that Wallace was a Jewish sow who was not fit to lick his boots...and his name was not Richard Dawkins but Reichhardt Dorfmann.
He clubbed the impertinent policewoman with the butt of his Schmeisser and she slumped unconscious over the desk.
The cowardly act of violence broke the spell in the room. Babbage sprang from his chair and shoulder charged Dorfmann. The sub machine gun fired harmlessly into the ceiling as the two men grappled on the floor. Professor Stonewall waded in with a metal fire extinguisher and dealt a mighty blow to the back of Dorfmann's bonce, sending the evil Nazi on the express to Valhalla.
After summoning medical assistance for his stricken Sergeant, who had fortunately only been stunned, Babbage addressed the technicians:
"I think you should try the missing verse of the Horst Wessel Lied... I am pretty sure that Von Feistgaben used that for his encryption key."
Two weeks later Babbage visited Wallace at her Comberton home, where her elderly mother and the cats were helping her recuperate from the vicious pistol-whipping.
"It is nice to see you again Sir" she said. "And thank you for the delicious chocs !!"
"Don't eat them all at once Sergeant" twinkled her boss.
"Please, call me Cynthia... I am not on duty now".
"Of course... Cynthia"
"Did you manage to decrypt the memory stick Sir ?"
"Yes after an hour or so working on the Nazi song they finally cracked it. The files contained the names and true identities of Dorfmann's Cambridge network of infiltrators. Mainly graduates with an axe to grind, although quite a few were of German origin, like the oarsman Ernie Miller and of course Von Feistgaben.
"However there was an extra layer of encryption disguising the identity of the leader of the group and his female companion. Dorfmann referred to them as " Unsere lieben geistigen Eltern; das Licht auf unseren Pfad "
"The raids on high-end bookshops and music shops were organised by Dorfmann on instructions from the leader whilst working at the police station.
"Many of the looters were members of the University Boat Club recruited by the charismatic Ernie Miller. A lot of the less valuable items were hidden at the boathouse, not far from the Beagle III's moorings.
"The leader believed that the Teutonic mind was naturally superior to others and needed the rich nourishment of literature and classical music."
"Well why could he and his pals not simply listen to Radio 3 and join a reading group ?" asked Wallace.
"I'm afraid that the only person who can answer that is no longer with us... Cynthia".
It was beginning to get dark outside; soon the clocks would change. Babbage prepared to take his leave of his subordinate.
"Just one thing though before I depart" said Babbage... "How on earth did you know about the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves ?"
A familiar voice spoke quietly behind Babbage:" You could not keep your Jewish nose out of our business could you ?"
Babbage wheeled round to see Professor Stonewall pointing a modern Steyr sub machine gun at him.
He had swapped his tweedy academic outfit for the sable uniform of the Danish SS, complete with blood red armband.
Babbage noted that he wore the SS Sports Proficiency Badge; very rare these days.
"Well Professor ermm Oberstløjtnant did you run out of antique weapons ?"
"I did have a Luger but I gave it.... to my daughter"
Babbage gasped and turned round to the invalid. She was no longer in bed. Cynthia was pointing a Luger at Babbage's midriff. She addressed her astonished manager:
"I am truly sorry about this Inspector. If your detective instincts were less sharp our group would not have been discovered. Now it is too late. I respect you as a decent superior; you have always treated myself and the other officers under your command in a thoroughly professional manner. The needs of the Fatherland must take priority, however. I am willing to spare your life if you will join us. We need upright professionals to implement our plans for the future of our great nations. Will you accept this offer ?"
Babbage played for time ..."I had no idea that you were involved in this business Sergeant. Are you really Cynthia Wallace ? Or is that a pseudonym too ?"
"We do not have time to discuss the minutiae of our arrangements. But since you ask my real name is Swanhilda Wallstein; the Professor is my father Wilhelm."
Babbage looked over his shoulder to where Cynthia/Swanhilda's Dad was standing guard.
The elderly forensic expert clicked his heels and bowed slightly, without lowering the deadly firearm.
"Your last chance Inspector. Will you join us in our glorious enterprise, or are we forced to kill you ?" he said in his pleasant voice.
Babbage slipped his hand discreetly into his trouser pocket and activated the silent alarm he had brought with him.
"This is a huge decision Cynth... ermm Swanhilda. I have honestly never been a fan of the Nazis. I quite understand that things in the Eurozone are rapidly deteriorating, but am not convinced that our salvation lies in the hands of a fourth Reich linking England and Germany...could you just run the reasons by me again ? And maybe put the Luger down... it is making me nervous".
"You are obviously playing for time Inspector. Nobody is coming to your rescue this time. I will give you five seconds to accept our generous offer or it will be Goodnight Vienna ...Five ...Four ...Three ...Two..."
Before the crazed Nazi turncoat could utter the final digit of the countdown the doors and windows of the bungalow blew in with a deafening roar. A storm of glass and debris tore apart the neatly furnished room where Babbage was held captive.
Stun grenades were hurled by sinister blackclad figures and ugly black weapons delivered death to the Nazis.
Babbage was hurled to the ground by one of the attackers then dragged into the garden through the shattered French windows.
Cynthia's mother was brought screaming out from the kitchen wearing a brown Sturmabteilung uniform and clutching a crumhorn.
Her late husband and daughter lay riddled with bullets in the downstairs bedroom where they had met their violent end. Ironically the bullets were of German manufacture. The SAS preferred the powerful Heckler and Koch MP5 weapons on these missions.
They were manufactured in the picturesque town of Oberndorf am Neckar in Baden-Württemberg, not far from Hitler's command bunker at Tannenberg.
Two weeks later Babbage was sitting in Cowie's office once more. The golf equipment had been tidied away. They were both sipping an excellent Bruichladdich single malt which Cowie kept for special occasions. "This is an excellent dram Hamish. Like Laphroaig without that peculiar iodine aftertaste"
"Och aye Geoff. 'Tis a pleasant wee drappie" the Caledonian policeman replied.
"Now mebbe ye can fill in a few wee details for me. I cannae understand how ye knew that the Wallace lassie was up to no good ..."
"Certainly Hamish, I will do my best. Cynthia had been an outstanding officer and I was always able to rely on her. Very efficient if a little, well, dull"
"One day in early Summer, not long after the Boat Race in fact, I left her in the office while I went off to HQ in Huntingdon. As I reached my car I realised that I had left my gloves on my desk. I nipped back in. But when I reached the office the door was slightly ajar and I could hear Cynthia speaking German on her mobile. When I entered a few seconds later she was clearly flustered and abruptly terminated the call. I did not let on that I had overheard the call.
"Obviously it is not against the law to speak German but it did seem odd at the time. Perhaps she had a secret German boyfriend ? In hindsight it is clear that she was talking to her father.
"During our first visit to the forensic lab, after the houseboat incident, I noticed that Cynthia seemed very familiar with the Professor...her body language was very different from usual.
"The final clue was the business with the Iron Cross. Only someone steeped in Nazi lore would have spotted the Oak Leaf Cluster. I contacted SOCA and they installed bugs in the Comberton bungalow. We were on the verge of arresting the whole ring when the balloon went up. Luckily the SAS did not fool around. Two seconds later and I would not be here to enjoy your excellent malt Hamish."
"Can ye say why the Professor killed Dawkins ... they were supposed to be comrades ?"
"It was clear that Dawkins was going off the rails and imperilled the whole plot... he had become eine Haftung... ermm a liability"
Cowie looked strangely at Babbage for a moment.
"And what about those quare messages which ye showed me Geoff ?"
"Well I am pretty sure that Cynthia sent them herself... we may never know why"
"Well I am pretty sure that Cynthia sent them herself... we may never know why"
"Och aye that makes sense... she could be a thrawn wee quine "
"Absolutely. I will be going to her funeral on Tuesday. Will you be there Hamish ?"
"Haud yer whisht laddie, ah'm away to Glesga on Tuesday; it is the wife's birthday"
"I'm sorry you can't make it. All the best to Mrs C !! Lang may yer lum reek Hamish"
"Naeborra Geoff...awa 'n' raffle yer granny !!"
THE END
