一 1942年1月26日半夜时分,凛冽的寒风袭击着伦敦,战时的大街上没有路灯,家家户户的窗户都拉上了厚厚的窗帘,不露一丝亮光。街上冷冷清清,偶尔能看到几位用大衣领子裹住大半个脑袋匆匆赶路的行人。整个伦敦城笼罩在一片黑暗和沉寂之中。沿泰晤士河一条宽阔的马路,一辆黑色的福特牌轿车疾速飞驰,马路两边不时可以看到被德国飞机炸塌的残墙断垣。轿车穿过特拉法尔加圆形广场,在一家饭店门前停下,一位穿黑色大衣身材魁梧的中年男子走下车来,疾步跨上台阶,推开饭店大门。“您是伯纳德·马伦船长吗?”等侯在大厅的一位饭店男招待问。“是的。”马伦边说边点头。“沃克利上校在等您。”男招待轻声说。马伦在男招待的带领下乘电梯来到六楼,他们在 In the middle of the night of January 26, 1942, the cold wind struck London. There was no street light in the wartime streets. Every household’s windows were covered with thick curtains without revealing any light. The street was deserted, and occasionally saw several pedestrians hurrying over with half the coats’ collars. The entire city of London is shrouded in darkness and silence. Along a wide stretch of the Thames, a black Ford brand speeding fast, from time to time on both sides of the road can be seen by the German plane collapsed wall ruins. Through the Trafalgar Square, the car stopped in front of a restaurant. A burly middle-aged man wearing a black coat left the car and swiftly stepped up to open the hotel door. “Are you Captain Bernard Mullen?” Asked the male entertainer at a restaurant in the lobby. “Yes,” Mullen nodded. “Colonel Walkley is waiting for you,” said the waitress softly. Mullen led by the male receptionist took the elevator to the sixth floor, they are