Resistance

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘I understand that, sir. And am grateful for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ the brigadier said drily. ‘Very good.’ He pushed a piece of paper across his desk. ‘There is the address of your office, which will also be your quarters. It is not in a military establishment or in the most salubrious part of London, but your landlady and your staff know what you are about.’

  ‘I have a staff, sir?’

  ‘You have a secretary. You will need her. I may say that she is fully trained in this line of work.’

  ‘May I ask how this lady fits into the secrecy set-up?’

  ‘She is the one exception to the rule, apart from myself, of course. Obviously she will have to know what’s going on. But as I say, she is utterly trustworthy. In addition to Sergeant Cartwright, you will find the office fully equipped. However, in the first instance, you will attend MI HQ for briefing, and you will have to take some special courses. I’m sorry there can’t be more time. But you must do the best you can. Lieutenant de Gruchy will report to you in one week from today.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Did you say Sergeant Cartwright?’

  ‘Well, she holds a military rank, of course. Now, your cover. You are not in uniform because you are medically unfit for service. The medical certificate is at your office. Get yourself a civilian suit, today. You do not have a job, but are living on a small inheritance left to you by a doting grandmother. You are writing a novel.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Don’t you want to write a novel?’

  ‘I have never considered it, sir.’

  ‘Well, perhaps the idea will grow on you. Especially as you do not actually have to do it. Now listen very carefully. Your password is Sterling, which is also your cover name. Anyone who approaches you and does not use that word is to be treated as a potential enemy. Any communication from me that does not carry that word is spurious. And if you wish to contact me, you may, at this number.’ Another piece of paper slid across the desk. ‘Memorize that and then bum it. And remember that you will only be connected after use of the password. Questions?’

  ‘You are suggesting that I am to be virtually incommunicado. What about my family.’

  The brigadier glanced at the file. ‘You’re not married.’

  ‘But I have parents. And two sisters.’

  ‘In Worcester. Where you have just spent four weeks’ convalescent leave. If you were to be returned to regular duties and sent overseas you would probably not see them again for a couple of years. You may see your family, whenever you are given leave. But as far as they are concerned, you have again been seconded to the staff, and your job is to assist in drawing up plans for the eventual return of a British army to the continent. That is actually not a lie. But these plans are necessarily top secret, as I am sure your parents will understand. There is one thing more. Do not buy your new suit in Savile Row. Remember at all times that you are a struggling unemployed author. Good day to you.’

  *

  James felt in a distinct daze. Everything he had been told in such a rush needed careful assimilation, and there were so many things he was sure he had not been told, or remembered to ask. But overlying everything was a sense of exhilaration, even if he was apparently going to be shacked up with a female NCO; the word ‘sergeant’ conjured up a vision of a large, formidable forty-year-old. This was to be real intelligence work, as opposed to interrogating prisoners who knew very little, or trying to draw accurate conclusions from indistinct photographs. And he would be ‘handling’ — what an evocative word — the three most attractive women he had ever met — even if at a distance.

  He found himself humming a tune as he walked along the street, and was taken totally by surprise when someone said, ‘Holy shitting cows. You!’

  He turned, sharply, to look at the woman who had suddenly appeared beside him. Joanna Jonsson!

  Five

  First Blood

  ‘I thought it was you,’ Joanna said. ‘Couldn’t believe my eyes. So you survived Dunkirk.’

  ‘Along with more than three hundred thousand others.’ Once again his brain was in a whirl. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You know something? I’m asking myself that all the time. But seeing you...You’re in Military Intelligence, aren’t you?’

  ‘I was,’ James said cautiously.

  ‘But you know people, right? Listen, we need to talk.’

  ‘Ah. I’m afraid - ’

  ‘Okay. So you don’t like me. But you like Liane, right?’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘That depends on what you mean by all right.’

  ‘For God’s sake. What happened? Did you get back to Paris all right?’

  ‘It’s not something we can talk about on the street. Let’s have lunch.’

  James considered. He was under orders to report to MI HQ for briefing and urgent training, and then to disappear. He couldn’t do that with this enlarged edition of Veronica Lake cluttering up his life. He should turn her down, and in such a fashion that she wouldn’t come back. On the other hand, he was desperate to find out what had happened to Liane, and he could justify following this up: even if she didn’t yet know it, Liane, as Pierre’s sister, was already in what might be termed his control. If anything had happened to her he needed to know, before Pierre returned to France. And if he was going to disappear, finding out what Joanna had to say had to be done now, before anything else. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I know a little restaurant - ’

  ‘I know a better one. The hotel where I’m staying. The Dorchester.’

  James gulped. ‘I can’t possibly afford the Dorchester.’

  ‘Don’t be a drip. It’s on me.’ She waved at a taxi.

  *

  ‘You ever met Joe Kennedy?’ Joanna asked as they had an aperitif, which, needless to say, was a champagne cocktail.

  ‘I’m afraid American ambassadors seldom come into contact with junior British army officers. Or even senior ones. But you do, I take it.’

  ‘He’s a shit. Mom always said he’s a shit. A pumped-up Irish nouveau riche, she always said. He reckons you guys are going to lose this war, you know.’

  ‘Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Does Mr Kennedy have anything to do with Liane?’

  ‘Let’s order. What do you fancy?’

  ‘My French isn’t all that good. Why don’t you choose for me?’

  ‘Sure.’ She did so. ‘And do you have any Gruchy?’ she asked the wine waiter.

  ‘Of course, madam.’ He opened the list.

  Joanna ignored it. ‘The ’14.’

  ‘Ah...’ He looked dubious, and glanced at James.

  ‘So we like good wine. We’ll have two of them.’

  ‘As you wish, madam.’ He withdrew.

  ‘Do I gather this is an expensive wine?’ James asked.

  ‘The ’14 is the best. Something over a hundred pounds a bottle.’

  ‘Did you say - ’

  ‘What the hell. If we don’t drink it, someone else will. Quit worrying. I charge all my personal spending to Mom. She likes to know what I’m at. Where was I? Oh, yes, Joe Kennedy. Do you know what he said to me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ James said, still trying to get his brain under control.

  ‘He said the same thing as Bill Bullitt in Paris. You don’t have a leg to stand on, he said. You shouldn’t have been where you were, and you say the guys who did it were punished for something else. I’m sorry about your brother, but like you, he simply shouldn’t have been there. The best thing you can do is go home and try to forget about it. He never did like Mom.’

  ‘I gather the feeling is mutual. Will you please tell me what this is all about?’

  They were called to the table, and got to work on their oysters. ‘We were raped,’ Joanna said. ‘Liane and me. At least a dozen times each.’

  James choked; he had never eaten oysters before, and it took several waiters several minutes to restore his breathing, while it seemed that every other diner had stopped eating to obs
erve what was going on. ‘Monsieur needs to be careful,’ said the maitre d’.

  ‘Look, push off, will you,’ Joanna suggested. ‘You okay?’ James wiped tears from his eyes. ‘No. Tell me what happened.’

  Joanna did so. ‘Hell,’ she finished, ‘it wasn’t as if we were first-timers, but it was still a shitty experience. And coming on top of Aubrey...’ Tears rolled out of her eyes and she dried them with her napkin.

  ‘How did Liane take it?’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘She seems able to absorb everything. But underneath... I wouldn’t care to be one of those soldiers if they ever ran into her again, when the odds were even.’

  ‘You said they were executed.’

  ‘For desertion, not rape. And then, those Gestapo thugs...’

  ‘You were arrested by the Gestapo?’

  ‘Not arrested. I reckon those guys had been told to talk us out of bringing any charges. Boy, were they the pits.’

  ‘They didn’t...’

  ‘They didn’t torture us, physically, if that’s what you mean. But they sure put us under pressure. And the way they looked at us... That Biedermann, I reckon he’s another guy who doesn’t ever want to run into Liane on a dark night. So listen...’ Joanna carved her rack of lamb with some power, while her drooping hair threatened to trail in the gravy. ‘I want to do something about it. And don’t give me any shit about being a neutral. My neutrality ended at Auchamps.’

  ‘Just what did you have in mind?’ James was still trying to accept the unacceptable: Liane being raped, again and again!

  ‘How’s about bumping off Hitler? He’s the guy responsible for all of this, right?’

  ‘He’s a little difficult to get at.’

  ‘Not for me. I have an American passport. I also have a Swedish passport. I can come and go anywhere in Europe. Anywhere in the world.’

  James gazed at her. ‘You’re serious.’

  ‘You bet. You ever been raped? Or seen your kid brother shot up before your eyes?’

  ‘I don’t have a kid brother,’ James said absently. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But of course she was serious. What she was saying was quite true. She did have access to German-occupied Europe. And she was dead keen. But that was the trouble: she was too keen, too brittle. She’d crack at the first setback. Or would she?

  ‘So what about it? Will you guys give me a gun, or some gelignite to stuff in my knickers?’

  ‘Do you have any idea what your Gestapo friends would do to you if you were found to be a British agent?’

  ‘You don’t reckon they’ve already done it?’

  ‘What you suffered was kid glove stuff. But if you’re really keen... How long are you staying in England?’

  ‘How long do you want me to stay?’

  ‘What about your mother and father?’

  ‘I’ve written them. Kennedy thinks I should go home, but the day I take his advice I’ll have my head examined. You mean you can help me?’

  ‘I can’t. But maybe there’s someone who can.’

  *

  ‘You’ll be Mr Sterling,’ Mrs Hotchkin announced.

  ‘Right first time,’ James said, with more confidence than he actually felt. His new suit was definitely off the peg, and his new shoes weren’t all that good a fit either; his uniform had been abandoned at his club. In addition, Mrs Hotchkin, short and stout with frizzy hair and a distinct moustache, was very far from his concept of a female MI operative.

  She, on the other hand, was totally confident. ‘You’ll find everything you need up there,’ she said. ‘There’s a gas ring, too. Only for heating water, mind. They told me you’d be taking your meals out.’

  ‘Yes. There was something about - a secretary...’

  ‘She’s up there now.’ Mrs Hotchkin gave him an old-fashioned look.

  ‘Is she, well, all right?’

  Mrs Hotchkin sniffed. ‘That’s for you to judge.’

  ‘Then I’d better go up. By the way, is there a Mr Hotchkin?’

  ‘He didn’t come back. From Dunkirk. You know about that?’

  ‘I came back.’ He couldn’t be sure whether she was pleased or sorry about that.

  *

  He opened the door and there was a startled flurry of movement. The young woman had been sitting at the desk. Now she hastily stood up, falling over the chair as she did so. This caused her horn-rimmed spectacles to slide off her nose, to be retrieved after some disjointed fielding practice. ‘Oops! Mr Barron? I mean, Sterling. Rachel Cartwright. Reporting for duty, sir! Only I’m already here.’ She giggled.

  James placed his two suitcases on the floor and closed the door. ‘Simmer down. I’m not going to bite you.’ Although he felt that might be a most pleasurable experience: with her fruity accent and her obviously expensive clothes she had to be about the most attractive female sergeant in the army. Rachel Cartwright was tall and extremely slender; she could almost be described as thin. This also applied to her features, although they were handsome enough; the glasses actually suited her by creating an aspect of width. She had black hair, presently confined in a tight bun, although he got the impression that it might be quite long. He put her age down as early twenties, and felt extremely relieved that his brief but exciting acquaintance with the Gruchy girls had given him a certain immunization against upper-class chic, even if right now he did not dare think about the Gruchy girls, or at least one of them. But what this English equivalent was doing in a top-secret job would have to be discovered, just as rapidly as possible.

  ‘I’m just trying to put things in order,’ she explained. Her voice was breathless.

  ‘Brilliant. Just what do we have?’

  ‘Well, there’s the desk, and the filing cabinet. There doesn’t appear to be anything in it at the moment. And there’s the telephone, and that typewriter, and the radio set.’ She indicated the rather large piece of equipment on a table against the far wall. ‘Do you know about radios, sir?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘I am a qualified operator,’ she said proudly.

  ‘I’m told you’re a sergeant. In the ATS?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But seconded for special duties.’

  ‘I see. How long have you been in the service?’

  ‘I joined up last October, sir.’

  ‘And were seconded?’

  ‘In January, sir.’

  A month before himself. ‘You must have special talents. Tell me some of them.’

  ‘They sent a circular round, asking for volunteers for the service, so I did.’

  ‘And were accepted, just like that.’

  ‘I had to go to training school for six weeks.’

  ‘And passed with flying colours.’

  ‘Well...’ She took off her glasses, polished them, and replaced them.

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that. It is essential for me to be able to trust you.’

  ‘Well... She wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose Daddy had something to do with it.’

  ‘Daddy being?’

  ‘General Cartwright, sir. Sir Harold.’

  ‘Good God!’ He had actually met Sir Harold Cartwright, very briefly, when the great man had made a brief tour of Flanders the previous November.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’m flattered. So you know all about it.’

  ‘About what, sir?’

  ‘What we’re about.’

  ‘I know nothing, sir. This is my first individual assignment.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘I was in the pool, sir. Then the day before yesterday, I was told to wear civvy clothes, report to this address, where I would be under the orders of a Mr Barron. Sterling.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Well...’ Her tongue came out and touched her upper lip. ‘I was told that I should do whatever Mr Barron-ah, Sterling, required, without question.’

  They gazed at each other. Then James said, ‘So we appear to be jointly starting from scratch. However, we are both going to have a great dea
l to do in another week or so. What else have we got?’

  Rachel considered for a moment. ‘Well, that’s about it, in here. Through here...’ She crossed the floor and opened an inner door. ‘The bedroom. It has its own bathroom,’ she added, apparently surprised at that.

  James stepped past her to inspect his domestic quarters, surveyed the single bed. ‘Where do you sleep?’

  ‘I’m in an ATS hostel. It’s about half a mile away.’

  ‘But you come in every day.’

  ‘I come in whenever you require me, sir. Day or night.’ Once again they gazed at each other. ‘Wearing civilian clothes,’ James remarked. ‘Don’t your comrades ask questions?’

  ‘They know I am on special assignment, sir.’

  ‘I see. Well, it all looks very cosy. I’m sure we’ll get along very well.’ He looked at his watch: ten past six. ‘I’d like you to unpack that suitcase out there. Use separate files for the codes, maps and references, countries, and have others ready for each agent.’

  ‘Do we have any agents, sir?’

  ‘We will, shortly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She returned to the office, and he unpacked his personal gear. By the time he was finished she was standing in the doorway. ‘All done? Then I think you can go home now. I’ll see you in the morning. Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, sir. But... can’t I do something for you now? A cup of tea? There’s a gas ring.’

  ‘Not tonight, thank you, Sergeant. I’ll sample your tea tomorrow.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock.’ She closed the door behind herself.

  James wondered if she was going to be a problem in view of the difference in their social status, and again was grateful for his brief glimpse into how the other half lived. But this was different. He was not being thrown into her world; she had voluntarily entered his. Something to be considered. But he had work to do. He picked up the phone, gave the number. ‘Hello,’ he told the woman who answered. ‘I’d like to have a meeting with the brigadier. Name of Sterling.’

  *

  ‘Miss Jonsson is expecting you, sir,’ the reception clerk said. ‘She said for you to go right up. Number thirty-seven. That’s the third floor, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ James was wearing uniform, as he had worn uniform to lunch the previous week. At this stage there was nothing wrong in appearing as Joanna’s boyfriend. But he felt uneasy, as he had done from the moment of their first meeting. She was such an unpredictable woman. On the other hand, it was now his business to make her predictable, at least for his purposes.