She knew that Frederick, like most Germans, he had assured her, hated and feared the Gestapo and their fearsome controllers, the SS. But they accepted they were a necessary evil. Why? Because they felt they could only carry out their enormous programme of restoring Germany, and through Germany, all of Europe, to its former glory by repressing all opposition? Or because they knew that their own regime was essentially evil, and could only be sustained by suppressing or eliminating all opposition?
She could not let herself believe that. And besides, she only had Joanna’s suggestion that concentration camps were anything more, or worse, than large prisons. But there was also a sudden fear lurking at the edges of her consciousness, stoked by her guilt. What Joanna had insinuated had to be nonsense. But suppose Germany, somehow, did lose the war? She did not believe the fatherland could be defeated by England. But Russia... Russia was Germany’s ally, or at least, her business partner in controlling Europe. But everyone knew that two such opposing ideologies as Communism and Fascism could not exist very long in partnership. And if Germany were to lose such a conflict, when they had made themselves the most hated people on the continent...
When Frederick came home that evening, she could not help asking him, ‘What will happen when England stops fighting?’
‘We will have peace. I have told you this.’
‘What about Russia?’
‘We are friends with Russia.’
‘I know. But... well... the Führer did not always wish that.’ As a good German housewife her first duty had been to read Mein Kampf.
Frederick grinned, and handed her a glass of wine. ‘Who’s a clever girl? You’re right. The Führer regards the East, the Ukraine, and the Crimea and Caucasus certainly, as essential to the future of the Reich. So the Russians will have to give them up.’
‘Will they?’
‘We may have to twist their arms a little.’
‘Can we beat Russia?’
‘Easily. Russia is like a house of cards. One push, and it will collapse. Have we not beaten France, and now England? They were both much stronger than Russia.’
‘Ah...’ But she decided against reminding him that they had not yet actually beaten England. So she asked, ‘Have you ever visited a concentration camp?’
‘Good Lord, no. I am a soldier, not a policeman.’
‘But you could, if you wanted to?’
‘I could obtain permission, if I wanted to.’
‘I should like to. We could go together.’
‘What an absurd idea. Concentration camps are not for sightseeing tours. I would just put them out of your mind, my dearest girl.’ It was the first time he had ever refused her anything.
*
‘Good morning, sir.’ Rachel hung her hat behind the door, smoothed her dress, and stood in front of James’s desk. Her refusal to allow their relationship to impinge on their professional code of conduct was one of her most endearing characteristics, he thought. But she had a great many more.
Over the past few weeks he had found himself wondering more than once what she really felt about the situation, just how important or even relevant it was to her. They had no existence, as a pair, outside of these rooms. Inside, they lived almost as man and wife, but they never even lunched together unless he sent her out for sandwiches; one of them always had to be on standby. But once she departed for the night he had no idea what she did, whether she went straight back to her hostel and stayed there, or whether she sometimes visited her parents’ home — he did not even know if the Cartwrights had a London home, but he supposed they did — and if when she did so she encountered other bright young things, members of her social set, who would undoubtedly want to know how she was spending her war.
He was totally confident that she would never betray the work she was doing or the people she was working with; he could not be certain that she would not reveal at least the existence of her love life. So, did she have a love life, or was she merely indulging in war-induced lowering of the barriers, both social and moral? Her lovemaking was certainly enthusiastic. She might not be voluptuous, but she had splendid legs, which she seemed able to wrap around his as if her hips were double-jointed, and whether he had anything to do with it or not, she seemed able to climax both quickly and repeatedly. All without ever raising the question of ‘after the shooting stops’, or any of the other questions that had haunted him when he had initially rejected her advances.
In many ways she reminded him of the Gruchy sisters. Madeleine certainly had been affected by the war. He could not be sure of Liane, who he felt had pursued her own course long before things like war had interrupted their lives. But neither Madeleine nor Liane could be thought of anymore. The one had become an enemy; the other had crashed to an unthinkable fate. The only saving aspect of the situation was that he had been responsible for neither of their fates — and he could so easily have been responsible for Liane’s. But dreaming of the past, of what might have been, was a dangerous distraction to someone in his position. He should just be grateful that he had found someone who, whether she was doing it as a duty or not, had been able to channel his emotions into his work — as his secretary, that is.
He waited as she came round the desk, carefully removed her glasses, and lowered her head for a kiss on the mouth. ‘All well?’
He put his arm round her thighs to hug her against him. ‘So far. But you’d better wind it up.’ Despite his gaffe over Joanna, he had been given three more agents to monitor, and they made a radio check every morning just in case there was an emergency. As for Joanna herself, she had been traced to Sweden, but as she had apparently decided to remain there, living with her father, and as no revealing articles had appeared in either Swedish or American newspapers, the brigadier had dropped his call for immediate executive action, although his agents kept her under surveillance.
Rachel seated herself before the radio, donned the earphones, switched on the set to their frequency, and waited, tapping her fingers on the desk.
‘Something?’ James asked.
‘Yes, sir. Stockholm. In Morse.’
‘Oh, no. Tell me.’
Rachel was scribbling on her pad. ‘Joanna Jonsson left Stockholm ten days ago. Destination believed to be Berlin. Delay in information due to clandestine nature of departure. Advise requirements. Sterling.’ She looked up.
‘Shit,’ James said. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Ten days.’
‘Can we do something about it?’
James sighed. ‘I’ll have to speak with the brigadier. Ten days. Whatever she’s intending to do, she’s probably done it. Oh, well. Get the old buzzard for me, will you.’
‘Yes, sir. Hold on, there’s something else coming through.’
‘Let’s pray it’s Stockholm saying she’s actually gone to the States.’
‘It’s Paris.’
‘What?’ James left his desk to hurry to her side and pick up the spare headphones.
‘Sterling,’ Pierre’s voice said. ‘Sterling.’
James took the mike from Rachel’s hand. ‘Sterling. Have you seen Jonsson?’
‘Eh?’
‘For God’s sake. She’s loose, and very probably coming your way.’
‘I know what to do.’
‘If you have not seen her, why are you calling?’
‘I have the most tremendous news. You will not believe who is standing beside me.’
‘I hope this is not a social call.’
‘It is my youngest sister.’
‘Am - ’ James bit off the word. ‘She is dead.’
‘She is alive, and here in my flat. And do you know who else is alive? My eldest sister.’
James stared at the mike in consternation. ‘Say again?’
‘She is alive and living with friends. One of them is the prefect. You remember the prefect? We thought he was dead too, but he is alive, and wishes to fight, eh? Take down this list of their requirements.’ As James was still incapable of speech, Rachel took down the list. ‘Let
me know as soon as these will be available, and how they can be delivered. I will tell you where they can be dropped,’ Pierre said. ‘Out.’ Rachel closed down the set. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
James took off the earphones and returned behind his desk, sitting rather heavily. He did not know what to think. He did not know what he wanted to think. Liane was alive, alive, alive! And certainly kicking. Or anxious to start.
Rachel stood on the other side of the desk. ‘I’m afraid we’re all out of scotch. And besides - ’
‘One does not drink scotch at half past eight in the morning. But we’ll open a bottle of champagne this evening.’
‘Yes, sir. Would you care to look at this list?’ She placed the sheet of paper on the desk before him. ‘It would appear that this, ah, woman intends to start a private war on her own.’ James scanned the list. ‘She always was inclined to go over the top.’
‘Are we going to respond?’
‘Well, we have to. You were going to get the brigadier.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Rachel did not move. ‘Would I be right in assuming that this woman is Liane de Gruchy?’
‘Yes. The one we thought was dead.’
‘I can see that you are very pleased about that, sir. And you knew her before the war?’
‘I met her the day before the war exploded. I knew her for precisely two days.’
‘And in that time...’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! I fell for her. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. You are quite entitled to know. I can only say that these things happen in times of extreme stress.’ Except that Liane had happened before there had been any stress at all.
‘I am only trying to discover where I stand in all this, sir.’
‘You saved my life. Or at least my reason.’
‘Thank you, sir. But now I would say that you have no more need for me.’
‘Rachel, I need you now more than ever. Don’t abandon me now.’
Rachel regarded him for several seconds. Then she said, ‘I’ll get the brigadier.’
The brigadier actually came to the apartment, accompanied by an RAF group captain named Patton; both wore civilian clothes. ‘Our technical expert,’ he explained, looking around the somewhat untidy office with a sceptical expression, then sat behind the desk, which James had vacated to greet him. Rachel hastily provided her chair for the other officer. As there was no other chair, she and James stood together before the desk, rather like two delinquent schoolchildren in the headmaster’s study.
‘What are you doing about Jonsson?’ the brigadier asked. ‘You instructed me never to take executive action without reference to you, sir.’
‘I gave you the requisite instructions several weeks ago.’
‘I was under the impression that had been rescinded, sir.’
‘Hm. And now she is in Berlin. Who have we got there?’ ‘I do not think it would be a sound idea to have her taken out in Berlin, sir. I think it could compromise our people there. At the moment she isn’t doing us any harm. If she were to return to Paris now, and contact de Gruchy, well, he has his instructions, and knows what he has to do.’
‘Hm. Well, I suppose you could be right. Now, what is this nonsense about arming some group of bandits?’
‘With respect, sir, these are not bandits. They are led by Jean Moulin, who was the prefect of Chartres, a most prominent man before the war. He will be able to command considerable support, and if he is willing to undertake subversive action, I think we should support him, if only for propaganda purposes.’
The brigadier looked at Patton. ‘I think Barron-ah, Sterling may well be right, sir. I just wonder if we shouldn’t bring de Gaulle in on this. These are his people.’
‘I don’t think we want to involve de Gaulle at this stage. Next thing he’ll be telling us how to handle it. Can you deliver these arms?’
‘If the proper arrangements are made, yes.’ He turned to James. ‘This will be your responsibility.’
‘When I confirm that it’s on, we’ll be given a dropping area - ’
‘There is no way we can drop a load of gelignite without blowing something up. What we have to have is a landing strip, where we can be met by these people, and the aircraft unloaded.’
‘You think you can put an aircraft down in France without the Germans spotting it?’ the brigadier asked.
‘This will be a small, light plane, a Lysander. It has the range, but I’m afraid its load capacity is strictly limited. So we won’t be able to supply all these people want in one trip. They must give us a list of priorities.’
‘Yes, sir,’ James said. ‘But what about German radar?’
‘As far as we know, they don’t yet have radar to any large extent. Certainly they don’t have any stations in the south of France. Anyway, that is our problem. Your responsibility is to have your people on the ground to meet us. We will need the exact location of the landing field, and we will need the assistance of flares, or some sort of lights.’ James nodded, and glanced at Rachel, who was making notes. ‘The plane will have a crew of just one: the pilot,’ Patton said, and looked at the brigadier. ‘But we will need the assistance of one of your people, both to fill the place of a crew and to handle the people there. I’m sure we do not want our armaments to fall into the wrong hands.’
‘Oh, quite,’ the brigadier agreed. ‘We’ll find someone. It’ll have to be a French-speaking volunteer.’
‘That’s me, sir,’ James said.
‘Good God! I didn’t know you can speak French.’
‘I’ve been taking lessons, sir. From Sergeant Cartwright. She is fluent in the language, and, well, so am I, now.’ Rachel opened her mouth and then closed it again.
‘Well, I suppose it’s your baby. And you know these people. I’ll leave you to set it up. Group Captain?’
Patton stood up. ‘You can reach me through the brigadier. My arrangements will be completed within a week.’
‘Mine will take longer, sir, as my agent on the ground is at present in Paris and will have to regain her principals.’
‘Understood. Did you say her?’
‘It takes all sorts, sir.’
‘Apparently. Well, I look forward to hearing from you.’ Rachel closed the door behind them. ‘Well, I suppose it’s your baby. You unutterable bastard,’ she remarked. James raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t speak enough French to order a glass of beer,’ she pointed out. ‘And now you want to go swanning off on some suicide mission...’
‘What’s suicidal about it? Patton seems confident enough.’
‘He’s not actually going, is he? Has it occurred to you that this may all be a trap?’
‘Don’t be absurd. I’d trust the de Gruchys with my life.’
‘That is exactly what you are doing.’
‘Anyway, who would possibly be interested in trapping me? There is no German that knows I exist. I have never even met one, other than the odd prisoner of war.’
‘Ha! Will you admit you are only going in order to see your lady love?’
‘I told you, I only met her for two days.’
‘But she made a big impression.’
‘Yes, she did. But we were ships that passed in the night. Okay, I was shattered when I heard she might be dead. And okay, I do want to see her again, make sure she is all right. But I’ll be coming back.’
‘Mind that you do,’ she said, and came round the desk. ‘Let’s get on the blower to Pierre, first.’
‘That is splendid news,’ Pierre said. ‘Priority should be given to the explosives. Anything else that can be managed will be a bonus. Let me give you the map coordinates for the delivery.’
‘How can you possibly know that already?’ James asked. ‘Because it is an area where I used to hike as a boy. My sister has told me where her friends are situated. You cannot put down there, because it is in the mountains. But I know where there is level ground, sufficient to land a light plane.’
‘And take off again?’
‘Oh, yes
. It would have to be turned, but there will be sufficient people for that.’
‘How close will the Germans be?’
‘They will not be close at all. This is inside Vichy.’
‘That’s tremendous. Give me the coordinates.’
‘It is section three, subsection D.’
Rachel made a note. ‘Check,’ James said.
‘Do you wish me to leave Paris?’
‘I do not think you should become involved. I take it your sisters will be there?’
‘Of course. When will the delivery be made?’
‘You tell me. How long will it take your sister to regain her friends?’
There was a brief hesitation. ‘She says ten days.’
‘Then shall we say a fortnight today? Give her my love and best wishes. Out.’
Rachel shut down the key. ‘You did not tell him you would be accompanying the delivery.’
‘I did not think it was necessary for him to know it.’
‘And Liane?’
‘Let’s hope she will be pleasantly surprised.’
Rachel blew a raspberry.
‘This is not very satisfactory,’ Colonel Kluck remarked, scanning the map on his desk. ‘This is a huge area.’
‘These calls are very difficult to pin down, Herr Colonel,’ explained Lieutenant Bliquet. ‘Especially in a city like Paris, where there are so many people crammed into so little space, so many apartments one on top of the other. And I am afraid that this man is not the only one using an illicit radio. We will find him, sooner or later.’
‘I would like you to make it sooner,’ Kluck suggested. ‘This intercept is very disturbing. It is a pity you were not able to get on to it sooner.’
‘I appreciate that, Herr Colonel. But these things take time after the signal has first been identified...’
‘Oh, go and listen some more. And bring me something worthwhile.’
‘Yes, Herr Colonel. Heil Hitler.’ The lieutenant left the room.
‘Well?’ Kluck asked Roess.
‘I agree, Herr Colonel. Disturbing.’
‘I want an idea, Roess. Or at least a speculation. According to this very brief intercept, which is clearly the very end of the conversation, this French traitor is arranging for the British to make a delivery of some sort of goods in a fortnight’s time. What sort of goods? And where will this delivery take place? How can it take place, under our very noses?’
Resistance Page 19
