by Lee Jackson
Crockatt poured more tea into his cup and offered to refresh Jeremy’s, who declined with a shake of his head. “If you don’t mind,” the major said, “when Lord Hankey arrives, I’d like you to go over your story again from beginning to end, starting with your escape at Dunkirk. Maybe we can figure things out from there.”
“I can do that,” Jeremy agreed, “but who is this lord? I know nothing about him.”
Crockatt’s brow furrowed while a bemused smile crossed his face. “We’re competitors, of sorts,” he said. “My group is organizing to build networks across Europe to help downed pilots, separated soldiers, and escaped POWs evade and escape like you’ve just done, and get them home to safety.
“Lord Hankey has quite a bio. His full name is Maurice Pascal Alers Hankey, and he’s also known as 1st Baron Hankey. He’s an old acquaintance of Churchill’s, who convinced him to take this new post. You must have heard of him. He’s been the Secretary to the Imperial Defense Committee for the past twenty-three years and was simultaneously Secretary of the War Council. In fact, he’s the man who sold the idea of a tracked armored vehicle to Churchill back in 1914.
“His new unit is still in the incubator. It hasn’t been launched yet, but it’s a Churchill brainchild, at least partially. It’s being formed by combining the functions of three existing agencies, so it will gain a lot of high-level support, but it already has detractors. I don’t think MI-6 likes it much because, like MI-9, they’ll be trying to recruit and use the same assets.
“I expect it’ll go active next month. It’s to be called the Special Operations Executive, or SOE, and its purpose is to set up networks across Europe like ours, but for the express purpose of carrying out acts of sabotage. Essentially, it aims to open up a new front behind enemy lines by training and supporting local partisans.”
Jeremy had listened intently without interruption. Now he interjected, “That’s a great idea. The partisans will welcome it. And what an incredible career Hankey has had. But how did he learn about me, and what does he want?”
Crockatt chuckled. “You stood at the door of intelligence headquarters with a crying toddler in your arms in the middle of the night asking anyone who went by how to get to MI-9. That drew attention, and I’m positive that the Oronsay’s Captain Savage told your story at high levels. Word got around. Both of us want to interview anyone who escaped France after Dunkirk. We want to know how it was done, what contacts were made, and if they can be renewed.” He hesitated. “I’m sure, like me, he might want to recruit you. We’ll be going after as many chaps as we can who show promise.”
“Sir, I appreciate that, but I have to tell you that I’m not a trained combatant or intelligence operator. I’m a civil engineer. I want to go back, certainly, to help the people who helped me, but for your purposes, I probably know only enough to get in the way.”
As he spoke, they watched a man walk across the gardens from one of the huts.
“That’s Lord Hankey now,” Crockatt said. “Before he gets here, let me say two things very quickly. Your tenacity at Dunkirk, your experiences in crossing France, and your courage and perseverance in rescuing that child are remarkable, well above the norm. Coupled with your language ability in French, well, you’re just what MI-9 is looking for, and we’ll train you for whatever else you need to know.”
Lord Hankey drew closer on the front sidewalk. He stopped to watch Timmy a moment and patted the child on the head. Timmy looked up at him with a big smile.
“He’s not a bad sort,” Crockatt said, watching Hankey. “The other thing I want to say, and you should know, is that your brother, Paul, was a fiend for seeking out information about you and Lance. He pestered me almost daily, and I’m sure he did the same thing with other sections. I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully so far, to recruit him. You carry the same characteristic of perseverance. Must be a family thing. But you can be very proud of his dedication to you and Lance, and your family.”
Jeremy coughed to relieve his constricting throat. “Thank you, sir, for telling me.” In spite of himself, his voice cracked.
Lord Hankey arrived at the door. Jeremy met him there and welcomed him inside. He was a thin man, slightly below medium height, in his sixties with a high forehead and a heavy mustache.
After niceties, the three men sat down in the front room. The questions inevitably led to a request for Jeremy to recount his experiences, beginning with how he found himself in combat north of Dunkirk to how he ended up in Crockatt’s office. Occasionally, they interrupted to ask for more detail or seek clarification.
Halfway through, the nanny brought Timmy inside. When the little boy came through the front door and spotted Jeremy, his eyes lit up, and he ran over with uplifted arms. Then, he stopped and looked around.
“Mummy?” he said, eyes wide and questioning, his palms turned outward. “Mummy?”
Jeremy picked him up and held him close, hiding his own misted eyes. Then the nanny took the child for his bath before supper. For a time, the room remained uncomfortably quiet. Hankey stifled a cough and looked away, while Crockatt stared straight ahead.
After Timmy and the nanny had disappeared into the back rooms, Jeremy finished telling his story and responded to questions. Then, Hankey said, “I suppose the major told you his interest, which is the same as mine.”
“He did,” Jeremy responded, “and I’m a little overwhelmed by it all. I don’t see myself as anything special; I’m a common chap trying to survive in an unexpected situation. That said…” His eyes alternated between Hankey and Crockatt. “I will tell you plainly that I’ve fought tremendous anger in the last two days. Paul and I discussed and even argued this morning about what happened. That was before and after the psychologist was here. I suppose I passed the assessment, or neither of you would be here now. Is that right?”
They stared at him blankly and nodded in unison.
“I’ve come to grips with why we were abandoned at Dunkirk,” he said, and watched the two men closely. They sat stone-faced. “We were deserted, and the whys didn’t make the ordeals any easier.” He looked away. “Maybe if we had been allowed the opportunity to volunteer, that would have made a difference. I imagine that to a man, we thought we’d be rescued the same way those who got out at Dunkirk were evacuated. Instead, we found ourselves alone, every man for himself. Our reception back on English sovereign soil wasn’t very pleasant either.”
The silence in the room was thick, the air suddenly stifling. Hankey started to speak.
Jeremy held up a hand. “Bear with me, sir. I’m not bitter, but I need to get this off my chest to someone representing high authority, and you, Lord Hankey, are about as high as I’m likely to get.”
“Go on,” Hankey said, without expression.
“I understand why our prime minister made the decisions he did.” Jeremy tossed his head with a tinge of disgust. “God knows if our parliament had heeded his warnings years ago, we might not be in this mess.” He exhaled. “But they didn’t.”
“I must interrupt,” Lord Hankey said. He stood, placed his hands on his hips, and turned to face Jeremy. “I cannot let your last statement go unchallenged.” He took a deep breath while Jeremy drew back, startled.
“I agree that Mr. Churchill made the right call at Dunkirk, and that more should have been done to improve our bomber forces, but what you do not know is the extent to which his predecessor built up our defensive capability. Mr. Chamberlain needed time, and he bought it at Munich. When the war comes to our shores, which will happen within days, Hitler will find more fight than he bargained for, thanks to preparations the public knows little about. It could not have been done without active cooperation between Sir Neville and the parliament. Without them, we would not have had our radar screen, our fighter squadrons, or--” He interrupted himself. “I’ll leave it at that.”
While Hankey spoke, images of Neville Chamberlain flashed through Jeremy’s mind. Most prominent was a filmed news clip of the previous prime minister arriv
ing home after a meeting with Hitler in Munich, waving a piece of paper in the air and proclaiming that he had secured “peace in our time.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that, sir,” was all that Jeremy could think to say.
“No matter now.” Hankey waved a hand and took his seat. “Always keep in mind that things are not always the way they seem. Carry on.”
Jeremy cleared his throat and shifted forward on the sofa. “I know our air forces are spread thin. On that awful day at Saint-Nazaire, I saw the large numbers of ships that were mustered, and I appreciate that we convoyed home under the protection of Royal Navy destroyers and submarines. That tells me that Mr. Churchill gave us what he had, and there’s no argument that getting the army back to protect our homeland was an imperative.” He shook his head with a look of awe. “I don’t even like to think of the moral dilemmas the prime minister faces every waking hour of every day.”
He sat quietly to the extent that his two listeners thought he might have finished, but then he continued speaking low, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll tell you frankly that I’m incensed that my home, the English Channel Islands, where my parents still live, was also abandoned, but I even understand that we just don’t have the resources now to defend there. We’re in a long war.
“So, I’m fine with the decisions the PM made. But we left tens of thousands of our mates in France, including my brother. Those of us lucky enough to get home were helped by thousands of strangers who risked their lives for us. We owe them a debt we can never repay, and I’m not sympathetic to the notion that France let itself down. Its government surrendered. The people didn’t. They are ready to fight, and I’m ready to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with them.”
Crockatt’s staid expression broke slightly into his ethereal, distant smile. He started to speak. Once again, Jeremy raised a hand.
“Hear me out, please. I’m almost done. I want to be where I can do the most good, and I’m partial to the family that saved me at Dunkirk. I don’t want to be an analyst sitting behind a desk. If I must be in this fight, I want to be in the fight.”
The two men sat up straight. “Your friends in Saint-Nazaire sent the right messenger,” Crockatt said.
“Now comes determining where to place you,” Hankey joined in. “I’ll explain your options simply. MI-5 does domestic counterintelligence. Probably not your cup of tea.”
Jeremy agreed.
“MI-6 is the big deal in British intelligence. They run foreign agents. That’s your classic spy scenario. You’d recruit and manage spies in other countries. I’m sure that section would love to have you.”
He gestured toward Crockatt. “The major here is standing up a new crew—” He interrupted himself with another wave of his hand. “He’s probably explained to you what his unit does, running escape lines, etcetera.
“My new section, SOE, is all about blowing up things behind enemy lines. The way that MI-9 and SOE operate will be roughly the same with a different emphasis. As you’ve probably already gathered, the tension between us is that we’re likely to be trying to use the same assets more often than we’d like to. The same goes for MI-6.”
He looked at his watch, stood abruptly, and handed Jeremy a business card. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Think it over and let me hear from you. My number is on that card.” Major Crockatt also excused himself, and the two men left together.
Late that night, Jeremy lay in his bed, feeling a modicum of peace for the first time in weeks, resulting from a sense of having some control over his future. Then he dozed off, and the cycle of recollections began. This time, he took his mind deliberately to memories of Amélie. He lingered over visions of her face, her eyes, her lips. He listened to the echo of her voice in the recesses of his mind, and her laughter. He imagined taking her in his arms and kissing those wondrous lips.
Uneasiness suddenly gripped him as he remembered that Nicolas had said Amélie’s family had fled their home. Where is she? Is she safe? Her family?
He sat up in the dark. They’re still in danger. I have to get there.
Almost immediately, a sense of guilt pervaded, of deserting his own mother and father, and Lance. He struggled with the notion that he should be doing something to help them. Help those you can when you can, he admonished himself.
35
Marseille, France
“You’re going to be treated like an adult,” Amélie told Chantal earlier that morning. “Are you up to it?”
“I don’t know,” Chantal had replied. For a split second, she looked like the vulnerable young girl she had been the night Amélie had spotted Jeremy on the beach, afraid of what might happen if they helped him. The expression disappeared, replaced by a fury that evoked its own concern in Amélie.
“I will try my best,” Chantal continued. Her voice hardened, and her eyes flashed anger. “I won’t be a victim of these Nazi animals. Whatever our resistance needs for me to do, I will do it. That includes…” She drew her hand across her throat in a slicing motion. “Just name the target.”
Amélie studied her sister. Chantal’s tone concerned her. She recalled that Chantal had used that same slicing motion the night they had rescued Jeremy. She had been fearful and used the gesture to show what the Nazis would do to their family if they were caught aiding a fugitive. The new context worried Amélie, but she tucked the sense away in her mind.
“Jacques and Nicolas will be here soon,” she said. “If you’d like to come along, we’re going for a walk on the beach where we can talk without being overheard.”
Fifteen minutes later, the four of them meandered through the sand by the water’s edge, keeping their distance from other beachgoers.
“There’s a woman here in Marseille,” Jacques began. “I know her only by her codename, Hérisson, and I’ve never met her. She leads a resistance network. It’s the one British intelligence put me in contact with before I closed down my shortwave radio.”
“Why did you close it?” Chantal asked.
“The governments in a lot of countries in the war are closing down licensed operators. Without codes, the radios are insecure, and with them, they’re too easy for spies to use. Pétain already outlawed their use, and British intelligence won’t respond to my transmissions now.”
“Who is this Hérisson?” Amélie said.
“A very smart woman, from all I can learn about her. She lives in Marseille and is good friends with a man who was high up in the French government before the German attack. He went to join the Pétain government and expects to be appointed in an intelligence role. The rumor is that, a long time ago, he anticipated exactly what the Germans did in attacking through Belgium and decided that the best way to fight them was to be close to the intelligence center. He’ll do that while running a resistance organization through Hérisson. He’ll feed useful information to her for action. That’s as much as I’ve heard about them, and more than I’m supposed to know.”
“That sounds almost impossible,” Amélie interrupted.
“I have a hard time believing it too, but so far, the story checks out. What I can tell you is that all three of you have been referred to Hérisson. There’s a vegetable vendor here in Marseille. He sells to all the big hotels and restaurants. Hérisson set the man up in business as a great way for him to circulate in places where people gather and talk, so he can learn what’s going on. It’s a very profitable business and helps fund the resistance locally. You’ll meet him later today.”
“He already knows about us?” Nicolas cut in.
“I told him about you before yesterday,” Jacques replied. “I went to see him early this morning to let him know about your cousins. Under the circumstances, surprises are not a good thing.”
Nicolas grimaced. “Sorry—”
“That was my fault,” Amélie cut in. “I gave him no choice.”
Chantal also started to speak, but Jacques held up his hands.
“It’s all right,” he interrupted. “Nicolas
had no way to reach me, and anyway, I told him the whole story when I learned it. The man wants to meet you to make his own assessment. Their organization already has defined roles. The question is, how can you best participate?”
The vegetable vendor, Maurice, was huge, a man suited in appearance to be a butcher. His cover lacked any subtlety whatsoever, which is how he was able to maneuver around so freely: surely a man with such a friendly, in-your-face manner could not be engaged in resistance activities. His eyes bulged below a wide forehead, and his demeanor appeared guileless. Despite his size, his overpowering, engaging personality compelled people to open up to him, and talk.
His real value, however, lay in his ability to recruit and manage scores of patriots wishing to join and be active in the resistance. Within days of the German advance around the Maginot Line, still less than a month ago, people across France joined in small groups to oppose the German war machine as best they could.
Jacques made introductions at a warehouse as Maurice loaded his truck with vegetables. “Keep moving,” he told the sisters. “You need to look like workers while we talk. Help me carry the vegetables out.”
Jacques and Nicolas left for another safehouse.
“Your story for the moment is that you’re my nieces, refugees from the north of France, and need the work to survive. Your parents were killed.” He laughed a full, jocular belly laugh. “I’m helping you from the goodness of my heart.”
The Boulier sisters liked him immediately. The two of them bunched together on the small passenger seat as Maurice made his rounds, and they helped him make deliveries. Chantal could not help wondering who among the people she met were active members of the resistance.
That evening at Maurice’s sprawling farmhouse on the edge of the city, they met his wife, Suzanne, and their three young children, two boys and a girl. The children warmed up to the Boulier sisters, thrilled to learn of cousins that were new to them.
