The Spark of Resistance: Women Spies in WWII

by Sergeant, Kit

  For some reason that statement enraged Mathilde. “No. Please have dinner delivered. I am far too tired to go out.”

  “Whatever you prefer,” Boddington replied.

  Major Buckmaster was a skinny man and Mathilde immediately decided that both his wide-set eyes and his elephant-sized ears were too big for his face.

  “You must be The Cat,” he exclaimed as soon as he entered Boddington’s apartment.

  She slipped her hand from his enthusiastic shake. “Madame Carré.”

  He looked a bit put out. “You’ll have to excuse me. After all the times I’ve read your report, I feel as though I know you personally.”

  Boddington gestured for the major to sit down. “Madame Carré has expressed that she is quite tired, so I promise to keep this short.” He turned to her. “Lucas has already told us that you have been in contact with the Abwehr.”

  Mathilde shot a curious glance at Lucas, who raised his eyebrows and nodded at her. She sighed before stating, “It was not by any choice of mine, of course, only to preserve what few agents remained in Interallié.”

  “And what agents were those?” Boddington raised his underdeveloped chin. “From what we’ve gathered, almost all of them have been sent to internment camps.”

  “That’s not true,” she insisted. She thought hard. “There’s Maître Brault, Claude, Kiki.”

  “Kiki?” Boddington demanded.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “His real name is Jean Keiffer, and it appears he is willingly supplying the Abwehr with information on members of the Resistance.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Boddington leaned forward. “Of the three men you just named, one only narrowly escaped capture, one was never an agent of Interallié, and one is a straight-up traitor.”

  Buckmaster raised his hand to halt Boddington’s tirade. “As you yourself have said, Madame Carré is clearly worn out and frazzled—now is not the time to interrogate her.”

  But I’m sure it will come later. Mathilde, who hours ago had felt so free, was now beginning to feel like a bird in the gilded cage of England. “What do you want of me?”

  Buckmaster crossed one leg over the other. “Lucas also told us your transmissions have been compromised.”

  She nodded. “Bleicher called it ‘the Radio Game.’”

  Buckmaster’s already wide eyes expanded even more. “Yet the Krauts still believe you are working for them.”

  Once again she nodded.

  “So we’ll play our own version of Bleicher’s game and feed him false messages.”

  Mathilde held a hand to her forehead. “Just so you are aware, Bleicher is an incredibly intelligent man. Your ruse won’t work for long.”

  “No doubt not,” Buckmaster quickly agreed. “But maybe long enough for us to change the course of the war.”

  Mathilde glared at Lucas, wondering why he was suddenly so quiet.

  “We want to go back to France as soon as possible,” Lucas stated. He rose and stood next to Mathilde. “I will escort her to bed and we can talk more of our plans when I return.”

  “Goodnight, Madame Carré,” Boddington and Buckmaster dutifully responded.

  “Goodnight, gentlemen,” she told them before Lucas showed her to the guest bedroom.

  Chapter 46

  Odette

  Ever since Peter left for England, Odette hadn’t been sleeping well. Though he had insisted on staying on the sofa next to the bed when he was there, she desperately missed his snoring.

  One morning she woke up at dawn and laid in bed until the sunlight streamed through the windows of the hotel.

  It turned out to be a beautiful day, and she decided to run errands. She went into Annecy to meet with Tom Morel, a member of the Vichy police, who supplied her with blank identity cards and a warning. “I need to tell you, Madame Chauvet, that last night I was told by a coworker that the comings-and-goings of the people in Saint-Jorioz are beginning to become of interest to the police.”

  “Is that so?” Odette asked, feeling goosebumps form on her arms. She made a mental note to warn Peter as soon as he returned.

  After that she went to the hairdresser. Before boarding the bus back to Saint Jorioz, she stopped to pick a posy of forget-me-nots and stuck it in the lapel of her coat.

  The bus was nearly empty and she located a seat right away. As she sat down, she glanced back and caught the eye of the only other passenger, a stocky man in a dark gray suit. He looked to be in his early forties, with an oval face beneath dark-framed glasses. He sensed her staring and met her eyes for a few seconds before moving his gaze back to the window.

  For no reason at all, Odette felt a sudden twinge of fear, as though she were an animal being stalked by a poacher. Like her, the man disembarked at Saint-Jorioz, tipping his hat as he got off the bus. He walked off in the opposite direction, whistling to himself.

  Odette met Jean Cottet’s wife for lunch. She would have preferred to dine alone, but didn’t want to cancel her appointment. As she sat down, one of Spindle’s couriers stepped into the café. “Lise, there is a man in town who has been asking about you.”

  She put her menu down and looked at him coolly. “You know Peter has said that you should never come to the hotel.”

  “I know, but this is an extremely urgent matter.”

  She nodded at Madame Cottet, who was pretending not to hear their conversation. “You see that I have a guest.”

  The courier glanced back and forth between the two women before shrugging helplessly.

  Somehow Odette managed to keep up the guise of civility through lunch. She didn’t even startle when the gray-suited man entered the café and approached their table. “Madame Chauvet?”

  Odette nodded.

  “May I have a word?” He glanced at Madame Cottet, who finished her tea. “I was just leaving,” she stated before casting Odette a worried glance.

  Odette gave her a casual wave and Madame Cottet, with one last look, left.

  “Would you mind if I joined you for coffee?” the man asked.

  “You will forgive me, monsieur. I do not know your name.”

  He sat down. “I am Hugo Bleicher, an officer in the German Army.”

  Odette kept her expression neutral, though her heart was hammering away. “I’m not sure why an officer in the German Army would want to join me.”

  “I have a letter for you from Monsieur Marsac, courtesy of Fresnes Prison.”

  “Please sit down.”

  He got comfortable in the chair before pulling out an engraved cigarette case. He offered Odette one and she took it, wanting something to calm her shaking hands.

  He lit hers before his own. He took a brief puff before stating, “I came from Annecy on the bus this morning.”

  “Did you?” she feigned disinterest, knowing he had noticed her. “As a matter of fact, so did I.”

  Bleicher must have sensed they’d arrived at a stalemate and reached into his coat pocket. “Here is the letter.”

  Odette scanned it. Marsac stated that he’d been arrested, but had not been ill-treated, though he was hungry. He also mentioned that Sergeant Bleicher had requested to discuss a matter with Madame Lise personally. Marsac ended by stating he believed Bleicher to be trustworthy.

  Bleicher took another puff of his cigarette. “I would like to inform you of the circumstances of Monsieur Marsac’s arrest.”

  She folded the note and put it into her purse. “Yes?”

  “I have already told you I am an officer with the Germany Army, but in fact I am a member of the military Abwehr, a counter-espionage department, whose allegiance is to the General Staff. We are not directly associated with the Nazi Party. I myself arrested Monsieur Marsac in order to keep him from the Gestapo.”

  She tried to search his eyes to see if he were telling the truth, but they were hidden by a glare of sunlight on his spectacles.

  “We of the Abwehr love our country and believe we can save it from the destruction that will be brought on by Ado
lf Hitler’s relentless despotism.”

  Odette ashed her cigarette to hide her surprise. She was under the impression that all Germans worshipped their so-proclaimed Führer with unrelenting dedication. “Nothing can save Germany from destruction.”

  “There you are wrong. If Germany is destroyed, so is the rest of Europe. But with Hitler out of the way, Germany could settle in peace. You, madame, can serve as the medium for people who believe as I do. You, and of course, the SOE.”

  She stabbed out her cigarette. “I am not sure what you are asking me to do, monsieur.”

  He leaned forward, breathing out smoke, before he said in a lowered voice, “I want you to provide me a transmitting set and the code to get in touch with the British War Office.”

  She gave him a blank look while her mind raced. She was in over her head and desperately wished Peter were here to tell her what to say. “I cannot give you what you ask for, monsieur. I don't have a transmitting set, and without it, a code would be useless.”

  He flicked ash off his still smoldering cigarette. “But you have ways of communicating with London.”

  She scrutinized his face, but the glare remained on his glasses. “I do,” she finally admitted. “But I am not willing to pass on your message unless you clarify your intentions.”

  He laughed. “You, a British agent, are seeking to impose conditions on me, a German officer with the power to arrest you?”

  Odette’s pulse quickened at the word ‘arrest,’ but she wouldn’t show this officer how much he intimidated her. “May I speak freely?”

  “Of course.”

  “Monsieur Bleicher, you will forgive me if I say that your occupation does not recommend you to me.”

  “But Monsieur Marsac has recommended me.”

  “I do not know if he was forced to write that letter under duress. In light of his message, I’d like more information. Will you allow me to dispatch one of our contacts to accompany you in speaking to Marsac and then report back to me?”

  Bleicher hesitated briefly before agreeing.

  “I’d also like to send a parcel of food to Monsieur Marsac,” Odette continued.

  “I will consent to that as well.” He lowered his head, finally making eye contact. “You wouldn’t run away in the meantime, would you Madame Chauvet?”

  “I would never deliver a man into your hands and then run away. I assure you I will stay here in Saint-Jorioz until he returns with his report.”

  “I believe you.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Are you sure you are wholly French?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  He gave a hesitant smile. “I might have sensed a bit of German blood in you.”

  “Not a drop.” She stood. “If you will be here at five this evening, I will return with my man and the food parcel. I know your country has no respect for hostages, but I assure you this man will not be worthy of being arrested in light of the importance of your proposal.” She crossed her fingers by her side as she repeated her grandmère’s favorite expression. “One does not catch flies with vinegar, Monsieur Bleicher. This could be a gesture of your good will.”

  He lit another cigarette. “I don’t suppose I could induce you to come to Paris with me yourself, could I? They are giving a performance of Mozart’s ‘Magic Flute’ next week.”

  “No, monsieur.” She coughed delicately. “My health is quite fragile and I must remain at five hundred meters above sea-level. Doctor’s orders,” she added.

  “I understand.” He put out his cigarette before reaching for his hat. “I will see you this evening,” he stated before walking out of the café.

  Odette wrote a brief report and then mounted her bicycle to deliver it to Alec and fill him in on all that had just transpired.

  “If I’d have known you spent the afternoon in the clutches of the Abwehr, I’d have shot the bastard,” Alec declared.

  “It’s always the fifth of November with you, Alec,” she said with a laugh. “But,” she lowered her voice, “do you remember that English officer, Roger, who arrived on the same Lysander that Peter left on?”

  Alec nodded.

  “I think we need to send him away. Things are getting too heated around here for someone new. And maybe you too.” She glanced around at all of the radio equipment. “How soon could you be packed up?”

  “In a moment. But you would be a bloody fool if you think I’d leave without you. Or Peter,” he finished with a growl.

  “Still… you should think about packing your essentials. Something tells me that zero hour is near.”

  “Peter should be back next week. Let’s not make any hasty decisions without consulting him first.”

  She nodded, knowing Alec was right. Not to mention she would never willingly leave Peter unless she was absolutely forced to. “Let’s send a message to our mutual friend, care of the SOE.”

  Odette had no other man to send to Paris besides Bardet. He returned in a few days’ time to report that Marsac was well enough and thanked her for the food.

  “And Bleicher?” Odette inquired.

  Bardet lit a cigarette. “I believe him to be entirely trustworthy.”

  The same cannot be said of you, Odette decided, narrowing her eyes. Those were the exact same words Marsac had written, as if Bleicher was telling them what to say. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Monsieur Bleicher has requested that you arrange for a bomber pick-up for you, him, and Marsac, whom he has graciously volunteered to get out of prison. You can introduce Monsieur Bleicher to Major Buckmaster, and together they can come to terms and bring peace to Europe.”

  “Don’t you think that sounds a little far-fetched?” she demanded.

  Bardet waved his hand. “Of course, we would need to dispose of Hitler, but these things can be arranged.”

  Now Odette was more certain than ever that Bardet was going to betray her and the rest of the network. “You’ve done well. Tell Monsieur Bleicher I will do my best to arrange a pick-up. The next full moon will be in the middle of April. I will let you know the location I’ve arranged at a later date.”

  He nodded. His voice was bursting with exaggerated nonchalance as he asked, “What news of Peter? Do you know when he plans on returning?”

  “No,” she stated firmly and then, in a bold-faced lie, told him that he would be the first to know if she heard anything.

  As soon as Bardet took his leave, Odette once again rode out to see Alec. Though she informed him of Bleicher’s latest scheme, she decided not to include the part about Bardet’s certain betrayal, knowing that Alec would jump at the chance to pull the trigger of his .38 Colt.

  Chapter 47

  Didi

  With her shrewd green eyes and pinched nose, The Cat definitely earned her nickname. Though she wasn’t exactly pretty, Didi could see why so many men had become enamored of her—she had an indescribable magnetism, what her fellow Frenchmen might call a certain “je ne sais quoi.” That is, before they learned how badly she had betrayed their country.

  The Cat was installed in a Porchester Terrace flat overlooking Hyde Park. Unbeknownst to Mathilde (though Didi, of course, was well aware), the apartment was filled with microphones.

  Mathilde laid claim to the large master bedroom and Didi took the smaller, “maid’s room.”

  Didi’s instructions were to accompany her quarry all over London. Mathilde insisted on wearing her red beret everywhere they went. Didi couldn’t understand why, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that it was because The Cat was intending to meet with someone and the beret was their signal.

  Soon after she arrived, Mathilde demanded that Didi escort her to Selfridges to buy what she termed “essentials”: a nightdress, underwear, a pair of black silk pajamas, perfume, and a box of face powder. When it came time to pay, Mathilde stepped back, insisting it was the SOE’s job to compensate her since she had lost most of her things when their boat capsized. Didi had indeed been given an “allowance” from Buckmaster, but the Selfridge total pret
ty much wiped that out.

  As they left the store, Mathilde pulled out a black velvet choker with a bright red flower on it and put it around her neck. “Here,” she said, pulling something out of her bag. “I bought one for you, too.” She looked expectantly at Didi, who held the hideous necklace between two fingers.

  “Thank you,” Didi replied, putting it into her purse. “I’m not sure it quite goes with this outfit, though.”

  A few days later, they were invited to an SOE-hosted cocktail party at Claridge’s. Mathilde insisted on doing Didi’s make-up for her in the main bathroom. Despite rarely using much face paint, Didi consented, figuring it would be a good opportunity to pry further into her companion’s story.

  Didi was used to translating Morse messages and codes, but the real-life Cat was like an indecipherable that gave off visual cues to her true meaning. Her nervous habits, such as endlessly tucking her hair behind her ear, or refusing to meet her interrogator’s eyes, led Didi to believe she was more responsible than she was prepared to admit for the eradication of the Interallié network. Still, Didi’s objective was to get Mathilde to confess as much as possible in range of the microphones hidden all over the apartment. She could only hope that the SOE had thought to put at least one in the master bath.

  “I was always loyal to the Resistance you see,” Mathilde said as she began tackling Didi’s eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. “Everything that happened was a curse of fate. That and, of course,” she plucked a particularly stubborn hair, “coercion by the Abwehr.

  “Who are the Abwehr?” Didi asked, trying not to wince from the pain. “Are they in line with Hitler?”

  “No,” Mathilde replied vehemently. She tossed the tweezers onto the counter. “The Abwehr are not Nazis. Far from it—Bleicher abhorred them, and he especially objected to the Gestapo’s methods of torturing their captives.”