Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
H annah didn’t see the major general that afternoon, but the hours passed quickly as the secretary showed her how to fulfil the demands of the job. Her eyes kept straying to the clock on the wall as she thought of Lizzie and Francois, wishing she were with them.
At 5.55 p.m. after they had cleared the day’s work, the secretary removed what was left of her personal possessions from the desk drawers and stood up.
‘Well, that’s it for me. I shall leave now. Good luck, Collette.’
‘Thank you for all your help and good luck to you too.’
Hannah watched the secretary knock tentatively on the major general’s door and she heard him bark a command to enter. The door opened and closed, and Hannah wondered what was being said, but could only hear a low hum.
The secretary emerged within a couple of minutes, an expression of disappointment etched onto her face.
Hannah was about to pack up to leave when the secretary said, ‘Herr Major General would like to see you in his office now. ’
Hannah hurried to the door, which stood ajar, and stepped inside.
‘What are you working on?’ he asked, skipping the niceties.
‘Herr Major General, your secretary has just finished showing me my tasks and I was about to leave.’
He snapped, ‘There’s an urgent letter I need you to translate now.’
Hannah nodded, attempting a smile, even as her stomach churned. She wanted to hurry back to the farmhouse to check on Lizzie. ‘Of course, I will stay as long as you need me.’
‘Good,’ he replied, his tone stiff and reeking of self-importance. ‘I imagine you’ll be out of here in good time to get home before the curfew, and if not, my driver will take you.’
Hannah’s heart pumped at the mention of home. Being driven in a Nazi vehicle was not what she had planned.
Her new boss pulled a chair nearer to him and beckoned for her to sit down.
Hannah had no choice but to comply, and she shuddered inwardly when he leaned nearer to show her the letter.
‘This is the covering letter from the French police department tasked with assisting the Special Staff for Pictorial Art to retrieve and confiscate Jewish owned art. It will be helpful for you to read it carefully, so you understand the project, as it’s an important part of our work.’
Fierce emotions rolled over Hannah as she held the paper and scanned the French text, acting as though it was just an ordinary letter for her to translate.
The major general pointed to the report. ‘This is a detailed list of all the artworks found so far and exactly where they are located. I must update the general first thing, so please have a German copy ready for me before you leave tonight.’
Hannah seethed more with every word that came out of his repulsive mouth, but the entire operation depended on her being able to show indifference, no matter what loathsome things he said or did.
‘Any questions?’ he asked, his legs now so close they touched hers.
‘It all seems quite clear. I’ll get started right away,’ she said, springing up from the chair.
‘Very good,’ the major general said, looking her up and down.
Hannah saw he was devouring her with his eyes and struggled to hold on to her pleasant expression.
He called after her just as she was about to slip out of the room, her heart thudding at the prospect of what she must do next. ‘Collette?’
She turned back, ‘Yes, Herr Major General?’
‘Leave the door open in case you have questions.’
Hannah did as he asked before taking a seat at her new desk. She began translating the document, anger coursing through her, making it difficult to concentrate. She had known before taking the job that they were implementing terrible things, but witnessing how they were stealing Jewish-owned art in such a methodical industrial manner knocked the breath out of her.
She forced herself to translate the text as quickly as she could. If she took too long, she’d miss the window to leave before the curfew. If she was driven home, she’d be leading them right to the door of a British agent who might even be in the middle of transmitting a message to London. Hannah couldn’t risk it, so she translated at lightning speed and then typed up the German copy. Her blood felt as if it was sizzling in her veins when she translated how the Special Staff for Pictorial Art, thereafter, referred to as the Staff , had seized art treasures in Paris and looted the art collections from the Rothschild family palaces.
There was a long list of Jewish names and art collections, and by the time she was finished, Hannah felt sick. The more she discovered about the systematic persecution the Nazis perpetuated, she realised it was just as she feared.
They meant to do in France exactly what Hannah watched them do in the pre-war Germany of her youth, which was to strip the Jewish population of all civil rights until they were forbidden to work, study, own a home or business, or marry a Gentile. They were completely segregated from the rest of the population. The Nuremberg Laws of 1935 introduced yet more heinous antisemitic legislation and resulted in German Jews being imprisoned or transported to labour camps, unless, like Hannah, they escaped whilst they still could.
The letter concluded with a chilling summary that the Staff was successfully safeguarding the Rothschild’s art collections and all previously Jewish-owned art and valuables for the Reich.
Safeguarding!
That was one word for it. More accurate words would be stealing, plundering, seizing, and looting. Hannah longed to exchange the word safeguarding for one of those, but her true feelings would be obvious, and her cover blown in one futile act of resistance.
No, she must be patient and play the long game, even if it meant letting her Nazi boss lech over her without kicking him in the crotch. Resistance required patience as well as carefully planned and orchestrated acts of sabotage.
Hannah looked up to see if the major general could see her from his seat, but the door had closed slightly. She took a chance and scribbled as many names onto her handkerchief as she could. It was a risky way to smuggle information out the building, but even with her excellent memory, she wouldn’t be able to remember the names without some way to record them.
She would ask Jack if they could get her one of those clever mini cameras. She’d seen an actor using one in a new spy film. It had fitted into the palm of his hand. Maybe it wasn’t real, but if it was, she needed one. It would be the perfect way to siphon intelligence out of German High Command.
Lizzie prepared to contact Jack. At her first scheduled attempt, he had not responded.
‘Come on, Raven,’ she said aloud, nerves clawing at her, making her jump at every slight sound from beyond the small window. It was dark, and she still found the attic just as spooky as on her first tour of the house. Lizzie was desperate to get her first Paris to London transmission done. The first time she did something new in the field, was always the most nerve-racking.
Lizzie tapped out her call signal in Morse and waited for a response. Jack had explained to her she wouldn’t always be able to get through and she might need to try several times, but she should always wait for his response before sending a message.
Seconds passed, and it seemed like she was once again out of luck. This was the last opportunity of the day. Lizzie hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until a response came back.
This is Raven. Go ahead, Seagrove.
They had agreed not to share anything personal if he didn’t start the message with his codename. Jack said he would do his best to be there for every potential time, but in case he couldn’t, another radio operator might respond to the message, so they had to be cautious.
Knowing he was there, even though she couldn’t hear his voice, connected to her through this incredible technology, made her feel giddy with joy. Her heart skipped and raced. She longed to tell him how much she missed him, but there was no time for such indulgences now.
There was important information to get across in her message, and she must transmit it as quickly as possible to limit the chances of being detected by the Germans on the airwaves.
Country before self, Val’s voice echoed in her mind.
The Count of Monte Cristo sat on the small table where she had positioned the wireless set.
The book lay open on the page of their selected passage. Lizzie carefully tapped out her message using the double transposition cipher.
She listed the supplies Francois requested, and she told Jack they were trying to hide an important scientist the Nazis were searching for.
Lizzie had planned the message before she started transmitting, or it would have taken her too long to figure it all out. She kept it as brief as possible and didn’t mention the scientist and his family were due at the farmhouse this evening. It would only worry Jack and there was nothing he could do even if she told him.
In the training, they had briefed her to only share exactly what the SOE needed to know. That way, if the enemy intercepted the message, not only would they have a hard time cracking the agent’s unique cipher, but even if they did, without context, they would struggle to grasp the meaning.
She completed the message and signed off with their agreed send code. If she didn’t sign off, it was a signal something was wrong .
Lizzie pictured Jack sitting in his office at Baker Street, his glossy black hair falling onto his forehead and him brushing it aside impatiently.
One final quick burst of dots and dashes came through. Lizzie scribbled them down with her pencil.
ATW we will holiday in France.
Lizzie’s heart fluttered at the thought of him tapping in the message, and she knew he missed her just as much as she missed him. In some ways, it was harder when you were left behind, wondering if the other was safe, risking their life undercover in occupied territory.
The thought of holidaying with Jack in France after the war would pull her through the dark days ahead.