Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A ugust already felt like a long month, and it had barely begun. The previous week had been hellish. On top of that, Jack had lost contact with his top Resistance operative in France.
He struggled through yet another troubled night and when he fell into a restless sleep, his dreams were a fearful mix of his agent pleading for him to help her, and the Luftwaffe bombing military installations.
Eventually, he gave up trying to sleep, and let himself into his office at first light when there were very few cars on the roads. The dawn chorus hit a rousing crescendo. Robins and blackbirds hopped and skipped across the hedgerows bordering the communal gardens, and for a brief second, he wished he were carefree. Carefree and free of the war, like those jolly little birds.
There was still no word from Hannah. He had been hanging onto the hope she would radio in a message with a sign of life, and the silence grew more disturbing as each day passed. Jack knew he was too personally involved to be dispassionate, but he couldn’t help the way he felt .
They urgently needed a female courier to drop into Nazi-occupied France to retrieve vital intelligence that Hannah may have passed to another member of the local Resistance.
By 2 p.m. after several fruitless interviews with potential candidates, he had developed a throbbing headache. If only people would operate at his speed, everything would be a lot more efficient.
This war would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. He was becoming obsessed, and he knew it, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Jack poured himself a cup of lukewarm black coffee and leafed through the papers with details of the remaining candidates he was to interview today. He needed a breakthrough and couldn’t delay any longer in sending someone in. If the Special Operations Executive didn’t re-establish contact with the Reims Resistance soon, their chances of locating the intelligence that could quite possibly stop the Germans invading England would diminish more with each passing day.
They needed to know how many aircraft the Luftwaffe had in reserve. They preferred a female courier who was experienced in espionage because a woman would be a lot less conspicuous.
Most men of fighting age had been sent to labour or prisoner of war camps in Germany after the surrender of France. If his superiors had approved it, he would already be there himself. He knew France like the back of his hand and spoke French as though it were his mother tongue—well, strictly speaking, even though he had been born and raised in London—it was his mother tongue. His mother was French and spoke the language with him since he was a baby. Even now, after all these years of living in England, she still insisted they speak French.
He considered the options for the hundredth time. Whilst older candidates may have more experience, they might not be nimble enough for the parachute landing. It would also be difficult if they had to go on the run.
France was fraught with danger at every turn, and it was a lot more complex to operate there than before the war. There was no time for thorough training—a basic kitting out, so they blended in, a set of quick-fire instructions, and a speedy run through the basics was all they would get.
That’s why he’d dismissed Elizabeth Beaumont so quickly, even though her confidence was impressive for one so young. Ordinarily, he’d be happy to have someone as bright and energetic as her on board. She was clearly smart as a whip and not short on initiative.
Easy on the eye, too, which he couldn’t help noticing. But at age twenty-one, she was woefully lacking in life experience, never mind spycraft. It would be like sending a child onto a battlefield. His thoughts flitted back to Hannah and his chilling dream.
No, he would find someone more experienced. Drake told him that Elizabeth’s father worked at the War Office. That made it all a bit too real. It would be painful enough telling his mother about Hannah’s disappearance.
Had he overreached with his plan to infiltrate the German Luftwaffe? Hannah was to capture photographs of how many and what type of aircraft the Germans had so they could assess their current capabilities.
Jack feared he may have been too audacious and berated himself. Then the image of Britain’s courageous pilots braving the skies, many of them shot down and wounded or killed, entered his mind.
The fight was brutal, and they required new intelligence if they were to win it. He shook his head. Hannah understood what she was signing up for, but it didn’t make losing her any easier to stomach .
Defeating the Nazis and destroying their killing agenda was as important to her as it was to him—perhaps more so. As a German Jew, her life and that of the Jews in Europe literally depended on the victory of the Allies. Hannah told Jack stories of how she witnessed first-hand the terrifying rise of the Nazi regime in her country of birth.
The country she could no longer call home.
Hannah had evaded the Nazis when her family was arrested. Being Jewish was their only crime. She was doing this for them.
He had to know what reconnaissance she had managed to get and whether she was alive. The last they heard from her was a short, coded message asking for an urgent PPU. That was code for a physical pick up. There was no detail of what she’d managed to find. It was too dangerous to include in the message.
The last courier was a contact in France who had gone to the designated location on the border of Germany, but Hannah wasn’t there. The courier returned empty-handed and was now unavailable.
The data was too important not to give Hannah another chance. She was incredibly wily in the field, so he suspected that her going quiet meant she was lying low whilst she waited for a chance to re-establish contact.
Or she was captured, or dead.
He fervently hoped that wasn’t the case, or he might be about to endanger another life for nothing. They needed to give Hannah the opportunity to get out before it was too late.
The bell rang and startled him out of his dark thoughts. He covered the distance of the hallway with long strides and told himself this would be the right person to get the job done.
He showed the woman who was in her thirties, into his unremarkable office overlooking the unremarkable road. A perfect location for a secret agent. Jack offered her a drink, but she declined, so he got straight into the interview.
Her French was fluent, but her accent was a little odd. ‘My father is from Belgium and my mother is English. He taught me French.’
Jack preferred the agents to speak pure French, but beggars can’t be choosers, he reminded himself. They could make up some sort of story to suit if anyone asked questions. He was thinking he would select her and save himself hours of frustration ploughing through more interviews, when with no prompting she lapsed into English with a strong Cockney accent.
Jack raised one dark eyebrow, and she stammered. ‘Sorry, I sometimes slip into English. Got that from my father, too,’ she said. ‘We speak a sort of Flemish, French, and London cocktail at home. I forget I’m doing it sometimes.’
Jack groaned and cursed inwardly. This wouldn’t work. ‘I’m afraid that slip of the tongue could get you killed, so we won’t be able to move forward.’
He saw the woman out and was just wondering whether he should have accepted the Jersey girl after all, when Drake arrived and followed him inside. ‘Any luck with finding your new courier, yet?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, I’ve interviewed quite a few of the recommended candidates, but none of them would stand a chance without months of intensive training. I thought the last one was going to pass, but she blew it.’
‘From what I hear, it’s not so much that they are recommended, but more that they speak French, and are willing and available.’
‘Yes, that sounds about right, although the last one spoke a bizarre combination of French, Flemish and Cockney.’ Jack’s laugh was hollow.
‘You were a damned fool to turn Lizzie Beaumont down. ’
Jack cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘Why not tell me how you really feel?’
Drake laughed, and his mirth was genuine. ‘You are your own worst enemy sometimes, King. No one can say you’re not brilliant at your job, but you’ve got to go easier on yourself—and everyone else.’
Drake pointed his pipe at the younger man and continued. ‘Lizzie is ideal, you know. She does the work of her predecessor in half the time, never complains, and comes up with a solution for anything I throw at her. I have had my eye on her for Military Intelligence for a while now. I’m sure someone else will jump at the chance to get her involved.’
Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. He knew when he should step aside and take Drake’s advice. He had saved his skin in Whitehall more times than Jack could count. ‘Alright, alright. I don’t have anyone else, so I suppose we can give her a simpler version of the mission to carry out. See how she does. She’s so young, that was all.’
‘Good man,’ said Drake, nodding with approval as he puffed on his pipe. ‘You’ll have to eat humble pie though, and I think I’d rather like to see you do it.’
Jack coughed and waved his hand in front of his face like a fan. Then he leaned over to open the window, stuck his head out and took a big gulp of air.
He grumbled, ‘That dreadful thing you smoke will do for us before the Nazis. Why can’t you smoke cigarettes?’
‘Nonsense. It’s good for one’s mood. You should try it. It might lift your spirits—you could certainly do with it. This desk life is turning you into a right old misery guts.’
‘If you say so. More importantly, where is this paragon of virtue—Miss Beaumont—to be found?’