Chapter 23
L izzie struggled to sleep that night as she racked her brains for the best way to infiltrate the port without arousing suspicion.
Her link to the family was hampering her movements because she was being overcautious to keep them safe.
It was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she had the convenience of the perfect cover story with a local family in the centre of St. Malo, but on the other, every move she made could endanger their lives.
Her aunt and uncle said they were in favour of any actions that would help the Allies win the war, and they had honoured her request not to ask more questions about why she had come.
Lizzie could see it was clear to them she was undercover on a government-backed mission, and she was relieved they had pledged their allegiance to Britain just as her father had predicted.
Jack’s Uncle Luc in Toulouse was never far from her mind when she considered the pros and cons of her situation. After she and Jack used his home as a base for their operations, they still worried about the risks to him and his household at the beautiful chateau.
The Lavender Network was fully operational in Vichy France, so they had achieved their goal, but at what cost?
Lizzie didn’t want to make the same mistake again, which was why she hadn’t visited the port yet.
One miscalculation and the St. Malo branch of the Beaumont family would find themselves imprisoned or facing a firing squad.
Over breakfast the following morning, when Lizzie’s aunt asked Charles what he would be doing that day, he replied the Germans had contracted him to carry out a survey and that he would visit Cité d'Aleth that morning.
Lizzie almost choked on her toast when her uncle said the name of the strategic peninsula she had been briefed on in London. He would be at the exact location she had been trying for days to figure out how to access.
Her thoughts raced with possibilities of how this could help her accomplish her mission.
‘Are you going alone, Charles?’ she asked casually. They had dropped the family titles, and she addressed them as though they were her mother’s friends, so it became a habit for when they were out of the house.
Before he could answer, Sophie interrupted, a red spot flaring on each of her fair-skinned cheeks. ‘But Papa, how can you work for them? Surely that will help the Nazis win the war!’
Her father patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I have my ways of giving them what they want, whilst throwing in misleading information. I’m sorry, I must comply with their request. If I don’t, it will put us in the spotlight as resistors.’
‘Your father knows what he is doing, darling.’ Aunt Giselle looked worried nonetheless, and Lizzie’s emotions lurched as she witnessed the awful bind many French families were in who didn’t wish to aid the Nazis.
Uncle Charles turned to Lizzie. ‘To answer your question, yes, I will be going alone today. Sometimes I take my assistant on this type of project, but she’s wrapping up another job. Why do you ask?’
Lizzie cleared her throat. She had made the decision, and her gut confirmed it was the right one, no matter how dangerous.
‘I wonder if I might accompany you in place of your assistant. I am competent in administration and could document your findings,’ Lizzie said, fixing her gaze on her uncle.
‘Perhaps that would be a way for us to accomplish what we all want,’ he said, his eyes straying to Sophie and then to his wife.
They nodded, and gratitude flooded through Lizzie. A better plan than she ever could have conceived of alone had presented itself.
‘Do you need to take photographs as part of the survey?’ she asked, wondering whether she should risk taking her mini camera to the site.
‘But of course. It’s an essential part of the work. In fact, my assistant usually takes photographs whilst I inspect the area and run calculations.’
‘Perfect. I will take the photographs so I can be of real help to you,’ she said, beaming at her uncle. ‘When do we leave?’
They agreed to meet in ten minutes, and Lizzie rushed upstairs to prepare for what was now an official reconnaissance outing.
She couldn’t believe her luck, and her heart raced as she pinned up her hair and then concealed her mini camera in a compartment she had sewn into the lining under one of the pockets.
There was a special knack to retrieving it, and she practiced the move a few times so she wouldn’t fumble when the moment came to use the camera.
Lizzie followed Charles on the same bicycle she had ridden to visit Fabian, her basket now stacked to the top with surveying equipment. They approached the Porte St. Vincent, and Lizzie saw that today a German sentry, who was checking people’s papers, manned the gate.
Dots of panic spread over her skin, and she told herself to be calm. Her papers had been checked on other missions, but the first time was always the scariest because only then would she know for sure if the fresh papers forged by the SOE would pass muster.
Lizzie dismounted and watched the soldier examine her uncle’s papers, then quickly wave him through. Next, he indicated for Lizzie to pass him hers.
She waited, her breath catching in her throat whilst she attempted to look at ease, as though she weren’t a British spy right under the enemy’s nose. He screwed up his forehead and held the papers to the light as if checking them for authenticity.
Lizzie prayed, her heart almost banging its way out of her chest.
The soldier shuffled the documents before looking at Lizzie with a hard stare. ‘What brings you to St. Malo from Paris at this time?’
Lizzie replied she was visiting friends and that Monsieur Beaumont, the surveyor, needed her help for an important project commissioned by the Civil Administration.
The soldier looked at her again, appraising her from head to toe, his rifle slung over his grey-green shoulder.
Anger gripped Lizzie, and she fought to control her fierce reaction. The nerve of the Germans, acting as though they owned the city, and no one could go anywhere without their permission. It infuriated her, and her stomach swirled in a sickly fashion.
The soldier passed the papers back to her with a warning. ‘The latest rule regarding visiting non-residents of St. Malo is that you must report to the Kommandantur within two weeks of your arrival. Make sure you do, Mademoiselle Rousseau, or you will face the consequences.’
Lizzie said she would, a bitter taste in her mouth, as he moved for her to pass under the arch. When she finally emerged on the other side of the wall, Charles waited, and a look of profound relief crossed his face.
‘Thank God,’ he muttered as they mounted their bicycles. ‘What took so long?’
When Lizzie explained, Charles said he’d heard the Boche were tightening their surveillance on newcomers. ‘There have been more targeted attacks on the regime,’ he whispered.
The soldier’s warning hung over them like a black cloud as they cycled across the causeway to St. Servan and towards Cité d'Aleth. Lizzie now had a ticking clock on her mission, and with every day the danger increased.
The breeze brought colour to her pale cheeks as she cycled. She still couldn’t quite believe how things had unfolded with her uncle, but she was ready to grasp the opportunity.
Jack had drilled into her that the nature of opportunity was that it appeared out of nowhere and agents must be ready to seize it with both hands.
After crossing several narrow bridges, Charles signalled they had reached a suitable spot to commence the work, and he dismounted from his bike.
Between them, they unloaded the theodolites, measuring chains and camera equipment and placed them on the surface of a large smooth rock.
‘We will use this as our base,’ he said.
‘There doesn’t appear to be anyone around, so that’s good. ’
Lizzie looked out to sea. They stood on the rocky peninsula, located across the Rance River estuary, jutting into the sparkling water and overlooking Saint-Malo's port and harbour.
Her gaze took in the panoramic views of the walled city across the water from this vantage point.
Now she understood why the SOE had instructed her to get to this spot for the best view.
Charles pointed to the ruined walls. ‘This is what remains of the medieval Fort d’Aleth and the ancient settlement, which was once the Gallo-Roman port town, older than Saint-Malo. You may see why it has been a key military location for hundreds of years.’
Lizzie asked questions about what he needed to do and how she could help him. She could see the rocky coastline was ideal as a deterrent against invasion, but she had to know what the Germans planned to do to fortify it.
Charles explained the possibilities to her as simply as he could, but it was difficult to follow some of his professional nuances. Like many experts, he didn’t realise that he spoke in another language, hard for laypeople to understand.
They set up the photographic equipment, which was impressive in size and scope, and Charles showed Lizzie how to use it. Whilst he worked on his assessment, making notes, she photographed whatever he told her to.
In between doing as instructed, when Charles turned his back, engrossed in his study, she slipped her mini camera out of the lining of her coat and snapped reconnaissance shots of the area.
Whilst she could ask for copies of the professional photos, it would be safer to smuggle out the hidden camera than her uncle’s printed images.
The SOE camera was designed for spy work, whereas the professional survey camera equipment was bulky.
To Lizzie’s excitement, she realised that Charles’s camera had special capabilities, and she could see details of distant objects with amazing focus and clarity. It was like having a telescope that showed her which specific positions to capture.
She photographed gun emplacements across the harbour, guard positions, potential landing points, and construction sites. There was so much valuable information, she was overwhelmed trying to complete the task. Charles called over to her to hurry because he needed her to reposition the equipment.
‘Just measuring the angles like you showed me,’ she called, stalling for time.
Another surveyor had arrived and was setting up his equipment nearby, and she caught on to Charles’s effort to put on a realistic show. That was the end of using her mini camera, as it would create immediate suspicion.
Lizzie’s considerable experience undercover told her that trusting anyone you weren’t sure of was a dangerous mistake.
The surveyor could be friend or foe, equally likely to be a willing collaborator to get all the work he needed from the Germans, or he might be as opposed to them as her uncle.
One thing she knew for certain—this wasn’t the time to test him.
She spoke to him, saying it was a fine day, and he was polite but kept himself to himself as he worked.
Two soldiers patrolled the area, and after some time, one approached Lizzie and stood watching over her shoulder as she worked. She could hear him breathing as he studied what she was doing.
Stay calm.
The slightest show of nerves could arouse suspicion, and she worried her hands would shake under the pressure, but somehow, she acted as though what she was doing was perfectly normal.
‘Continue the good work, mademoiselle,’ he said eventually, close to her ear, and she was weak with relief when she heard his boots march away on the hard stone ground.
At moments like this, she worried she wasn’t cut out for such perilous operations.
Her being an SOE agent must be some kind of mistake.
It was one thing gathering intelligence, or sabotaging transport routes, but interacting with the German forces was the most terrifying of all.
Doubts swirled in her mind, but she pushed them away like she always did.
After all, if she didn’t do this, then who would? No one was cut out for fighting the Nazi regime, but they had no choice.
By late morning, Lizzie had observed patrol patterns, harbour and port defences and potential landing sites for the Allies.
She even spotted a couple of Jersey fishing boats, which brought tears to her eyes as she followed them with the powerful lens.
The names of the little boats were familiar Jersey landmarks, which was how she knew they had come straight from the island of her birth and would probably return soon.
This was outside the remit of her mission, and the SOE would not be interested in fishing boats travelling to and from the occupied Channel Islands.
But Lizzie was.
Nan and Pops. They were just a short boat trip away from where she stood now.
The intensity of her feelings whipped through her like a wild storm, stealing her composure as she stood amongst the windswept ruins on the site of the ancient fortress, which would be a key piece of Hitler’s Atlantic Wall.
Satisfied she had photographed what Charles needed and gathered as much intelligence as she could, she repositioned the equipment next to her uncle and completed the next batch of photography.
Her mini camera was full of priceless reconnaissance shots and tucked safety in the lining of her coat, so she could breathe properly again.
A vision of Prime Minister Churchill and his War Cabinet pouring over the photographs and planning the Allied invasion to free France and win the war entered her mind.
Her insides fizzed at the realisation she had achieved what she had come to achieve.
What had seemed impossible had become simple when Uncle Charles revealed the details of his next project.
Lizzie kicked herself for not even considering he would be able to help her gain access, when it seemed so obvious now.
The Germans relied on local expertise and didn’t hesitate to use professionals who passed their security checks. If they discovered her uncle was born in Jersey, it was unlikely he would be allowed access at this level.
During the ride back to the house, Lizzie thought about her meeting with Father Guérin the following day. Her need of a radio set was urgent now. Without it, she couldn’t let London know she had a critical film in her possession and would need a way out.
Jack would be so worried, and she could feel his angst. They were entwined even when they were apart.
Did the priest know where the missing radio was, and if he did, would he trust her?