Chapter 10
A week had passed since the morning Lizzie arrived in the city of Bern, which was the federal capital of Switzerland and the seat of the Swiss government.
She was settling into a routine in her new life as Elizabeth Gale.
Nigel Pemberton, the Commercial Attaché, was her new boss, and he appreciated her work.
Fog clung to the mountains, and she couldn’t see the bright white peaks when she stood at the window sipping her tea before leaving for the office.
That morning, she tackled the translations of the latest batch of German commercial correspondence, which included dull trade documents and reports.
Lizzie was alert for anything out of the ordinary tied to the purpose of her mission, but so far, she had seen nothing worth pursuing.
She smiled wryly at the thought: it wasn’t as if they were going to parade a document with the ins and outs of Swiss and Nazi collaboration across her desk.
It would be more subtle than that, and it was her job to follow her nose and uncover the proof Churchill needed.
Her instructor had briefed her on the basic workings of Swiss commerce and the demand for factory production, as this was one way Switzerland was supplying the German war machine, but based on what she had seen so far, they weren’t supplying the Allies in equal measure.
No wonder London wanted to pressure them to shut it down.
When she knocked on Nigel Pemberton’s half-open door and he signalled for her to enter, she lay the latest translated documents for his reference on one side of his desk.
‘Thank you, Elizabeth. I must say you have set a record pace. At this rate, I shall have to improve my own speed just to keep up with you.’ Lizzie smiled back at him and took advantage of the moment.
‘I do my best, sir. Have you got a moment?’
‘Certainly, certainly, pull up a chair. You’ve had no training from me or my people to speak of and are doing a remarkable job so the least I can do is spare a moment for you. What’s on your mind?’
Lizzie sat on the nearby chair and turned to him. ‘It appears a high volume of the commercial documents passing through the office are for precision tools such as theodolites for surveying or measuring instruments and laboratory equipment.’
‘That is correct,’ Pemberton said, nodding. ‘The Swiss are remarkable in this field of industry. Their watchmaking expertise has proven indispensable in the engineering of precision tools and components, so they are in great demand, not only by us but by the United States too.’
Lizzie leant closer and lowered her voice as the door was still ajar. ‘Should I expect to translate documents that are munitions or military machinery related?’
‘Ah, I see what you’re getting at. You are astute, which is an admirable quality to bring to the detailed nature of this work. Unfortunately, that is an area where I must advise you to tread lightly, given our diplomatic function.’
Lizzie gazed at Pemberton, willing him to expand. She knew she was in danger of crossing an unspoken line, but after a week of translating documents that took her no closer to the purpose of her mission, she decided to be bold and see what she might discover from the man in charge.
She remained silent and waited.
Nigel Pemberton kept hold of his fountain pen and sat back in his large chair as if contemplating the world with a laboured sigh.
‘Close the door, Elizabeth and let us have a frank conversation.’
Lizzie did as he asked and swiftly returned to his side. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your time.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, waving his pen. ‘The last girl didn’t ask questions, but I can see you are of a different ilk. Am I right in assuming our friends in Baker Street had a hand in your appointment?’
Lizzie missed only a beat before inclining her head. If she wanted her boss’s help, she must give him something in return.
‘I see. Well, that rather casts a different light on matters. I must say, I wish the powers that be would give me a heads-up when they drop these potential diplomatic bombs on me.’
Lizzie offered him a wry smile. ‘Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to drop bombs on you; if anything, I’m far more concerned with stopping other bombs, if you get my drift.’
Pemberton cleared his throat. ‘I do indeed. The truth of the matter is we’re in the midst of a German military minefield that is so advanced I wouldn’t know where to begin to quash it.’
Lizzie was relieved Pemberton was cooperating and didn’t seem put out by her approaching him like this.
Val had told her to assess him before revealing her real position, and when she discussed it with Jack, who had experience in diplomatic negotiations, he shed more light on the SOE strategy.
‘We never tell government officials in advance when we’re placing one of ours undercover, and there are a few reasons for it.
One: this way you get to assess him and his operation without him knowing you are essentially spying on him, and two: if he is in some way corrupted or unreliable, you would then circumvent him altogether and not risk compromising yourself or the mission. ’
Lizzie had accepted it as the usual SOE protocol, but now she realised just how much sense it made.
If Pemberton had given signs of being a rotten apple, she would have picked up on something and not confided in him or given him any reason to suspect she was anything other than a translator and cipher clerk.
Her cover for that additional role, which allowed her access to the cipher room at the Legation, was easily explained by her being a FANY.
They needed all hands-on deck for experienced cipher clerks, and she had already established a working relationship with Tom Green, which gave her a direct line to Baker Street.
The SOE was really very smart and sometimes in the chaos back home and in the constant hustle within the Resistance networks they oversaw, she underestimated their operations.
There was a sharp tap on the door and Lizzie distanced herself.
‘Come in,’ her boss called in his authoritative tone.
His secretary appeared in the doorway. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. There’s an urgent telephone call for you from the Swiss Federal Council's trade department.’
Pemberton sighed again and his eyes moved from his secretary’s face back to Lizzie. ‘You’d better put him through then. These chaps tend to say everything is urgent, but it will be just the time I put one of them off that it will be. You’ll have to excuse me, Elizabeth.’
Lizzie would have liked to listen in, but she was excused and as she left the room all she heard him say was, ‘Nigel Pemberton, Commercial Attaché, speaking.’
No wonder he needed a translator, she thought as she returned to her desk. It was a wonder that these men in such influential positions didn’t attempt to speak the language of the country to which they were posted.
Lizzie checked the beautiful Swiss clock on the wall, and as if on cue, her stomach gurgled. It was time for lunch, and she had reached a natural break, so she grabbed her coat and hat and left the building.
Outside, the day had brightened considerably, and the heavy fog had lifted to reveal a watery sun glistening in the grey-tinged sky.
She walked towards the bridge and marvelled, as she always did, at the steep drop to the river and the icy waters that swirled below, encircling the historic Old Town.
She remembered from her training that the locals liked to swim in the warmer months, and she shivered involuntarily.
She was a strong swimmer but the thought of braving the glacial river wasn’t a pleasant one, and she hoped that by the time the weather warmed enough for swimmers, she would have completed her mission and be home in London.
Once over the bridge, she entered the medieval cobblestoned alleyways and weaved through the labyrinth of pretty arcades, stone bridges and sculptured fountains.
There was a fierce chill in the air, and she pulled her coat collar closer to her neck.
On her first day, she had gone in search of something to eat when she was weary and disorientated, and had stumbled on a café that served delicious coffee and pastries, and had visited several times since.
Entering the café, she sat at a table by the window, and as she waited for the waitress to take her order, Jack came into her mind as he so often did, and she wondered how he was fairing with his Bletchley Park assignment.
From experience, she knew they were a slippery lot over there in the secret codebreakers’ world.
They naturally played their cards close to their chests, so she guessed he would have his work cut out.
‘Guten Tag, Ursula,’ Lizzie said when the friendly waitress reached her table.
They exchanged a few words, and Lizzie ordered and looked out of the window as she waited for her lunch. The food was one upside of being in Switzerland. At Baker Street they were fortunate to have more than most, but she was enjoying the Swiss cuisine and awaited the meal with relish.
It wasn’t long before Ursula returned, bearing a generous bowl of steaming soup and sliced bread and butter in a basket.
Lizzie ate the soup and fresh bread hungrily, thinking she was blessed not to be in occupied France, having to survive on starvation rations.
At this rate, by the time she returned to London, her mother would remark she had been fattened up, rather than her usual fussing about how she had wasted away.
Ursula cleared the dishes and passed Lizzie a folded copy of Der Bund that had been discarded on another table. ‘I’ll be back with your next course shortly.’
Lizzie flicked through the Swiss newspaper, but she’d barely started reading an article when a selection of cheese and a dish of rosti, the delicious potato dish, were laid before her. ‘This looks wonderful. Thank you so much,’ she said, pushing the newspaper aside.
Only when she’d finished eating and was sipping ersatz coffee, which was the least appetising part of the hearty meal, did she return to the newspaper.
Stalingrad was still front-page news, and the article analysed the German surrender.
Lizzie had taken to reading the paper every day, and it wasn’t filled with German propaganda like the papers she usually read on her missions.
Indeed, it had none of the British spin of the press back home either.
Lizzie felt encouraged by the tone of the article, which was more that of an observer watching the direction of the war slowly pivot.
This conflict seemed to have been going on forever, but the tide was turning, and she could see victory within reach.