Chapter 29
Val had only responded to Jack’s message with a few words:
Nothing from our spies in lavender yet.
Jack had been hoping that by now Hannah had sent a message to London, or Val had located her through their contacts in Languedoc.
As the length of the silence grew, Jack’s natural optimism faded, and he thought again about going into Toulouse.
It was officially occupied by Germany now, and the Free Zone was no more.
Jack sighed and lit a cigarette. He missed his days undercover in France, but Val kept him chained to his desk in London, running operations at home.
Even Lizzie had been essentially grounded from going behind enemy lines.
The British Legation in Switzerland wasn’t much different from working in London, aside from keeping them apart, of course.
He blew smoke rings over his head and watched as they merged with the cold air.
Fletcher entered the hut and passed him an envelope. ‘Urgent from London, sir.’
At last, he was getting a proper response from Val. As he opened the slim envelope, careful not to damage the contents, his heart quickened as he saw it was a radio communication that had gone to Val and she had then forwarded to him. She’d added a handwritten note at the top of the slip of paper:
Good news on one front. Not so good on the other.
V
Jack’s eyes scanned the message and saw it was from Lizzie:
Source in play. Senior banker. Findings en route via diplomatic pouch. Suspected eyes on me. Angel still dark. Worried. Missing London. Seagrove.
Jack studied the decrypted message, trying to read between the lines.
Lizzie was right to be worried. The Lavender Network had two different channels through which they were in contact.
The SOE station at the Legation in Bern was their channel for escape route couriers, safe houses, and local contacts in the field, and Baker Street was their main channel.
Neither had received an update from Hannah or Lev, who was also a trained wireless operator and sent communications when Hannah wasn’t available.
Silence on both channels was worrying indeed.
Jack burnt the message and took his mug into the nearby refreshment hut in search of tea and a bite to eat. An idea was forming in his head, and if he followed the notion, he would need something in his stomach before he set out.
Nodding hello to a few familiar faces in the busy hut, he sipped his tea and bit into a cheese sandwich.
Thank God Britain still had cheddar cheese.
So much of their wartime diet was bland, but the tangy, creamy flavour of the iconic cheddar melted in his mouth, and he savoured the sandwich.
His mother said he was misguided, and no British cheese could ever outdo French cheese, but he let her have her say and quietly chose cheddar every time.
As far as hard cheeses went, there was none better.
One thought led to another, and he remembered a similar conversation with his mother and Henry where his brother sided with him and said you couldn’t beat cheddar.
The vision stabbed at his heart, and he felt a sharp physical pain in his chest.
Henry. What was he going to do without him?
His younger brother’s death still hadn’t fully sunk in despite the passing months, and he did his best to avoid thinking of him, but the innocent memory had crept into his mind like a thief.
Impatient with himself, he pushed the sentimental thoughts away.
There was a war on, and he had no time to indulge in such melancholy.
When this was all over, they would take time to mourn Henry properly and pay tribute to him.
His body hadn’t been returned, and there had been no military funeral yet.
Lizzie said that it made it harder to accept, and they both worried about how Hannah was dealing with the death of her fiancé, without the support of those who knew him.
Jack’s next move crystallised in his mind, and he went straight to Fletcher to ask her to check the train timetable. She reappeared, saying that if he hurried, he could catch the next train to Euston.
When he had cleared his desk, Fletcher asked, ‘Will you need me later today, sir?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, Fletcher, thank you. I should be back tomorrow, but may be delayed.’
‘Very well, sir. Safe trip. If anyone asks where you have gone, what should I say?’
‘Say I’m in London. No further details are necessary.’
Jack walked to Bletchley Station, adrenaline surging through him now that he was on the move.
No wonder he had been feeling under the weather.
He’d been holed up in the poky hut, only going back and forth to sleep at the pub for weeks now.
A London man needs to be in his city, he reflected, hearing Lizzie’s voice in his head, teasing him.
The Victorian railway station came into view with its grimy sign: Bletchley Station.
The old building wasn’t impressive like the mansion, but was reassuring in its solid presence.
The brick was dirty from years of coal smoke staining its surface.
He recognised a staff member from Bletchley waiting for the London train, and they nodded to each other.
No words were necessary; in fact, the less said the better.
There was an unspoken agreement that no matter what the community suspected, they all acted as though it was perfectly normal that swarms of what the locals called clever Oxford and Cambridge types had infiltrated the sleepy village.
A few villagers stood waiting, clutching bags and parcels, and it wasn’t long before the locomotive approached the platform. In a tale stranger than most, the small rural station had been transformed into the most unlikely stop for the biggest brains in Britain.
There was a loud hissing of brakes and billowing of smoke as the train screeched to a stop on the rails.
As the steam train bound for London ground to a halt in front of Jack, his spirits lifted.
He was going home. Lizzie wouldn’t be there, but it would be good to be back.
A trickle of passengers, a government type with a briefcase, a woman carrying a toddler, and two young soldiers who Jack hoped were on leave to visit their families, alighted.
He wished them a good day and said, ‘Britain owes you a debt.’ After years of war grinding them all down, people took soldiers for granted, and he never missed an opportunity to show his gratitude for their sacrifice.
Millions of young men risked their lives every day to keep bloody Hitler at bay.
Their youth passed before their eyes as the war grew darker and seemed like a never-ending endeavour.
Jack showed his government travel pass to the conductor, who appeared out of nowhere and waved him aboard.
The interior of the train looked as if there was a war on and was in dreadful need of refurbishment.
The seats were worn, and the windows barely required blackout blinds, such was their thick coating of soot.
All going well, it would be a trip of no more than an hour to Euston, so he took the first vacant seat in a half-full compartment. When the whistle blew, he sat back, his briefcase on his knees, and waited as the train stopped at the next station on its way to London.
Leighton Buzzard was first, followed by Cheddington, and then Tring. His eyes were heavy, and he grew drowsy with the hypnotic rhythm of the wheels by the time they reached Watford Junction.
Jack sat up straight and grasped his briefcase before it slipped off his knee with the sudden stop, berating himself for almost falling asleep. Intelligence officers were supposed to be alert and ready for anything, not nodding off whilst their cases slid off their laps.
It wouldn’t be long now before they reached Euston, and he would take the Underground to Baker Street. Val wouldn’t send a car for him because she didn’t expect him, which was how he wanted it. She was avoiding dealing with him because he was conveniently out of the way. He sighed.
It was just as well he’d put some distance between himself and Gould because he had an insistent urge to give him a piece of his mind, but he must hold himself in check.
It wasn’t wise to pick an argument with the SIS officer.
In fact, it would be plain stupid and only mess up his plans.
For that reason, he’d left as soon as he could because he felt ready to boil over if he so much as came face to face with Gould.
The man was at worst a traitor and at best a weak link in the intelligence chain.
Jack would surprise Val so she couldn’t ignore him any longer on the dire Hannah and Lev situation.
Whether she would sign off on him going in on an emergency reconnaissance and potential rescue mission was highly unlikely, but he had to try.
He had to save Hannah for his own conscience, if not for his beloved brother.
Euston heaved with waiting passengers waving goodbye to loved ones.
Uniformed soldiers were everywhere, and there was a general feeling of barely organised chaos.
Jack was relieved to exit the busy station and make his way to the Underground.
It was only one stop, and within minutes he emerged from the dimly lit bowels of the earth onto Baker Street.
Jack checked his watch and saw it was lunchtime, and after bidding good day to the cheery doorman, he went immediately upstairs to Val’s office. Lunchtime or not, the odds were that he would find her there.
He knocked sharply on the door of the office she shared with Lizzie when she was based at home and heard Val’s voice.
‘Come in.’
Jack pushed the door open and smiled as he saw the shock on her face. It wasn’t often one caught Val out.
‘Well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in!’ she said.
‘Lovely to see you too. Thanks for the warm welcome.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ she said, gesturing for him to sit. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘I do. Which is exactly why I’m here.’
Val had the good grace to look sheepish; the thick frames of her glasses not hiding the expression in her eyes.
‘Good to see you, anyway. I suppose you want to talk about Hannah.’
‘You suppose right,’ Jack said, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t bother offering one to Val, as she lectured him repeatedly on what a horrible habit smoking was and how it would kill him before the Nazis did.
She pushed the papers in front of her aside, almost reluctantly, and turned her full attention to her most senior intelligence officer. ‘Go on, then. I should have guessed you would show up. What is it you want exactly?’