Chapter 40
The harshness of winter had passed in Buckinghamshire, and the intermittent April showers were followed by forgiving sunshine, forming the perfect conditions to adorn Bletchley Park in a blanket of daffodils and cherry blossom.
When Jack arrived that morning, the lake shimmered in the sun, and he took a few minutes to enjoy the idyllic spring scene, rather than holing up immediately in his gloomy hut.
It was a shame to be indoors on a glorious day like this, but as always, duty called.
There was still more work to be done on his assignment regarding the SIS-SOE intelligence pipeline, and Jack had collected a considerable number of examples where the SIS had failed to pass on information to Baker Street.
Some evidenced the intelligence was simply released too late, whilst others showed it had not been passed on at all.
Several instances showed clearly how they could have saved agents and Resistance members' lives during dangerous operations if the intelligence had been communicated efficiently.
The whole situation infuriated Jack, especially as they still had not heard a word from Hannah, and as each day passed, he feared the worst. Perhaps it was too late to save The Lavender Network, but if the members had been rounded up and handed over to the Gestapo, it was even more vital to make sure such a terrible failure wouldn’t be repeated.
Jack had to harden his resolve and not let himself dwell on the feelings coursing through him when he imagined the fate of their agents. As much as he would have enjoyed tearing a strip off Gould, he had to hold himself in check and channel his anger into a useful purpose.
The top-secret intelligence he’d spotted on the Swiss channel still gnawed at him, but when he reported the events of his meeting with Gould to Val, barely one hour later he received a firm order marked for his eyes only.
The reply arrived so much quicker than usual; he thought it must be a clear sign he was onto something momentous.
When he decrypted the coded message, he held his breath, but Val’s message was a huge anti-climax, and Jack shook his head in disbelief as he read it:
Raven. This was not your assignment. Do not talk to anyone about your suspicions. Not even Seagrove. Step away.
Pondering her words as he smoked, he wondered if that was all Val was going to say on the matter.
His boss knew Lizzie had also encountered strange goings-on and had flagged potential foul play on the Swiss channel, but there was nothing more he could do now.
Part of being a successful agent was following orders from above, even when they made no sense, or he didn’t agree with them.
Gould looked undeniably crooked to him, but Jack had been in British Intelligence circles long enough to know that espionage was a game of smoke and mirrors, and the reality was often not what it seemed.
He realised he must have stumbled onto something well above his pay grade and, as frustrating as it was, he recognised it was his cue to draw a line under it and focus on completing his own assignments.
The night before, he had been frustrated and vowed to continue his investigation, but after sleeping on it and gazing at the tranquil lake, reflecting on Val’s reply gave him some peace of mind.
Her firm intervention meant the powers that be must know something was going on with the Swiss channel, so Gould couldn’t be betraying them.
Lizzie noticing the peculiarity too must be pure coincidence.
As unusual as that was, he had to admit these things happened occasionally.
Besides, she had her hands full with her own mission, so he wouldn’t mention the developments to her.
Hopefully, she’d forget about it and not question him when she returned, as he hated lying to her.
An order not to speak to anyone about it included not speaking of the order itself.
He pondered the absurdity of the knots agents had to tie themselves in to keep their secrets.
Jack took a last drag of his cigarette before reluctantly turning from the animated birds chattering on the tree branches and the majestic wildfowl swooping across the water.
Fletcher greeted him in the hut with a cheerful good morning and presented him with a fresh pile of intercepts and some papers he had requested the previous evening.
The sooner he made his case to Gould about the failure of the intelligence pipeline that fed the SOE, the sooner he could go home.
He’d had enough of the cold, cramped huts, and even his comfortable room at the pub had lost its rustic charm.
He missed his familiar routine at Baker Street, and most of all he missed Lizzie and wondered what the latest was from her Swiss informant.
The last he heard, the operation was moving as slowly as treacle, and she too was impatient with her lack of progress.
Browsing through the transcripts, Jack’s hopes of Lizzie joining him soon in London were dashed when he read that Baker Street had still not received the diplomatic pouch which contained her first piece of evidence.
Fletcher had scheduled a meeting for him with Gould that afternoon, and he organised his materials so he wouldn’t be caught off guard.
Whatever Gould was up to on the Swiss channel, the SIS officer was a sharp operator, and Jack needed to influence him to make the changes needed for a speedier flow of intelligence to London.
After lunch, carrying his briefcase, which contained the proof he’d so rigorously collated, he left his hut.
Bicycles littered the path, propped carelessly against walls and fences everywhere he looked, and a couple of Bletchley boffins meandered along in the opposite direction.
As he was about to walk towards the mansion on the grass, he noticed the genius codebreaker approaching.
What was his name again? Turing. Alan Turing, that was it.
For one fleeting second, Jack wondered whether he knew about the top-secret Swiss channel.
Jack bid him good day as they crossed paths, but Turing appeared lost in a world of his own and didn’t respond.
Jack’s mind whirred with possibilities of intrigue, but he gave himself a stern warning to stop.
He must focus on ensuring he got the best deal for Hannah and Lev and all the courageous agents risking their lives in occupied territories.
An improved flow of intelligence between Bletchley and Baker Street would not only save the lives of their own agents in France but also benefit SOE agents everywhere.
Ms Bulldog as he had dubbed Gould’s secretary after their recent fraught exchanges, acted as if she’d never met him before, despite his polite greeting. ‘Good afternoon, I have a two o’clock meeting with Mr Gould.’
She didn’t smile but ran her finger down the page in a large book open on her desk until she reached his name. ‘Captain King. He’s expecting you. Come this way.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his tone friendly, refusing to be cowed by her stiff formality.
Gould was sitting at his desk, smoking a pipe when the intractable Ms Bulldog permitted Jack to enter, rather like an equerry zealously guarding her king. The air in the room was thick with aromatic smoke, and Gould thanked his secretary, who left and closed the door.
This time Gould didn’t rise but gestured for Jack to take a seat as if they were old friends, chewing the fat. ‘I was hoping to see you soon. Things didn’t end quite as I would have liked the other day following our unfortunate misunderstanding.’
Jack’s black eyes met Gould’s. ‘What misunderstanding?’
Gould drew on his pipe, and his eyes twinkled as he nodded his head. ‘Good man. Mum’s the word. I knew you would see things clearly.’
Jack lifted his briefcase onto his lap and presented his papers on the desk like a winning hand of cards.
Gould sighed as it dawned on him Jack hadn’t come to apologise for inserting himself into matters that didn’t concern him.
‘You are like a dog with a bone,’ he said, but Jack glimpsed admiration in the officer’s eyes. Jack was exactly the type of formidable agent every intelligence head wanted on their team. ‘Go on, King, what may I do for you today?’
‘Thank you, sir. I am as keen to get out of your hair here at Bletchley as no doubt you are to see the back of me.’
Gould puffed again, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Go on.’
‘As you know, my assignment is to identify weaknesses in the intelligence pipeline between here and London, to improve efficiency and ultimately save agents’ lives. I’m pleased to tell you I have identified areas where the flow breaks down so that we may work together to resolve the issues.’
Gould sighed again, and Jack saw he had his full attention. The officer said, ‘I’m all ears. Tell me how we can help your people in France, and I’m sure my team will rise to the challenge.’
Jack lit a cigarette. ‘After a thorough investigation and review of the files, I confirm, as we suspected, that it’s a systemic problem, not just a France problem.
The failures compromise all our agents in the field, as well as the brave Resistance who risk their lives to help them.
Besides France, I’m sure you are aware we have growing SOE networks and cells in Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway, Yugoslavia, Greece, Poland, Czechoslovakia and North Africa. ’
Gould rested his pipe on the desk. ‘Show me what proof you’ve got, Captain, and let’s stop beating around the bush.’
Jack produced the papers that painstakingly evidenced the specific examples.
They were irrefutable because if there was one thing Jack excelled at, it was his eye for detail and ability to identify relevant cases.
Val told him repeatedly when he bemoaned his fate as a desk man instead of being out in the field, that he’d made a rod for his own back by being so proficient.
It was a double-edged sword, as it kept him away from the thrill of overseas missions, but he understood the importance of intelligence work at home to support their agents.
Jack talked Gould through each of the examples, and when they delved into The Lavender Network scenario where the SIS had clearly not passed over critical intelligence to Baker Street, Gould took a sharp intake of breath.
To his credit, the SIS officer listened closely and asked probing questions until Jack finished presenting his case.
‘You have done a meticulous job of bringing this to my attention,’ Gould said, lighting his pipe and then crossing to the window where he puffed and surveyed the grounds.
Jack waited, losing patience and wondering whether he would need to play his trump card. ‘The boss will want to know how you propose to remedy the failings so that they will not be repeated.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Gould said. ‘I will mull it over.’
Jack recognised the SIS’s officer’s words as organisational code to stall him.
For all his show of attention to Jack’s case, the SIS didn’t take kindly to being ordered to pass their intelligence to their rival, the SOE.
Jack’s intention to remain calm slipped away as he felt icy rage rise within him, and he jumped to his feet and slammed his hand down hard on Gould’s desk.
‘That’s not enough, man. We need immediate and reliable intelligence.
I have agents lying dead in the field and captured by the Gestapo because of the utter ineptitude of your system.
For God’s sake, is mulling it over the best you can do?
We’re on the same side and we’re fighting for our lives here! ’
Gould pivoted to face Jack, clearly taken aback by his passionate outburst. ‘Alright, don’t lose your rag, King. You’ll do yourself a mischief.’
Jack’s hackles rose, and he calculated how hard to push.
Once he was back at Baker Street, he would no longer have access to Gould.
Still standing, he said, ‘As you know, Mr Churchill takes a particular interest in the SOE and meets regularly with the Director. He’d be horrified if he were to learn that our agents in France have been captured and murdered because of a petty turf war between our agencies. ’
The effect of his words struck an immediate change in Gould’s countenance, and he stared at Jack.
After what seemed like a long pause, the officer said, ‘If I see that the efficiency of the pipeline is dramatically improved, you’ll make no mention of this unfortunate business to the Prime Minister? ’
‘Yes, in return for immediate improvements,’ Jack said, gathering his papers and trying to calm himself down. Despite all his good intentions, some men only responded to threats and a show of strength.
They shook hands, and Jack thanked Gould and said he would return to London the following day. When he reached the door, Gould called after him. ‘King, am I to understand you dropped the other business about the Swiss channel entirely?’
Jack turned. ‘Consider it done.’
It was Jack’s last night at The Eight Bells, and he tossed and turned and struggled to sleep as his mind turned over his time at Bletchley.
The two jobs he’d been assigned were completed to his satisfaction.
He had collected plenty of useful new material for the Baker Street traitor to keep feeding false information to his spymaster in Berlin.
It gave Jack a lot of intelligence that would throw the Boche off the scent of what the Allies were really up to, whilst still appearing to be highly sensitive information that would keep the man in play for when they might need him.
Jack turned again and tried to get comfortable, his thoughts still buzzing and refusing him the luxury of sleep. The most important assignment was the improvement of the intelligence pipeline, and he was confident he’d done all he could to achieve that for the time being.
How much Gould would follow through remained to be seen, but Jack would be watching from London and if he needed to return to Bletchley to remind the SIS officer of their agreement, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Jack shut down the thoughts that had plagued him since he received Val’s order to close his investigation on the Swiss channel. It was obvious that a top-secret intelligence operation was being hidden by Gould. Even Val, whom he had never known to back down in such a way before, wouldn’t touch it.
The dawn chatter of the birds and a hazy first light streamed into the room as Jack finally drifted off to sleep.