Jackdaws

There was a subtext here, Paul knew. The old-time professional spies at MI6 hated the newcomers of SUE with their swashbuckling style. When the Resistance struck at German installations they stirred up Gestapo investigations which then sometimes caught MI6's people. Paul took SUE's side: striking at the enemy was the whole point of war.

Was that the game here? A bureaucratic spat between MI6 and SOE?

"Any particular reason for your pessimism?" Monty asked Fortescue.

"Take last night's fiasco," Fortescue replied promptly. "A Resistance group under an SUE commander attacked a telephone exchange near Reims."

General Pickford spoke for the first time. "I thought it was our policy not to attack telephone exchanges-we're going to need them ourselves if the invasion is successful."

"You're quite right," Monty said. "But Sainte-C‚cile has been made an exception. It's an access node for the new cable route to Germany. Most of the telephone and telex traffic between the High Command in Berlin and German forces in France passes through that building. Knocking it out wouldn't do us much harm-we won't be calling Germany-but would wreak havoc with the enemy's communications."

Pickford said, "They'll switch to wireless communication."

"Exactly," said Monty. "Then we'll be able to read their signals."

Fortescue put in. "Thanks to our code breakers at Bletchley."

Paul knew, though not many other people did, that British intelligence had cracked the codes used by the Germans and therefore could read much of the enemy's radio traffic. MI6 was proud of this, although in truth they deserved little credit: the work had been done not by intelligence staff but by an irregular group of mathematicians and crossword-puzzle enthusiasts, many of whom would have been arrested if they had entered an MI6 office in normal times. Sir Stewart Menzies, the foxhunting head of MI6, hated intellectuals, communists, and homosexuals, but Alan Turing, the mathematical genius who led the code breakers, was all three.

However, Pickford was right: if the Germans could not use the phone lines, they would have to use radio, and then the Allies would know what they were saying. Destroying the telephone exchange at Sainte-Cdcile would give the Allies a crucial advantage.

But the mission had gone wrong. "Who was in charge?" Monty asked.

Graves said, "I haven't seen a full report-"

"I can tell you," Fortescue interjected. "Major Clairet." He paused. "A girl."

Paul had heard of Felicity Clairet. She was something of a legend among the small group who knew the secret of the Allies' clandestine war. She had survived under cover in France longer than anyone. Her code name was Leopardess, and people said she moved around the streets of occupied France with the silent footsteps of a dangerous cat. They also said she was a pretty girl with a heart of stone. She had killed more than once.

"And what happened?" Monty said.

"Poor planning, an inexperienced commander, and a lack of discipline among the men all played their part," Fortescue replied. "The building was not heavily guarded, but the Germans there are trained troops, and they simply wiped out the Resistance force."

Monty looked angry. Pickford said, "Looks like we shouldn't rely too heavily on the French Resistance to disrupt Rommel's supply lines."

Fortescue nodded. "Bombing is the more reliable means to that end."

"I'm not sure that's quite fair," Graves protested feebly. "Bomber Command has its successes and failures, too. And SOE is a good deal cheaper."

"We're not here to be fair to people, for God's sake," Monty growled. "We just want to win the war." He stood up. ~'I think we've heard enough," he said to General Pickford.

Graves said, "But what shall we do about the telephone exchange? SOE has come up with a new plan-"

"Good God," Fortescue interrupted. "We don't want another balls-up, do we?"

"Bomb it," said Monty.

"We've tried that," Graves said. "They hit the building, but the damage was not sufficient to put the telephone exchange out of action for longer than a few hours."

"Then bomb it again," said Monty, and he walked out.

Graves threw a look of petulant fury at the man from MI6. "Really, Fortescue," he said. "I mean to say.. really."

Fortescue did not respond.

They all left the room. In the hallway outside, two people were waiting: a man of about fifty in a tweed jacket, and a short blonde woman wearing a worn blue cardigan over a faded cotton dress. Standing in front of a display of sporting trophies, they looked almost like a head teacher chatting to a schoolgirl, except that the girl wore a bright yellow scarf tied with a touch of style that looked, to Paul, distinctly French. Fortescue hurried past them, but Graves stopped. "They turned you down," he said. "They're going to bomb it again."