Jackdaws

Jelly was crying. “Poor Maude,” she said. “She was a silly cow, but she didn’t deserve to be tortured.”

Greta was more practical. “Where will we go?”

“We’ll hide in the convent next door to the flophouse. They’ll take anyone in. I’ve hidden escaped prisoners of war there before now. They’ll let us stay until daybreak.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll go to the station as planned. Diana is going to tell Dieter Franck our real names, our code names, and our false identities. He will put out an alert for anyone traveling under our aliases. Fortunately, I have a spare set of papers for all of us, using the same photographs but different identities. The Gestapo don’t have photographs of you three, and I’ve changed my appearance, so the checkpoint guards will have no way of recognizing us. However, to be safe, we won’t go to the station at first light-we’ll wait until about ten o’clock when it should be busy.”

Ruby said, “Diana will also tell them what our mission is.”

“She’ll tell them we’re going to blow up the railway tunnel at Marles. Fortunately, that’s not our real mission. It’s a cover story I gave out.”

Jelly said admiringly, “Flick, you think of everything.”

“Yes,” she said grimly. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

CHAPTER 37

PAUL SAT IN the dismal canteen at Grendon Underwood, brooding anxiously about Flick, for more than an hour. He was beginning to believe that Brian Standish had been compromised. The incident in the cathedral, the fact that Chatelle had been in total darkness, and the unnatural correctness of the third radio message all pointed in the same direction.

In the original plan, Flick would have been met at Chatelle by a reception committee consisting of Michel and the remnants of the Bollinger circuit. Michel would have taken them to a hideaway for a few hours, then arranged transport to Sainte-Cécile. After they entered the château and blew up the telephone exchange he would have driven them back to Chatelle to meet their pickup plane. All that had changed now, but Flick would still need both transport and a hiding place when she got to Reims, and she would be relying on the Bollinger circuit to help. However, if Brian had been compromised, would there be any of the circuit left? Was the safe house safe? Was Michelin Gestapo hands, too?

At last, Lucy Briggs came into the canteen and said, “Jean asked me to tell you that Helicopter’s reply is being decrypted now. Would you like to come with me?”

He followed her to the tiny room-formerly a boot cupboard, he guessed-that served as Jean Bevins’s office. Jean had a sheet of paper in her hand. She looked annoyed. “I can’t understand this,” she said.

Paul read it quickly.

CALLSIGN HLCP (HELICOPTER)

SECURITY TAG PRESENT

JUN 3 1944

MESSAGE READS:

TWO STENS WITH SIX MAGAZINES

FOR EACH STOP ONE LEE ENFELD RIFLE

WITH TEN CLIPS STOP SIX COLT AUTOMATICS WITH APPROXIMATELY ONE HUNDRED ROUNDS STOP NO GRENADES OVER

Paul stared at the decrypt in dismay, as if hoping the words might change to something less horrifying, but of course they remained the same.

“I expected him to be furious,” Jean said. “He doesn’t complain at all, just answers your questions, as nice as pie.”

“Exactly,” said Paul. “That’s because it’s not him.” This message did not come from a harassed agent in the field who had been presented with a sudden unreasonable request by his bureaucratic superiors. The reply had been drafted by a Gestapo officer desperate to maintain the smooth appearance of calm normality. The only spelling mistake was “Enfeld” instead of “Enfield,” and even that suggested a German, for “feld” was German for “field.”

There was no longer any doubt. Flick was in terrible danger.

Paul massaged his temples with his right hand. There was now only one thing to do. The operation was falling apart, and he had to save it-and Flick.

He looked up at Jean, and caught her looking at him with an expression of compassion. “May I use your phone?” he said.

“Of course.”

He dialed Baker Street. Percy was at his desk. “This is Paul. I’m convinced Brian has been captured. His radio is being operated by the Gestapo.” In the background, Jean Bevins gasped.

“Oh, hell,” Percy said. “And without the radio, we have no way to warn Flick.”

“Yes, we do,” said Paul.

“How?”

“Get me a plane. I’m going to Reims—tonight.”

THE EIGHTH DAY Sunday, June 4, 1944

CHAPTER 38

THE AVENUE FOCH seemed to have been built for the richest people in the world. A wide road running from the Arc de Triomphe to the Bois de Boulogne, it had ornamental gardens on both sides flanked by inner roads giving access to the palatial houses. Number 84 was an elegant residence with a broad staircase leading to five stories of charming rooms. The Gestapo had turned it into a house of torture.