by Lee Jackson
Henri nodded.
“Meanwhile,” Fourcade went on, “there’s another mission we need you to pull off ahead of coming to Paris. SOE is asking for information regarding the submarine pens near Bordeaux.”
Henri grinned. “I know the place, and that should be easy. I’ll get one of the officers drunk, steal his uniform, walk onto the base, get the intel, and walk off.”
Fourcade shook her head in dismay. “Henri, after all the lectures you’ve given me on security, you suggest that? I don’t want you killed.”
He laughed. “To get that information, someone has to go in whether it’s me or another person. To find and get close to a crewmember who’ll take a bribe takes time. I can be on the base and back off within minutes, and I can be there and back within a matter of days.”
“That’s nearly four hundred miles each way. We shouldn’t do so much circuitous travel. It’s better if you take Amélie with you and go on from there to build the teams in the northwest. Just don’t involve her in the submarine base mission. And keep in mind that Pétain has made clear that he’s not happy with anti-German activities.”
“So? We’re not happy with him. You yourself had to talk Léon out of leading a coup against him in favor of more effective covert activity.”
At mention of Léon, Fourcade turned crimson and averted her eyes. Henri noticed. “Ahh, you like him,” he teased. “I thought I saw sparks fly when he was here. I think he likes you too.”
“Nonsense. Let’s stay on subject.”
“Of course,” Henri said, chuckling. “Anyway, Pétain hasn’t yet started cracking down.”
“But he will,” Fourcade said. “All right, I’ll give you the Bordeaux mission and you handle it within your section as you see fit, but I’m expecting you and Amélie to set up those teams for us in northwest France. Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t, I assure you. I take as much precaution for my own security as I do for anyone else’s. Now, going back to the Lysander flights, I’m curious about one aspect of them. How will we know that a flight is actually coming in? With weather changes and other potential conflicts, we can’t possibly take for granted that a mission will go off as planned.”
Fourcade chuckled. “You’re right, but it’s simpler than you might think. Be sure to listen to the BBC personal messages every night. We’ll get information about the timeframe when flights are expected by other means, but final word that they’re actually on their way will come over the BBC.”
“How does that work?”
“Very easily. They’ve broadcast personal messages for years, like ‘Happy birthday, Aunt Nancy.’ The operation to bring Jeremy and his crew here is codenamed Caroline. Any message we hear that refers to Caroline could pertain to them. I say could because someone might request a genuine message for someone named Caroline.
“We listen for that operation name and a codeword specific to it. For instance, if the codeword is ‘blue,’ when we hear a message that has both the operation name and codeword in it—like, ‘Caroline bought a blue dress today’—that tells us he’s on his way.”
Henri laughed in disbelief. “That’s it?”
Fourcade smiled through pursed lips and nodded. “I told you. Simple.”
“And all those other BBC personal messages?”
“They could be directed to other teams, or not. Some are real messages requested by ordinary citizens. Probably most of them are.”
“That’s ingenious,” Henri concluded. “Now tell me what you need from the submarines.”
55
June 8, 1941
Paris, France
“Who is it?” Fourcade asked cautiously, responding to a knock on the door to her apartment on Avenue Foch. She heard a series of raps that she recognized, swung the door open, and beamed in surprise at Phillippe Boutron. Her smile disappeared, replaced by concern, when she saw his face.
He hurried past her, and she closed the door. “What’s wrong? You look so serious.”
Phillippe raised a finger and motioned for her to follow him into the living room. When he reached the window, he peered down to the street and then whirled and paced across the room.
Watching him nervously, Fourcade sank into a seat. “Obviously, you have bad news. Let’s have it.”
“I do,” he said. “And I’m angry too. What’s happened should not have happened.”
“Are we in immediate danger? Do we need to leave?”
Phillippe shook his head. “No. There’s a little bright spot in all the news I have to tell, and that is that I was appointed to Pétain’s intelligence staff. A former colleague who was kept on when most of the naval officers were released after the bombing of our fleet in Algeria recommended me. He’s sympathetic to the Resistance and wants to help. I was recruiting him when he suggested I take this job.
“That’s as good as the news gets. I accepted because I thought we could get useful information that way. It affords me the ability to move about freely, which is why I can say with confidence that we don’t need to leave here in a hurry. But I still check.”
“That’s a relief, and I suppose I should congratulate you on your new job,” Fourcade said, dumbfounded. “Will that detract from what you do for the Alliance?”
“We’ll get to that. But first, I should tell you that Henri Schaerrer was captured by the Gestapo.”
Fourcade gasped. “When? How? I met with him in Marseille just a week ago.”
Of all her lieutenants, Henri ranked among her most favorite. Always friendly, even when pressed with concerns, he had been responsible for much of the rapid growth of her Resistance group by recruiting among his former naval colleagues.
“He was taken a few days ago. I don’t have many details, except that when they arrested him, he had his pockets crammed full of classified information from the submarine pens near Bordeaux.”
Fourcade listened as if in a trance. “I sent him on that mission personally.”
“He should have taken more precautions,” Phillippe said impatiently. “Apparently, he entered the base more than once and managed to get out some documents.” He saw the anguish on Fourcade’s face. “Look, I love Henri like a brother. He brought me to you. He was always cautious about security for the rest of us, but he took too many personal risks.”
“He did,” Fourcade said mournfully. “I feel empty.” A thought crossed her mind, and she brought her hand to her mouth. “What about Amélie? She went to the area with him. Was she taken too?”
“No. She made it to a safehouse, stayed there for two days, and then went back to Marseille. She’s with Maurice now. He got a message to me with all I’m telling you.”
Phillippe looked up at the ceiling, frowning. “There’s more. Whether it’s worse depends on perspective.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Navarre and Léon went ahead with their plans to take over Algeria in preparation for a coup against Pétain. They were betrayed. Both were arrested along with others. I’m concerned that they could expose the operation in Marseille, and for that matter, here in Paris. The damage could even affect our friends in Dunkirk.”
Fourcade sat transfixed, seeing visions of her carefully built Alliance network crumbling and people she loved being tortured and executed. At the mention of Léon, she had reacted spontaneously, but Phillippe appeared not to have noticed.
The faces of those who might suffer marched across Fourcade’s mind, starting with Henri, Navarre, and Léon, already in custody; and continuing with Amélie, Chantal, Jeannie, Horton, Kenyon, Pierre, Maurice and his family, and others in and around Marseille. Then there were Nicolas, Jacques, Claude, Brigitte, and Théo in Dunkirk, and beyond them, myriad other names and faces who might be exposed under torture.
“What do you suggest we do?”
“First, you should leave Paris. Go to Pau near the southern border with Spain. When things die down, you can go back to Marseille. It’s usually safer there because most of the gendarmeries are sympathetic to the Resistance. They don
’t pay much attention to Pétain’s directives regarding anti-German activities, but I’d wait to see if the organization there has been exposed.
“I can get word to Jeannie and the others here in Paris. Just tell me how to reach her. I’ll instruct the leaders to lie low for a while until they hear from you.”
Fourcade agreed and provided the names and contact information. Then she said, “Now, tell me how your job with Vichy intelligence affects what you can do for the Alliance.”
Phillippe half-smiled. “It’s ironic really. I went into the job intending to listen for useful intelligence, but I had to do something to look busy, so I wrote a report on how to reorganize the Vichy merchant marine. It was so well received that now my superiors want to appoint me to deputy military liaison at the Vichy embassy in Madrid.” He scowled. “I don’t want to do this, but I can’t object without raising questions. I’ll be limited in how much I can help the Resistance.” He took a deep breath. “But there might be a positive coming out of it.”
Fourcade looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“Spain is nominally a neutral country. It still maintains relations with Britain with all that means, including the use of a diplomatic pouch. I convinced my higher-ups to let me be the courier to carry the diplomatic mailbag between Spain and France. If you can get things to me in Pau, I can get them to Madrid and then to London. I take them under seal, so they won’t be inspected when I cross the border.”
Fourcade stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re joking.”
Phillippe shook his head. “I’m not. I should even be able to get things through the opposite way too, but MI-6 and SOE are asking for so much information these days that we have to be careful about the volume of material. I’m sure the Gestapo has their tentacles down there and they don’t necessarily trust Vichy-French officials.”
“I guess it’s worth a try,” Fourcade said, “but you’d better be ready to hop over into Gibraltar and make your way to Britain, if need be, or get back to Marseille. I shall miss you.”
“You haven’t seen me that much lately anyway.”
“But at least I knew that you were relatively safe. I’ll worry more about you when you’re in Madrid.”
“We’re always in danger, all of us, even if we do nothing,” Phillippe said morosely. “Look at Henri, Navarre, and Léon.”
“Yes, and I had a bit of a scare on the train coming to Paris. At the crossing point, I was selected by German officials for personal scrutiny. They took me to a room and ordered me to strip. If that wasn’t humiliating enough, all of my clothes were inspected. They found nothing.”
Phillippe’s eyes widened in alarm. “Weren’t you carrying MI-6 request-for-information questionnaires?”
Fourcade nodded and crossed the room to retrieve a wide-brimmed hat hanging on a rack. “I was wearing this,” she said. Peeling back the lining under the brim, she showed him the incriminating papers. “That was a horrifying experience.” The memory caused her face to tremble with emotion, and she fought it back. “I hope they don’t torture our friends, but I expect they will. Navarre won’t crack. I don’t think Henri will either. I don’t know Léon well enough to guess.”
June 18, 1941
Marseille, France
When Fourcade climbed out of the small car that brought her to Maurice’s farmhouse, Amélie and Chantal rushed to greet her, flinging their arms around her in an extended embrace. “I’m all right,” she assured them while Maurice’s three children looked on shyly.
“We were so scared for you,” Chantal cried. “When we heard about Henri and the others…” Her voice trailed off.
“We’re glad to see you,” Amélie said firmly.
“And I’m glad to see you in one piece,” Fourcade told Amélie. “I’ll want to hear about what happened in Bordeaux.”
Maurice stood behind the trio. He also gave Fourcade a welcome hug, and they all entered the house. “I think the villa is safe for your return, but wait a couple of days to double-check security. I’ve recruited some members of the police who watch out for us.”
“And you can trust them?” Fourcade asked dubiously. “We think Navarre and Léon were done in by betrayal.”
“We can never be completely sure about anyone,” Maurice replied, “but I’ve known these men many years, and they love France and hate the Nazis. And don’t forget that we have our own people watching out for us.”
Fourcade stood on her toes to reach up and kiss his cheek. “I don’t mean to make you think I doubt you, my big friend.” She sighed. “We all have to trust someone.”
Later, when they were settled in the living room and Maurice’s children had been cleared from the house, Fourcade asked Amélie again what had happened to Henri.
“I don’t know,” Amélie replied. “He went on an operation that I wasn’t informed about because I wasn’t needed for it. I think he went into the submarine base at Bordeaux because when he was captured, he had on a navy uniform, and he was carrying classified papers. I know he had gone there several days earlier, and I’m sure he sent documents back from that venture.
“He might have been daring in the missions he took, but he was careful with the information. I think he had just stolen more documents when the Gestapo got him.
“Anyway, another Resistance man watched out for him, and when Henri was arrested, that man ran to the safehouse and warned us to get out. I got well away, and wandered through crowded areas—markets, parks, busy streets—for hours before making my way to the next safehouse. I was always checking behind me, so I’m sure I wasn’t followed.”
“Do you have any idea how he was found out?”
“I can’t decide if he was seen doing something suspicious or if he was betrayed. The man who watched out for him came to the second safehouse later. He said he had no chance to warn Henri. The Gestapo had been waiting a block outside the gate at the submarine base. Henri walked out with a group of other officers, and they came straight to him.”
Fourcade contemplated the information. “Henri was the man who made us think about physical and operational security, and now he’s gone.” She turned to Maurice. “Did he teach you enough to take on the job?”
The big man sighed. “He taught me how critical it is and the measures he implemented. The job isn’t one I want. Maybe you should ask Horton or Kenyon?”
“They don’t have the reach into the French population. We need that. I’m sure they could both help, though.”
“All right. I’ll do it until someone better suited comes along.”
Fourcade turned to Amélie. “Do you know the leaders northwest of Loire that Henri recruited?”
Amélie nodded. “I was there when he organized each cell and appointed a leader. If you want to go back up there, I can contact them and introduce you.”
“That isn’t what I have in mind. You were trained in London. I want you to go back to the Bordeaux area to lead the section until the team from London arrives.”
Amélie gasped, wide-eyed. “I can’t. I’ve never led anything, and I was trained to be a courier, not a team leader.”
“I had never led anything either before Navarre asked me to take over the Alliance in France. If we haven’t learned the lesson about security with what’s just happened, we never will. I’m at the center of the Alliance. I know too much. I can’t expose myself to the cell leaders all over the country. Most of them only know me by my codename, Hérisson. The new ones Henri recruited already know you. We’ll take steps to establish your authority.”
“I’m not sure that will be enough for them to accept me.”
“If they want to continue getting money, arms, equipment, and intelligence from the Alliance, they will. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t have confidence in you. We need someone capable and trustworthy.”
“I can go with her to help,” Chantal chimed in, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“No,” Fourcade said sharply. Seeing Chantal’s crestfallen expression, s
he softened her tone. “Your sister will need a free mind. She can’t be worrying about you.”
A defiant look crossed Chantal’s face. “I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Chantal?” Fourcade cut her off. “Run away and join another group? It’s time to dispense with that threat. You’ve matured enough to recognize that if we’re going to win this war, everyone has to perform where they are best.”
She gestured toward Maurice. “He’s told us what an incredible job you’ve done in reconnaissance around Marseille. That’s likely to be important sooner than we can imagine. I want you here with him. Therefore, if you’ll take the job, I’m appointing you as his special assistant for security, reconnaissance, and surveillance.” She smiled. “It comes with pay.”
Chantal sat speechless, staring at Fourcade, and then shifted her eyes to Amélie, Maurice, and back again to Fourcade. “I-I don’t know what to say. I want to be with my sister, but I want to do the job where I can help the most.”
Amélie had watched and listened to the exchange with anxious eyes. Now she stood and embraced Chantal. “Stay, little one,” she whispered. “We’ll always be together in spirit. You’ll do a wonderful job for Maurice.”
56
June 22, 1941
Bletchley Park, England
“They’ve done it, sir,” Claire told Commander Denniston. “Germany started its invasion into the Soviet Union.”
“I heard, through operational channels,” Denniston replied. “Hitler had no choice at this point. He had posted nearly a third of his air and land forces along their common border, and he had depleted his fuel resources to the point that he needed Soviet oil to keep his army moving. What can you deduce from where the radio signals originate?”