Turning the Storm (The After Dunkirk Series Book 3)

by Lee Jackson

  The president pressed on.

  “I have in my possession a secret map made in Germany by Hitler's government—by the planners of the new world order. It is a map of South America and a part of Central America, as Hitler proposes to reorganize it. Today in this area there are fourteen separate countries. The geographical experts of Berlin, however, have ruthlessly obliterated all existing boundary lines and have divided South America into five vassal states, bringing the whole continent under their domination. And they have also so arranged it that the territory of one of these new puppet states includes the Republic of Panama and our great lifeline—the Panama Canal.

  “That is his plan. It will never go into effect.

  “This map makes clear the Nazi design not only against South America but against the United States itself.

  “Your government has in its possession another document made in Germany by Hitler's government. It is a detailed plan, which, for obvious reasons, the Nazis did not wish and do not wish to publicize just yet, but which they are ready to impose a little later on a dominated world—if Hitler wins. It is a plan to abolish all existing religion—Protestant, Catholic, Mohammedan, Hindu, Buddhist, and Jewish alike. The property of all churches will be seized by the Reich and its puppets. The cross and all other symbols of religion are to be forbidden. The clergy are to be forever silenced under penalty of the concentration camps, where even now so many fearless men are being tortured because they have placed God above Hitler.

  “In the place of the churches of our civilization, there is to be set up an international Nazi church—a church which will be served by orators sent out by the Nazi government. In the place of the Bible, the words of Mein Kampf will be imposed and enforced as Holy Writ. And in place of the cross of Christ will be put two symbols—the swastika and the naked sword.

  “A god of blood and iron will take the place of the God of love and mercy. Let us well ponder that statement which I have made tonight.

  “These grim truths which I have told you of the present and future plans of Hitlerism will, of course, be hotly denied tonight and tomorrow in the controlled press and radio of the Axis Powers. And some Americans—not many—will continue to insist that Hitler's plans need not worry us and that we should not concern ourselves with anything that goes on beyond rifle shot of our own shores.”

  Stephenson slapped the desk and stood. “It’s done,” he said. “The president made the case. I believe now that America will be with us.” He came around and stood by the front of the desk, holding his chin in one hand while listening to the broadcast.

  Then he turned a curious eye on Paul. “When it comes to national security, do you think it more acceptable to deceive a friend into spreading a lie, or for that friend to do so knowingly?”

  Paul stared, bewildered by the question. “Sir, are you saying that Roosevelt—”

  “I’m making no statement. I’m merely posing a question, and you may consider it rhetorical.” He turned to listen once more and consulted the advance copy of the speech. “He’s finishing up now. Let’s listen.”

  “It has not been easy for us Americans to adjust ourselves to the shocking realities of a world in which the principles of common humanity and common decency are being mowed down by the firing squads of the Gestapo. We have enjoyed many of God's blessings. We have lived in a broad and abundant land, and by our industry and productivity we have made it flourish.

  “There are those who say that our great good fortune has betrayed us; that we are now no match for the regimented masses who have been trained in the Spartan ways of ruthless brutality. They say that we have grown fat, and flabby, and lazy, and that we are doomed.

  “But those who say that know nothing of America or of American life.

  “They do not know that this land is great because it is a land of endless challenge. Our country was first populated, and it has been steadily developed, by men and women in whom there burned the spirit of adventure and restlessness and individual independence which will not tolerate oppression.

  “Ours has been a story of vigorous challenges which have been accepted and overcome, challenges of uncharted seas, of wild forests and desert plains, of raging floods and withering drought, of foreign tyrants and domestic strife, of staggering problems, social, economic, and physical; and we have come out of them the most powerful Nation, and the freest, in all of history.

  “Today in the face of this newest and greatest challenge of them all, we Americans have cleared our decks and taken our battle stations. We stand ready in the defense of our Nation and the faith of our fathers to do what God has given us the power to see as our full duty.”

  Stephenson walked over to the console and clicked off the radio. “It will happen. I make no prediction about when, but in due course, America will fight alongside us. Of that, I am sure.” He gave Paul an appraising glance. “Are you still with us?”

  Paul stood. “I am, sir. I have my misgivings. I can’t help that—”

  “No one’s asked you to give them up. You’re a man of integrity, Paul. If we had more like you, we might not be in this war. And your courage is tested.” He chuckled. “God knows your mouth works.” Becoming serious once more, he added, “It’s enough for us that you’ll do your duty, give us your best counsel, and obey lawful commands.”

  “I have two questions, sir, if you’ll indulge me. How did the map and the story of its origin get to the president?”

  “I gave it to Donovan,” Stephenson replied with no evidence of remorse. “I told him that our operatives had taken it from a German agent in Argentina.”

  Paul grimaced. “I understand,” he said reluctantly.

  “What’s your second question?”

  “How will we know if it had any effect?”

  Stephenson conferred one of his enigmatic smiles. “We should never get our hopes too high, but don’t forget that this operation has two parts, and the objective is to get Hitler to declare war on the United States. That second part must still play out. A young army captain from the White House will visit Senator Wheeler’s office very soon.”

  “To deliver the victory plan, an exercise in fiction, written for Hitler’s benefit.”

  “Precisely.” Stephenson looked at his watch. “And now, we should be off to Camp X to see how progress there is coming. I want to know if our Hydra network is going to work. That will be an unparalleled communications capability.”

  67

  November 15, 1941

  Marseille, France

  Madame Fourcade approached Maurice’s vegetable warehouse cautiously. Of late, she had begun receiving people there because with her frequent and extended absences, her sudden appearances at the villa accompanied by many visitors coming and going at different times might attract attention. Maurice had brought the matter to her, making a point that Chantal had raised the issue with the suggestion that the warehouse might be a better place to meet Resistance members since frequent guests throughout the day would be considered normal. She had recently turned sixteen and had twisted back and forth, unable to hide a smile of pride as Maurice discussed the matter with Fourcade.

  On this morning, Fourcade had arrived minutes before the warehouse’s scheduled opening and became immediately wary on seeing a tall man wearing an overcoat and fedora lounging in front of the door. She proceeded, intending to pass on by if her suspicions were not allayed. However, as she drew near, her heart missed a beat as her subconscious mind recognized before her conscious mind did a vaguely familiar figure; and then it leaped when the man turned, and she recognized the face. Major Léon Faye.

  Taking a breath and failing at subduing a smile, Fourcade slowed her pace to a measured step. “You took your time re-visiting us,” she called as she drew near.

  Léon lifted his face to see better below his hat and smiled, a charming, broad expression that lit up his handsome face. He stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “I know. It’s very bad of me,” he said playfully. “You see, I’
ve been on a grand tour of Italy, North Africa, and the French chateaux.”

  Taking a furtive look about and seeing nothing concerning, Fourcade unlocked the door and invited him inside. “I’ll show you around.”

  Once in the warehouse office, Léon turned immediately serious. “Navarre instructed me to offer you safe passage to Algeria. The word we’ve received is that your network was compromised and is non-existent. He’s worried that you’ll be captured.” He paused and added, “I worry too.”

  With a sudden welling in her chest, Fourcade glanced at him sharply. She took a breath to calm her beating heart. “I think you’ll find the stories of our demise to be slightly exaggerated,” she said, remembering Mark Twain. “As it happens, my former chief of staff, a man by the name of Gavarni, turned out to be a mercenary. He had great ideas of how we could convert the Alliance to work for Vichy and make us both rich. I had to let him go, with prejudice—"

  Léon took a deep breath. “I won’t ask what that means.”

  Fourcade chuckled. “He wasn’t harmed, but we took steps to cut him off and we keep tabs on him. So, I’m now looking for a new chief of staff if you’re open to the job.”

  Léon laughed, but seeing that Fourcade was not joking, he stopped short. “You’re serious?”

  “If you have time,” Fourcade replied, “you should stay here for the day and see for yourself whether Alliance is alive or I should seek shelter in Algeria; and then make up your mind. The offer will still be open.”

  Disconcerted, Léon pursed his lips and nodded. “All right. You’re on.”

  “I should tell you,” Fourcade continued, “the British were unsure of how to handle the Alliance leadership when Navarre left for Algeria. For a time, I kept the situation from them for being unsure of how they would react to a woman running the show, but we soon overcame their reticence with our effectiveness. They need our network.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Chantal entered. Smiling shyly at Léon, she greeted them. “Two men are waiting to see you,” she told Fourcade. “Ernest Siegrist and Georges Guillot.”

  “Bring them in,” Fourcade said, and as Chantal went to escort the men, she explained to Léon, “They were policemen in Paris who joined an anti-Nazi intelligence group. The Gestapo demolished it, but these two officers escaped and want to stay active in the Resistance. London confirmed their story for us, and now they are here.”

  When her business with the two former policemen was concluded, a woman entered the office. Fourcade introduced her to Léon. “This is Denise Centore, a professional historian. I’ve hired her to be my assistant.”

  She turned to Denise. “You look concerned.”

  Denise, short and stocky, nodded. She held out a piece of brown wrapping paper with writing on it. “This invisible ink that MI-6 sent out through diplomatic pouch becomes visible under heat. They’ve been sending messages on packages that end up sometimes in hot places. This one reports German anti-aircraft positions in Boulogne. If the Germans see others like this, Phillippe’s operation in Madrid will end, and he’ll probably be arrested.”

  “Inform London immediately,” Fourcade said sharply. As Denise departed, Fourcade explained Phillippe’s activities in Madrid.

  “That’s quite remarkable,” he said.

  Fourcade nodded. “Yes, and the British have developed silk paper that doesn’t rustle. It takes an element of risk away for couriers who carry written messages.”

  Chantal came in again, escorting a courier with several transcribed radio messages, including a high-priority one. “These were received by our radio operator, Émile Andoly,” Fourcade told Léon. “We have radios here, in Paris, Pau, the Loire Valley, and Dunkirk for now. More will come with SOE and MI-9 teams as our network and others expand.”

  Fourcade thanked the courier and dismissed her. “I should tell you, Léon,” she said, rising and putting an arm around Chantal’s shoulders, “that this young lady has become increasingly important around here. In addition to being one of our most trusted couriers, she’s also done some of the most amazing reconnaissance work for us, finding and sketching all kinds of military targets in the Marseille area. If the shooting war ever reaches here, the enemy will be surprised at how prepared we are, in part due to her work.”

  Chantal blushed and retreated through the door.

  “Her sister, Amélie, has been in northwest France, in the Loire Valley. She was with Henri there to develop new groups until a team leader from London arrived to take her place.” She smiled gently. “That’s a sweet-sour love story I’ll have to tell you about one day.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Here, in Marseille. She’s one of our best operatives, but I think I put her in over her head in Loire. I put her in a leadership position, and she wasn’t ready yet.”

  While she spoke, she opened the priority message. She read it quickly and, grim-faced, handed it to Léon. It was from an Alliance agent who had managed to open several German crates at the Marseille port. The labels showed them to be the property of the German armistice commission. However, they contained rifles, ammunition, and other military items, and were en route to the Wehrmacht’s Afrika Corps.

  Léon whistled in amazement. “These even show the sailing dates and the ships that will carry them.”

  Fourcade nodded. “We’ll send that to London with a request that the ships be bombed once they put to sea. I expect that they will be.”

  As the morning wound on, more people with more intelligence came by to see Fourcade until, at last, Léon said, “Your point’s made. Alliance is alive and well.” He stood and inhaled expansively. “I could use some lunch. Care to join me? We could go to one of the black-market bars.”

  Fourcade shook her head. “I’ll be recognized there. I can’t take the risk.”

  “Then come to my hotel room,” he replied with his best innocent smile. “You’ll feast on foie gras and a bottle of Monbazillac.”

  There, they continued the conversation.

  “Where have you been and what have you been doing all this time?” Fourcade asked. “We tried to keep track of you, but after Navarre escaped from prison in North Africa, that became impossible. He’s hiding out in Pau now.”

  “I wasn’t as fortunate as he was,” Léon said wryly. “I was in prison the whole time, although I moved from one to another a couple of times. Who knows why? Bureaucratic decisions rarely make sense. Anyway, I was rotting away.” He chuckled. “I didn’t come out too worse for wear.”

  “I’d say not,” Fourcade said, regarding him coyly behind a glass of wine. “You look like you kept yourself in good physical shape.”

  “Ah, you noticed. I had you in mind when I did my daily workouts.”

  Fourcade gulped, the air seemed suddenly warm, and to avoid wading into deep waters, she changed the subject. “Do you know the British have a new air service? It started operations a couple of months ago, and they fly people and equipment in and out, landing in open fields. They fly at night by the light of the moon, and our people guide them to the landing strips by flashlight. In fact, one of the team leaders I mentioned earlier, Jeremy Littlefield, the one on the other side of the love story I mentioned—he came over that way.”

  Léon shook his head in disbelief. “So many people doing so many things.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “What is your greatest concern now?”

  Fourcade thought deeply. “Navarre wasn’t entirely wrong: our network was infiltrated and nearly destroyed. We’ve rebuilt much of it, but we have sectors still needing repair, and we need to open new ones. The British will support us with resources, but we need qualified people to recruit, train, plan, and lead.”

  “I can be part of that,” Léon said without hesitation, “and I can bring some air force officers with me—senior people who know how to organize and execute.”

  Fourcade’s breath caught, and she brought her hands to her face. “Would you do that?” A shadow of doubt crossed he
r face. “Would they accept my leadership? I’m not prepared to relinquish it. I built the Alliance organization in France, and then re-built it, established relations with the Brits, and secured their aid. The people involved know and trust me. If you’ll be my chief of staff, I see you and me sharing responsibilities and tasks, but ultimately, my decisions are final. Can your colleagues live with that? I’m a woman.”

  Léon laughed. “I had noticed. And I don’t know why men of principle and discipline wouldn’t accept your leadership. You’ve proven yourself. I’m prepared to.”

  Hardly believing her ears, Fourcade said, “Then you’ll be my chief of staff?” She held her breath.

  Léon stood and regarded her with a solemn but slightly amused expression. “If you’ll have me.”

  Thrilled, Fourcade jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around him. He embraced her, and then kissed her lips.

  The air had turned bitterly cold, and snow fell as Fourcade walked with Léon back to the warehouse. Nevertheless, she felt a glow that had been absent from her life for many years. She ascribed it to her growing affection for Léon and her success in winning him to actively support her beloved Alliance.

  Chantal waited for them at the front door, and Fourcade noticed that she was not smiling. “Is something wrong?”

  Chantal gestured toward the office. “Maurice is waiting for you in there with Gabriel Rivière.”

  “This sounds serious,” Fourcade told Léon as they made their way through the warehouse. “Gabriel is a local operative and highly reliable. Whatever news he has, we’ll have to believe it.”

  Inside the office, Maurice rose from the chair behind the desk. His big eyes stared at Fourcade sadly as she entered, and his jaw hung open, slack. He gestured toward Gabriel, a man sitting in front of him of similar size and build enough that the two men could be brothers.

  Gabriel also stood and faced Fourcade. He held his hands in front of him, fidgeting with a hat.