by Larry Loftis
* * *
19. It was unclear why it took the Abwehr so long to take action on the materials found in the briefcase.
20. This circuit would be known as DONKEYMAN, although before official recognition by Baker Street, network members referred to it as the “JEAN MARIE” circuit.
21. Like Peter, the lieutenant was also a Cambridge graduate and had taught school before the war.
22. Captured soon thereafter and sent to the concentration camp at Buchenwald, where he was executed.
23. Her real name was Helen James.
CHAPTER 9
LIFELESS
Odette read it quickly. It was indeed from Marsac—she recognized the handwriting—and stated that he was writing to Roger from Fresnes Prison, and that he had not been ill-treated. He stated that Colonel Henri was a friend who could be trusted, that they had prepared a plan for Marsac’s escape, and that Roger was to provide Henri with a radio.
As she studied the letter, one of Marsac’s lines struck her as forced: “Je benerais le jour de mon arrestation si mes projets se realise.”—“I would bless the day of my arrest if my projects are realized.”
When does anyone bless the day of their arrest? And “my projects”? What projects were those? The letter did explain how Colonel Henri found her: Roger Bardet. Henri apparently had met with him at the Limes before coming over for lunch.
Odette’s stomach churned but she said nothing. She handed the letter back.
“It was I who arrested Marsac,” Colonel Henri said, “in order to save him from arrest by the Gestapo and in order that I might make a certain proposal to this brave and patriotic Frenchman.” That proposal was for Henri and Marsac to escape to England in a plane supplied by London, whereby Henri would offer to assist the British in ending the war. The colonel added that Marsac was on board, but that in prison he didn’t have the ability to carry it out; they needed someone in the network who was at liberty.
Like Lise.
“Tell me, Mademoiselle, do you care for music?”
Odette said she did.
Hugo nodded and returned to business. “Germany is split,” he said. “On the one side stands Adolf Hitler and his satellites, on the other stands the High Command of the German Army—and between the two is a vast and ever-widening gulf. It was not the High Command who made war, Mademoiselle, but Adolf Hitler. Germany’s ultimate doom under Hitler is sure.”
Odette mused the comments. They were valid, of course, but Colonel Henri hadn’t traveled from Paris to discuss politics.
“What do you want of me, Monsieur?”
“I want you to give me a transmitting set and code whereby I can get into direct touch with the British War Office.”
This explained why Marsac had told Roger to get a radio: either Colonel Henri was sincere in his suggestion of defection, or he was playing her to capture a bishop before arresting a rook.
She didn’t have a set to give him, she said, but was prepared to communicate with London on his behalf, with certain conditions.
Hugo smirked. “Does it not strike you as a little odd that you, a British agent in France, should seek to impose conditions on a German officer—who has the powers of arrest?”
“Come, Monsieur, it is unworthy of the great issues at stake that you should remind me that I am at your mercy. We are both adults.” She told him that she had no idea if Marsac penned his note under duress, and that his credibility could be confirmed only after Bardet spoke with Marsac at Fresnes.
“I suppose I couldn’t induce you to come to Paris yourself to see Marsac. Next week they are giving Mozart’s Magic Flute.”
Odette declined, citing her medical condition and need to remain at high altitude. Hugo said he understood and agreed to discuss the matter further after Bardet’s meeting.
Hugo left and Odette met with Arnaud the following day. She told him about Colonel Henri, the Bardet letter, and the escape plan. The letter indicated that Henri was to receive a wireless set in Paris, she said, but that the operator would not be captured.
Arnaud smelled a rat.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, APRIL 10, Odette met with Bardet and Riquet in Annecy and told them that it was unlikely that London would exfiltrate or communicate with Colonel Henri, and that they shouldn’t go to Paris. Roger insisted, however, saying that they must spring Marsac. He was quite confident, he said, that he could do so with Henri’s assistance. London notwithstanding, he would tell Henri that something was possible.
Livid, Odette met with Arnaud in St. Jorioz that afternoon and told him that Bardet was moving forward with Henri’s rendezvous in Paris. Not only that, but it was Bardet who had told Henri where she was staying, and what she looked like. She had been right about Shifty Eyes all along.
Arnaud bristled. Marching outside, he jumped on his bike and tore off for Annecy.
Odette cycled after him, chasing the burning fuse. Arnaud, no! Don’t do it!
Arnaud remained steadfast.
He was going to shoot the bloody traitor.
Fresnes Prison, Paris
THE CELL DOOR OPENED and Marsac beamed. He gave Hugo a hug and said, “Jean, my dear Jean. Now I know you are my friend. How can I ever thank you enough?”
Bleicher played along, saying nothing.
Turning to Bardet, Marsac said, “Colonel Henri is my good friend. Roger you must do exactly what he says, even if at times you do not understand why.”
With their full confidence, “Colonel Henri” conjured up a phony escape plan. Roger would return to St. Jorioz, he said, and have Arnaud ask London for a plane. Meanwhile, Henri would sneak Marsac out of prison disguised as his agent. Marsac, for his part, would guarantee that Henri would not be mistreated in London.
Marsac and Roger agreed.
Sensing Marsac’s weakness, Bleicher squeezed and asked for names. If Marsac would give him a list of agents in his organization, he said, he’d give it to a friend who would keep it as surety so that that nothing happened to Hugo in London. If Hugo was arrested, for example, Marsac’s associates would in turn be arrested. If all went well in London, he said, he’d pass an agreed-upon code word through the BBC to his friend.
The suggestion was preposterous and called into question Hugo’s sincerity. If he was arrested in London, his German colleagues would still have Roger Bardet, and a one-for-one surety should have been sufficient. Marsac objected, saying he’d rather die in a concentration camp than betray his associates.
“Do you really believe, Marsac, that your people can keep out of our clutches for long? If we have succeeded in getting you, it will be easy to catch the smaller fry, one by one.” Most of them were already under observation by the SD, Hugo said, and some were already working both sides. “Is it not much better then if I keep control of this business?”
Hugo’s counter was thin, almost laughable, but the Frenchman appeared moved. Hugo glanced at Roger, who seemed to consent. After a few moments, Marsac agreed and wrote out some twenty addresses of groups in Bordeaux, Marseille, Strasbourg, Nancy, and elsewhere.
Hugo was shocked—quarry marching into the cage.
St. Jorioz
BARDET RETURNED TO ST. JORIOZ the following day and told Odette that he had seen Marsac and that he was well. Roger assured her that Henri was trustworthy, and said that they had come up with a plan: if London would provide a Hudson, Henri would release Marsac and his assistant and they, along with Lise, could return to England together. Henri would meet with Buckmaster and spearhead peace talks. If the British War Cabinet came to a firm resolution, Henri would even return to Germany to conduct the bidding.
Odette didn’t buy it for a minute. Marsac was the tail-wagging puppy who’d nosed his way into the dogcatcher’s net without the slightest discernment. And since when did colonels conduct business for their country? On top of that, she didn’t trust Shifty Eyes, the rat who was lucky to be alive; for five miles she had badgered Arnaud not to kill Roger and not until they reached Annecy
did he relent.
Yet the game was on and it was her move. She told Roger to go back to Paris and tell Henri that she was trying to arrange a bomber. The moon period ended April 18, she said, and she’d work toward that date. She’d let him know the chosen field later.
Roger left and Odette had Arnaud cable London about the cunning colonel.
London
BEFORE PETER LEFT THE War Office he was given devastating news: his brother, an RAF fighter pilot, had been dead for seven months, shot down the day Peter entered Cannes.
Peter visited his parents and did his best to comfort his heartbroken mother, who was almost unrecognizable. In addition to learning of one son’s death, she had not heard from her third son—who had been fighting with the Italian Partisans—for a year.
Peter said good-bye, knowing it might be his last.
The fate of his two brothers, along with his mother’s state, left Peter numb. There was a dullness, he noticed, a sadness which had transformed him into a sort of automaton. He was like a locust, he thought, flying with the swarm but whose insides had been eaten away; at any moment the shell would collapse and he’d drop from the sky without warning. Given the need for acute thinking and split-second judgments when he returned to France, he knew he’d have to snap out of it.
He returned to the office and Buckmaster informed him that Marsac had been arrested, and that Lise had just sent a telegram.
FROM LISE STOP ABWEHR OFFICER BY NAME HENRI CONTACTED ME ST JORIOZ SUGGESTED IF YOU PROVIDED HUDSON HE WILL RELEASE MARSAC AND SUZANNE RETURNING WITH ME AND THEN DISCUSS MEANS OF ENDING WAR STOP
The major asked what Peter thought.
“I think it means Marsac gave Lise’s address and that Henri is hoping to earn a Ritterkreuz24 by capturing a bomber,” he replied, “and that the whole thing is so dangerous it should not be touched with a barge pole. I think Lise should be told to buzz off to the other side of the lake and Arnaud to leave Faverges and stay up at Les Tissots beside his set.”
Buckmaster agreed and told Peter that there was no need for him to return. Lise and Arnaud could be picked up by Lysander, he said, and they could start another circuit elsewhere, or Peter could have a home posting.
Peter would have none of it. “I want to go back,” he said, “and now that the Glières men have been armed I should like to join them and end the war with a gun in my hands.”
Buckmaster said he’d let Peter choose his lot and that he could have a plane drop him during the April moon.
St. Jorioz
THE NEXT EVENING ARNAUD gave Odette London’s reply:
HENRI HIGHLY DANGEROUS STOP YOU ARE TO HIDE ACROSS LAKE AND CUT CONTACTS WITH ALL SAVE ARNAUD WHO MUST QUIT FAVERGES AND LIVE BESIDE HIS MOUNTAIN SET STOP FIX DROPPING GROUND YOUR OWN CHOICE FOR MICHEL WHO WILL LAND ANYWHERE SOONEST.
She pondered the priority: move across the lake first, or find Peter’s drop zone? Since London wanted to drop Peter as soon as possible, and she figured Colonel Henri wouldn’t return until April 18, she decided to find a new hotel first and then go with Arnaud in search of the landing site; she could move, she assumed, after Peter’s arrival.
In the morning she went across the lake to Talloires and found a small hotel, the Glaieulles, suitable for their next hideout. That afternoon she and Arnaud looked on the map for a suitable drop zone. Since security was now an issue, it was critical that the area be remote. They found the perfect spot: Mont Semnoz. About three miles southwest of St. Jorioz, the mountain rose some six thousand feet, providing a splendid view of Lake Annecy. But did the apex provide sufficient area for a night drop?
They rode their bikes to the mountain and then climbed—sometimes through three feet of snow—until they reached the top. The summit was shaped like a hog’s back and was free of trees, they saw, but the only flat area was extremely small.
“Well, will it do?” Odette asked.
Arnaud began pacing, counting his steps in each direction. The flat portion was only one hundred yards by eighty. The buffer in three directions was manageable, but if Peter drifted west, he’d tumble down a sheer cliff.
It would do, Arnaud finally said, provided that the navigator was dead on. “But it’s a hell of a place to jump.”
They gathered wood for a bonfire and set it in a nearby shed. When they arrived back in town, Odette scribbled a message for Arnaud to send to London with the landing coordinates and then went to the Limes to see if Bardet was back. He was, and Roger asked if London had approved the bomber for Henri. Odette paused and then said, oh yes, she was trying to arrange it for the 18th. Roger asked if there was news about Peter and she told him that it was unlikely he’d return to France.
“Oh. One more thing, Lise. That British officer, Roger, who was in the Hôtel de la Plage, he’s suddenly vanished.”
Cammaerts. “I know. I sent him away.”
Bardet’s hooded eyes flickered. “Where’s he gone to?”
“To an address of some friends. Why this sudden interest?”
“I only wondered where he had gone to, that’s all.”
London
THE MORNING OF APRIL 15 Buckmaster called Peter into his office. Arnaud had sent coordinates of the drop zone, he said. They retrieved a Michelin map and Peter paused when he saw where he would be landing: atop a mountain of more than 5,500 feet.
“Struth!” He rubbed a hand over his face. “They certainly took you at your word when you said I’d land anywhere.”
A parachute drop was simpler than being tossed in a canoe eight hundred yards off the coast of Cannes, but this was different. His submarine insertion into France on New Year’s Day was controllable; if he capsized he could always swim. Throwing yourself out of a plane at two hundred miles an hour into sheer darkness to hit the head of a pin—that was a mild form of suicide.
Buckmaster laughed, looking again at the summit. “An Alp all to yourself.”
Peter would fly out that night, they decided, since the moon had only three days remaining.
During preflight Peter met with the Halifax navigator, Colonel Philippe Livry-Level. “This mountaintop,” Level said, tapping the map, “there’s nothing to it. I’ve dropped fifty-seven customers already, and if you go out when I give you the green light, I’ll drop you on a six-penny bit.”
Peter accepted the boast with a grain of salt. A night drop in the Jura—at altitude and with likely swirling winds—he’d be happy to hit the mountain.
The apex of Mont Semnoz, Peter’s landing spot. ADRIEN BAUD (@ADRIENBAUDPHOTO)
At 7:15 P.M. Odette, Arnaud, and Jean Cottet huddled around three receivers, hoping to hear the coded message on the BBC broadcast. As the BBC news started, the Germans began their counterinterference, jamming the waves with ongoing notes: aou . . . eou . . . aou . . . eou. At half past seven Odette heard it: “Le scarabée d’or fait sa toilette de printemps.”—“The golden beetle makes its spring toilet.”
Peter was coming.
She bundled up and went to collect Arnaud. She found him, along with Jean and Simone, in the bar.
“Why aren’t you ready?” she asked Arnaud.
“Ready for what?”
“He’s coming! Hurry up!”
“What d’you mean, he’s coming?”
“Didn’t you hear the message?”
Arnaud and Jean looked at her blankly. If there was a message, Arnaud said, he’d have heard it.
Odette swore she’d heard it, twice. If they weren’t going, she said, she’d go alone.
Arnaud relented, Jean offered to drive, and Simone said she wanted to go, too. Jean fired up his charcoal-burning V-8 and at half past eight, bundled in boots and sweaters, they left. Before they reached the halfway point, the Ford petered out; the charcoal-gas conversion diminished power by 30 percent and the old car could proceed no farther. Odette and Arnaud would have to walk from there.
Jean and Simone decided to tag along, and Jean led them to a path he said would go to the top. At nine o’clock they began the stee
p climb, but there was a surprise: the moon was on the opposite side of the mountain and they lost sight of the snow-covered path. Worse, Jean admitted he didn’t have a clue which way to go.
Odette looked around and spotted a telephone pole. “Look! I remember those poles go straight up the side of the mountain and end up on the top. Why there’s even one by the very spot we chose for him to land on. Don’t you remember, Arnaud?”
Arnaud said he remembered one at the top, but not the sequence going up. Odette promised she knew what she was doing and took the lead. Over and around cliffs and boulders they went, higher and higher, panting and struggling as they gained altitude. At half past one she saw the snowclad hog’s back shimmering in the moonlight some nine hundred yards ahead.
“Look, Arnaud! Look!”
She checked her watch; Peter could arrive at any minute and without the bonfire, the plane would pass.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “let me get there before the plane!”
She encouraged everyone to step up the pace but remembered what Peter had told her some time before about cross-country treks on weary legs: “When you have ten paces to make and nine are done, only then can you say that you are halfway.”
She urged the others on and they raced to the top, dashing back and forth to the shed to arrange the wood. As Arnaud doused it with petrol, Odette sank into the snow, exhausted. Arnaud set it ablaze and then turned toward the northern sky.
“Here it comes!”
All eyes turned heavenward and they watched as the Halifax cut diagonally across the drop zone. Nothing fell from the plane as it flew directly overhead and made a slow turn east.
“Oh, God!” Odette said. “I can’t bear it. After all this sweat, they’re taking him home again.”
* * *
PETER GLANCED INTO THE nose of the Halifax and saw navigator Level prone, peering intently through the glass.
“Bonfire ahead,” Level shouted. “Action stations!”
The plane banked for a direct run over the hog’s back and the dispatcher patted Peter’s shoulder and connected his tether to the static line. The warning light came on and Peter gazed into the hole: snow-capped mountains drifted by like mounds of fresh cotton. The plane decelerated as the flaps dropped and Peter felt the familiar butterflies raging in his stomach. Unlike all of his prior jumps, however, this one required split-second timing. If he paused after the go signal, he’d land on the wrong alp. Or tumble down a sheer cliff.