by S C Brown
Enjoying herself, Eve walked up to Sergeant Major Hook who, being in on the joke as he was, was working hard to suppress a laugh.
‘Is that enough elegance, poise and mystique for you, Sergeant Major?’
‘Enough for this lot, that’s for certain. Get back to your work, you lot!’ he said to the crowd. ‘You’ll need that pistol to defend yourself here, let alone in enemy territory. This lot haven’t had a bit of skirt for ages.’
‘That’s what you think. You shouldn’t teach girls to climb fences when they live near so many handsome chaps as this.’
Hook’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I think I will have to double the guard on the ladies’ accommodation.’
‘Fear not, Sergeant Major, the honour of your student, namely me, remains intact – though doubling the guard tonight might not be a bad idea. The gals and I are having a bit of a hut party tonight; you know, letting off a bit of steam. This … elegance is tiring me out.’
‘A hut party tonight? That’s an excellent idea, ma’am.’ He beamed, regaining his composure.
‘I would invite you but then it wouldn’t be a girls night, would it?’
He coughed quickly. ‘Quite. Anyway a night with all you ladies isn’t my idea of a cup of tea. You lot frighten me, if I’m honest.’
‘Ever the Guardsman, Sergeant Major, eh? How will we make you into someone’s husband one day?’
‘Are you asking?’ he joked. ‘I’ll tell you what. You have a great old night tonight and I’ll tell the Colonel that you’ll be in to see him at ten, not eight tomorrow morning.’
‘The Colonel wants to see me?’
‘He does indeed.’
‘Not another trip to the dressmakers?’ she asked coyly, adjusting her headscarf. Hook had sent her to a number of shops to get reacquainted with ladies fashion and the rag trade. All part of the cover story.
‘No. I think the Colonel would like you to travel much further than London this time. And for longer.’
Eve’s smile froze on her face.
‘I see. Well, in that case, I had better have a bloody good night, hadn’t I?’
‘That would be my recommendation, ma’am.’
* * *
She was hung-over but Smithens understood.
‘Three o’clock?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Last night’s frivolities. When did it end? Three … Four?’
‘Frankly, Sir, I have no idea.’ Eve lifted her eyes from the floorboards. ‘But I did enjoy myself. I think we all did.’
‘It certainly sounded it from here.’
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realise we’d disturb you.’
‘Fear not. Listening to you lot cheered me up. Anyway, a blow-out was just what you could do with.’
‘I got that impression from the Sergeant Major yesterday.’
‘Quite.’ Smithens sat at his desk in civilian clothes but his cheery demeanour did not hide the tiredness in his eyes. Smithens tapped a file on his desk and looked straight at Eve. In a millisecond Eve knew what was coming.
‘Your training is not officially complete, Eve, but I’m sending you to France anyway,’ he said flatly.
There was a tension in Smithens’ face, which was giving Eve justifiable cause for concern.
‘I’m not going to do the parachute training?’ Eve had to admit it, she had been looking forward to that part all along.
‘You’re not going to be dropped by parachute, you’ll be flown in. It’s a lot safer in my opinion.’
Eve felt that that was probably as close as it was ever going to get as to the origin of Smithens’ limp.
‘When do I go?’
‘Two nights from now. The next full moon.’
‘Two nights? That’s no time at all.’ Eve was talking partly to her boss and partly to herself at just how quickly this was going to happen. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘That will become clear in your briefing. For now, go and pack your bags and get ready to leave. You won’t be briefed here, as tongues might wag. Needless to say you won’t say a word about this to anyone.’ Smithens shot a glance at Hook. ‘Don’t even say goodbye, just pack a bag as if you’re going on another exercise and go. Got it?’
‘People disappear from this Manor all the time,’ she said.
‘They do indeed. And today is your turn. I want you ready to leave within the hour. We can start going through things in the car.’
‘You’re coming with me to France, Sir?’
‘What? No!’ Smithens clearly found that funny. ‘I regret to say that I will not be travelling to France with you but I will be briefing you and see you off at the airfield. Owing to the urgency of this mission, there isn’t time for a new case officer to come in, so I’m moving temporarily to London to be your own personal case officer. How very privileged you are! It will be me running you from London. It will be me that you report to when you radio in and it will be me who’s passing you all your instructions and arranging support.’
‘You’re losing your command of the school for me? I bet that makes me unpopular.’
‘Not at all.’ Smithens smile was genuine and warm. ‘This place is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that - but it was never my school.’ Eve noticed that he was already talking about the school in the past tense. ‘They have someone else to run it in my place and I can only confess that being a case officer is quite an exciting prospect. And Sergeant Major Hook will have my replacement broken in in no time, I’m sure. Anyway, I am glad that I’ll be running you and no one else, to be honest. Your training is good but incomplete and I think it’s fair to say, with the exception of Hook, I know you best.’
‘I haven’t really finished my training though. Isn’t that a risk?’ asked Eve quietly.
‘Yes and no. You’ve proved to me you are the agent perfectly matched for this mission and the mission needs someone to go now. You could do with a little more work on a couple of things but to be honest, your tenacity and charm should see you through, my dear.’
‘My charm?’ teased Eve, picking on Smithens’ attempt to smooth any concerns she may have had with his last line.
‘Yes, your charm … amongst other things’.
Smithens rose stiffly to his feet. ‘Get your things and meet me out the front ready to go in … a little under an hour. We need to get you underway’.
‘Wow. This is it.’
‘Yes.’
Eve’s insides churned. ‘Good.’
* * *
A pair of bright, intelligent eyes stared out of the photograph in Eve’s hand. Whoever this man was, thought Eve, he had a bit of the James Mason about him.
‘His name is Berner, Major Walter Berner of the Abwehr, although there’s a rumour going around Berlin he’s a Lieutenant Colonel now,’ explained Smithens, holding onto the door handle to keep himself stable as the car sped north. ‘He’s your target. You’re not going to kill him, understand? I want him kept alive. Locate him, monitor him and learn everything that you can about him and radio what you learn back to me. For some reason, this man Berner has appeared in Paris, we don’t yet know why. Mark my words: the mere arrival of someone like him spells trouble. You see, he’s the best they have.’
Flecks of grey in Berner’s hair hinted at a man in his forties. A dark suit, a short haircut but not necessarily a military one, and an attractive, enigmatic smile. Eve could not help but return her eyes to Berner’s. There was something about them: a sparkling liveliness edged with an unfulfilled curiosity.
‘He may not look it, but he’s credited as Admiral Schneider’s best counter-intelligence officer. Spy-hunter extraordinaire. There are, I am told, parts of the British intelligence service that are still smarting from what he did to them. The thing is, what makes him so dangerous, is that we still haven’t worked out how he did what he did to us. I can’t give you the details, scant as they are, but believe me he’s good. Bloody good, even if I say so myself.’ Smithens smiled appreciatively.
Eve studied the face in the photo. ‘He looks how a spy hunter should look, don’t you think? Not that I have seen one before.’
Smithens raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not to honey-trap him either.’
Eve flustered. ‘That’s not what I meant, I-’
‘Never mind, Eve. Get this into your head straight way - he’s cunning, he’s clever, he’s experienced and good with all the latest gadgets. And he’s no butcher. Until recently all the agents he captured were kept alive.’ The driver took the corner too fast and Smithens winced. He exchanged looks briefly with the driver via the rear view mirror. ‘Berner doesn’t crash and bang around like the SS – or this bloody driver for that matter. No, Berner creeps around, watching and listening – taking it all in. He’s wasted in the Army, if I’m honest with you. He had a life of intellectual acclaim waiting for him in Dresden but he joined the Army in ’17 instead, showed a flair for intelligence work and we think he’s been there pretty much ever since.’
Eve could not help but notice the ‘perhaps’ and the ‘we thinks’ that Smithens had dropped into the conversation. Smithens seemed to have little detail on this man Berner, the man she was to tail.
‘Berner was spotted at a window in Paris yesterday with this man’. Eve was handed another photograph. She recognised the subject immediately.
‘Schneider?’
‘Admiral Schneider, to you,’ corrected Smithens lightly. ‘As I said, word has it that Berner is Schneider’s right hand man – one of the trusted few. When Schneider and Berner are spotted together anywhere it’s important, bit being seen together in Paris is a real concern. It’s not every day, I assure you, when the head of the Abwehr and his most successful counter-intelligence officer appear out of the blue. Their appearance means something. So something is very, most definitely, most irrefutably, up and we want to know what it is.’ Smithens levity had gone, replaced by a severe, almost desperate intensity.
‘Another department is running an operation controlled from London to kill people like Berner off but Berner is going to be spared. We don’t want him dead: we want to learn all about him and his methods: just how did he manage to have so many of our agents working for him in the past without us ever even suspecting? Armed with information on this man and his methods, we might be able to play back on him the kind of games he played on us. We might learn from Berner just how sophisticated the Germans are getting.
‘You grew up there, Eve, you know Paris like the back of your hand and so, from a cast of thousands, you have been selected to go and find him and see what you can learn about him.’
‘Right.’ Eve set her jaw determinedly.
‘You will be working alone. No pianist.’ declared Smithens.
‘No signaller?’
‘No. But you won’t be alone. Agent Oberon will make contact with you and all being well, some of Oberon’s men will help you find Berner and tail him.’
‘All being well?’
‘Oberon can be a little … unpredictable.’ Smithens was choosing his words carefully. ‘Oberon’s a bit of an arse if you ask me, but he’s still alive and the Germans can’t penetrate his network, so that must be something. It was Oberon himself who spotted Schneider. Scared him witless, I’ll bet.’ Smithens chuckled out the window.
‘Am I working for Oberon or you? Is this Oberon going to be giving me orders?’
‘No. He will be keeping any link with you to the absolute minimum, of that you can be certain. He’s too bloody paranoid to have someone like you around snooping on someone like Berner. So you need to work on your own. Oberon will probably only lend you people who are not already too connected to him. Oberon’s not the trusting type.’
‘That way,’ said Eve, ‘if I am captured, he will be all right.’
Smithers laughed. ‘Haven’t I trained you well!’
After his little joke had died away, Smithens continued: ‘Berner’s not working out of Avenue Foch, like the SS and the rest of the Abwehr, or if he is, he hasn’t been seen there. He was spotted at the Military Governor’s HQ in the Hotel Majestic, Know it?’
‘Of course! Been there many times.’
Smithens seemed impressed. ‘Well, his presence in the Hotel Majestic could in itself be significant.’ Another corner, another grimace.
‘If Berner leaves Paris,’ Smithens went on through gritted teeth, ‘we want to know where he’s gone as it might mean he’s onto one of our own agents. Simply by knowing Berner’s whereabouts, we might be able to warn our people in the area to go to ground for a bit.
‘When you land in France - more on that later - you will move to your safe house and then wait for Oberon. Oberon will give you what he can but as I say, don’t expect much. Oberon knows who your target is and his importance. So try to be understanding with Oberon’s little foibles and expect to be kept at arms’ length.’
Smithens paused to let it start to sink in. Eve watched a village rush past outside the window.
‘So,’ she summarised, ‘you’re sending a novice agent fresh out of training - in fact I am yet to complete my training - against the best counter-intelligence officer Germany has. Bit one-sided isn’t it? Are you coat-tailing me?’
‘Are we putting you in front of Berner so that he has someone easy to arrest? No. There is no suggestion of that. I need someone who knows Paris well. You’re it. We need someone who can go now, not in two or three weeks, and Oberon wouldn’t touch this job with a bargepole. That’s why we’re sending you, nothing more to it than that. You’re ready for a job like this, Eve, we wouldn’t be sending you otherwise. Just plot this man’s every move and report back to your case officer: me. I will guide you through messages over the air. It’s good, first-mission stuff.’
‘How close can I get?’
‘Use your judgement. We don’t know much about him, so you work it out. Personally, I feel that after a week or so in Paris, you will know more about Berner than we ever will over here. Just don’t get caught.’
‘And if I am? Caught, that is?’
‘That’s what I like to see, plenty of upbeat optimism right from the start.’ Smithens gave Eve one of his fondest paternal grins. ‘Use your training, play for time and if they force you to broadcast back to Britain, put your secret marker into your messages. I will know something’s wrong and run it from there. Just do what I tell you.
‘All being well, Berner will probably think that you are just another one of our assassins, routing out a way to kill him. If that’s what he ends up suspecting, I wouldn’t do anything to change his mind. I would rather him think we’re trying to kill him than learn from him. If you achieve just one thing, make sure the Abwehr doesn’t put him into hiding. If he disappears, we will probably never get the chance to get near him again.
‘You’re good at what you do, Eve, remember that. The way you look and dress means that you will fit in perfectly in Paris, You have the ways, the accent, the lot.’
Brushing the compliment away quickly, Eve asked, ‘You’ll miss the school though, won’t you?’
Smithens raised his eyebrows and looked ahead for a moment. ‘No way. Running the school is one thing, but running an agent on operations against one of Germany’s best – that’s more like it. It’s you and me against Berner. Can’t wait.’
‘How long am I going in for?’ said Eve after a short pause.
‘As long as it takes. If you think they’re onto you or your nerves are going, just let me know. No shame in letting me know if it’s getting a bit much.’
‘As long as it takes,’ repeated Eve slowly.
Eventually, the car swept into a grim, bare-looking airbase. An RAF policemen in a white belt and spats saluted smartly as the gate lifted. The car swept onwards, across the airfield and pulled up outside a set of huts that stood quite distinctly from the rest. A tall female RAF officer with short, dark hair opened the door and stood waiting. Walking stiffly towards the hut, Smithens went on: ‘Eve, this is Maud. She will now take you through the details of your
task, your cover story and what have you. She will then check all your clothing, make sure you’re wearing only French clothes, check your documentation, issue your radio set … the lot. She’s very thorough.’ Smithens twinkled at Maud.
‘So while I am working with Maud, where you will be, Colonel?’
‘Heading back down to London to get the latest reports. All being well, I will be back here in time for some dinner with you tonight.’
* * *
Yvette did not have the money or the friends to hold a vigil for Luc. The priest blinked against the rain as he led Luc’s coffin past twelve neatly arranged new mounds where the Germans had been buried the day before. The mounds squatted silently, the black earth, speckled with chips of flint and stone, awaiting crosses.
Uncomfortably cold and wet, the Priest smoothed out the pages of his service book, which flicked unpredictably in the wind. Raindrops collected on his wire framed spectacles, eroding his dignity. He galloped through the burial, the rain drummed on the lid as the pallbearers fed the coffin into the grave. Yvette stood with her pale hands together in front of her, staring as the coffin lowered. Too shocked to cry. The Priest droned on:
‘Réquiem æternam dona ei, Dómine.
Et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Amen.
Anima ejus, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum,
per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace. Amen’.
With a nod from the priest, the pallbearers bowed, turned to face downhill and depart, rain dripping from their noses. Yvette heard their boots crump hastily down the footpath, through the gate and onto the village square.
She squinted and pursed her lips as raindrops blew into her half-open mouth. Yvette still couldn’t believe it, he had been dead three days and her only visitors had been that upstart Michel and Luc’s boss from the railway, who had offered his condolences before promptly giving her a month to leave the cottage.