Into the Iron Shadows, page 5
“I understand you are the man to speak to about setting up an arrangement whereby I might contact Shustov.”
“And who gave you this information?” he asked, walking over to pick up a box from the corner of the desk. He opened the lid to reveal a selection of cigarettes, offering her one.
“Shustov,” Evelyn said, shaking her head to the offer.
“Ah. I see. Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.”
He selected a cigarette and went around the side of the desk to seat himself, pulling a lighter out of his pocket.
“I suppose I should introduce myself properly,” he murmured, lighting his cigarette. “Philip Moreau, at your service.”
Evelyn inclined her head and watched as he lit his cigarette and laid the lighter on the desk, sitting back in his chair. Hazel eyes considered her thoughtfully for a moment, then he raised his face to blow smoke towards the ceiling.
“Before we begin, by what name shall I know you?”
“It will vary, of course,” she answered calmly, “but would you suggest that we use a single name between us?”
“I would.” Philip nodded decisively. “Preferably one that no one else will know. I’m sure Shustov assured you of my discretion. I maintain it through an overabundance of caution. I really must insist on a unique codename. It will protect us both, you see. When I see it, I will know it is truly you, and vice versa, of course.”
Evelyn nodded, thinking. “Yes, I can see your point. Very well.” She was quiet for a moment, then she raised her eyes to his. “I think perhaps Elena.”
He nodded. “Very sensible. It is quite a common name in Switzerland, and one that would hardly arouse suspicion.”
“This is the first time I’ve arranged anything like this, I’m afraid,” she confessed with a small smile. “I’m not quite sure what to do.”
Philip smiled. “You don’t have to do a thing, Mademoiselle. I shall arrange everything. Shustov explained how it will work, I presume?”
“The basics, yes, but not the details. I understand that he will send you a message and you will forward it to me, and then await instructions from me. Is that correct?”
“That’s the basic gist of it, yes. I guarantee to pass the messages to all interested parties within five hours of receipt. If there are to be any changes to the procedure or where the messages are sent, those must be made in person here for everyone’s security.” He paused and leaned forward to tap his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “I do, of course, charge a small fee for the service.”
“Of course.” Evelyn smiled faintly. “That is not a problem.”
He nodded. “Good. Then all that is to be done is for you to tell me where to send the messages.”
Evelyn opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve written it down,” she said, getting up and passing him the paper. “What if you’re not on duty when a message comes in?”
“All of my telegrams are brought to me immediately.”
“Even on your days off?” she asked, surprised.
The chuckle Philip gave was genuine.
“Even on my days off. When I am not in the hotel, I am in my private home not far from here. You may rest assured that any messages will be processed in a timely manner.”
He opened the folded piece of paper and glanced at it, nodding after a moment. “Very well. And you will have someone on the other end to receive it?”
“Yes.” She sat down again and tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you do it?”
His eyes met hers and he leaned forward to stub out his cigarette.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was out of a sense of patriotism?”
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Patriotism? To two different countries?”
“Oh, more than that,” he said lightly with a laugh. “You and Shustov are not my only clients. The fact is that I’m not loyal to any country. Instead, my patriotism is to the human race, and I find that it is being threatened without compassion and without empathy by most countries.”
“How does this help?”
“You’d be very surprised to hear, and I’d be a fool to tell you.” He got up and went over to a large safe against the wall and bent down to open it. “Suffice it to say that my services are making more of a difference than I ever imagined.”
“Well, they’ll certainly make a difference to me,” Evelyn said after a moment. “What about your fee?”
“It is fifty francs per month. You can arrange a monthly wire at your convenience,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll give you a bank account before you leave. It is not much, but enough to cover my risk and expenses.”
“Very well.” She watched as he pulled a small book out of the safe before locking it again. “What if something should happen to you?”
“I have a contingency in place. You will be notified to cease all communication, and then of course, you and Shustov will have to come to another arrangement.” Philip walked over to hand her the small book. “This is a codebook. It’s of my own invention, and rather simple, but quite effective. We will use this for all messages. Each page is a disposable code. We will start with the first page for the first message. Once that message is complete, destroy the page and move on to the next one for the next message. Understand?”
“Yes, of course.” Evelyn opened the book and glanced at the pages, then closed it and slipped it into her purse. “I must say this is all very well organized. How long have you been at this?”
“Since ‘36. It has developed into a more effective system since then, of course.” He leaned on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at her. “You remind me forcibly of someone and I cannot, for the life of me, think who it might be. That’s unusual for me. Have you been to the hotel before?”
“No. This is my first time in Bern.”
“Hm. I suppose it will come to me. In the meantime, is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“Actually, there is one thing,” Evelyn said, looking up at him. “I’d like to go out tomorrow. I have an address, but I have no idea how far away it is or how to get there.”
“Of course. Where is it?”
“Blasenflue.”
He nodded. “It’s not far from here. Perhaps half an hour by car. It’s a mountain peak with fantastic views. Shall I arrange for a car?”
“I’d actually prefer not to have a car. I’d rather not draw attention to myself.”
Philip was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s too far to walk, but you could cycle. I can arrange for a bicycle to be at your disposal. It will take about two hours to cycle, I should think. If you decide to do that, I’d suggest leaving quite early.”
“Would it be shocking to wear trousers? How are the local residents?”
“Goodness no! Not if you’re on a bicycle. We aren’t that old-fashioned here.” He uncrossed his arms and went around the desk to pick up a pen. “I would suggest taking something to eat. I’ll arrange for a picnic lunch for you. What time would you like to leave?”
“Shall we say eight o’clock?”
“I’ll make sure the head porter takes care of you.” He bent over to write on a clean sheet of paper for a few moments. When he finally looked up, he smiled. “I’ve written out directions for you. It’s very straight-forward. You shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you!”
He blotted the paper and folded it, handing it to her. “There is nothing to thank. It’s my pleasure.”
Evelyn tucked the paper into her purse and pulled on her gloves, standing up. “Nevertheless, I thank you just the same. You’ve been nothing but helpful, and I do appreciate that.”
Philip inclined his head in acknowledgement, then followed her to the door.
“If you’ll wait in the corridor, I’ll just go into the cellar and find a bottle of vodka for you to take with you,” he said. “Appearances, you see.”
Evelyn nodded and stepped into the hallway, looking around. It was empty and she watched as Philip went to an open door, disappearing down a flight of stairs. He was efficient and obviously attentive to details, both of which set her mind at ease with this strange arrangement between herself and Lyakhov. It had been much easier to arrange than she’d imagined, sitting there in the lobby behind her French newspaper, and she was very glad that it was done.
Now she could focus on Blasenflue and then get home to England before France was overrun.
London
The man sipped his drink and loosened his tie, crossing the room to a large, heavy desk gleaming with wood polish. The sun had disappeared and the heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, closing out the night. Soft light glowed from a few lamps, casting shadows over the leather-bound volumes on the shelves lining the walls. He sighed in contentment, rounding the corner of the desk and sinking into the leather chair. It was good to be home.
He took a moment to savor the superior scotch in his glass, leaning his head back on the chair and staring up at the ceiling. It had been a busy few days. When Hitler decided to move into the Low Countries at last, his entire building had been thrown into a tizzy. It wasn’t that they hadn’t known it was coming. Quite the contrary. They had been expecting it in January, and then again in March. April brought the surprise of Norway, yet still no move towards France. No. All of the government had known it was coming. The invasion of Belgium and Holland hadn’t been the shock. The shock had been the Ardennes.
His lips twisted briefly. Everyone said it couldn’t be done. The French were so sure and confident that Hitler would come through Belgium that they committed all their best troops, and England’s too for that matter, to that avenue of defense, leaving the Ardennes completely unprotected. And the Germans had taken unabashed and full advantage of that tactical error.
And that was what was causing the ruckus.
No one could believe that Sedan had fallen. France’s General Gamelin swore that it would take at least five days for the German armies to cross the Meuse, yet General von Rundstedt had done it in three. The news had come through this evening. The German Army Group A was through Sedan and now had a clear path to Paris. In response, all the troops not tied up in Belgium were being redirected east to protect the capital. Unfortunately, it was far too little and entirely too late. Gamelin had severely miscalculated, and was on the verge of losing France because of it.
Henry sipped his drink and lowered his eyes to the blotting pad on the desk before him. There was talk of Prime Minister Reynaud removing Gamelin from command and installing Weygand in his stead, and Henry wouldn’t be surprised to see that happen. Although, to what purpose was anyone’s guess. France was finished. The German Blitzkrieg was too much for them to handle. It was only a matter of time.
Sitting forward, he set his drink down and pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocking the bottom drawer to his right. Soon the German armies would converge on France, and the French forces would be forced to capitulate. When that happened, there would only be England left.
Churchill was being obstinate, as always, when pressed about the possibility of peace talks with Hitler. Lord Halifax and Lord Chamberlain both were supportive of mediation with the Führer, but Winston wouldn’t even hear of it. Not yet.
Henry opened the drawer and pulled out a large square case, hefting its weight up onto the desk. He was sure the new prime minister would rethink his position in the next week or so when he lost the entire BEF in Belgium and France; he would have no choice. England could not fight without an army, after all.
He unlocked the case with another small key and glanced at the closed door before lifting the lid. He’d told his man that he didn’t want to be disturbed, and he had every confidence his wish would be respected, but he was keenly aware of the risk of sending messages directly from the library in his London home. Not that he believed for one moment that he would be caught. The very idea was absurd. He was above suspicion, at least for the moment, and he intended to keep it that way.
Once the wireless radio was set and ready to go, Henry turned to lift his briefcase from where his man had set it next to the desk. He opened it and removed the stack of reports from inside, lifting a false bottom to pull out a folded sheaf of papers. Setting the case aside, he unfolded the papers and scanned them before setting them next to the machine on the desk. He reached back into the case for the codebook and pulled a piece of paper towards him on the blotter.
A few weeks ago, his handler in Berlin had instructed him to discover the names of any known Allied agents in France. He had gladly accepted the task, relieved that they had dropped the little matter of Robert Ainsworth and his missing package for the time being. However, he was very much aware that he had to provide solid and outstanding results this time or his usefulness to the Germans would begin to be questioned, and that was something he couldn’t have happen. Not now.
It had been tricky, but not impossible. Despite the fact that MI6 was treating everyone as a potential spy these days, there were still several ways to find the information one needed. One just had to know where to look, and whose good graces to get into. A bit of luck never hurt either, and Henry seemed to have his fair share of that as well. As a result, he had a list of twelve names to pass on to Berlin, all agents of the Deuxième Bureau or MI6. Once France fell, the agents would be picked up before they could recover and rebuild a network or, worse, begin a resistance movement.
Henry opened the codebook and began composing the message he would send to Berlin. He had a suspicion that it was the threat of an underground resistance network that concerned the Nazis more than any organized governmental intelligence network. After all, once France fell, it would be nearly impossible for England to get agents in, let alone get them out again. He paused in his writing to lift his head and stare thoughtfully across the room. In point of fact, once France fell, MI6 would be both blind and deaf on the continent. They had waited too long to begin to build a network in France and Belgium, and then when they finally did realize that it might be needed, the Venlo Affair put paid to most of it. If only Jasper Montclair and William Buckley had been able to convince the rest of the upper-echelons that ungentlemanly warfare was both necessary and crucial to the nation’s security, perhaps things would be different. Unfortunately for England, their arguments had fallen on the ears of old men who still believed that wars must be fought on a battlefield according to a certain code of conduct.
Henry’s lips twisted and he lowered his gaze to the paper again. Their stupidity and lack of foresight was all to his advantage. It was strange, really, how things worked out in the end. If someone had told him just five years ago that he would betray his country and throw his hat in with the Nazis, he would have been horribly and terribly offended and told them where to get off. Yet circumstances changed. People changed. More importantly, the entire fabric of the world was changing, and the very strong English tendency to cling to traditions and the past had forced him to look long and hard at what he believed the future held, and who would have a place in the rapidly changing societies. The Führer had secured his place in the halls of leaders with resounding confidence, and unfortunately the British government had not. It was that simple. Henry wanted to be on the winning side when this was all over, and it was very clear which side that would be.
He finished writing and closed the codebook. Picking up the headphones, he settled them on his head and tuned the dial on the radio, glancing up at the clock on the mantel. He was right on time. Someone would be standing by to receive his message.
EVIDENCE OF SEVERAL AGENTS IN FRANCE. STANDBY FOR LIST OF 12 NAMES. ALL AGENTS OF FRENCH AND BRITISH INTELLIGENCE. ALL CURRENTLY ACTIVE IN FRANCE. WILL CONTINUE TO SEARCH FOR OTHERS. - HENRY
He sent the message, then reached for the folded papers from his briefcase. He scanned them once more before setting them where he could easily see them while transmitting the names. After taking a fortifying sip of scotch, he began. A few minutes later, he sat back, finished. Then, with a frown, he looked at the sheets again. He had only transmitted eleven names. Yet he was sure there had been twelve. The frown turned to a scowl and he turned back to the briefcase, going back into the false bottom. There, pushed against the back corner, was another sheet of paper that had become separated from the rest. With a shake of his head, he pulled it out and composed a third message.
ADDITIONAL TRANSMISSION TO PROVIDE MISSING NAME. ADD THE FOLLOWING TO PREVIOUS LIST: JOSEPHINE ROUSSEAU.
Chapter Five
Blasenflue, Switzerland
May 15
Evelyn pedaled along the country road that wound its way in a constant incline up the side of a mountain. She had the optimism and energy of youth, and was in fairly good nick, but even she admitted that the constant uphill climb, no matter how gradual, was becoming tiring. Her breath was coming steady, but fast, and she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that had developed over an hour ago. At this rate, she would be a sopping mess before she ever reached her destination, and that would never do. Ladies simply didn’t sweat.
Despite her discomfort, a wry smile of amusement settled on her face. She could almost hear her mother’s admonishment when she was much younger and they were living in Hong Kong. She had just come in from a particularly energetic game of cricket with Stephen Mansbridge. Cricket was a man’s sport, not a lady’s, her mother had informed her. Ladies didn’t sweat. They sat in a dress on the sidelines and looked pretty.
The wry smile turned into a grin. Evelyn had never had much patience for sitting on the sidelines, something that had followed her through her teenage years and well beyond, much to the dismay of her mother. Thankfully, her father had run interference on her behalf, understanding this burning need for movement and action. The grin faded. Now she knew why. He had suffered the same emotions, and they had led him into the same service that she had later joined. It seemed that this need for action inevitably led to patriotic duty, and was something that he had passed on to his daughter.
