can here.”
They left.
“Stupid prat,” Percy muttered.
“Let’s have dinner,” said Flick.
The others were already in the dining room, waiting. As the Jackdaws began their last meal in England, Percy gave each of them an expensive gift: silver cigarette cases for the smokers, gold powder compacts for the others. “They have French hallmarks, so you can take them with you,” he said. The women were pleased, but he brought their mood back down with his next remark. “They have a purpose, too. They are items that can easily be pawned for emergency funds if you get into real trouble.”
The food was plentiful, a banquet by wartime standards, and the Jackdaws tucked in with relish. Flick did not feel very hungry, but she forced herself to eat a big steak, knowing it was more meat than she would get in a week in France.
When they finished supper, it was time to go to the airfield. They returned to their rooms to pick up their French bags, then boarded the bus. It took them along another country lane and across a railway line, then approached what looked like a cluster of farm buildings at the edge of a large, flat field. A sign said Gibraltar Farm, but Flick knew that this was RAF Tempsford, and the barns were heavily disguised Nissen huts.
They went into what looked like a cowshed and found a uniformed RAF officer standing guard over steel racks of equipment. Before they were given their gear, each of them was searched. A box of British matches was found in Maude’s suitcase; Diana had in her pocket a half-completed crossword torn from the Daily Mirror, which she swore she had intended to leave on the plane; and Jelly, the inveterate gambler, had a pack of playing cards with “Made in Binning-ham” printed on every one.
Paul distributed their identity cards, ration cards, and clothing coupons. Each woman was given a hundred thousand French francs, mostly in grubby thousand-franc notes. It was the equivalent of five hundred pounds, enough to buy two Ford cars.
They also got weapons, .45-caliber Colt automatic pistols and sharp double-bladed Commando knives. Flick declined both. She took her personal gun, a Browning nine-millimeter automatic. Around her waist she wore the leather belt, into which she could push the pistol or, at a pinch, the submachine gun. She also took her lapel knife instead of the Commando knife. The Commando knife was longer and deadlier, but more cumbersome. The great advantage of the lapel knife was that when the agent was asked to produce papers, she could innocently reach toward an inside pocket, then at the last moment pull the knife.
In addition there was a Lee-Enfield rifle for Diana and a Sten Mark II submachine gun with silencer for Flick.
The plastic explosive Jelly would need was distributed evenly among the six women so that even if one or two bags were lost there would still be enough to do the job.
Maude said, “It might blow me up!”
Jelly explained that it was extraordinarily safe. “I knew a bloke who thought it was chocolate and ate some,” she said. “Mind you,” she added, “it didn’t half give him the runs.”
They were offered the usual round Mills grenades with the conventional turtleshell finish, but Flick insisted on general-purpose grenades in square cans, because they could also be used as explosive charges.
Each woman got a fountain pen with a hollow cap containing a suicide pill.
There was a compulsory visit to the bathroom before putting on the flying suit. It had a pistol pocket so that the agent could defend herself immediately on landing, if necessary. With the suit, they donned helmet and goggles and finally shrugged into the parachute harness.
Paul asked Flick to step outside for a moment. He had held back the all-important special passes that would enable the women to enter the chateau as cleaners. If a Jackdaw were to be captured by the Gestapo, this pass would betray the true purpose of the mission. For safety, he gave all the passes to Flick, to be distributed at the last minute.
Then he kissed her. She kissed him back with desperate passion, clutching his body to hers, shamelessly thrusting her tongue into his mouth until she had to gasp for breath.
“Don’t get killed,” he said into her ear.
They were interrupted by a discreet cough. Flick smelled Percy’s pipe. She broke the clinch.
Percy said to Paul, “The pilot is waiting for a word with you.”
Paul nodded and moved away.
“Make sure he understands that Flick is the officer in command,” Percy called after him.
“Sure,” Paul replied.
Percy looked grim, and Flick had a bad feeling. “What’s wrong?” she said.
He took a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “A motorcycle courier from London brought this from SOE headquarters just before we left the house. It came in from Brian Standish last night.” He sucked anxiously on his pipe and blew out clouds of smoke.
Flick looked at the sheet of paper in the evening sunlight. It was a decrypt. Its contents hit her like a punch in the stomach. She looked up, dismayed. “Brian has been in the hands of the Gestapo!”
“Only for a few seconds.”
“So this claims.”
“Any reason to think otherwise?”
“Ah, fuck it,” she said loudly. A passing airman looked up sharply, surprised to hear a woman’s voice utter such words. Flick crumpled the paper and threw it on the ground.
Percy bent down, picked it up, and smoothed out the creases. “Let’s try to stay calm and think clearly.”
Flick took a deep breath. “We have a rule,” she said insistently. “Any agent who is captured by the enemy, whatever the circumstances, must immediately be returned to London for debriefing.”
“Then you’ll have no wireless operator.”
“I can manage without one. And what about this Charenton?”
“I suppose it’s natural that Mademoiselle Lemas might have recruited someone to help her.”
“All recruits are supposed to be vetted by London.”
“You know that rule has never been followed.”
“At a minimum they should be approved by the local commander.”
“Well, he has been now-Michel is satisfied that Charenton is trustworthy. And Charenton saved Brian from the Gestapo. That whole scene in the cathedral can’t have been deliberately staged, can it?”
“Perhaps it never took place at all, and this message comes straight from Gestapo headquarters.”
“But it has all the right security codes. Anyway, they wouldn’t invent a story about his being captured and then released. They’d know that would arouse our suspicions. They would just say he had arrived safely.”
“You’re right, but still I don’t like it.”
“No, nor do I,” he said, surprising her. “But I don’t know what to do.”
She sighed. “We have to take the risk. There’s no time for precautions. If we don’t disable the telephone exchange in the next three days it will be too late. We have to go anyway.”
Percy nodded. Flick saw that there were tears in his eyes. He put his pipe in his mouth and took it out again. “Good girl,” he said, his voice reduced to a whisper. “Good girl.”
THE SEVENTH DAY
Saturday, June 3, 1944
CHAPTER 30
SOE HAD NO planes of its own. It had to borrow them from the RAF, which was like pulling teeth. In 1941, the air force had reluctantly handed over two Lysanders, too slow and heavy for their intended role in battlefield
