“You may as well stop typing,” Cess said from the doorway. “The Jig’s up.”
“You may as well stop typing,” Cess said from the doorway. “The Jig’s up.”
Ernest looked up at him, startled. Cess was leaning lazily against the doorjamb, his arms folded. “What?”
“I said, the jig’s up. It’s American slang. It means we’ve been found out. Hitler’s finally tumbled to the fact that there’s no First Army. And no second invasion.”
Ernest waited a moment to give his heart time to stop thudding and then said, “Hitler’s caught on to the deception?”
“Yes, and about time. I’d begun to think he’d only realize he’d been tricked when he saw Monty rolling into Berlin.”
The Russians, Ernest thought. And Hitler won’t be there. He’ll already have killed himself in his bunker. “Who told you he’s caught on?”
“No one,” he said. “I’m in Intelligence, remember? I’ve deduced it from the clues.”
“What clues?”
“One, Algernon’s here. And two, Lady Bracknell’s called a general meeting in the mess.”
Cess was right. It looked like the jig was up. In more ways than one. I should have talked to him earlier about being reassigned, he thought. Or perhaps there was still time. “When’s this meeting scheduled for?”
“Now,” Cess said, showing no sign of leaving.
And Ernest couldn’t leave either, not with a story with the name Polly in it still in the typewriter. “Coming,” he said, putting a cover over the machine and standing up. “You need to go tell Gwen. He’s in the garage underneath the staff car.”
“Oh, right,” Cess said, and left. Ernest yanked the cover off and the letter out of the typewriter, hid it in the file cabinet, and was at the door when Cess returned.
“Gwen wasn’t there,” he reported. “He must already be in the meeting.”
He was, and so was everyone else except Chasuble. Lady Bracknell, in full-dress uniform—another bad sign— was saying, “Colonel Algernon has something to say to you.”
“Thank you,” Tensing said, standing up. “First of all, I want to thank all of you for your hard work during these past months and to tell you how handsomely it’s paid off. Our efforts to deceive the Germans as to the time and place of the invasion have been successful beyond our greatest hopes. Even after receiving news of the Normandy invasion, the German High Command continued to believe that that was a diversion and that the main invasion was still to come at the Pas de Calais.”
He was talking in the past tense. Cess was right. The jig was up.
“As a result of this belief,” Tensing went on, “they held significant numbers of troops and tanks in readiness for that invasion, numbers which, if sent to Normandy, would have significantly altered the outcome. Fortitude South’s work was decisive in the outcome of the invasion, and you’re to be congratulated.”
The men began to clap and cheer. “We did it!” Cess shouted. “We beat them.”
“Right,” Prism said wryly. “Single-handedly. I’m certain all those destroyers and planes and paratroopers and landing forces had nothing to do with it.”
“Lieutenant Prism makes an excellent point,” Tensing said. “The invasion was a combined effort, and there are countless others who deserve credit for its success.
But they’ll receive medals, and there will be speeches praising what they did. And newspaper accounts.” He nodded briefly at Ernest. “You won’t. Your part in all this must unfortunately remain secret. My thanks and the knowledge of a job well done are all the reward you are likely to get. And”—he paused dramatically—“a bottle of Scotch with which to toast your accomplishment!” He held it up, and there was more clapping and cheering.
“That’s not dummy Scotch, is it?” Cess asked suspiciously.
“It’s an inflatable rubber bottle,” Prism said.
“No, it’s glass,” Tensing said, tapping it with his finger. “I’m quite certain it’s authentic. The label says, ‘Aged at Shepperton Film Studios.’ ”
Everyone laughed. “Can we open it now?” Gwen shouted.
“Not just yet,” Tensing said.
“Watch out,” Cess whispered to Ernest.
“I said the Germans were deceived into thinking there would be a second invasion,” Tensing went on. “That isn’t quite correct. The German High Command continues to believe that, and it’s essential that we perpetuate that deception for as long as possible.”
“I was wrong,” Cess whispered. “Apparently the jig isn’t up.”
“To that end, you’ll continue with your current deception and disinformation campaigns. In addition, you’ll increase the number of radio messages to the Pas de Calais’s Resistance Underground cells, and you’ll disseminate disinformation regarding the location of the Third Army, which is currently in the process of embarking for France under the tightest possible security. Your job will be to keep its presence in France—and General Patton’s—secret until General Patton takes official command of it.”
“Oh, Lord,” Moncrieff muttered.
“With him swaggering about in that star-studded uniform of his and making incendiary statements?” Cess whispered. “He must be joking.”
“But,” Tensing said, glaring at Cess, “in the event that his presence is detected, we will obviously need an explanation for what the commander of the army poised for attack on Calais is doing in France. We’ve developed a cover story in which General Patton made a controversial statement and has been demoted to the command of a single army under Omar Bradley.”
