Malloy smiled and shrugged. “I only scraped through the exam and I’ve not kept it up since leaving law school.”
“Fair enough. What do you know about a Brit outfit called Special Operations Executive?”
“I’ve read the OSS summary about them but that’s about all. Just that they send people into the occupied countries in Europe on sabotage missions.”
“OK. And what do you know about railways?”
Malloy looked surprised. “Nothing at all beyond what anybody knows.” Then he paused and smiled. “I guess that’s not true. My father was a locomotive driver and I must have absorbed quite a lot from hearing him talk about the railways. The routes and procedures, schedules and that sort of thing.”
“And the unions?”
Malloy laughed. “Of course. He was a strong union man.”
“And you. Are you a union supporter? You worked for a small union, didn’t you.”
“Yes. But I was never a member of a union.”
“Why not?”
“They were too simplistic for my taste. They just made it worker versus employer. And that way the worker is always the loser. They should have spent more effort on analysing what they wanted, money, improved conditions or job security. There were employers who were willing to talk but they were treated as if they were like the worst employers. Too much politics and not enough hard facts.”
Williams raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. Well, let’s get down to business. We’re sending you to London. You’ll be temporarily seconded to SOE for training. But before you go you’ll spend some weeks under a top man at one of our main rail companies. In the course of your SOE training you’ll get parachute training and weapons training. And you’ll learn how SOE networks are organised.
“When that’s finished you’ll be briefed on what you’ll be doing in France. Understood?”
“Shall I be under command of SOE or OSS?”
“Both. You’ll be controlled by our London office but in the field we’ll want you to take your time from the network you’ll be attached to. They’ll be responsible for funding you, your security and your facilities like radio.”
“What’s SOE got to do with trains?”
Williams hesitated for a moment then said, “OK. Let me explain.” He paused. “Sooner or later we’ll have to land in Europe. Hundreds of thousands of men. It will take time to assemble such a force and its weapons. Could be a couple of years before we launch. Rail and road communications will be of vital importance to stop the Germans moving their troops and supplies to foil our attack. It will be your job to brief us on every aspect of the railway system in France. Track, signalling, repair shops, bridges, timetables, how the Germans operate. And most important of all—the places where sabotage will do most good. The network can put you in touch with French railway unions and railway men who are sympathetic to the Resistance. So …” he smiled, “… you’ll be a very busy man.”
“How do I get all this stuff back to London?”
“You’ll be told how on your training course with SOE.” He looked at his watch and stood up. “I’m afraid I’ll have to chuck you out. I’ve got another meeting. And—best of luck. Should be very interesting.”
“I need to explain to my wife what’s coming up.”
“What have you told her so far?”
“Just that I’m employed on confidential work for the government.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s with me here in Washington. She’s a secretary to a hotel manager.”
“Would she be prepared to make a move? OSS need good secretaries. Ones who don’t talk.”
“I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“Let me know what she says.”
Andrei walked slowly along 20th and stopped at the row of small shops opposite the Flatiron Building. The third shop in the row was the shoe shop and as he moved slowly past it he saw that the pair of red shoes in the row at the front of the window were the wrong way round. The shoes were reversed, the right one where the left one should be. He walked on, crossed the street at the lights and strolled back to the Flatiron Building. His small office was on the tenth floor. A floor of single and two-roomed offices that were let on a monthly rental. He unlocked his door and hung his coat on a hook behind the door.
There were piles of books on the floor and on a table against the wall and a front page from Saturday Evening Post tacked on the wall alongside the door. A Norman Rockwell painting showing a typical American farm family looking at a new baby in a home-made cradle with rockers.
Andrei opened his post. Half a dozen offers from out-of-town booksellers and a couple of enquiries. One for a first edition of Collected Poems by Robert Frost and one for a first edition of Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth.
He looked at his watch after he had made a couple of telephone calls, put on his coat, locked the office and took the elevator down to street level. He crossed the street and as he passed the shoe shop window he saw that the red shoes were no longer there.
He walked down Broadway towards Union Square, his collar turned up against the biting wind. Five minutes later he turned into East 17th Street and headed for the coffee shop next to the pharmacy. He took a seat at a table in the far corner and ordered a coffee and a beef sandwich. A man came out from the kitchen a few minutes later, he was carrying a copy of the New York Times which he put down on the table with the bill. He talked with Andrei for a moment, took his money and gave him change before leaving for the kitchen. The newspaper was left lying on the table and Andrei slid it into his coat pocket as he stood up.
Back in his office he reached for the copy of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men and slowly and carefully deciphered the message.
