Shocked, Lance stumbled past. Nausea overcame him, but he had no food in his stomach to heave. Ahead of him, people who had not seen or heard what had transpired crowded more closely for a better view, sensing that something had occurred that they could not see. The German guards too had momentarily diverted their attention, and in that moment, the crowd had moved closer to the prisoners, some offering food or just gestures of encouragement.
Lance spotted an empty outstretched hand. He could not even see the person to whom it belonged. He grasped it with both hands, pressed his note into it, and pushed the fingers closed around it.
Then he moved on without missing a step. He raised his eyes to the heavens, let his head fall backward a bit, and breathed in deeply, a momentary sense of relief. Then he continued putting one foot in front of the other, enduring his sojourn toward Germany.
42
Bletchley Park, England
Claire Littlefield called Paul’s office at mid-morning. Failing to reach him there, she tried his apartment.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s Saturday. I was trying to get some domestic chores—”
“It’s urgent,” she said. “I need to speak with you at once.”
“Shall I come out to Bletchley?”
“Yes, but not the apartment. Knock on the door of Hut 6. Show them your credentials and wait for me. I’ll tell reception to expect you, and they’ll page me.”
Almost two hours later, Paul presented himself as Claire had instructed. When she appeared, she shot him a quick smile and set out walking without a word.
“What is it?” he asked, as she led him over the mansion’s broad lawn and through the gardens to a pond. He tried to ease her stress with levity. “You’re being rather cloak-and-dagger here, of all places.”
“I’m breaking protocol a bit,” she said at last, breathless from the brisk pace she had set, and slowed down. Finally, she stopped and faced him. “I can’t tell you all that I do in there,” she said. “I’d be canned, or worse. Maybe jailed.”
“What is it? Don’t tell me anything you’re not supposed to.”
“There are always gray lines. Does the name Boulier mean anything to you?”
“Boulier,” Paul repeated. “Is that the surname of the family who helped Jeremy?”
“I’m quite certain it is. Let’s just say that I came across that name. Ferrand Boulier. And the context was not benign. In fact, it was quite threatening. He and his daughters are the subject of a manhunt in northern France. An SD chap by the name of Bergmann is after them.”
“Are you sure? Maybe the names are similar.”
Claire shook her head. “I double-checked. I have the correct names, and I’m sure they are the ones who helped Jeremy. What can we do? We have to help them.”
Paul stared at her. “How? I’m not even supposed to know about whatever you learned or how you got it.”
Claire bristled. “So, turn me in. Jeremy would be furious if he thought that we knew of a danger to the people who saved his life and did nothing to help them. Besides, he’s in love with the older daughter, Amélie.”
“He what? How could you know that? He seldom talks about her.”
“Call it intuition. You should see his eyes light up when her name is mentioned.”
“But they barely know each other. He couldn’t have seen her more than a day or two.”
“It might be nothing if they get a chance to know each other, but he met her under extreme conditions. Regardless, he cares for her and her family. We owe them.”Paul took a hard look at his sister. She stood facing him, eyes burning, arms folded, and jaw set.
“I’m taking this to the top of my organization,” she said. “That man, Boulier, started a network in northern France that’s been effective across the country, even in its infancy. He’s the type of ally we need to help our soldiers who were left over there. From what I gathered from Crockatt, he’s doing exactly what that new MI-9 section was created to support.”
“But you’re not even supposed to be telling me as much as you have. How are we going to bring this up in any context that doesn’t get us arrested, maybe even hanged? Then what will we have accomplished? I’m not exaggerating.”
“What about that man Jeremy met with yesterday? Lord Hankey, I believe. Isn’t he supposed to be setting up a commando capability of some sort?”
“It’s not even operational yet, and I’m sure Hankey won’t be directing it. They’ll bring in someone else of lesser rank to do that.”
“Well Churchill must have thought Hankey could do something to put him in that position.” Claire’s eyes flashed as she spoke, and her fingers poked the air in exasperation. “This is war. Our classifications are meant to protect information, not keep us from acting when we know there’s something to do.”
Paul peered at his sister and laughed.
Taken aback, Claire asked, “What’s so funny?”
“You’re doing to me what I’ve been doing to Major Crockatt,” he said. “All right, how do you get along with your boss?”
“Fine. It’s a fairly small organization at the moment with a flat management structure, so I interact with him regularly. It’s expected to bring on many more people, so it won’t stay small for long. We see a lot of activity, and Bletchley belongs to MI-6.”
“Then here’s the approach. Explain to your boss the situation, tell him that the information could be critical to Lord Hankey, and ask to run the situation up the staff.
“Meanwhile, I’ll go to Crockatt and tell him I’ve learned of a newly formed network in northern France that’s in danger of being broken up. His interests and Hankey’s coincide. I’ll even agree to transfer over to his unit if he’ll help follow up. Let’s see how far we get, and then we can figure out next steps.”
Suddenly exuberant, Claire swooped on her
