Paul listened with dismay and a sinking heart. He glanced again at Crockatt, whose expression remained blank.
Hankey stood, looking impatient. “Lighten up, John. You’re not going to hang anyone in this group.”
Menzies shifted his eyes, shielding his surprise with a deadpan expression.
“We’re all loyal subjects here,” Hankey continued. “I agree, though, that this young lieutenant cannot be put in a position in which he could be captured, tortured, and thus jeopardize exposure of Bletchley.”
“That’s policy,” Menzies interrupted. “No exceptions.”
“Yes, well, let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? What is pertinent is the information that Miss Claire retrieved, not how she got it. It’s germane to all of our missions. The secrets of Bletchley need not be endangered.”
Menzies sniffed. “Go on.”
With occasional input from Crockatt and Paul, Hankey told the pertinent parts of Jeremy’s story, dwelling on the particulars of how Ferrand Boulier had saved his life and those of many other British soldiers and French citizens.
At his conclusion, he said, “The only breach of Bletchley in this instance is that Miss Claire highlighted significant information, which, to my mind, she should have done. She went through channels. In doing so, she shed light on something none of us had yet realized, that the very type of network we wish to establish is growing up of its own accord in northern France. We should capitalize on that.”
Claire held her breath, feeling the hard scrutiny of Menzies’ stare.
“You broke the code for those particular messages?”
Claire squirmed uncomfortably. “Yes, sir.”
“The decoded messages are in German,” Menzies snapped. “How did you know what they contained?”
“I studied German in school, sir. We all did. Me”—she glanced nervously at Paul—“and my brothers. We’re all fluent in it. My mother saw to that. She lived in Germany for a while, picked up the language, and wanted us to know it.”
Appearing somewhat flummoxed, Menzies turned to Denniston. “Did you know that?”
Denniston shook his head. “I knew she speaks French. She grew up on Sark Island, but I didn’t know she also knew German.”
Menzies directed his next question to Claire again. “Didn’t you ever tell anyone?”
“No one ever asked,” she replied. “I was recruited because I play the piano. Musicians make good decoders—something about the discipline involved.”
For a moment, Menzies just stared at her. Then he grunted and waved his hand. “Sark, eh? Sorry we couldn’t do more down there.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned his attention back to Denniston. “She went outside of channels.”
“To a member of your own staff.”
“Then how did it get to MI-9?”
“I did that, sir,” Paul broke in. “From my view—”
“The view of a lieutenant,” Menzies growled.
“Yes, sir,” Paul replied. “May I continue?”
Menzies assented with an impatient nod.
“I regard Major Crockatt as a mentor. I wanted advice on getting the matter in front of you as quickly as possible. Lives hang in the balance, particularly those of Mr. Boulier and his daughters. If we are to believe the communications, Bergmann is after not only the family, but also the network that Boulier established.”
“I’m sure you feel very self-righteous in your assessment,” Menzies fired back, “but let me clue you in on an aspect of Bletchley so that you rein in your propensity to take independent action.” He poked a finger in Paul’s direction. “We’ve let convoys of ships be attacked when we could have sent messages that would have saved them. We’ve let attacks go forward against our forces when family members of our staff and close friends were in jeopardy. Some were killed. Do you have any clue about why we would do that?”
Aghast and confused, Paul shook his head.
“The Germans think their code is unbreakable. They change the setting each morning, but they use it every day. What do you think they would conclude if suddenly, every convoy they assaulted or every objective they attacked was abruptly and miraculously met and defeated by our forces?”
“I’m not sure, sir.” Paul still reeled from what he had just heard. “I suppose they’d guess we had their code.”
“Exactly, and what would they do?” Without waiting for a response, Menzies continued. “They would change it. We expect the activity at Bletchley to shorten the war by two years. It’s taken us a long time to get to where we can decipher volumes of encrypted messages and do it rapidly.
“Have we played God and sacrificed lives? Yes. I freely admit that. But we’ve saved many more thousands than we’ve lost, and ultimately, the lives saved could be in the millions.” He glanced at Claire, his eyes piercing. Ferocity tinged his voice. “And we only allow our brightest and most trusted codebreakers inside the huts at Bletchley.”
Claire squirmed but remained silent. Paul broke the discomfort. “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”
Menzies was not finished. “Her job is to decode, not translate and analyze what’s received. We have other departments for that.”
“Which missed it altogether,” Hankey broke in sternly. “We have an opportunity to support an established network, and a high price possibly to be paid if we don’t take it.”
Menzies peered at Claire in silence. She held his stare a moment, and then dropped her eyes.
He shifted his view and scrutinized Paul. Finally, he addressed Lord Hankey again. “You feel strongly that this network in northern France is one that should be preserved, if possible?”
“My sense is that it probably is, but none of us is informed well enough to give a reliable response. We can say that it is one of the first to form, and to date, it is one of the most effective. Failure to preserve it could discourage others from becoming active.”
“I see,” Menzies said. “Major Crockatt?”
“I concur.”
Menzies sat quietly, his anger dissipated, alone with his thoughts. “What do you think
