Page 14 of Echoes of Betrayal

Lizzie saw immediately that the Swiss banker was charming, and she fell into conversation with him. Slow and steady was the essence of the diplomatic world, and she would need just as much patience as she did when employing spycraft in enemy territory. It was growing late, and she was tired after her lack of sleep the previous night, so she sought Tom out, who was in deep conversation with a gorgeous young Swiss woman. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Tom,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be asleep on my feet shortly and I have an early meeting.’

Ten minutes later they extracted themselves and pulled away in the car.

‘How did it go?’ Tom asked.

Lizzie told him she had met Miles Carrington properly for the first time.

‘Ah, Carrington, yes. He’s a slippery fellow. I should have warned you to watch out for him.’

Lizzie knew this was standard bumpy relations between the SOE and the SIS. There was a permanent rivalry between the two organisations which was why Jack was at Bletchley with the goal of improving the intelligence pipeline that was too often blocked by the SIS.

‘Anyone else catch your interest?’ Tom asked.

Lizzie yawned and turned to face him as the car slid along the road towards her apartment building. ‘What do you know about the banker, Ernst Brunner? He was particularly charming, but I couldn’t fathom his position on Germany.’

‘Brunner is a decent enough sort from what I’ve seen, although all the bankers here are up to their necks with the Germans.’ Tom lowered his voice to a whisper just as the car drew to a stop. ‘He’s one who might give you a way in if you play your cards right. I’ve had him on my radar for a while.’

His mysterious statement cut through her weary state, and she was suddenly alert and dying to know more. She stared at him, but he shook his head ever so slightly. His movement told her it wasn’t the time, and she would have to wait to continue the intriguing conversation when they were alone.

Lizzie said goodnight to Tom and got out of the car with reluctance, all tiredness having deserted her at the sign of her first potential lead into the banking world. The chauffeur accompanied Lizzie in the lift and saw her to her apartment door.

Never had she been so well cared for on a mission, but she sensed the danger beneath the surface of the polite diplomatic smiles and careful conversations. The only question she must answer now was how she would penetrate the perfect facade so she could pinpoint the extent of the Swiss-Nazi war collaboration and extract the evidence that would prove it without a shadow of a doubt.

That night she fell into a heavy sleep and woke only as the first pale rays of sun ebbed into her peaceful bedroom.

CHAPTER 12

Jack awoke in his unfamiliar room at The Eight Bells Hotel, and for a few seconds he wondered where he was. His first night in his new lodgings had been comfortable, thanks to the landlady who lit the coal fire, so that by the time he came to bed his room was cosy. He’d been dog-tired and fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Glancing at his watch, he saw it was already 7 a.m. but still dark behind the blinds. February was a dreary month, and he looked forward to the lighter mornings and warmer spring days to come. The fire had long fizzled out, and he shivered in the freezing cold as he threw off the blanket and jumped out of bed, dressing hurriedly in his trousers and shirt. Pushing the blackout blinds aside, he could only make out shadows and faint outlines of the farm buildings in the Buckinghamshire fields. The sky was a wispy grey with splashes of pale pink as nature performed its magical transformation of blending night into day with seamless efficiency. Birds chirped noisily in the trees near his window as the countryside stirred into life.

Breakfast in the dining room was a modest but satisfactory affair of porridge and a slice of toast. When Jack finished eating and drained his tea, the friendly landlady asked him if he’d like more. ‘It’s freezing hard out there this morning, so I wouldn’t blame you if you lingered before venturing out. I can grab the paper for you, if you’d like?’

Jack thanked the landlady but excused himself, saying he was in a hurry to leave for work.

Curiosity sparked in her eyes. ‘My husband said you’ve come to work at the Park?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I must be off now,’ he said, rising swiftly.

‘Will you require supper?’ she asked, following his cue and switching topics. The locals knew not to ask too many questions about the mysterious comings and goings in the village.

‘No, thank you. I won’t be back until late.’

When he returned to his room to collect his coat and briefcase, the transformation from night to day was complete, and he gazed out at the crisp frost coating the fields. A rook cut across the slate-grey sky, flapping its wings, and a cat performed its leisurely morning grooming in the yard.

He exited the hotel onto Buckingham Road and extracted a cigarette, cupping his hand to light up. He hunched deeper into his overcoat and set out at a fast pace. Cottages dotted the route, and he alternated between the icy road and the frosty verges, treading with caution as he went. It wasn’t long before he saw the park lodge gates ahead, and as he approached, he produced his pass and showed it to the guard, who greeted him with a friendly good morning and waved him through. He passed through the avenue of bare elm trees, and the mansion came into view. Its chimneys still chugged out smoke from the night shift, and his shoes crunched on the ground as he reached the cluster of huts. It wasn’t eight yet, but the area hummed with activity, the workers coming and going, and he guessed some had done the night shift and were leaving to get some sleep. ‘Good morning,’ he said as a weary-looking young man passed him on his way in.

Some huts were in upheaval and were being transferred to new brick blocks nearer the mansion, but his hut was as it had been the previous day. It was even colder at this hour, and he elected to keep his coat on again when his breath misted in the freezing atmosphere. Working at Baker Street offered lavish conditions compared to this, and for a minute he regretted coming, but he reminded himself he had an important job to do. Two important jobs to do, in fact, and he didn’t trust anyone else with either of them. Lizzie teased him, saying he could be a hard taskmaster and preferred to do everything himself. She wasn’t wrong, and Val insinuated the same when she told him to trust Lizzie in the field, and not rush to rescue her.

Lizzie. He had received no updates from Bern since the initial message from the SOE agent confirming her arrival, and now he tried to imagine what she might be doing. Already at her desk, translating documents, knowing her. She wasn’t one to dilly dally, when there was work to be done, and with that, he brought himself back to the task at hand. There was no time to waste as he needed to prepare the next drop for his traitor, but where should he start? It was difficult operating with all the unknowns of a new organisation, with no one to trust and little inside knowledge.

Just as he was turning over this conundrum in his mind, he saw a pair of petite brown shoes enter his line of vision.

‘Rosie Fletcher, sir. I have orders to report for duty to assist you in handling your correspondence and incoming traffic.’

Jack lifted his dark eyes to meet the Wren’s. She was the one he’d seen in the hut yesterday who had been preoccupied with indexing. ‘Wonderful! Your timing is impeccable, Fletcher. I was just wondering how the bloody hell I was going to get to grips with the task I’m here to tackle, and here you are like an answer to my prayers.’

Jack told her what he needed, and she hurried off to collate the Eastern Front operational material he requested. After she left, he retrieved the top-secret documents Baker Street had sent ahead by a military courier to the secure registry at Bletchley. Once he had signed them out, he returned to the hut with them in his briefcase, knowing he couldn’t let them out of his sight. The number of staff at the park had grown to such a degree that he wouldn’t for one minute take it for granted that everyone could be trusted. Treachery was an inevitable part of operating in the intelligence field, and he would trust no one until they proved themselves trustworthy.