Page 21 of Echoes of Betrayal

Jack passed the foot of the sweeping staircase and followed the directions Fletcher had given him for his meeting with the SIS senior officer. Aubrey Gould stood to greet Jack as he entered his office, and they shook hands.

After they were both seated, Aubrey fixed Jack with a stare. ‘Welcome to BP. I understand you are up from London. What is it I can do for you?’

Jack disarmed Gould with a smile. He could tell the agent was primed for some kind of pissing contest to mark his territory, and Jack knew from experience with these SIS types that nothing good would come of it. ‘What you’ve done here is very impressive,’ Jack said. ‘We often say in London how grateful we are for the intelligence you feed us. It’s no exaggeration to say we couldn’t do what we do without you, so I suppose the first order of the day is to thank you and your team for your efforts.’

Gould visibly preened as though Jack had announced he had won the war single-handedly. ‘That’s good of you to say, King. I won’t lie, sometimes we get a rather different impression from the SOE chaps.’

Jack offered Gould a cigarette. They both lit up and neither spoke for a minute as they inhaled.

‘Yes, well, I can only apologise for any misunderstandings. You know how it can be when a mission turns sour. Unfortunately, we’ve endured cruel losses of our courageous agents recently. With all the goodwill in the world, it can leave a bitter taste in the mouth.’

‘It’s a tough business. I quite understand,’ Gould said, drawing on his cigarette and appraising Jack with narrowed eyes. Obviously keen to move things along, he asked Jack again what he could do for him.

Jack straightened; his hand poised over the ashtray as the tip of his cigarette burned. ‘I can see you’re a man who likes to get straight to the point, so I will do the same.’

Gould nodded in anticipation, and Jack noted the agent’s shoulders relaxed slightly. ‘Please do,’ he said.

‘This is the crux of the matter. I have been tasked to ask for your cooperation in improving the intelligence pipeline that flows from here to London.’

‘I see,’ Gould said, releasing a slow breath, seemingly calculating where this demand was heading.

‘There have been cases where, despite your efforts, if we’d had the full picture when you did, rather than waiting days for a snapshot of the situation, we would have acted differently. As such, we would have been able to save some of our agents. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how precious they are and the resources it takes to train them.’

Gould nodded again as if paying homage to the lost agents. ‘What is it you expect me to do exactly? You know as well as I do that it takes considerable time to intercept and decode the signals and evaluate what intelligence needs to be sent on. If we sent you all the raw piles we receive, trust me, you would soon beg us to stop. Most of it, I’m sorry to say, is utter nonsense.’

‘And that’s exactly why I wanted to thank you. We appreciate how much work is involved before it reaches us. All we are asking for is a more rounded picture of events so we may decide for ourselves whether something is of value to our operations before it is too late.’

Jack assessed Gould as he blew a ring of smoke upwards towards the once white but now yellowed plasterwork ceiling. The thought that Gould was practised in creating smokescreens crossed his mind, but Jack pulled himself back to assessing his SIS opponent. He wore a well-cut dark wool suit and a regimental tie, and his understated attire showed a sense of self-importance and assumed authority. Jack was an Oxford man and not impressed by Gould’s posturing, which was why Val knew he was the best agent for the Bletchley job. Jack waited, not saying another word until Gould broke the silence.

‘Whilst I understand your dilemma, I’m uncertain what more we can give you. It’s a matter of the highest levels of Bletchley security, as I’m sure you realise.’

It was Jack’s turn to nod, and anyone watching the two experienced agents from the sidelines would witness an impressive execution of a professional negotiation between two intelligence camps, one of which was sworn never to share an inch more than they must with the other. It was common knowledge in the annals of British Intelligence that the SIS rated the SOE as undisciplined amateurs who created havoc in Europe. In some ways they were correct, Jack reflected. Churchill had commissioned the SOE for precisely that reason and commanded them to “set Europe ablaze”. Whilst the SIS pussy-footed around in their established intelligence networks and drank whisky in their upper-class clubs, agents like Lizzie parachuted behind enemy lines to develop and support brave Resistance networks. Between the SOE and the Resistance, they physically stopped the Boche in their tracks by sabotaging transport and communication networks throughout France.

All of that being said, as a pre-SOE professional of the intelligence community, Jack had a healthy respect for the information that trickled along corridors and landed surreptitiously on leather-topped desks at Westminster.

The truth was Britain needed all forms of intelligence, agents and allies to win this brutal war, and Jack didn’t underestimate the SIS for one minute.

Jack cleared his throat. ‘You are obviously a reasonable man. We’re asking for just a little leeway. We have mature networks in France, and their operational success makes a tangible difference in defeating the damned Jerries. We both want the same thing. Therefore, I would like to suggest we sidestep the usual administrative politics and see how we might improve the flow of intelligence to London.’

Gould swivelled his gaze back to Jack, who read it as: what’s in it for me?

‘Whatever your personal feelings about the SOE, the Director has the Prime Minister’s ear. I’m sure you know; Churchill takes a personal interest in our success. After the Stalingrad victory, we’re deep enough in to put this damned turf war between us aside, wouldn’t you agree?’

Gould sighed. ‘You make a good point, King. And to be honest, the last man they sent to talk to me early in the war was a complete ass, whereas you are clearly a different proposition altogether. Oxford?’

Jack nodded. No more words were needed on that matter. They both understood the implications of their shared illustrious backgrounds.

Gould stood. ‘Give me examples taken from the raw intelligence of what London usually receives, and what you want instead. I’ll do what I can. That’s all I will promise.’

Jack stood. ‘It is much appreciated, and all anyone may ask of you. I will see to it personally that the Director gives you full credit for all progress.’

Gould reminded Jack of a prefect who had been awarded a gold star.

They parted on amicable terms, and Jack glanced into the other rooms he passed on the ground floor as he made his way out. The mansion was a codebreakers’ hive of activity, and he wondered if he might cross paths with the brilliant mathematician Alan Turing. He’d heard the whispers that Turing was the reason they were winning the U-boat war.

Jack ambled across the lawn and towards the lake, which was frozen at the edges and glistened in the morning sun. A symphony of wildlife filled the air, and the naked tree branches shivered in the wind. Despite the cold, Jack felt a flood of warmth permeate his chest.

Men were easy to influence when you understood how they operated. Aubrey Gould was no different, and Jack knew Val would be pleased with his morning’s work.