Page 45 of Echoes of Betrayal

‘Any word on the diplomatic pouch reaching London?’ she asked.

‘It’s been much longer than usual and there’s a real possibility it’s gone astray or been intercepted.’

‘Intercepted, by whom?’

Tom shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is the question, but let’s give it a few more days. It’s a hazardous route.’

They both knew the pouch could have been shot down in an aircraft with no survivors—which could be the ominous reason for the continued silence instead of confirmation of its arrival.

The latest batches of intelligence were still stuffed behind the picture frames because the next diplomatic pouch hadn’t been sent. Baker Street had yet to receive any evidence of Swiss collaboration from her considerable efforts. It was disappointing, and even if the copied papers reached London, they weren’t definitive, and the Swiss could claim they were falsified documents.

Brunner’s proposal was extremely tempting, but if she accepted it, he could stitch her up. For all she knew, he’d decided he was in too deep and planned to sell her out to Voss to save his own skin. Betrayal was a possibility at every turn, and she would be naive not to consider it.

Could she trust him, and was it worth the risk?

CHAPTER 40

The harshness of winter had passed in Buckinghamshire, and the intermittent April showers were followed by forgiving sunshine, forming the perfect conditions to adorn Bletchley Park in a blanket of daffodils and cherry blossom. When Jack arrived that morning, the lake shimmered in the sun, and he took a few minutes to enjoy the idyllic spring scene, rather than holing up immediately in his gloomy hut. It was a shame to be indoors on a glorious day like this, but as always, duty called.

There was still more work to be done on his assignment regarding the SIS-SOE intelligence pipeline, and Jack had collected a considerable number of examples where the SIS had failed to pass on information to Baker Street. Some evidenced the intelligence was simply released too late, whilst others showed it had not been passed on at all. Several instances showed clearly how they could have saved agents and Resistance members' lives during dangerous operations if the intelligence had been communicated efficiently.

The whole situation infuriated Jack, especially as they still had not heard a word from Hannah, and as each day passed, he feared the worst. Perhaps it was too late to save The Lavender Network, but if the members had been rounded up and handed over to the Gestapo, it was even more vital to make sure such a terrible failure wouldn’t be repeated.

Jack had to harden his resolve and not let himself dwell on the feelings coursing through him when he imagined the fate of their agents. As much as he would have enjoyed tearing a strip off Gould, he had to hold himself in check and channel his anger into a useful purpose.

The top-secret intelligence he’d spotted on the Swiss channel still gnawed at him, but when he reported the events of his meeting with Gould to Val, barely one hour later he received a firm order marked for his eyes only. The reply arrived so much quicker than usual; he thought it must be a clear sign he was onto something momentous. When he decrypted the coded message, he held his breath, but Val’s message was a huge anti-climax, and Jack shook his head in disbelief as he read it:

Raven. This was not your assignment. Do not talk to anyone about your suspicions. Not even Seagrove. Step away.

Pondering her words as he smoked, he wondered if that was all Val was going to say on the matter. His boss knew Lizzie had also encountered strange goings-on and had flagged potential foul play on the Swiss channel, but there was nothing more he could do now. Part of being a successful agent was following orders from above, even when they made no sense, or he didn’t agree with them. Gould looked undeniably crooked to him, but Jack had been in British Intelligence circles long enough to know that espionage was a game of smoke and mirrors, and the reality was often not what it seemed.

He realised he must have stumbled onto something well above his pay grade and, as frustrating as it was, he recognised it was his cue to draw a line under it and focus on completing his own assignments.

The night before, he had been frustrated and vowed to continue his investigation, but after sleeping on it and gazing at the tranquil lake, reflecting on Val’s reply gave him some peace of mind. Her firm intervention meant the powers that be must know something was going on with the Swiss channel, so Gould couldn’t be betraying them.

Lizzie noticing the peculiarity too must be pure coincidence. As unusual as that was, he had to admit these things happened occasionally. Besides, she had her hands full with her own mission, so he wouldn’t mention the developments to her. Hopefully, she’d forget about it and not question him when she returned, as he hated lying to her. An order not to speak to anyone about it included not speaking of the order itself. He pondered the absurdity of the knots agents had to tie themselves in to keep their secrets.

Jack took a last drag of his cigarette before reluctantly turning from the animated birds chattering on the tree branches and the majestic wildfowl swooping across the water.

Fletcher greeted him in the hut with a cheerful good morning and presented him with a fresh pile of intercepts and some papers he had requested the previous evening.

The sooner he made his case to Gould about the failure of the intelligence pipeline that fed the SOE, the sooner he could go home. He’d had enough of the cold, cramped huts, and even his comfortable room at the pub had lost its rustic charm. He missed his familiar routine at Baker Street, and most of all he missed Lizzie and wondered what the latest was from her Swiss informant. The last he heard, the operation was moving as slowly as treacle, and she too was impatient with her lack of progress.

Browsing through the transcripts, Jack’s hopes of Lizzie joining him soon in London were dashed when he read that Baker Street had still not received the diplomatic pouch which contained her first piece of evidence.

Fletcher had scheduled a meeting for him with Gould that afternoon, and he organised his materials so he wouldn’t be caught off guard. Whatever Gould was up to on the Swiss channel, the SIS officer was a sharp operator, and Jack needed to influence him to make the changes needed for a speedier flow of intelligence to London.

After lunch, carrying his briefcase, which contained the proof he’d so rigorously collated, he left his hut. Bicycles littered the path, propped carelessly against walls and fences everywhere he looked, and a couple of Bletchley boffins meandered along in the opposite direction. As he was about to walk towards the mansion on the grass, he noticed the genius codebreaker approaching. What was his name again? Turing. Alan Turing, that was it. For one fleeting second, Jack wondered whether he knew about the top-secret Swiss channel. Jack bid him good day as they crossed paths, but Turing appeared lost in a world of his own and didn’t respond.

Jack’s mind whirred with possibilities of intrigue, but he gave himself a stern warning to stop. He must focus on ensuring he got the best deal for Hannah and Lev and all the courageous agents risking their lives in occupied territories. An improved flow of intelligence between Bletchley and Baker Street would not only save the lives of their own agents in France but also benefit SOE agents everywhere.

Ms Bulldog as he had dubbed Gould’s secretary after their recent fraught exchanges, acted as if she’d never met him before, despite his polite greeting. ‘Good afternoon, I have a two o’clock meeting with Mr Gould.’

She didn’t smile but ran her finger down the page in a large book open on her desk until she reached his name. ‘Captain King. He’s expecting you. Come this way.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, his tone friendly, refusing to be cowed by her stiff formality.

Gould was sitting at his desk, smoking a pipe when the intractable Ms Bulldog permitted Jack to enter, rather like an equerry zealously guarding her king. The air in the room was thick with aromatic smoke, and Gould thanked his secretary, who left and closed the door.