Turning the Storm (The After Dunkirk Series Book 3) Read online

  Henri bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement, and the pair walked to the terrace. Two men waited there whom Henri recognized, Sergeant Derek Horton and Maurice. They rose to greet Henri and Fourcade, and then the four sat down together.

  Before Fourcade could open the discussion, Henri preempted her. “I just learned about security concerns surrounding Miss Fourcade and this villa,” he said. “It’s an intolerable situation. She’s at the center of our brain trust. I volunteer my organization to establish an invisible perimeter around the villa with procedures for coming in and out and an early warning system, in case Pétain’s secret police make moves against us.”

  “Thank you, Henri,” Fourcade exclaimed. “I’m touched.”

  “I should have thought of it sooner,” Henri returned. “If any of the people you meet with all the time are exposed, they’ll put all our lives at risk. It’s a gaping security hole, and every day, Pétain acts more like his Nazi idol and clamps down harder. He’s already identifying Jews for roundup like in Germany and Poland. Just because the German army stopped coming south doesn’t mean their methods won’t impact here.” He turned and spat. “Pétain is their willing puppet.”

  Henri shifted his attention to Maurice. “You have concerns about vetting people to avoid recruiting collaborators. We can help with that.”

  The other three studied him. Maurice was the first to speak. “I blame myself,” he said. “We take precautions in the field. I hadn’t thought about securing the villa, but we have to do it, and without drawing attention.”

  “I’ll take some of that blame,” Horton quipped, speaking in fluent French. “I don’t want to be left out.” He grinned and the others laughed. “I don’t mean to make light,” he said, becoming serious. “We tend to think of being able to handle ourselves in the field with our weapons and our mates watching our backs, but Miss Fourcade is here undefended.”

  “I have a pistol,” she said, pulling it out from the folds of her dress.

  “We have to fix this,” Henri scoffed, viewing the small weapon and turning to Maurice. “Do you have enough men and women with arms to watch over this place? My people can train them.”

  Maurice nodded. “I’ll work out the details with you.”

  “Good,” Fourcade said, “and thank you. Now, let’s get down to why I wanted to meet today. We know where Lance Littlefield is, in Colditz, a town on the other side of Germany. It’s beyond our immediate reach. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help him, or any prisoner.” She turned her attention to Horton. “You have a special affinity for Lance—”

  “I should say so. He saved my life, he did. Up at Dunkirk and all the way across France. Ten of us. I wouldn’t be here now but for him.”

  Fourcade smiled at the stocky British noncom. “I understand. As I was about to say, your regard for him is what brought you back to France after your escape to England. You’ve been officially transferred to SOE to be my liaison, but you had established good relations with Major Crockatt at MI-9, is that right?”

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this,” Horton said with a comical expression, “but that sums things up.”

  Fourcade laughed. “Here’s the issue. MI-6, MI-9, and SOE all belong to British intelligence. Their missions are similar but different enough that at times, they could be in conflict. I’ve been in touch with MI-6 since before the war because I saw it coming, so I know their workings better. They’re set up to run spies quietly. They don’t want attention. On the other hand, SOE, Churchill’s Special Operations Executive, is intended to run missions that will draw a lot of notice by blowing up things, like those fuel storage-tank fields you exploded at Saint-Nazaire.” She patted Horton’s arm.

  “Don’t think I did that all by myself,” Horton cut in, his eyes wide with mock-seriousness. “I was just one of the participants. Lance organized it.”

  “I understand,” Fourcade said, chuckling. “That brings us to MI-9. It’s still organizing, but its main objective is to help downed pilots, separated soldiers, escaped POWs, and anyone else fleeing the Nazis, to get them out of the country.

  “The way I see things is that we’re at the fulcrum of all three of those British intelligence sections. We don’t care which of them we’re dealing with; our aim is to free France.” She chose her next words carefully. “That might at times put us at odds with one organization or the other.” She spoke directly to Horton. “And that’s not anything they need to hear over there.”

  “About what?” He grinned. “I ain’t heard anythin’. I’m here to liaise, not be a diplomat.”

  “All right, then, let me get specific. SOE will be funding us. They’ll send agents, money, equipment, arms—things that will help us raise a partisan force.” Fourcade addressed Henri directly. “Obviously, we want to keep them pleased, and with your network of former military officers, you’re perfectly placed to assist.” She turned her attention to Maurice. “Networks are forming in other parts of the country specifically to help POWs escape and soldiers and airmen evade capture. Two of them, codenamed Prospect and Comet, are already up and running. We need to contact them, compare notes, and establish how we help each other.”

  “One thing on that,” Maurice interrupted. “Those escape lines run well west of here to the northern border of Spain where it meets France. Generally, evaders work their way through the Pyrenees, go west to Bilboa, south to Madrid, and then down to Gibraltar.”

  Fourcade nodded. “We’ve helped the Boulier network all the way up in Dunkirk, and we’ve participated in operations in other parts of France. One that comes to mind is getting word to Lance that we’re on the watch for him. Our main advantage is that Marseille is still a relatively safe zone. Our ability to communicate and maneuver is greater than in the occupied zone. If we can help, we will. If not, we’ll stay out of the way. But we want to be active in finding the need. We had several British soldiers come this way after Dunkirk, and we were able to get some across the sea into the French territories in North Africa, and from there they made their way home. All avenues must stay open.

  “I’ll discuss specifics with each of you, but another point to make is that the Resistance is going to become more difficult to build, not less. As Pétain increases his grip and Hitler terrorizes our people in the Occupied Zone, we’re going to find fewer people willing to help. And we’ll be betrayed, that’s assured. Bribes, terror, and blackmail will be used to expose us.”

  “Greedy people will help the Nazis, and so will starving and terrified people,” Henri interjected. “We can’t show mercy to collaborators. People should be as afraid of betraying us as they are of the Nazis. On that note, I received a report about the French woman in Saint-Louis near the German border who led the Wehrmacht to re-capture Lance. She will never betray anyone again, and her friends and neighbors are well advised along the same lines.” He did not expand his comments further.

  Fourcade sighed and nodded. Then she pushed back from the table. “Let’s get to work.”

  7

  Dinard, France

  “You look tired, Mademoiselle.” Major Bergmann’s voice acquired a crooning, taunting tenor when he addressed Jeannie Rousseau. With her back to him, she forced a flirtatious smile before turning to face him.

  “Aren’t we all,” she said, rubbing her temple. “I imagine you most of all must feel the strain with the heavy responsibility you carry. I don’t know how you do it.” She held a sheaf of papers in front of her lips while batting her eyes shyly, twice.

  Bergmann regarded her coldly. Reaching for the papers, he tore them from her and perused them. “These are classified. What are you doing with them?”

  “I’m filing them, sir, as I was directed to do by the field marshal. Am I doing it incorrectly? Each document has the proper cover so all I can read is the document title, and I’m cleared to do this.”

  “A mistake in judgment, in my view.”

  From the other side of the room, Wehrmacht Oberst Meier watched the exch
ange. He strode across and stood in front of Bergmann, arms crossed, his face challenging. “Is there a problem?”

  For a moment, no one spoke, but then Jeannie brightened her smile and flashed her eyes. “I don’t believe so,” she replied. “The major was worried that I might not be getting enough rest and that I might be misfiling these documents.”

  Bergmann glared at her and turned to Meier. “I am concerned that Mademoiselle Rousseau is in this room at all,” he said, barely concealing his contempt for her or Meier. “Having someone from the local population translating for us and working in our security vaults makes no sense.”

  “That’s not your call, Major,” Meier retorted sternly. He turned to Jeannie. “Will you excuse us, please?” His voice took on a menacing undertone. “I need a private chat with the major.”

  Without a word, Jeannie hurried away. As she turned to go into a nearby restroom, she glanced back at the two officers. The Oberst, a tall man, leaned over the major, who stood at attention. Meier thumped Bergmann’s chest with his index finger, and his face creased with anger.

  Jeannie hurried inside the restroom and closed the door, locking it. Then she leaned over the sink, breathing hard. Moisture had beaded on her forehead, and when she looked in the mirror, she had turned ghostly white. Stumbling to the toilet, she closed the lid and sat on it, buried her face in her hands, and calmed herself. No tears. I can’t have red eyes.

  “You listen to me,” Meier growled at Bergmann. “Your insolence and lack of judgment got our men killed in Dunkirk, and I won’t have your careerist hostility causing havoc in this headquarters. Fraulein Rousseau was doing exactly as Field Marshal Reichenau directed. You’re in charge of security, but I run the operations staff, including you. If you have a problem with one of our workers, you bring it to me. Am I making myself clear?”

  Bergmann snapped his heels and hissed out a terse, “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed,” Meier said.

  Once more, Bergmann snapped his heels, flung his right arm high, palm up, and delivered a sharp, “Heil Hitler.”

  Meier only stared back through narrowed eyes and walked away.

  In the restroom, Jeannie had recovered her composure. She stood again in front of the mirror. Some color had returned to her face. She dampened it with cold water and then dabbed it dry with a kerchief. Straightening and regarding her reflection in the mirror, she practiced a bright smile. Then she flushed the toilet, lifted the lid to its normal upright position, and opened the door.

  When she emerged, Oberst Meier waited for her across the room. “I apologize for the major’s bad behavior. I expect that it will not happen again.”

  Jeannie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, graced Meier with her smile, and shook her head. “It was nothing. I understand that he must do his security job, including the safety of documents. I’m not offended, but I appreciate that you came to my rescue. Shall I continue with the task?”

  “Of course. The field marshal directed you.”

  Later that afternoon, alone in her parents’ house, Jeannie heard a knock on the door. Peering through a peephole, she saw a workman standing on the other side. He was above medium height and slender, and he wore a black beret pulled low over his forehead.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  “You called for an electrician?” the man said.

  Jeannie hesitated. She recognized the voice. With an unexpected release of tension, her body shook even as her heart leaped with excitement. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure and slowly opened the door.

  Phillippe stood there. “I received a message that your electrical problem had returned. If you like, I’ll take a quick look.”

  “Yes, please,” Jeannie replied while checking both ways along her street. She saw no one else. “Come in.”

  Closing the door, she swung around, threw her arms around Phillippe’s shoulders, buried her face against his chest, and shook while fighting back tears. “I’m so glad to see someone I can talk to,” she gasped. “I’ve been terrified, but I can’t show it, and I can’t speak with anyone.”

  “Hold onto me as long as you like,” Phillippe said. “That’s why I’m here. I won’t leave again until you’re moved to safety.”

  For several minutes they stood in the foyer, embracing. Then, finally, Jeannie pulled away and led Phillippe into the sitting room. “It’s so good that you’re here,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “I was sent to get you out,” he said. “I hear that the danger is increasing.”

  Jeannie regarded him, puzzled. “How could anyone know that?”

  Phillippe chuckled. “Honestly, I don’t know how. We understood at the outset that the pressures on you would be immense, but we’ve learned that you might be under suspicion and that this Major Bergmann is becoming an increasing threat. Somewhere, you’ve got a guardian angel watching over you who keeps us informed.”

  Jeannie closed her eyes, exhaled, and nodded. “Just this afternoon, I was filing some classified papers. Bergmann came up behind me. I think he must have seen me scan them before putting them in their files because he accosted me about them right there. They had classified covers, and if anyone else had seen me, I would have done like I have in the past and explained that I was double-checking the documents against their file numbers to make sure I put them in the right place.

  “He started to dig into me, but then our new chief of staff, Oberst Meier, appeared out of nowhere. I was surprised at his reaction because Bergmann had just begun speaking to me when Meier confronted him. Bergmann told him that hiring locals to work in classified areas was a mistake.” She giggled nervously. “I guess I prove his case.”

  “Was there anything worth knowing in those files?”

  Jeannie nodded. “There were schedules of ammunition transfers to the barges along the Atlantic coast for the invasion, including their pick-up and delivery points.”

  “I thought that had been canceled.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “Only postponed. A final decision will be made in the spring. Also, the order of march has been developed, at least tentatively, with units designated for specific tasks; and the plan for coordinated air support.”

  Phillippe sat back in amazement. “You were able to get all of that?”

  Jeannie smiled wryly and tapped her head. “It’s all here. I’ll reproduce it for you.”

  “Good. That’s all valuable, including the fact that there is a new chief of staff.”

  “I should have specified that Meier is the operations chief of staff, but Major Bergmann reports through him.” She tilted her head and gazed toward the ceiling as a thought struck her. “That interchange between those two men was strange. Meier apologized to me afterward, and I don’t think he had salacious intentions—he’s not a womanizer. He’s too businesslike, and his apology was for Bergmann’s conduct. But he was so fast to intercede when the situation had not escalated to requiring him to do that. Meier stood Bergmann at attention and pounded his finger into the major’s chest while scolding him. I think there’s a history between the two of them.”

  “Maybe we can get London to research both of their backgrounds.” He gave Jeannie a long, searching look. “We need to talk about getting you out of here.”

  Jeannie stood and paced while pressing her fingers against her mouth. Then she set her jaw tightly. “Not now. Not yet.”

  Startled, Phillippe stared at her. “Why not? You’ve done more than anyone could have expected. Continuing to risk your life makes no sense.”

  Jeannie shook her head firmly. “Everyone’s in jeopardy until this war is over. Suppose I get to safety. What becomes of my parents or friends? We agree that I need to leave, but only after suspicions about me alleviate.”

  She crossed the room to a desk, pulled out a pad and pen, and started writing. “I’m jotting down information I saw today so you can take it with you. And then you need to leave. You’ve been here too long already.”

 
“Will you be all right?”

  “I will. Thanks for coming. You gave me a tremendous boost. Tell London that I’m going to scale back my activities unless something very pressing pops up. Come back in a week. Meanwhile, I’ll start thinking through how to extract myself from this. When you return, we can refine the plan. Meanwhile, I’ll deal with Bergmann.”

  8

  November 25, 1940

  Bletchley Park, England

  “You made a good call.” As Commander Denniston paced behind his desk, he looked more pressed than the last time Claire met with him. She had been startled to receive his summons, and further surprised to receive his request that she research as much as she could from past decoded messages that mentioned two officers at the German 10th Army headquarters, Oberst Meier and Major Bergmann. He instructed her to bring the results with her.

  “Our young lady in Dinard is in danger. Grave danger, and the information she’s supplied to us is immense. Through her, we know now that Operation Sea Lion was only postponed and the active buildup for it continues despite that the troop-carrier barges have been moved from their launch sites. Signals we’ve intercepted and decoded tell us that the barges intended for the invasion have been put up in storage, but she says a final decision won’t be made until the spring, so we can’t let our guard down. That’s valuable information.”

  “How can I help?”

  “For the moment, Jeannie Rousseau won’t leave the headquarters, but one of these two officers I asked you to research, Major Bergmann, seems to suspect her. From direct reports received through MI-6, we know that he’s ruthless—”

  “I recall that a Captain Bergmann was at Dunkirk. He was the executive officer in one of the lead companies that entered the town. His commander was killed in combat. He took command but promptly transferred to the SS. If memory serves, he was the officer that went after Ferrand Boulier and his network.”