The Spy (6 page)

“Yes, sir.” She had?

He waited.

“Mum's the word, sir.”

Through the closed glass, sunlight was beating; shadows crawled along casements. Sinclair was thinking. “But what kind of a weapon, sir?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“One that could cause us to lose.” He looked at her coolly.

“To
lose
?”

“Exactly.”

My God, he
meant
it!

“Something exceedingly massive,” Hamilton said. “Rocket-oriented, directional beam, we suspect...some new principle. They call it ‘the Waterfall,' between forty and eighty thousand tons. We suspect they have at least
fifty
of them, and that they will launch before August.”

Aware that Von Braun and his teams were accelerating the knockout punch, Hamilton knew the British must find it first. Insisting it a
rocket
, he had just removed her from further consideration of it as the world's first Atomic Bomb.

“We have to locate it,” she was hearing, the voice an echo. His words, carefully selected, were skirting an abyss of horror.

She was starting to feel frightened.

The Commander placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “There there, my dear, well take care of it, of course.”

“We will?” Her eyes were wide.

“Certainly. That's our job: to resolve these darker mysteries of the war. At the same time, we must discover the
locations
of their laboratories and launching pads. It is our duty, you see, to make certain they do not reissue.”

It was also to their interests.

In a surprise move, Whitehall had cut a deal giving General Dwight Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander, full control over the R.A.F.'s Joint Weather Command. In exchange, Ike had agreed to place General Omar Bradley's 1st Army, presently in Normandy, under the direct control of Britain's Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. With Mountbatten out of the country, and with Air Boss Tedder minding the fort, David Hamilton had been called in as a Special Aide by Churchill himself, on that one.

“You were saying, my dear?”

She was aware of his hand. The man's strength flowed through her like a current, bringing warmth and trust.

“So you see?” He released his grip.

“Of course,” said Valerie. She wished he were still touching her.

“Now, Sinclair, this is where
you
come in.”

“1?” said the bewildered girl. The excitement of the Cafe was wearing off.

“Yes, you,” stated the Commander, “if you will agree to help. I understand you know the countryside of France extremely well, especially that part of the coast of Brittany we are most interested in—
Brest
, is it?”

Valerie nodded, she remembered:
wearing a proper coat, she had been hiking through long fields of wheat, fiery rows of poppies, bright as Mayfair lipstick
.

“You're fluent in French, is that right?”

“
Oui
... sir.”

“I see from files that you also have something else going for you, something extremely rare—a photographic memory, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, raising her hand against a rush of sun, “but I never really thought of it as being very important.”

Click
!

Hamilton turned around, he was holding the pointer. “My dear Sinclair,” said the Navy man, “you must not underrate yourself. It may be necessary to memorize complex formulas—schematics, equations, those sorts of things. It is
you
, you see, who have exactly what we need, far more than many agents whom we have spent months training.” She thought of the crosscountry. “We have already sent several men, but they've been unable to get through, to contact the Underground.” He knew that the “several” were many; and he knew that they had been shot. He had a quick glimpse of the raped and mutilated bodies of female agents, bullet holes through their heads—photos shown him by Seymour. “Female agents, of course, have been out of the question.” He paused to gauge her reaction. When there was none, he continued. “After so many failures, I thought of you, of your young innocent face, your good looks, your fluency in—”

She beamed.

“Cars.”

“Bloody RAFs,” she muttered.

“—your loyalty to the Crown.” A bit for officers, that. The fish was in the boat.

“My country is my life,” she reminded him, recalling she had read it. “I would do anything—”

“Exactly. And now you can. When you first came to Southampton to be trained for your job in this office, the people who met you at MI.6 assumed you were a child, dressed in adult clothing.”

“A child?”

“Not in terms of your... efficiency, of course.” He stared at her. “I wish I could have been there to meet you that day, a lot of valuable time might already have been saved.”

“How kind of them to speak so well of me,” said the girl, with uncertainty. “I can hardly believe they...liked me so much.” She was embarrassed she had looked so young.

“I am sure their praise was well deserved,” amended Hamilton. “I must say, you have a beautiful fair complexion. However, if we darken your skin with our special makeup, a little nip and tuck, as it were, you could easily pass for French.” He stepped back, appraising her like an artist. “Let's see, a college student or”—gently touching her chin, he turned her face up into the light—“there now, that's better.” He took a closer look. “Grade school...hmmm?”

As the plan unfolded, Valerie felt more and more intrigued; although, admittedly, apprehensive. Not for the world, however, would she have let the Commander know.

Hamilton, as though divining her simplicities, said: “You know, Sinclair, it is entirely up to you whether or not you go on this mission. It is strictly voluntary. I am not saying you
must
go.” He moved closer to the window and stared out at the docks, as though searching for another candidate. “Should you decide not to of course, we would still like to retain your services in this office, where you have proven yourself to be a most capable assistant to Lieutenant Carrington.” The point was not lost on her.

“Something, Sinclair?”

Valerie shook her head.

Hamilton relaxed a little, but he did not intend to lose. He jabbed at the maps. “It is extremely dangerous, and you could be caught by the Gestapo. On the other hand, although you lack experience in espionage, your very look of innocence, of helplessness, shall we say, should make men want to come to your aid, to...ah, ‘protect' you.”

She blushed.

“The ‘child spy,' you see.”

Her dossier at the War Office was already starting to fill. It had begun with Mrs. Churchill....

Hamilton was looking at her. “Well?”

“Well, I do have a bit of trouble in ordering drinks sometimes.”

Whisky double, please
.

“There! You see? We are banking on this in helping you to outwit the Jerries. In fact, I feel the most observant German would not be in the least suspicious that you were anything other than what you purport to be—a young French girl.”

She had it now: this was the trip.

“If you think I can pull it off,” offered Valerie. “You know, when I was growing up—even today—I look such a kid—”

“That is what we are counting on. In any event, we know you are most capable. The loss of your husband was a terrible blow, and yet, it did not stop you from getting yourself a job, looking after your young son, making the best of things. Importantly, you have joined His Majesty's Navy, a most commendable action.”

“Yes, sir. I—”

“You know, Sinclair, the more I get to know you, the more I feel you have what it takes to pull this job off successfully. As for your late husband...well, life must go on, you know.”

Valerie said, “He's gone, isn't he?”

“Quite so,” rasped Hamilton.

“I still have my son.”

“Who will no doubt serve the Crown well, once he is a
man
, of course,” Commander Hamilton said. “British Naval Intelligence is the best in the business. You see, one must expect danger in this field, and be prepared. The plans for the mission are well laid.” The confirmation had come in that morning, from the Office of General LeClerc. In their deal with Blackstone, anticipated by Hamilton, the French had called on
Egalité
: Hamilton had used it as a ramrod, to guarantee her commission. “I think you should know, you will be accompanied by a Free French agent.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” said Hamilton, “another officer. You will be turning the schematics over to him, you see, for transforward to us once you commit them to memory.”

It was Blackstone's condition.

“I am so glad that I will have a companion,” said Valerie, absorbing it all in small bites, the way she would nibble an apple.

They were quiet for some moments while Hamilton enjoyed a cigarette. The horn of a tugboat cut through the hot stillness of the afternoon.

“Do you feel comfortable about the idea?” he asked finally.

“You mean, in pretending to be a kid?” she laughed.

“In pretending to be a
child
,” he said, firmly. “How do you feel about it?”

“Fine,” she replied.

“You're willing to go then?”

“Yes... certainly.”

“Good, then I have confidence in you.” Hamilton produced a document from the inside of his coat, and handed her a pen. “Sign here,” he said. It was the volunteer release form, absolving SOE from responsibility.

Sinclair signed.

“Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, sir!”

She was in.

“Now that you have agreed to help us there is no time to be lost.” He pocketed the document. “Tomorrow, I want you to take the early morning train to Edinburgh. I will meet your train. From thence, we will proceed by car to Sir Donald Cameron's place, where the British Commandos are trained—American Rangers, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

He put out his cigarette, and flipped through Carrington's desk calendar. He stopped and read, then looked up. Apparently, whatever he'd discovered did not concern her. “You have a French Christian name which fits in perfectly with what I have in mind. Your cover, you see. When the time comes, we will assign you an appropriate French surname to go with it.” He looked at his watch. “So then, shall we call you ‘Valerie'?”

“Please do,” she said.

“It is now 1450 hours and you are relieved of all duty. I want you to go to your parents' home in Newton Swyre. Naturally, you will want to spend this last evening with your son, and the other members of your family.”

“Yes, sir. I'll just stop by my flat, sir, to pack up my things.”

“It's already been done.”

“Done, sir?”

“Done.”

“Yes, sir.” The navy owned it, she supposed they could take it. Well, she still had a few of her old outfits at home. Several business suits, from the Royal. Her red dancing dress, packed away by her mum. Clothes that her father had given her, things that her mother had saved. The blue robe...

“Now then,” said Hamilton, “about your parents—”

Valerie heard him, she was thinking of mothballs. Smelled like old admirals, they did!

“Your
parents
, Sinclair.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You will tell them that you are being sent to Southampton for further training on your present job. As for Lieutenant Carrington, we'll take care of that on this end. Any personal items in your desk?” She opened the drawers, and looked. There were just a few, she put them in her purse. She found room for her husband's photo; she would give it to her son. Hamilton watched her, but kept his thoughts in check. “Can you get a bus or train to your home?” he asked, as an afterthought.

“Oh, yes. There is usually one on the hour.” She finished with her purse and looked up. She felt strangely drawn to this man, as though to a mystery. Still, they were as unlike as chalk and cheese.

“You think you can handle it then, do you?” He was locking the desk. “You'll be wanting to catch the early train to Scotland. That's tomorrow.”

“I'll be on it, sir.” She bent down to adjust her stocking. A run was starting. It had caught in her shoe.

“Hmmm. By the way, be sure that you wear your uniform, but bring some civilian clothes with you.”
Was this bloody woman listening
? She was still bending over. “I say!” Hamilton stooped, so as to get her eye. “After tonight, Valerie Sinclair, as we have known her, will have disappeared into the history books.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well?”

She straightened up. “Right, sir,” she said a little breathlessly. Damn! There went her last pair of stockings! “I'll be going now, and catch the bus.”

Hamilton glanced at her legs.

“Jolly good. Well then, good-bye, Valerie. I'd say you've made the right decision. I shall be waiting for you in Edinburgh. Leave your keys with the guard.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel and strode rapidly out of the office. She could hear his footsteps disappearing down the stairs. “Thank you, sir.” She looked up. A photographic proof had just appeared; hanging out to dry. She had not meant to take it. Still wet, it was the darkroom print of a full Commander, Royal Navy. Jabbing with his pointer, neatly framed, he was issuing instructions....

She was to go home, and tell lies.

* * *

“Up easy, girl!”

Valerie smiled at the bus driver. She wondered if he was single. The door whanged shut and they were off. A cataract of clouds covered the sun, leaving its recipients suffering from the humidity that had fallen over the countryside where citizens, dabbing at foreheads with handkerchiefs, moved like slugs. Cars and jitneys bounced over threatened terrain, traveling across England the way pain travels along a nerve. Being British, the passengers sat apart. To the south, where the coast curved, waves of heat billowed from the tar sealed road. She stared out the window.