Agent in the shadows, p.9
Agent in the Shadows, page 9
‘I’m Mallory, you see.’
* * *
It had been quite some meeting on the last day of August at the MI6 headquarters in St James’s – head office as those who worked there were want to call it.
Piers Devereux had called the meeting with two of his senior officers, Tom Gilbey and Barney Allen, along with his boss, Roland Bentley, and Bentley had mentioned it to Sir Roly Pearson, the Downing Street intelligence man, earlier that morning and he said he’d very much like to be there too and of course he knew both Gilbey and Allen – he was at school with both of them!
‘I’m concerned about Switzerland.’
There was silence as everyone in the room stared at Piers Devereux wondering if he was going to elaborate.
‘Do you think they’re going to join the war?’
‘No, of course not, Roly! I’m concerned about our operation there – Berne Station.’
‘I thought it was doing rather well? Ran the German woman and the American reporter in Berlin very impressively, didn’t they? Got them out and back in again and then safely back, eh?’
‘Yes, Roland, they did indeed. But they have an awful lot on their plate: vetting refugees from Germany who say they want to work for us, running clandestine operations, sorting escaped RAF aircrew, intelligence inside Switzerland itself – it’s an enormous operation, as you know. And the Swiss are reluctant to let us increase our diplomatic cover there: they don’t want to upset the Germans. Basil was on the verge of retiring when the war began and I think the pressure is beginning to tell on him, to be frank. He has a few officers there, of course, but it’s not enough. Noel Moore is one of them and I saw him when he was back in London and he says Basil is struggling. Could do with some help.’
‘We could get someone out there, I guess, just need to work on their cover: that’s always tricky with the Swiss, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed, sir. However, there’s been an important development which means we need to reinforce Berne at a senior level.’
‘How senior?’
‘Above Head of Station level.’
‘Really, Piers – why is that?’ Roland Bentley was looking up now from the papers in front of him, which Piers Devereux suspected were probably to do with his next meeting – or the budget: he was always going on about his budget. Now his interest was piqued.
‘Tom has something to share with us.’
Tom Gilbey had removed his jacket, the only person in the stuffy room to have done so, and had also rolled up his sleeves. As he began to speak he loosened his tie and Sir Roly huffed in disapproval. Letting down the old school.
‘I have a contact in Geneva, chap I’d not heard from for over a year. He’s French, from Lyon. Goes by the name of Benoît Roux and he was a university lecturer at the École Centrale in Lyon but fled to Switzerland when the Nazis occupied France. I think there’s a Swiss wife, which helps matters.
‘Roux was part of a small group in Lyon who’d left the French Communist Party in August 1939 in disgust at the Nazi-Soviet Pact and the French Communist Party’s support for it. Early in 1940 Benoît Roux turned up at our embassy in Berne looking to co-operate and he met Basil. Seems they never hit it off: took an instant dislike to each other. Basil’s take on it is that Roux was very demanding and wanted money but was very cagey about how it was going to be used. Benoît felt that Basil was dismissive of his offer to supply us with intelligence and distrusted him because he’s a communist and insisted he should reveal the names of all his contacts.
‘As far as Basil and Benoît were concerned, that was it, but later that year – this would be 1940 – I was put in touch with Roux via a contact of mine in London. We managed to meet once and got on well and since then he’s been a reliable source of intelligence: not a lot of it but everything I’ve got from him has been good. I’d describe him as a useful source rather than a top agent, but good nonetheless.
‘I heard from him last week. He was able to corroborate the dreadful reports we’ve been getting from France on the Gestapo raids on the Resistance in Lyon and the death of Jean Moulin, who was de Gaulle’s man over there and meant to be sorting the Resistance out. As we know, it’s all a terrible mess and a big setback for us: we’ve been relying on the French Resistance getting organised before the second front.’
‘Winston is most concerned,’ said Roly Pearson. ‘Someone clearly informed the Gestapo about the meeting of the Resistance leaders in Lyon where Moulin was arrested. There’s no doubt they were betrayed and de Gaulle is trying to blame us as usual and is demanding Winston sorts it out. There is no evidence whatsoever we’re to blame, of course, but they’re looking for a scapegoat. Does this Roux have any idea who it was?’
‘Not as such, Roly, I don’t think so at any rate – but the group of former communists he has links with in Lyon have formed themselves into a Resistance group. He tells us that this group is quite independent of all the other Resistance networks, operates separately from them, no one knows about them, apparently. As a result, they’ve remained intact – they’ve survived the Gestapo’s purge on the Resistance. And he’s offering us the chance to work with them. They have excellent contacts in Lyon. If we can send them weapons, explosives, money and whatever else they need, then we can be part of their intelligence operation. They’re even suggesting we send in agents to work with them.’
‘With communists? Winston won’t be awfully keen on that!’
‘They’re former communists, Roly, and not all of them are communists. Anyway, the communists are now our allies, are they not?’
Sir Roly huffed once more. ‘And does this group have a name, Tom?’
‘Mars, apparently.’
‘Like the chocolate bar?’
‘Named after the planet, I suspect,’ said Roland Bentley. ‘The red planet.’
Piers Devereux coughed to attract the attention of the others. ‘My feeling is that this is such an important opening that we should send our best agents to Lyon. It’s an opportunity for us to help get the French Resistance back on track and if we succeed in that, then the prospects for the second front are significantly improved. I propose sending Sophia and Jack to Lyon to work with the group.’
‘When did they get back from their last operation in Germany?’
‘Beginning of July, sir: two months ago. I think this operation is so important we ought to run it from Berne or Geneva with someone very senior – so senior we can run it discretely from Basil’s outfit.’
A long silence in the room as they waited to see who would ask the question hanging over it.
‘And um… any thoughts as to who that may be?’
‘Someone,’ said Piers Devereux, ‘who has the clout here to get Mars what they need and ensure that the intelligence we get from them goes to the right places: someone who can ensure the Resistance is properly organised and that its aims are focused on what the Allies need. Someone senior, as I say. And someone who knows Sophia and Jack, who they trust.’
Barney Allen shuffled uncomfortably as what Piers Devereux was saying began to sink in.
‘Who recruited them, Piers?’
‘It was me actually Roland: I think we all know that.’ Having avoided looking at him before, all eyes were now on Barney.
‘Fancy taking it on, Barney? More fun than sitting behind a desk in London, eh?’
‘It rather sounds to me, sir, as if the decision may have been made.’ Barney frowned, as if he was thinking about it. Sir Roly Pearson stretched over and put his hand on Barney Allen’s arm.
‘Can’t stress how vital this is, Barney: it’s our opportunity to get the Resistance back on track and effectively to have our own network at the heart of it. But it will require skilful handling. You’re just the man for it. Winston will be thrilled: I promise you it will not go unnoticed.’
When Barney Allen looked up, still in shock, he saw that everyone else in the room was looking at him and nodding and then Roland Pearson stood up and leaned over the table to shake him warmly by the hand – two hands clasping his – and say, ‘Well done… well done indeed, knew you wouldn’t say no.’
* * *
The London intelligence community could move painfully slowly. It tended to be a world where caution prevailed and notwithstanding the nature of the work they were engaged in, risks were approached with a good deal of suspicion.
It was, Barney Allen realised, a consequence of the intelligence bodies having grown out of the civil service and a very British tendency to avoid mistakes. But the world of intelligence could also move at astonishing speed.
And this is what happened after the meeting at MI6 where it was decided he’d be sent to Switzerland. The meeting had been on a Tuesday. As soon as it had finished, Piers Devereux took Barney into his office.
‘I had taken the precaution of making one or two arrangements, Barney.’ He patted a not insubstantial folder in front of him. ‘We’re sorting out your trip, but the plan is for you to leave this country on Friday the tenth of September. Between now and then you’ll be fully briefed.’
Barney Allen said this all sounded rather… sudden and Piers Devereux said yes of course, but there was no point in hanging around and, as it was, he’d ideally have liked him to be out there a week or so earlier, but there we are and…
‘You were saying, Piers?’
‘And you’d better tell your wife: keep details to the absolute minimum, no locations, nothing like that. She knows Tom, I understand?’
‘Yes, of course. We were in the same year at school.’
‘Tell her Tom will be her contact but she may not hear very much: she’s to treat no news as good news.’
* * *
Margaret Allen had taken the news very badly. Barney had travelled home to Oxfordshire that night and as he wasn’t expected until the weekend, she’d known straight away that something was up.
He’d decided to tell her in the garden and did so in front of the rose bushes to which she tended with such care. She’d fixed her gaze on the flowers as he spoke and when he finished said nothing as she continued dead-heading.
‘And that’s it, Barney?’
‘It is, I’m afraid, Margaret dear. That’s as much as I can tell you.’
‘That you’re going to be away for work for quite a while and if there’s any news Tom Gilbey will be in touch. Really, Barney, you can’t say any more? I mean, will you even be in this country?’
He told her that was as much as he could say and then she started to cry and asked if he was in trouble and he said of course not, in fact, on the contrary and she asked what on earth he meant by that and he said he couldn’t really say but he was sure he’d be fine and she walked over to the yellow roses, which she’d cultivated to bloom so late in the year.
He remained at home in Oxfordshire that Wednesday, sorting out his affairs and paperwork as Piers Devereux had advised him to do, and wrote letters to his wife and children in the event of anything happening to him. He left home after a largely silent lunch on the Thursday, driving to an MI6 safe house just south of Newbury.
He spent the next week in the company of Piers Devereux and a succession of other MI6 officers and trainers.
There’d been some small arms practice and radio work – codes and the like – but the most important part of the week as far as he was concerned was spent with an elderly man he’d seen around head office from time to time, a man people spoke of with awe as having spent the whole of the Great War behind enemy lines.
He appeared to be well into his seventies, walked with a limp and told Barney Allen he could call him Oliver. Oliver explained that he should avoid the mistake of regarding Switzerland as a neutral country. It was, technically, of course, but as soon as he arrived there it was best to regard it as enemy territory.
‘That way you’ll be alert and careful from the outset. I know you were in Berlin, but that was before the war. Now you need to adopt the mindset of a spy rather than a spymaster. In my book, spies need to operate with a degree of paranoia: you need to be suspicious of everyone. If you do this then you’ll cut down the errors you’re bound to make. Only involve people you absolutely have to. Resist the temptation to share information with people who don’t need to know it. It’s pretty lonely out there, sometimes quite frightening. You’ll be very grateful to have people there who are friendly, like colleagues, and without realising it you can find yourself telling them information you shouldn’t be sharing.
‘And have your own secrets: if you get a new contact, think twice and then again about who else should know about them. You’re not working for Berne Station, remember. You’re working for Piers in London. From what I gather Basil’s not running the tightest ship.’
He received detailed briefings on his new identity: Arthur Mallory, from Canada. He was given a closely typed twenty-page document with Arthur Mallory’s biography. An important aspect of this was that Arthur Mallory had moved around Canada: it would be hard to tie him down. He’d been born in Winnipeg, moved to Calgary and then Edmonton before going to college in Toronto where he’d married before getting divorced and then moving to Vancouver and most recently, he’d been back in Toronto.
Always be vague about dates, volunteer as little in the way of facts as possible.
He could refer to having made a good deal of money in engineering before selling the company and so being able to afford his passion for watches: Swiss watches in particular. Hence his presence in Switzerland.
‘How do I explain being a Canadian who happens to turn up in Switzerland while there’s a war on? Canada’s at war with Germany too.’
‘You were in France when the war started and then moved to Spain. You have no desire to be involved in the war and little interest in it: you are a wealthy man, more interested in watches than in your country. In Switzerland discretion is a national trait: people ask very few questions. As long as you are involved in buying and selling watches you will be seen as having a satisfactory reason for being there.’
And then a man called Richard turned up and spent a day tutoring Barney on watches. He gave him a well-thumbed guide to Swiss watches and pointed out that serious collectors tended to specialise. He suggested an interest in the luxury brands manufactured in the Canton of Geneva. And then Piers joined them and said there’d be enough money in a Swiss account for him to purchase watches.
‘All seems excessive, if you ask me, Barney, but I have to admit, it’s an excellent cover. Be as careful as you can be with the watches because when this is all over, we’ll need to sell the bloody things. Otherwise the Service will go bust!’
Early on the Friday morning he was driven to Whitchurch airport, just outside Bristol. He was on the noon BOAC flight to Lisbon, which left on time. The flight on the DC-3 took four hours, flying at low altitude so the Germans would recognise it as a civilian flight.
At Portela airport in Lisbon he was met by a driver who took him straight to the British Embassy on Rua de São Domingos. There he met the head of station, Sandy Morgan, who told him he’d spend the night there and be driven to Madrid from where he would take a train to Barcelona and a flight from there on the Monday morning to Locarno.
‘In Switzerland.’
‘Yes, I know that. Thank you, Sandy.’
‘Just that it sounds Italian! Wouldn’t send you into enemy territory though, would I? Basil will have someone waiting for you there and then you’re all set!’
Chapter 10
Lyon
July, August, September 1943
René Dupont would never have gone so far as to say he was enjoying life, that would be overstating matters. His life continued to be a web of worries and concerns – about money, his health and about the lack of respect he was shown and the way his family regarded him, not least his wife, Jeanne.
But that aside, his life had unquestionably taken a turn for the better.
By the end of July, he’d been an officer in the milice for some nine months. Of course, he was no fool. He was not so naïve as to imagine that everyone in the city liked the idea of the French having their own militia to work with the Germans. He knew that some people even thought of them as collaborators, which was a ridiculous and actually quite insulting attitude. What did they want: for the Germans to run France without the involvement of the French? Surely it was better to have French militia and police who could work with the Germans and, at the same time, for the people of France?
As he saw it, working with the Germans was helping to ensure law and order prevailed in Lyon and also that the communists, the Jews, the socialists and the liberals – the lot of them – were put in their place. At the same time, it enabled the French to have a say in their own affairs.
René Dupont was quite certain his was the right course of action. The problem was that so many of those he came into contact with outside of work didn’t seem to agree. The tension at home was considerable: Jeanne seemed happy enough with the extra rations he was entitled to but an undeniable frisson had emerged between them.
He wasn’t pretending that the marriage had been without its difficulties before. He was aware that he’d not been as successful in his career as she and her family would have liked. He put this down to their different backgrounds, his own being very low middle class, hers more prosperous.
But over the years they’d managed well enough, he supposed: arguments tended to be resolved or forgotten about and they still made love once a week. He couldn’t fault her cooking or the way she kept the house, the children were well brought up, even if they were somewhat distant from him. They were certainly more her side of the family.
But since joining the milice all this changed. The atmosphere at home was so awkward that he began to spend more nights at the barracks, returning home on Friday for the weekend unless he was on duty. Coming home was not the pleasure it ought to have been: for a start there were his neighbours, who he’d always got along with well enough but now none of them would even return his greeting and the man across the road – who he’d always suspected of being a socialist – had even taken to turning his back on him.
