Disclaimer: Foyle's War was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle, Elizabeth Addis, Sam and Adam Wainwright, Valentine et al. jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen, Ms. Hermione Gulliford, Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks and all the other actors. No infringement is intended.

Note: Eternal thanks to GiuliettaC.


Chapter 2

Arthur Valentine was growing more and more curious about the unofficial and substantial mountain of reading Foyle was occupied with in his very quiet office. He'd been at it for days, had never requested anything more from the research department, and seemed to be working under nobody's direction. What on earth was he doing?
It was damned quiet on every floor of the Security Service building in the wake of the shocking death of Miss Pierce, but others were busily going about their usual work, albeit in subdued tones. Foyle, by contrast, was completely isolated.
Valentine's own cases at the moment were proving tedious, so it was only natural for him to pause outside his colleague's office and indulge his curiosity. He gave a quick rap below the brass nameplate and entered without waiting.

Sitting behind his desk in the dim February afternoon light from the window, Foyle seemed to take a moment to come out of whatever he'd been focused on, slowly lifting his eyes from the document before him.
"Yes?"
"You've been locked up in here for days, Foyle. What are you working on?"
"Nnot locked up, as is quite apparent from your freely entering without leave to do so." He tilted his head to one side.
Valentine shut the door, approached and saw that his colleague looked tired. His words had been neutral, if not especially friendly. But that was Foyle's way, he'd learned over the past year. A subtle, dry sense of humour that Valentine quite enjoyed, and would even go so far as to provoke.
"Answer the question."
"Just...something from the past — from the War. Something Miss Pierce was working on, in her spare time. Not that she had any."
"Something interesting?" Valentine's eyes brightened. "Old scores to settle?"
"Mm...not sure yet." Foyle ran a hand across his eyes, and handed the paper, which had been the top one in a thick file folder, across to his colleague.
"What do you make of this?"

Valentine found himself surprised. This rarely happened in the Security Service. Most people here wanted the credit for any discoveries all for themselves. He took the paper, studied the overall look of it and then read it with practised speed.
"A decryption of a field agent's signal. Occupied Yugoslavia. 1943."
"Oh. Is that, er…?"
"Suvobor? A mountain. South-west of Belgrade, if I recall correctly. A Chetnik stronghold for several months that year. Why are you looking at all these old reports?" Valentine nodded towards the file folders.
"Not entirely sure. Er ...Chetnik?"
"Translates from Serbian to something akin to 'freedom fighter.' The forces loyal to their exiled monarch, King Peter II. Led by officers of the Royal Yugoslav Army. And our allies in the region, until Churchill shifted support to the Partisans. You may recall the government-in-exile and King Peter were here in London. At the same time as the German and Italian invasion, there was a civil war underway there with Serbs, Croats, Slovenes, Bosnian Moslems...many sides competing for political dominance while also fighting against, or collaborating with, the enemy."
"And the Partisans were the, um…?"
"The Communists. Led by a Croat, Josip Broz."
"Prime Minister Tito?"
"The very man."
"Right. And this signal…" Foyle gestured to the paper in Valentine's hand, "...came from a British field agent…?"
"...On a mission to the Chetniks." This was getting rather complex. Valentine glanced at the empty chair facing Foyle's desk.
"Yes, do."
The younger man sat down, and continued,
"Until late 1943 we supported the Chetniks, led by General Draza Mihailovic. However, our agents in the field began reporting that the Partisans were more effective in fighting the Germans, which Churchill liked. And there were accusations made that the Chetniks may have been communicating with the Italians, and possibly even collaborating with the Germans in order to stop the Partisans. Churchill didn't like that."
"Hmmh." Foyle leaned forward to gesture across the material and ended up resting his chin on his hand,
"My difficulty with all this is that I don't know what I'm looking for - what Miss Pierce was looking for."

Surprised at his candour, Valentine tilted his head at the stacks of papers,
"...It looks like the bulk of those files are field reports. And all marked Classified."
"Yes. They were in a box in Miss Pierce's office."
"Highly irregular. Would it help to know the names of the agents?"
"Wull, ...couldn't hurt?"
"I'll take notes and get the information for you."

Valentine rose to step around the side of the desk, pulling a notebook out of his suit jacket pocket, and began sifting expertly through the documents in the open file folder.
"Four...five code names repeated. Which makes sense; the missions sent into the region were small. Sometimes a single agent parachuted in, to provide the latest intelligence and planning to resistance leaders, and to rendezvous with an earlier mission that would have the wireless transmitter."
He looked up,
"Shall I go through these other files?"
"Yyyes. Please do." Foyle offered his chair to his colleague, standing to the side, hands in trouser pockets, to observe.
"Thank-you, Arthur."
Valentine imperceptibly paused in his riffling of the papers, noting his colleague's very first use of his Christian name, and compressed his lips in a small smile.


It was the next morning and the two men were back in Foyle's office, facing each other across the desk, discussing and considering the results of Valentine's research.
"The signals range from 1942 through to early 1944. The code names in the signals represent these sixteen agents. I've taken the liberty of retrieving their personnel files. Four are deceased. Five are in America. Four in Britain. Three...have gone to the Soviet Union."
Foyle raised his eyebrows at this last piece of information.
"You have to remember they were our allies at the time," supplied Valentine.
"Wull, let's start with the deceased agents. Easier to track down, at least."
"Slightly more difficult to interview," Valentine murmured as he sorted the four files to the top and handed two across the desk to Foyle. After a few minutes of reading Foyle closed the first file and opened the second. Frowning, he asked,
"What does this black margin mean?"
The younger man looked up,
"Oh dear. That is the designation for a possible deserter, traitor, suspected collaborator, or a War Criminal. What's the agent's name?"
Foyle's eyes scanned to the top of the page and Valentine saw the moment he went on the alert.
"Who is it?"
"...The name is Thomas Addis."
Valentine straightened up in his chair, "Addis? The husband of -?"
"Elizabeth Addis."
"She was at the funeral. Miss Pierce knew her. Had spoken with her recently, I believe. ...She's long out of all this. Isn't she?"
"Not entirely."

Foyle got up from his chair in some agitation, distancing himself from the black-margined documents, and paced over to the window,
"Miss Brown in Research had her file out the other day. Could you ask her for it again, please?"
"Did she? Certainly." Valentine left the office immediately.

Foyle returned to the desk and stood over the Addis dossier with his hands clasped behind his back. He studied the face in the attached identification photograph, an earnest, dark-haired man, good looking, in his mid-thirties at the start of the War. Foyle read the cover page.

Several minutes later Valentine walked in, mildly annoyed,
"It was you who'd requested her file. Why?" He dropped the folder onto the desk and sat down.
"The Clayton Del Mar case. Mrs. Addis - or rather, Dr. Addis - had the next office to the translator who was murdered, Professor William Knowles of University College. She helped with our inquiries. I ruled her out as a suspect."
"That case is closed."
"She also helped with our difficulties in the attempted sabotage of the Palestinian Conference. She had been at the SOE Cairo Office, then the London Office where she advised on the region. She agreed to translate several documents, French and Arabic, to do with shipping."
Valentine rose from his chair and paced thoughtfully,
"That's why she attended Miss Pierce's funeral? This recent contact?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Is this your own inquiry, Foyle?" Valentine turned his head to ask, narrowing his eyes.
"Not at all. I've been asked to help."
"Sir Alec has asked you to investigate this?"
"Wulll…, it was Miss Pierce's inquiry, as I've said. Her promise to Dr. Addis, not fulfilled."
Pacing away again, Valentine nodded, pleased with the sentiment. Then he turned back and stated in a more business-like voice,
"And we've just discovered that her husband may have been a traitor."
"So it would seem."
"What did he do?" Valentine returned to stand by the desk.
Foyle passed him the folder and he quickly examined the papers,
"Nothing."
"There's no information about a charge or a court martial in his personnel file?"
"Nothing at all." Valentine set the open file folder in front of his colleague again.
"But there was, ...at some point." With an index finger Foyle gingerly lifted the top edge of the identification cover document,
"There is a clear imprint of a paper clip where more documents were once attached."
"Well, well, well."
Foyle cocked an eyebrow at him, displeased at his levity.
Valentine continued,
"If Mrs. Addis were a fellow traveller, or a Soviet agent, she'd hardly ask the Service to dredge up the past, would she? No, she's trying to clear her late husband's name. That's our case."

Foyle nodded, deep in thought and biting the inside of his cheek worriedly, then he looked up,
"'Our' case?"
Valentine smirked at him, but didn't suggest Foyle might be out of his depth.
Foyle twisted his lips to one side,
"Right." Then added, "I'd be very grateful for the help. Thank-you."
Valentine sat down,
"Where and how did he serve?"

To be continued...