March 28th
Dalgliesh headed southwards, first to Winchester then on to the Beaulieu river where the MTB would be waiting for him. Last night's fog had evaporated to leave behind a crisp spring day. The first tiny green shoots were emerging from the hedgerows and blackbirds and robins had started their vocal battles for territory.
For the first time in a long time, the Scot felt... if not happy, then... relaxed. Despite the fact that he was about to put his life on the line for the first time in many months.
He was still slightly puzzled by the arrangements for the last few hours. Yes, Emerald's help had been invaluable and yes, the cottage had been infinitely more comfortable than the Crown Hotel would have been but there had to be more to it than that.
Was it MI5? Siobhan Hennessy was Em's boss and she'd loaned her her car, a car that she knew would give the young analyst credibility. Siobhan's superior was Robertson of MI5. Dalgliesh had never met Miss Hennessy in person but he had run into TAR on a number of occasions. The spymaster certainly had the instinct for theatre, but he couldn't see any reason for this to be one of his schemes.
'Not Broadway', his own CO had said, but he wasn't so sure. This might be an OSS operation on the surface, but he'd bet his bottom dollar that SIS had a finger in the pie somewhere. Take that second batch of intelligence reports he'd been handed...
A pair of deer bounded across the road in front of him, far enough away that braking wasn't required but close enough to make the naval officer realise that he wasn't paying attention. He dragged his thoughts back to the matter in hand.
On the quayside, Garrison's four men were waiting impatiently for their new CO. He was late.
"It's only five minutes," offered Goniff. "Not his fault we were early." As usual the Cockney was trying to prevent conflict even before it really started.
Casino glanced at the pickpocket then resumed his pacing.
No more than thirty seconds later and the low growl of the Aston could be heard as it negotiated the narrow lane down to where the MTB was waiting.
Dalgliesh himself was annoyed to be late, but he'd been delayed in Brockenhurst, waiting for the man who would take his precious car away to be garaged until his return. It had been his own fault, but he hadn't been able to resist making his own way to the rendezvous.
He extracted his kitbag from behind the seats and, with a nod to the driver, strode resolutely towards the waiting team.
Actor hoisted himself off the timber block he'd been resting his weight against, knocked out the embers of the pipe he'd been smoking and slipped it into his pocket. He watched the sports car disappear up the hill, with a feeling of irritation. Clearly the man had an appreciation for nice things, as he had himself, but they shouldn't interfere with the job in hand.
'Hypocrite', countered his inner counsel and reluctantly Actor had to agree with it. He might well have done the same had the car been his. He would reserve judgement until the mission was underway for real.
Full of pent-up nervous energy, Casino abandoned his pacing and strode towards the Commander. He started to raise one hand, as if he was about to strike the man. Actor froze, but the punch never came. A short-set, stocky man, wearing a thick, full brown beard above a cream fisherman's sweater, topping navy-blue trousers, was heading purposefully Dalgliesh's way. He elbowed the safecracker to one side as if he was a flea. It wasn't an intentional knock, and the New Yorker must have realised that as he pulled back without a word.
"Dalgliesh, you bastard, might have known it was you making us miss the tide." Reaching the naval man, he clapped him on the arm, enveloped him in a bear hug, then took a step back and landed a massive punch on the Scot's jaw.
Dalgliesh must have seen the blow coming as he managed to duck away just enough so that he only received a glancing blow... but it was still enough to hurt. Dalgliesh took a step backwards and put his hand up to his chin to rub the point of contact.
Casino let out a guffaw of entertainment.
"Fraser." Dalgliesh took a big breath as he tried to recover his composure. "What the hell did I do to deserve that?"
"Cleaned me out of my 25-year-old single malt."
Surprisingly, the Commander smiled and shrugged. "You've a point." He glanced over his shoulder to where his four new men stood shoulder to shoulder, a unit, having each other's backs against the world.
Fraser looked at the four. "You've your work cut out there." He spat to one side.
Dalgliesh's smile hadn't slipped. "We'll see." He paused. "Now, we have a job to do. How about you help us do it?"
Fraser's expression altered. "Didn't they tell you? Change of plan. You're flying."
GGG
Beaulieu airfield, in the heart of the New Forest, home to the USAAF for the last month, five miles from the river and now home to P-47 Thunderbolts.
The truck from Bucklers Hard made good time on the small roads, but it was not a smooth journey.
"Fort flyin' would be better than a boat." Goniff lurched to the edge of the track and retched painfully. He'd over-indulged the previous night on what was left of Dalgliesh's present and was now paying the price.
Casino looked at him without sympathy. "You ain't started yet. You seen what you're flying in?"
Lurking amongst the powerful fighters were two much more mundane work horses.
"Lizzies," Chief muttered under his breath. The Lysander, saviour of more than one member of the SIS. The plane that had brought Garrison, Diesel and Hayter back to Britain all those months ago. "Thought there was no moon tonight? They can't land if they can't see where they're goin'."
"Yeah." Casino looked up at the sky. It was still mid-morning. "Didn't think they flew in daylight either."
"They don't." A man wearing US Army uniform walked nonchalantly into the men's field of view. "You didn't think this would be a simple trip across the Channel and back, did you?" Major Johns smiled in a predatory way.
Actor's countenance had become expressionless as the Allied Officer spoke. Did Dalgliesh...? He looked at the naval officer and knew from the way the man's face had hardened that this was news to him too... and he wasn't happy. For the first time, the conman saw beneath the affable mask to what lay beneath. 'Assassin', Deirdre had said. Now he knew what she meant.
"Briefing, now." Johns turned his back and strode towards the control tower.
Dalgliesh looked at Actor. Actor looked at Dalgliesh. Their gazes locked and, after a moment, both nodded. Side-by-side they walked forward. Behind them, Chief, Casino and Goniff glanced at each other.
"Guess we got no option?" Goniff gave a little quirk of his mouth.
Casino gave a wry half-smile. "Come on, let's see what he has to say." He led the way.
The room in the base of the control tower was bare and damp. It housed a small brown table, much scratched and covered with water marks from endless cups of spilled tea and three chairs, one of which had a broken back. Johns took up a position seated under the high window, with his back to the wall. He removed his uniform cap and threw it onto the table. The other five men stood on the opposite side of the table.
"You lied to Fremont." Actor's voice was sharp.
"No. Richards simply misunderstood the details of what was required." He glanced at Actor. "It was Richards that briefed you, wasn't it?"
Actor gave the smallest of acknowledgements.
That explains why Garrison's men showed no surprise when I turned up at the Mansion, thought Dalgliesh.
"I thought so. Well, as he must have told you, this is my operation and time is of the essence. You will be on target in a matter of hours instead of days.
"And just where is this target?" Casino snapped.
Johns smiled, "Has no-one told you?" He tutted looking first at Dalgliesh, then at Actor.
The Major looked at his watch. "I will leave you to it. Commander." He nodded at Dalgliesh, picked his hat up from the table and left the room.
Casino slapped his hand on the wall in frustration. "It was bad enough when we were goin' in by boat. This is suicide."
Dalgliesh shook his head. "The Lysander pilots wouldn't fly if they thought it was impossible. If they've agreed to give it a go, they think they've a dammed good chance of getting there and back." He looked at Garrison's men. "Look on the bright side, Goniff. You can replace the breakfast you just lost."
With Johns gone, the men arrayed themselves around the briefing room.
"He came a long way to tell us nuthin'," Chief muttered.
Dalgliesh had taken Johns' chair but moved it to one side so that there wasn't a table between him and the others. "He told us a lot," he countered. "That he's in charge, not Richards, and Fremont has his back. Plus, he has the authority to force 161 Squadron to deploy two of their aircraft on a high-risk operation."
Actor nodded. "He wanted to enjoy the moment. Garrison made him look a fool. Now he's getting his own back. He can't get at the Warden, but he can play with us."
"Why didn't they send us to Sussex? Tangmere's closer."
"I had the same thought, Chief," Dalgliesh replied, looking appreciatively at the Indian. "We're just puppets here. We're having our strings pulled by two puppet masters." He paused and looked at the ceiling thinking.
"Something odd happened after I left the Mansion yesterday. I'd been booked into a hotel called the Crown by one of the clerks at Naval HQ. I'm guessing that someone... and it was probably Johns... wanted me somewhere where they could get their hands on me at short notice."
"But you didn't get to stay there," Casino guessed.
"No. A young woman was waiting for me in Reception, told me it was in my interests to stay elsewhere. Took me to a cottage nearby that I gathered had been requisitioned from a sympathetic family... the Hennessy's."
Actor had started to fill his pipe with tobacco. He paused in surprise, hand in mid-air. "Siobhan took you to her house?"
Dalgliesh shook his head. "No, it wasn't her, just someone from the same organisation." Somehow, he felt it right to keep to himself the courier's identity.
"Siobhan works for TAR..." surmised Actor thoughtfully. "So, MI5 made sure Johns couldn't find you last night. D'you think they were concerned for your safety?"
The Scot shook his head. "I can look after myself and they know that. I'd guess it was delaying tactics. I'm guessing that if Johns had found me last night, we'd all have been on our way from Tangmere in those Lysanders last night. Instead, we all made it to the MTB, as per Richards' plan. That rather forced the Major's hand and he's had to get personally involved."
"You gonna tell us now where we're goin'?" Chief repeated Casino's earlier question, then sighed. It didn't really matter.
Actor looked inquisitively at their CO. Richards hadn't specified and it hadn't been covered in the initial briefing, but clearly Dalgliesh had known for some time.
"The internment camp at Jargeau, on the outskirts of Orleans," the Scot replied briefly, "or, that's where I think we're headed." Dalgliesh pulled himself to his feet. "Come on, there must be a mess tent somewhere around here and if it's now in the hands of the USAAF it'll be serving coffee... real coffee."
GGG
What followed was ten wasted hours filled with endless cups of coffee, numerous cigarettes and little else. Goniff and Casino had managed to purloin a pack of cards and persuade a couple of Thunderbolt pilots to pass the time of day in a few hands of low-stakes poker. Chief had stayed and watched for a while, then wandered off somewhere.
Dalgliesh watched him go. "Is he always like that?"
"You know Chiefy, one minute he's there, the next he's not." Goniff might have had ears in the back of his head.
Actor kept his voice low. "You don't think TAR is the other puppet master, do you?"
Dalgliesh shook his head. "If I had to guess it has the hallmarks of a woman. Little touches like making sure there was a good meal on the table last night with decent wine to keep it company." He looked Actor in the eye. "Have you heard of someone called Pamela?"
SIS, thought Actor. Things began to make sense. They were protecting their own. They'd had to agree to their operative taking part in this mission, but it would be on their terms. "We've never met," the conman eventually replied. "But yes, I know who you're talking about."
"So, Johns has only lost half a day. If I was scoring, I'd say he won that round," Actor concluded.
Dalgliesh could only agree. There had been one unforeseen benefit for him though – he was now much closer to being accepted as interim CO.
GGG
"Ready?" An RAF serviceman stuck his head around the door of the mess. Outside, the temperature had dropped considerably, but the sky was clear, and a myriad of stars twinkled up above. There was almost no wind. The operation was on.
A Lysander can take two passengers seated, a third on the floor and a fourth if someone lies on the parcel shelf.
The pilot of the first plane looked in concern at the five men waiting to board. Contrary to what Dalgliesh had said so confidently, earlier in the day, he was under no illusions. There had only been one successful dark moon mission, by a single plane... and that had been with an almost empty aircraft.
Tonight, he would be fully loaded and both Lysanders needed to make it for their cargo to stand a chance on their mission. The only consolation was that they were using a strip they'd used several times before. It was long, relatively dry and didn't have much in the way of trees or hedges to snag the undercarriage. Providing the Boche hadn't ploughed up the field, providing the local Resistance hadn't been infiltrated, they might... just might... make it.
By common agreement, the two larger men folded themselves carefully into the first plane. They were sharing the fuselage with a number of packages... radios, money and supplies for the Resistance.
Fitting the other three into the second plane was more... interesting.
"The floor's yours." Casino had been on enough flights with Goniff to know he didn't want to be below or downwind of him when the Cockney puked, as he inevitably would. Chief smiled and took the other seat, alongside the safecracker. Gently, he rubbed his fingertips along the leather of the knife sheath on his wrist. At times like this he needed the reassurance.
It was well after midnight when the two planes picked up the faint glimmer of the river Loire winding its way towards the sea. It had been a fairly uneventful trip for once. There had been no fog banks over France and the wind had remained light. As a result, the navigation hadn't been too challenging and both aircraft had stayed on track. Even the lack of moon had been in their favour, making it harder for the enemy aircraft and guns to find two small, unexpected targets in the dark sky.
The lead pilot turned inland, heading for the landing field, watching carefully for the landing code to be flashed from the ground. On his first pass, nothing happened. This was always the worst part. Carefully he worked his way back to his starting point and tried a second time. This time, the signal came, he responded as expected and on came the landing lights below.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he put his plane down to where he thought the ground should be. He misjudged slightly and hit terra firma rather heavier than expected. He could only pray the landing gear was still intact. The second Lysander was right on his tail.
A group of roughly dressed men rushed up to the stationary aircraft, eagerly grabbing the packages as they were thrown down. Finally, the only things left were the men themselves. Speed was essential, but so was caution. The Germans were masters of waiting until the planes were unloaded before opening fire. It was the people and cargo they were interested in, not the Lysanders themselves.
Tonight was not one of those nights. No bullets screamed through the night, no men fell dying. Four outgoing passengers threw their bags into the now empty aircraft and shortly afterwards the two matt-black Lysanders lifted themselves into the sky and vanished with just the steadily decreasing note of the engines giving a hint that they were ever there.
"Well, that were easy." Goniff had for once quite enjoyed the trip, despite the fact that he'd been the victim of Casino's boots every time the safecracker shifted his position.
"Erebus?" A man of middle-size, wearing a dirty corduroy jacket over black trousers materialised out of the darkness.
There was a moment's silence until Dalgliesh finally spoke softly. "Oui, je suis là."
A shielded lantern dimly cast its glow as the Resistance man raised it on high to pick out his contact and the men he'd arrived with.
"Bien. Y'a une voiture près d'ici. Il faut partir rapidement parce que les Bosch seront juste derrière." The man lowered the lamp to knee level and started to walk away.
"Whadda 'e say?" Goniff whispered.
"Something about a car and leaving fast," Chief replied quietly. His trip to Caen had been a bit of a breakthrough. He'd never be fluent, but Diesel had shown him a way to get by.
Casino picked up the translation. "Sounds good to me." The safecracker felt exposed out here on the field. Instinct said get under cover. He dropped his holdall, extracted the Sten gun and slung it over his shoulder before picking up the bag again then hurrying to re-join the party. That felt better. At least he wasn't a sitting duck anymore.
The Resistance man's assurance that the car wasn't far away was a slight exaggeration. He led the group over a couple of large fields, across a small stream and into a wooded area. There he halted and put down the lantern. "Un moment..." He melted always into the darkness, then they heard the sound of a vehicle engine approaching.
A small delivery van drew to a halt. "Vite. Montez à bord."
Casino picked up the lantern and found the rear doors, throwing them wide. He climbed aboard, followed closely by Chief. The two pulled the other three into the van then grabbed the doors and hauled them shut as they lurched off across the uneven forest floor, heading... who knows where.