Between Silk and Cyanide (56 page)

He said nothing about his background, but I learned that he'd been withSOE for less than a month, and was still 'feeling his way'. We quickiy established that he'd had no experience of codes, and I asked if he'd like to take a crash course. He readily accepted, and I handed him over to a briefing officer who privately reported that he was the best agent she'd ever had to teach.

He looked a few years older when he returned (I placed him at forty when he left), and he said that 'instructresses of her calibre must bit of finding'.

'I'm glad you say that, Mr Murray. She's one of six I took on without your department's authority.'

From this admission onwards we were on Christian-name terms and I put him to work breaking indecipherables as part of his higher education. He seemed relieved to find himself gainfully employed and worked methodically through the long list of keys which I put in front of him, quickly falling into the rhythm which suited him best.

I knew that he'd broken his first indecipherable when he sat back and exclaimed, 'Good God.' (New coders frequently said, 'Well fuck me.' which to the best of my knowledge occurred outside the code room.)

'Well done, Michael—I'll inform the station that they can cross it off their list.' He listened to my conversation with the supervisor as if it were the most important he'd ever heard, and for all I knew it was.

I immediately informed him that there were six girls in Norgeby House who broke indecipherables the stations couldn't cope with, but I'd been forced to pretend to D/FIN that they were WOK-makers as I'd exceeded my quota of coders. 'I've given up submitting honest estimates, Michael, because by the time they've been cut in half so has an agent's life expectancy.' I anxiously awaited his response.

'What are WOK-makers?—or did I mishear you?'

Delighted by his priorities, I immediately showed him a WOK and a LOP, stressing that amongst their other assets they'd put a stop to indecipherables. Supply problems came next, and Plan Murray was in sight of its first target.

Watching for signs of inattention (of which there were none), I informed him that LOP production was on the point of collapse due to a bloody-minded wing commander who'd given us till the end of November to take our business elsewhere. 'But I'd better admit it's not altogether his fault.'

I explained that the arrangement for his unit of work for ISRB had been 'somewhat irregular', though I wouldn't worry him with the details now, that he hadn't been told what ISRB did or why his photography was indispensable, and it was high time that someone put him in the picture.

Pausing for the smile that never came, I said that the ideal person to change his or anyone else's mind would be Gubbins, but in his absence the best spokesman would be senior RAF officers who outranked him such as Air Commodore Boyle or Group Captain Venner (D/FIN). 'The problem is, I'm the wrong person to approach them.'

I then admitted that they'd both caught me out in one or two misdemeanours, though I wouldn't worry him with the details now, and I was wondering whether he'd consider talking to Venner hiroselt. would flatter D/FIN to be asked, and show him how quickly he'd of on top of his job.

He thanked me for the opportunity I was giving him, but added that he thought he should know a little more about the code department before making recommendations to D/FIN. His training as an ambassador then began in earnest.

Despite his reluctance to attend a final code briefing in case his presence proved intrusive, but I insisted he come along as my assistant, and the quality of his silence gave the agent more confidence than anything I said.

He also sat in as my assistant when I interviewed six prospective briefing officers. I wrote down the names of the ones I'd selected, and asked him to do the same. We then compared notes. Our choices were identical, and I went up in my estimation.

By the end of the fourth day he knew what I thought of every country section head in Baker Street, and of most members of the heirarchy. He also knew the code department's every trick and subtefuge.

By the end of the fifth day I missed him whenever he was called to a meeting. I had no idea where he went but he seemed as glad to return to his desk as I was to see him there. His absences became more frequent, and usually lasted an hour. But he was present when the signalmaster at 53a telephoned to report for the second time that Noor's touch on the keyboard had changed, and he was convinced that the Germans were operating her set.

He was watching my face while I took the call but looked away as soon as it was finished, and pretended to be immersed in an indecipherable which I knew he'd already broken.

He was also present when Nick hurried in, flushed with excitement, and informed us that the Free French had formally asked SOE to supply them with code-books and one-time pads, and that SOE had agreed provided that the High Command gave permission for de Gaulle to use his own codes. Nick was convinced that they would since British had supplied them, and the code-book was already its way to London. Murray nodded his approval.

Noor's capture made me forget that his time was also up, and that from now he'd belong to D/FIN. I told him that as soon as he'd finished all his reports, especially the one about the code department I'd like him to be my deputy. He would also be in sole charge of administration, at which he excelled and I was hopeless. The post would carry with it a G2 rating (the civilian equivalent of a major) which was certain to be upgraded if he continued breaking indecipherables at his present rate.

Looking away, much as he had when I'd taken the call about Noor he said my offer both astonished and touched him, and he wished he could accept it because codes fascinated him, and the question of rank didn't arise. But he was certain that he wouldn't be released from his other duties, though at moments like this he wished he could be. He then thanked me for all the trouble I'd taken, and for giving him an experience he'd never forget.

As soon as he'd left I urged Nick to use his influence to have him transferred to Signals, and gave him my reasons, most of which I knew. He listened to them in silence, gave me a very odd look, and promised to think the matter over.

He then reminded me that I still hadn't found time to meet his protégée Miss Saunders, and he was confident that I'd find her equally compatible. Remembering how wrong I'd been about Murray, I undertook to see her at once.

I disliked her at first sight and loathed her at second.

As the interview progressed I pretended to be taking notes to avoid looking at her, but her appearance drove me to the ditty-box:

A long line of lips
The eyes an eclipse
Arteries hardened
Nobody pardoned
Who holds the key
To that self-locking face
Who stole your grace?

Nag nag niggle nag
Spit your life away
Waggle your acid
In front of the placid
To establish your right of way
Then pick a point
Peck a point
Grind it on a nerve
Nag nag niggle nag
Till you get what you deserve

I was obliged to concede that she had one redeeming feature: she wore shoes instead of jackboots.

I discovered that her brother was Colonel Hugh Saunders, who was highly placed in SOE's admin department and was a close friend of Air Commodore Boyle's, which might well account for Nick's benvolent interest in her.

Over the next few days I did everything I could to make her life miserable, but she was an ardent Christian Scientist and no matter what measures I took to persuade her to resign, she shimmered formless at me and decided to stay. Tired of being regarded as part of the suffering she was put on earth to endure, I tried bribing her to leave by offering her a signed first edition of the works of Mary Baker Eddy (one of 84's lesser treasures), but she said that she had one already, and recommended that I should read it. Desperate to be rid of her, I was on the point of asking Nick which of us he preferred to keep on his strength when deliverance arrived from an unexpected quarter.

Robin Brook telephoned and the edge to his voice consigned Miss Saunders to the temporary oblivion I hoped to make permanent. He'd received a serious complaint about the code department from the Belgian section.

An important message had been held up because the agent's WOK had been sent to the wrong station, and by the time it reached the right one the agent had gone off the air. He'd come up on his emergency sked and the message was transmitted to him twelve hours later.

Robin added that delays of this kind could have disastrous consequences and it was sheer luck that the agent had had time to carry out the vital instructions which the message contained.

I accepted full responsibility for the error, as a department head must, and thanked him for bringing it to my attention.

He would never know why I was so well and truly grateful. Nick in his wisdom had put his prot&eactute;g&eactute;e in charge of the distribution department, and it was her responsibility to ensure that WOKs and LOPs were sent to the right stations. She was assisted in this by her deputy, Doris Lafosse (excellent), and two capable dispatchers.

I instructed Miss Saunders to report to my office immediately. In all our previous meetings I hadn't once invited her to sit down or called her by her Christian name before launching into the day's insults, but at least I'd acknowledged her presence with a frown. But on this occasion (my Overlord) I ignored her completely for the best part of a minute while she stood in front of me, preparing to forgive.

'Good morning. Miss Saunders,' I said cheerfully. 'I have a little news for you.' I then congratulated her on creating havoc in Belgium, and spent the next five minutes exaggerating her mistake out of all proportion until we both believed it had cost us an entire circuit of agents and very possibly the war.

'If you have an explanation to offer, I'd like to hear it,' I said.

She stared at the floor, then shook her head.

'No excuses at all?'

She shook it again, this time vehemently.

'I have to say, Miss Saunders, that I have no confidence in you whatsoever, and cannot risk this happening again.'

She took a quick look at me and seemed on the point of making an announcement.

'Yes, Miss Saunders?' I said encouragingly.

'You've been waiting for me to make a mistake like this ever since I came because you want me to go, and go I will! But you're a pig, Mr Marks—an absolute pig.'

I didn't mind being called one as I had no religious convictions except in emergencies. 'I'm sure your brother will find you a post to which you're better suited…'

She walked quickly to the door but in my moment of triumph a blob of memory spurted up like fat from a frying pan, and stung me into recalling her. 'One moment, please.'

Her hand was already on the door knob, and she didn't turn round.

'We have nothing further to discuss, Mr Marks.'

'I'm sorry, Miss Saunders, but I believe we have…' That damn blob had forced me to remember that on the day of the mistake I'd fancied roast Saunders for lunch but Muriel had told me that Nick had given her the whole day off.

She couldn't be held responsible for what happened in her absence but had accepted the blame for her subordinate's mistake as a department head must.

Better still, she'd managed to keep silent under duress. What more could I ask of her, other than forgiveness?

I told her I knew she wasn't responsible, and tried to apologize the only way I knew: 'Sit down, Audrey,' I said, 'and have a cream cake.'

Her eyes quivered and then her lips, and seconds later she burst into tears.

I couldn't understand why because the cakes were fresh.

I knew with the instinct of the lonely that this was the start of a lasting friendship.

But a shock was on its way about my other new friend.

Heffer walked in as grey as the ash on his cigarette and advised me to sit down while I heard what he had to say. He'd just learned from Nick that Murray hadn't the slightest intention of joining D/FIN.

It was his cover-story to extract maximum information from every department head he visited! He was about to be appointed deputy head of SOE.

He'll be closer to Gubbins than anyone,' said Heffer, 'and what's more he knows where all the bodies are buried. And you'll be lucky if yours isn't one of them.'

He swore me to secrecy until the announcement was formally made.

Murray's charade was the only example of SOE-mindedness I'd understood, and I decided to respond to it in kind.

I waited until the symbols list announced that M. P. Murray was appointed D/CD, and telephoned his secretary to ask if I could have a quick word with him. I was put through at once.

'Sorry to disturb you, Michael, but we've just received an urgent indecipherable! Can you come over and help us break it?'

To my astonishment, ten minutes later he sat at his old desk with an indecipherable in front of him, and without a word began working his way through the long list of keys.

I'd arranged for Muriel to telephone me two minutes later to say that the girls had just broken it. When I told him the good news, he stood up at once and turned to the door.

But we hadn't quite finished and I suspected that he knew it. 'Before you go, Michael, there's something I must ask you.'

He waited in silence.

'Now that you've been demoted, will you be able to spare time to deal with the wing commander?'

'I've already spoken to him… it was the first call I made from my new desk. You'll have no further problems with him. He's confirming it in writing to CD.'

'Thanks a lot, sir.'

He turned back at the door and looked at me severely. 'If I have further problems with you, I may have to pay you an unexpected visit—but I'll make sure that my secretary gives you plenty of warning.'

The second most powerful man in SOE closed the door behind him. I said a silent prayer on behalf of the first: Please God, take special care of Colin Gubbins. It takes a good leader to pick a good deputy… and can anything be done to help Noor, who knows you by another name? I can feel her pain from here, and know how much worse it must be for you.