Martineau roared down the road toward the canal at the far end, swerved onto the towpath, one of the Gestapo cars following close. Two hundred yards away there was a lock, a narrow footbridge for pedestrians crossing to the other side. He rode across with no difficulty. Behind him, the car braked to a halt. The two Gestapo operatives inside jumped out and began to fire wildly, but by then he was long gone.
He could never remember clearly afterward any details of that cross-country ride to Fleurie. In the end, it was all something of an anticlimax anyway. The field had been keadq2tarters of an aero club before the war. Now it lay derelict and forlorn and long disused.
He was aware of the roaring of the Lysander’s engine in the distance as he rode up to the airfield himself. He paused, waiting, and the Lysander came in out of the darkness for a perfect touchdown, turned and taxied toward him,. He got off the bike, allowing it to fall to one side. He promptly fell down himself, got up again and lurched forward. The door swung open and the pilot leaned across and shouted, “I wasn’t too sure when I saw the uniform.”
Martineau hauled himself inside. The pilot reached over and closed and locked the door. Martineau coughed suddenly, his mouth and chin red.
The pilot said, “My God, you’re choking on your own blood.”
“I’ve been doing that for at least four years now,” Martineau said.
The pilot had other things on his mind, several vehicles converging on the other end of the runway by the old buildings. Whoever they were, they were too late. The Bristol Perseus engine responded magnificently when fully boosted. The Westland Lysander was capable of taking off from rough ground, fully loaded, in two hundred and forty yards. At Fleurie, that night, they managed it in two hundred, clearing the cars at the end of the runway and climbing up into the gathering darkness.
“Very nice,”Martineau said. “I liked that.” And then he fainted.
“So, he’s in Dorset, is he?” Munro said. “Doing what?” “Not very much from what I can make out.” Carter hesitated. “He did take two bullets in the left lung, sir, and…” “No sad songs, Jack, IVe other things on my mind.
You Ye had a look at my ideas on a way of getting him into Jersey? What do you think?”
“Excellent, sir. I would have thought it all pretty foolproof, at least for a few days.”
“And that’s all we need. Now, what else have you got for me?”
“As I understand it from your preliminary plan, sir, what you’re seeking is someone to go in with him to establish his credentials. Someone who knows the island and the people and so on?”
“That’s right.”
“There’s an obvious flaw, of course. How on earth would you explain their presence? You can’t just pop up in the island after four years of occupation without some sort of an explanation.”
“Very true.” Munro nodded. “However, I can tell by the throb in your voice that youVe already come up with a solution, so let’s get on with it, Jack. What have you got?”
“Sarah Anne Drayton, sir, age nineteen. Born in Jersey. Left the island just before the war to go out to Malaya where her father was a rubber planter. He was a widower apparently. Sent her home a month before the fall of Singapore.”
“Which means she hasn’t been back in Jersey since when?” Munro looked at the file. “Nineteen thirty-eight. Six years. That’s a long time at that age, Jack. Girls change out of all recognition.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mind you, she’s young.”
“WeVe used them as young as this before, sir.”
“Yes, but rarely and only in extremes. Where did you find her?”
“She was put forward for SOE consideration two years ago, mainly because she speaks fluent French with a Breton accent. Her maternal grandmother was Breton. Naturally, she was turned down because of her youth.”
“Where is she now?”
“Probationer nurse here in London at Cromwell Hospital.”
“Excellent, Jack.” Munro stood up and reached for his jacket. “We’ll go and see her. I’m sure she’ll prove to be intensely patriotic.”