Jack Higgins – Night of the Fox

“In practice, it doesn’t do you any good at all,” Martineau interrupted.

“However, for good or ill, you are now a flight officer in the WAAF,” Munro said. “I trust that is satisfactory. Now, let’s look at the map.”

They all got up and went to the table where there were several large-scale maps, together making a patchwork that included the south of England, the Channel, and the general area of the Channel Islands and Normandy and Brittany.

“All those jolly films they make at Elstree showing you our gallant secret agents at work usually have them parachuting into France. In fact, we prefer to take people in by plane wherever possible.”

“I see,” she said.

“Our popular choice is the Lysander. These days the pilot usually manages on his own. That way we can take up to three passengers. They’re operated by a Special Duties Squadron at Hornley Field. It’s not too far from here.”

“How long will the flight take?”

“No more than an hour and a half, perhaps less depending on wind conditions. You’ll land not far from Granville.

The local Resistance people will be on hand to take care of you. We find the early hours of the morning best. Say four or five.”

“Then what?”

“The evening of the same day you’ll leave Granville by ship for Jersey. Most convoys go by night now. We have air superiority during daylight hours.” He turned to Marti-neau. “Naturally, the question of passage is a matter for Standartenfuhrer Max Vogel, but I doubt whether anyone is likely to do anything other than run round in circles when they see your credentials.”

Martineau nodded. “We’ll be in trouble if they don’t.”

“As regards your dealings with Mrs. de Ville and General Gallagher. Well, you have Sarah to vouch for you.”

“And Kelso?”

“Entirely in your hands, dear boy. You’re the officer in the field. I’ll back whatever you decide to do. You know how critical the situation is.”

“Fair enough.”

Munro picked up the phone at his side. “Send Mrs. Moon in now.” He put the phone down and said to Sarah. “We’re very lucky to have Mrs. Moon. We borrow her from Den-ham Studios by courtesy of Alexander Korda. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about makeup, dress and so on.”

Hilda Moon was a large fat woman with a cockney accent. Her own appearance inspired little confidence, for her hair was dyed red and it showed, and she wore too much lipstick. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, ash spilling down on her ample bosom.

“Yes.” She nodded, walking round Sarah. “Very nice. Of course I’ll have to do something with the hair.”

“Do you think so?” Sarah asked in alarm.

“Girls who get by tiie way you’re supposed to in this part, dear, always carry it up front. They make a living from pleasing men, which means they have to make the best of what they’ve got. You trust me, I know what’s best for you.”

She took Sarah by the arm and led her out. As the door closed, Martineau said, “We probably won’t even recognize her when we see her again.”

“Of course,” Munro said. “But then, I should have thought that was the general idea.”

It was early evening when the phone rang at Gallagher’s cottage. He was in the kitchen, working through farm accounts at the table, and answered it instantly.

“Savary here, General. The matter of the package we discussed.”

“Yes.”

“My contact in Granville was in touch with their head office. It seems someone will be with you by Thursday at the latest to give you the advice you need.”

“You’re certain of that.”

“Absolutely.”

The phone went dead. Gallagher sat there thinking about it, then he put on his old corduroy jacket and went up to de Ville Place. He found Helen in the kitchen with Mrs. Vibert, preparing the evening meal. The old lady didn’t live on the premises, but just down the road in another farm cottage with her niece and young daughter. She was a widow herself, a good-hearted woman of sixty-five, devoted to Helen.

She dried her hands and took a coat down from behind the door. “If that’s all, I’ll be off now, Mrs. de Ville.”

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