A star of Rommel’s intelligence staff this officer is said to be a skilled interrogator and a ruthless torturer.
Flick shuddered to think she had been so near to such a dangerous man. An experienced police detective who had turned his skills to military intelligence was a frightening enemy. The fact that he had a family in Cologne did not prevent his having a mistress in France, it seemed.
Percy returned, and she handed him the picture. “This is the man.”
“Dieter Franck!” said Percy. “We know of him. How interesting. From what you overheard of his conversation in the square, Rommel seems to have given him some kind of counter-Resistance job.” He made a note on his pad. “I’d better let MI6 know, as they loaned us their photos.”
There was a tap at the door, and Percy’s secretary looked in. “There’s someone to see you, Colonel Thwaite.” The girl looked coquettish. The fatherly Percy never inspired that sort of behavior in secretaries, so Flick guessed the visitor must be an attractive man. “An American,” the girl added. That might explain it, Flick thought. Americans were the height of glamour, to secretaries at least.
“How did he find this place?” Percy said. Orchard Court was supposed to be a secret address.
“He went to number sixty-four Baker Street, and they sent him here.”
“They shouldn’t do that. He must be very persuasive. Who is he?”
“Major Chancellor.”
Percy looked at Flick. She did not know anyone called Chancellor. Then she remembered the arrogant major who had been so rude to her this morning at Monty’s headquarters. “Oh, God, him,” she said in disgust. “What does he want?”
“Send him in,” said Percy.
Paul Chancellor came in. He walked with a limp that Flick had not noticed this morning. It probably got worse as the day wore on. He had a pleasant American face, with a big nose and a jutting chin. Any chance he might have had of being handsome was spoiled by his left ear, or what remained of it, which was the lower one-third, mostly lobe. Flick assumed he had been wounded in action.
Chancellor saluted and said, “Good evening, Colonel. Good evening, Major.”
Percy said, “We don’t do a lot of saluting at SOE, Chancellor. Please sit down. What brings you here?”
Chancellor took a chair and removed his uniform cap. “I’m glad I caught you both,” he said. “I’ve spent most of the day thinking about this morning’s conversation.” He gave a self-effacing grin. “Part of the time, I have to confess, I was composing wittily crushing remarks I could have made if only I had thought of them in time.”
Flick could not help smiling. She had done the same. Chancellor went on. “You hinted, Colonel Thwaite, that MI6 might not have told the whole truth about the attack on the telephone exchange, and that played on my mind. The fact that Major Clairet here was so rude to me did not necessarily mean she was lying about the facts.”
Flick had been halfway to forgiving him, but now she bridled. “Rude? Me?”
Percy said, “Shut up, Flick.”
She closed her mouth.
“So I sent for your report, Colonel. Of course the request came from Monty’s office, not me personally, so it was brought to our headquarters by a FANY motorcyclist in double-quick time.”
He was a no-nonsense type who knew how to pull the levers of the military machine, Flick thought. He might be an arrogant pig, but he would make a useful ally.
“When I read it, I realized the main reason for defeat was wrong intelligence.”
“Supplied by MI6!” Flick said indignantly.
“Yes, I noticed that,” Chancellor said with mild sarcasm. “Obviously, MI6 was covering up its own incompetence. I’m not a career soldier myself, but my father is, so I’m familiar with the tricks of military bureaucrats.”
“Oh,” said Percy thoughtfully. “Are you the son of General Chancellor?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“MI6 would never have gotten away with it if your boss had been at the meeting this morning to tell SOE’s side of the story. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he had been called away at the last minute.”