Ken Follett – Jackdaws

Percy liked formidable women, Paul concluded; that was why he was fond of Flick. “You know, you’re right about my shortcomings,” he said candidly. “I have been at the sharp end of clandestine operations, but this will be my first time as an organizer. So I’ll be very grateful for your help.”

Percy nodded. “I begin to see why you have a reputation for getting things done,” he said with a hint of a smile. “But if you’ll hear a word of advice..

“Please.”

“Be guided by Flick. No one else has spent as much time under cover and survived. Her knowledge and experience are matchless. I may be in charge of her in theory, but what I do is give her the support she needs. I would never try to tell her what to do.”

Paul hesitated. He had been given command by Monty, and he was not about to hand it over on anyone’s advice. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said.

Percy seemed satisfied. He gestured to the files. “Shall we get started?”

“What are these?”

“Records of people who were considered by us as possible agents, then rejected for some reason.”

Paul took off his jacket and rolled back his cuffs.

They spent the morning going through the files together. Some of the candidates had not even been interviewed; others had been rejected after they had been seen; and many had failed some part of the SOE training course-baffled by codes, hopeless with guns, or frightened to the point of hysteria when asked to jump out of a plane with a parachute. They were mostly in their early twenties, and they had only one other thing in common: they all spoke a foreign language with native fluency.

There were a lot of files, but few suitable candidates. By the time Percy and Paul had eliminated all the men, and the women whose language was something other than French, they were left with only three names.

Paul was disheartened. They had run into a major obstacle when they had hardly begun. “Four is the minimum number we need, even assuming that Flick recruits the woman she has gone to see this morning.”

“Diana Colefield.”

“And none of these is either an explosives expert or a telephone engineer!”

Percy was more optimistic. “They weren’t when SOE interviewed them, but they might be now. Women have learned to do all sorts of things.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

It took a while to track the three down. A further disappointment was that one was dead. The other two were in London. Ruby Romain, unfortunately, was in His Majesty’s Prison for Women at Holloway, three miles north of Baker Street, awaiting trial for murder. And Maude Valentine, whose file said simply “psychologically unsuitable,” was a driver with the FANYs.

“Down to two!” Paul said despondently.

“It’s not the numbers but the quality that bothers me,” Percy said.

“We knew from the start we’d be looking at rejects.” Percy’s tone became angry. “But we can’t risk Flick’s life with people like these!”

Percy was desperate to protect Flick, Paul realized. The older man had been willing to hand over control of the operation but was not able to give up his role as Flick’s guardian angel.

Their argument was interrupted by a phone call. It was Simon Fortescue, the pinstriped spook from MI6 who had blamed SOE for the failure at Sainte-C‚cile.

“What can I do for you?” Paul said guardedly. Fortescue was not a man to trust.

“I think I may be able to do something for you,” Fortescue said. “I know you’re going ahead with Major Clairet’s plan.”

“Who told you?” Paul asked suspiciously. It was supposed to be a secret.

“Let’s not go into that. I naturally wish you success with your mission, even though I was against it, and I’d like to help.”

Paul was angry that the mission was being talked about, but there was no point in pursuing that. “Do you know a female telephone engineer who speaks perfect French?” he asked.

“Not quite. But there’s someone you should see. Her name is Lady Denise Bowyer. Terribly nice girl, her father was the Marquess of Inverlocky.”

Paul was not interested in her pedigree. “How did she learn French?”