Between Silk and Cyanide (52 page)

On 1 September Corbett reported that Mallaby was having no problems with his with his set or his skeds, and hadn't sent a single indecipherable. He was allowed to come on the air whenever he wished and was about to start using LMT, a form of double transposition which he learned in Cairo, although every effort was being made to supply him with LOPs.

Six messages had been exchanged between Marshal Badoglio and Massingham, but they were repeated to London in main-line cipher and it was impossible to get the feel of Mallaby's coding.

On 3 September the Italians confirmed that they were ready to aign an unconditional surrender, and Massingham informed General Eisenhower that the negotiations were concluded.

The Germans seemed unaware of what was happening, but Mallaby code was already overloaded, and there was still time for the Germans to break it. If they did, according to Nick they'd occupy Rome and shoot the negotiators.

Hoping that I hadn't used up a lifetime's luck, and that there'd be a little left over for Mallaby's poem, I returned to Park West wearing my solar topi.

On the morning of the 4th I learned from Heffer that while I'd been 'on holiday' an 'almighty row' had broken out between SOE and Duke Street. Before he could explain why, CD's secretary telephoned. I was to report to him at once, and take my Cairo report with me. Heffer assured me that the row would still be on by the time I got back.

It was the first time that I had been summoned to the sanctum sanctorum (Latin was compulsory at St Paul's), and the experience became even more harrowing when I saw that Gubbins was present. He introduced me to CD, who looked at me with a twinkle. 'We know each other pretty well,' he said.

I'd hoped he'd forgotten me.

We'd met when he'd called in on one of his midnight prowls and caught me breaking a message in secret French code which I'd pretended was a Buckmaster indecipherable.

My other encounters with Sir Charles Hambro had been entirely domestic. We still lived opposite each other in Park West; he still left the curtains undrawn while he took his bath; and he still occasionally watched me as I took my early morning swings across the rings above the swimming pool fully-clothed and ready for Baker Street. 'I've received a message from Brigadier Keble&hellip' he announced. He picked up a main-line telegram from the desk while I tried to stop my stomach from rumbling.

'He accepts almost everything your report recommended,' he said. 'But that's not all. He wants me to send "a cryptographer of Marks's calibre to Cairo as quickly as possible" Congratulations on an excellent job'

'Hear, hear,' said Gubbins—words I didn't think he knew.

They had a ring-side view of my epiglottis. Wary of praise unless I bestowed it on myself, I was bewildered by Keble's change of heart, and by the fact that SOE's powerhouses had taken the time to congratulate me personally instead of doing it through my guv'nor.

With an uneasy feeling that all was not quite what it seemed, I took my report from my briefcase. 'I believe you want a copy of this, sir?'

'Indeed I do,' said Sir Charles, glancing at the general.

Not sure which powerhouse I should hand it to, I placed it between them.

Their enthusiasm waned a little when they saw its size. 'We shan't read it now,' CD said, 'but we'd like you to sum it up for us.' 'You will also tell us what you didn't put in,' barked Gubbins. I spent fifteen minutes describing Cairo's cipher situation, but although they listened attentively I sensed that their interest wasn't really in codes.

This feeling was confirmed when they questioned me closely about my impressions of the discipline in general, and then encouraged me to describe my meetings with Keble without actually inviting me to criticize a senior officer. But a coward of my calibre wasn't prepared engage in sabotage—verbal or otherwise—and I praised the efforts everyone I'd met.

CD thanked me with a hint of disappointment, while Gubbins glared at me in silence. He asked his next question without any warning. 'What do you know about the secret French code?'

Uncle would have feigned deafness at this pistol shot, but I shuddered with its impact and prayed it wasn't mortal. 'I'm not allowed to anything about it, sir.'

That's not what I asked you,' he snapped.

I was desperate for a cigar or any other prop. Even a herring-barrel have helped.

'Speak up,' barked Gubbins. 'What do you know about it?'

I replied that I couldn't help noticing that large numbers of messages in the secret French code were indecipherable.

'How do you know they're indecipherable?' asked CD.

'Duke Street makes the agents re-encode them, sir, which means they have to stay on the air for longer than necessary and could be de-effed.' Hoping he didn't think I was swearing, I explained that direction-finding units were a major hazard.

So was the speed of Gubbins's reaction.

'There haven't been any indecipherables for at least six months. Any idea why not?'

The little bastard's timing was on a par with Jack Benny's, but it gave me nothing to laugh about.

'I noticed they'd dropped off sir but I didn't realize there hadn't been any.'

'I repeat. How do you account for it?'

'Perhaps the briefing has improved, sir.'

'Any other possibilities?'

'Perhaps their coders have woken up, sir.'

'They aren't the only ones.' he snapped.

CD examined me as if I were one of Hambro's more suspect accounts. 'You've no idea what their code is?' he finally asked.

'It's obviously some kind of double-transposition, sir—at least I hope it's double—but beyond that I know nothing. My Free French opposite number refuses to discuss it.'

CD glanced at Gubbins with an unspoken question. The general glared at me, then nodded almost imperceptibly, like God on a Sunday.

'I don't suppose you know this,' CD said, 'but a serious dispute has arisen with Duke Street over two of their messages…' He then explained that if the contretemps weren't resolved quickly it could get completely out of hand, and that I might be called upon to take 'certain action'. He hoped it wouldn't prove necessary but if it were he knew I'd do my best. He added that there was no point in discussing the details now.

I was certain that Gubbins knew I'd been lying about De Gaulle's secret code through my cigar-stained teeth, and the only action I wanted to take was a quick visit to the gents.

'There's one more thing,' said CD, 'and then we can let you go.'

He picked up Keble's telegram and looked at me with a hint of his old twinkle. 'I have to send Cairo a cryptographer of your calibre. Is there anyone you can recommend?'

'There's Ensign Hornung at Station 53b, sir, and General Gubbins. But Ensign Hornung can't be spared.' The remark slipped out before I could stop it, and I hurried to the door before I made matters worse.

Later that day I learned that they couldn't be.

The Signals directorate was used to handling messages on which many lives depended, but SOE's involvement with the armistice negotiations caused the code department's nerves to prick and tingle, and its heart to be sick, to an extent that nothing else had.

By 3 September the end of Monkey was in sight with no signs of mishap, which added to the tension.

On 4 September Massingham informed London that the only issue to be resolved with Badoglio was the formal announcement of Italy's surrender.

On 5 September the real nightmare began.

General Eisenhower sent a message to Badoglio which was transmitted in double transposition. The message informed him that allied troops were standing by to occupy Salerno and urged him to make his announcement of the surrender with the news of the invasion so that it would have maximum effect on the Italian armed forces.

It backfired. Within hours of receiving the message Badoglio informed Massingham that the Germans had somehow learned of the armistice proceedings, and the announcement of the surrender would have to be postponed.

Eisenhower was notified and the news presented him with a major decision. Should he allow the invasion to proceed? He telephoned Dodds-Parker at Massingham and asked if SOE's cods were secure.

Sticking his neck out, the Giraffe replied Yes.

Eisenhower immediately sent a message to Badoglio confirming the invasion would proceed as planned, and urging him to postpone the announcement of Italy's surrender.

On 9 September 50,000 Americans occupied Salerno, the armistice was announced, and three days later Italy declared war on Germany. But Mallaby still had vital information to pass on to Allied forces HQ, and on 14 September London's LOPs and substitution squares finally reached him, and he began using them at once for the rest of his traffic.

Allied Forces HQ then took over his traffic, and on 21 September the round the clock listening watch on Monkey was cancelled.
[29]

It may have been providential—it was certainly a huge slice of 'merde alors'—that my involvement with Monkey was reduced to a stranglehold by the contretemps with Duke Street which took place in parallel. Although by comparison with Monkey it was no more than a domestic dispute, according to Charlotte Denman (our French encyclopaedia), it was likely to cause a divorce between SOE and Duke Street.

Trying not to take sides, and almost succeeding, she explained that the capture of Jean Moulin in July, followed by the arrest of most Free French leaders, had forced de Gaulle to rethink his structure of command. The problem was that SOE disagreed with his conclusions. The general was determined to divide France into two zones, each controlled by a commander appointed by Duke Street. But SOE was adamant that the Free French should decentralize, and that the new Conseil National de la Resistance should be based as far away from the Gestapo as possible, preferably in London.

'Neither side will give an inch, not that they have one to spare,' added Charlotte.

She then hurried off to meet Nick, leaving me to ponder two questions: What had CD meant when he referred to 'a serious dispute over two messages'? And what was the 'certain action' I might have to take? Divided into two zones myself, I returned to Mallaby.

On 6 September Robin Brook, the controller of Western Europe, instructed me to report to him. He was the only person (apart from Gubbins) whom the whole of Baker Street regarded as brilliant, which was one of the few majority verdicts he saw no reason to question.

Tall, slender, with the kind of eyes I'd sooner have than look into, he allowed me to settle down before saying that he had a question to ask me which I must regard as strictly confidential.

'Yes, sir.'

'If I give you the authority to do so, could you break a message in secret French code?'

Unaccustomed to senior officers making improper suggestions, I gaped at him in appropriate bewilderment. 'I'm afraid I know nothing about the secret French code, sir.' It was time to have it printed on my lapel.

'I didn't expect you to. But that won't prevent you from trying, Will it?'

'I suppose not, sir.' I was beginning to enjoy this, which made it even more dangerous.

'There are two messages I want broken—both from Duke Street to Serreules in secret French code… you probably know him by his code-name Scapin.'

'Indeed I do, sir. I gave him his English code.'

'He'd been dropped in July, and since then I'd broken three indepherables from him in his secret French code, and re-encoded them accurately. I could have complied with Brook's request in a matter of minutes but dared not let him know it. 'I'll need some help from you before I can start, sir.'

It was the first time I'd seen the famous Brook frown, and once was enough.

'What sort of help?—I've given you my full authority.'

'That won't help me break it, sir. I'll need as much information as you give me in case the messages need anagramming.'

The jargon seemed to reassure him. 'Very well. I'll fill you in on the baickground, and then show you the messages.'

'Thank you, sir.'

He then explained that in spite of knowing SOE's attitude, Duke Street had encoded a message to Scapin appointing Mangin and Morias 'chefs de zone', each to control one half of France. They'd sent the code-groups to RF section with a copy of the clear-text 'as per standard procedure'. But Brook had refused to allow the groups to be sent to Signals for transmission until all references to chefs de zone had been deleted. Duke Street had agreed to do had sent a new set of code-groups to RF section with an assurance that the deletions had been made. Someone in RF section spotted that the second message contained the same number of codegroups as the first, and raised the question whether Duke Street was telling the truth.
[30]

He then handed me both sets of code-groups and a copy of the original texts, 'I need to know if the deletions have been made.—I can't impress on you enough how important this is.' He proceeded to do so. '… SOE and Duke Street have lost all confidence in each other, and Anglo-French missions like Marie-Claire are likely to be cancelled. As it is, it's been postponed.'

I hadn't realized that Tommy was involved. 'I'll start right away, sir.'

He looked at me searchingly. 'I'm sorry if this is an impossible question, but how long will it take you?'

I indulged in a Jack Benny pause. 'It depends on what the damn code is, sir. It could take hours or days, and there's no guarantee I can do it at all—but your briefing will help…'

'Give it absolute priority, and contact me on the scrambler one way or another.'

'Of course, sir.'

I took Scapin's code to the gents, and decoded both messages while someone in the adjacent cubicle uttered a grateful 'that's better'. The texts were identical. It was only the code-groups which had changed. All that remained was my cover-story.

I returned to my desk, and with Charlotte as my witness pretended to launch a full-scale blanket attack on Scapin's messages. By teatime I'd accumulated enough evidence to convince everyone, myself included, that I'd broken the messages with the help of the charts, and announced to Charlotte that I'd found the right key. I then contacted Robin Brook on the scrambler and told him that his fears were well-founded.