Between Silk and Cyanide (53 page)

He asked me to bring the proof to him at once.

It was a relief to return to Monkey.

•       •       •

On 7 September I learned from Heffer that officers of RF section and Duke Street were no longer allowed to speak to each other, and had to meet in 'safe-houses' as if they were in France.

'How about Tommy?' I asked. 'Where's it leave him?'

'In limbo. He's the one I feel sorriest for after all that he's done.'

I waited anxiously for the sound of my favourite footsteps. They reverberated down the corridor around 6 p.m., which was far earlier than usual.

l had never seen Tommy looking so tense. He invited me to tell to about Cairo in one sentence, 'Why waste words?' I asked, and blew a raspberry instead.

'I'm getting plenty of those from other quarters. I'd prefer a cigar.'

I waited until he was puffing away, and then invited him to tell me in one sentence what the row was all about.

He took a deep breath. 'I can tell you what it's not about. It's not about killing Germans or helping agents to survive or shortening the war, though that's what they all pretend it is.' His eyes were glowing as the tip of his cigar. 'Robin Brook accuses Duke Street of lying about the messages, and says he can prove it because he instructed you to break them. They say he's the liar, and that the only thing broken is SOE's agreement with de Gaulle.'

'What agreement's that?'

'You know bloody well what agreement…' He sat bolt upright. 'the agreement which says that copies of the secret French code must be lodged in D/R's safe [Robin Brook was D/R], and that D/R mustn't look at them without Duke Street's consent.'

The secret French code was the only subject (except Holland) that I'd never discussed freely with him, though I'd often longed to tell him the truth.

And the truth was that the agreement was a sham because there was no secret French code to deposit. The agents used their British code for both sets of traffic. All Duke Street gave them was a secret indicator to show which words of the British poem they'd used, and the most they'd deposit in D/R's safe would be a description of how system worked.

I'd been silent for far too long because Tommy pounced. 'Have I got something wrong?'

'No more than usual.'

I was relieved when he didn't pursue it, but should have known better.

'So the question, my friend, is this. Did Brook instruct you to break Scapin's code, or did he take it from his safe without Duke Street's consent—they're convinced that he did? And if they're right, how many times has he done it before? I've got to know the truth…'

I'd glimpsed his distress at the death of Moulin. This was as great.

I broke it on D/R's instructions…' I tried to say it matter-of-factly.

'You're feeling guilty about something. But no one's going to blame you for this, you have to obey orders sometimes. And Brook can't be blamed either because Duke Street shouldn't have lied to him. But then why did they feel they had to?—Christ, what a mess!…' He stood up slowly. 'My friend, we're all in the shit—SOE, Duke Street and Signals.—all because we haven't the guts to talk to each other openly.'

He turned to the door.

'I've something else to tell you.'

'Next time.'

I knew there wouldn't be one. 'I'd already broken Scapin's secret code. I've broken the secret code of every Free French agent since July '42. Nobody knows this but you.'

The White Rabbit turned round. Very white. 'You what?'

'How else could I stop the indecipherables?—Duke Street never tried to… and there's something else you should know…' I bombarded him with the reasons the Free French code was insecure but he cut me short.

'And you've only just told me after all this time?'

I did my best to meet his gaze but had no dark glasses.

'Do you think you're the only one who cares about agents, and that I wouldn't have helped you if I could? Or were you afraid I'd turn you in?' He clenched his fists but I didn't care because I was toothless anyway.

Instead he threw his cigar on the floor, and stamped on it until both of us were extinguished. He followed this with the ultimate rejection. 'Jesus Christ.' he whispered. 'Isn't there anyone in SOE who knows the meaning of trust?'

He closed the door so quietly I was almost deafened.

I'd lost a lifeline nothing could replace.

He was waiting outside my office when I returned the next morning. I asked him to come in but he shook his head. His contempt had matured overnight, and was now as entrenched as my parents' admiration.

He told me he'd been in touch with Brook, Nicholls and the Free French and that a decision had been reached. 'You're to report to Duke Street and show the Free French how you broke their code.'

'I'm what?'

'You're expected at two o'clock this afternoon—kindly be there!' He turned away abruptly.

'Kindly wait a sec,' I called out.

He halted in mid-stride but didn't turn round.

He hadn't told me what to say or who the Frenchmen were or what the objective was.

But I had a far more important question, and it popped out in a small voice. 'Will you be there?'

He strode down the corridor in silence.

'You're going to Duke Street for one purpose. To convince the Free French that they can trust SOE. They'll try to trip you up so be careful what you say!&jellip; For God's sake don't make matters worse.'

(Nick to the ambassador of goodwill, September '43)

On 8 September I insisted on being driven to Duke Street to deliver my address. I didn't want to trip up before I arrived. Knowing the quality of my French, Charlotte had offered to accompany me to act as my interpreter, but I daren't let her in case she gave Nick a verbatim report of everything I said.

Without an interpreter I could always claim to have been misunderstood.

A young lieutenant who spoke excellent English escorted me into a briefing room full of Free French officers, and I felt it being redecorated in high-quality hatred. I spotted Valois in the front row, and remembered I still owed him a dozen prefixes for his sacrosanct code. The only face I wanted to see wasn't there.

I sensed them preparing to make moules of me as I followed the lieutenant to my journey's end: a blackboard which had been delivered to Duke Street to await my arrival. Its contents were concealed by a cloth.

Turning his back on the assembly, an example I was quick to follow, my escort asked me in a garlic-flavoured whisper if I'd like him to be my interpreter as not everyone present spoke good English (Valois knew two words: 'no' and 'prefixes'), and as the atmosphere needed no interpreting I replied, 'Merci mille fois', Father's favourite phrase when clients paid him in cash.

'It is now time for me to introduce you,' he whispered. 'Do I call you "chef de codage", or how shall I say?'

'Say nothing,' I replied. 'They know why I'm here.' And pulled the cloth from the blackboard.

It disclosed two encoded messages of equal length which I'd written one on top of the other. Each pair of letters had a number, a format I'd used at Cairo and at countless FANY lectures. At the foot of the blackboard there was a simple announcement in large block capitals:

LE SECRET FRENCH CODE.

The room was filled with angry whispers. I glanced at my interpreter. His complexion was the colour of his garlic. I turned to face the Bastille.

Tommy was standing at the back of the room. His eyes were focused on a point far beyond the blackboard. He was the only person whose judgement I'd trust to evaluate the effect of a surprise I'd prepared for them which could have disastrous consequences if I'd misconceived it, but it was too late now. I was committed to building up to it.

'Alors, messieurs… the messages sur the blackboard are from one your agents. Je suggest that we attackez votre code together.' This did nothing to diminish the whispering.

'Messieurs,' I said, 'c'est the moment to have a go.'

With the help of the interpreter I explained that the messages would be easy to anagram as they'd been encoded on the same transposition and that if enemy cryptographers correctly guessed the words in one message the words in the other would also make sense.

Since my hosts clearly regarded me as an enemy cryptographer I wasn't be sure how much they were taking in and it was time to put them to the test. 'Je vous en prie to start calling out suggestions.'

One of them did, and the laughter which greeted it would have credit to a Jack Benny one-liner. The interpreter refused to translate the suggestion on the grounds that he hadn't heard of it.

'Je vous en prie to call out another.'

Someone obliged, causing even more hilarity than his predecessor. Tommy was looking worried.

'Agents die because of this,' I said.

The lieutenant translated immediately, and there was complete silence. It was a beautiful sound.

Taking it as a licence to proceed, I asked whether the word 'stop' appeared in most agents' messages, and if so, why didn't they start with it?

They agreed that 'stop' did appear, and soon discovered that 'nuit' appeared beneath it, and one word led to another, as they invariably did in this deadliest of parlour games, and twenty minutes later they reluctantly contemplated two broken messages.

Whispering again broke out.

Wondering how best to time my surprise, I began explaining how the words of the poem could now be reconstructed, but an imperious voice interrupted.

'Un moment, s'il vous plait.'

'One moment, if you please,' said the interpreter nervously.

A bemedalled officer had risen to his feet and was addressing me in rapid French.

My vocabulary simply wasn't up to it (though it was slightly larger than I wanted my hosts to realize), and I didn't understand a word of what he said. But there was no mistaking his confreres' reactions. Heads were nodded, hands were clapped, and they gave him a sitting ovation. His comments must have been devastating because Tommy seemed to be willing me both his decorations.

I turned to the interpreter. 'Translatez-vous, s'il vous plait.' He was clearly embarrassed.

'I want to know exactly what he said… it's time Duke Street provided accurate transcripts.'

This didn't go down too well with those who spoke English.

He looked at me apologetically. 'The colonel accuses you of trying to deceive us. He says you cannot have broken Scapin's code in the way you have said.'

God bless the bastard. He's given me my cue.

'Pourquoi not?' I demanded indignantly.

'He says our messages to Scapin were enchiffre on different keys, and that the method you showed us does not apply. He says you didn't break his code at all, and that Colonel Brook took it from his safe.'

There was a chorus of approval at what they took to be my embarrassment.

'Please tell the colonel he is absolutely right. I have been trying to deceive you. It's a relief to admit it…'

There was a chorus of surprised approval. I avoided looking at Tommy.

'… but I haven't deceived you in the way you think…' I pointed to the blackboard. 'That isn't the French code you've broken, it's the British. Votre code is an even bigger fuck-up.'

Ignoring the gasps of astonishment, I turned the blackboard round. They found themselves looking at two more messages, one on top of the other like those they'd just dealt with.

I knew they were code-saturated but couldn't stop now. I explained that these messages really were in Scapin's code, and had been needed on the same transposition keys, and made them an offer:

'Si vous voulez, I'll show you how to break them on different keys but I'd have to keep you here a week.'

They didn't seem to relish the prospect, and reluctantly agreed to call out some suggestions when I en-pried them to break their own code.

Anxious to save time, I told them that cryptographers always searched messages for well-known names, and asked if there were famous Frenchmen they might find mentioned.

'General de Gaulle' was called out from all round the room, with Passy a close second. Beneath GENERAL DE GAULLE some significant letters appeared:

GENERAL DE GAULLE

GIR

Someone called out 'Giraud' (de Gaulle's arch-rival in France who was favoured by the Americans) and a storm of booing broke out, accompanied by a few Gallic raspberries.

Ten minutes later they'd cracked both messages, and like most who played the parlour-game were unable to conceal their sense of accomplishment.

Feering that I was about to risk far worse than booing, I approached the real purpose of my visit. 'This is the code we now give your agents…' I whipped a WOK from my pocket.

'A good code too,' someone called out.

'Don't take my word for it. Talk to one of your own cryptographers—you've plenty of good ones. Ask him whether it wouldn't be safer for you to use the British code for your secret messages than the one you've just broken. Je vous en prie to talk to him quickly for the sake of your agents.'

This put the chat amongst the pigeons more than anything else I'd said. Excited conversations broke out all round the room, and I noticed Valois whispering to a naval captain sitting in judgement beside him. The captain nodded and held up his hand. 'I have a question, please…'

'Je vous en prie,' I replied, hoping it meant what I thought it did.

He seemed in no hurry to ask it, and his colleagues waited in respectful silence while I dangled from the yardarm.

'If we use the British code for our messages, could the British read them?'

'Oui, mon capitaine, at any time. Mais jamais les Boches.'

This was greeted by what sounded like applause, though it was so long since I'd heard any that I couldn't be sure, and questions started coming from all directions. I turned to the interpreter to help with the answers.

'Your English-French will do,' someone called out.

An authoritative voice then took over. 'I too have a question for Monsieur Marks, which I hope he will answer honestly.'