THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel (33 page)

“Ummm....”

“Perhaps there's a way out. We could send him to Winnipeg—a tour of duty as an instructor in the advanced fighter training program. His English is more than adequate. He'd be a natural... so much combat experience.”

“Sounds great. How soon could he be off?”

“As soon as he's healthy. We have a plane leaving Scotland once or twice a week. They fly pilots back to Gander, where they pick up more bombers to ferry back across the Atlantic.”

“Let me know when he's gone.”

Phipps picked up the phone to call Anna, but then decided he had better think about it. After a moment, he replaced the phone in its cradle.

It was times like this he didn't much like his job.

Y
vonne wished she could do more for her friend, who was in obvious pain. She asked Anna to drop by her office to chat; they would have more privacy in her room than in Hut 6.

When Anna arrived, Yvonne was out; apparently she had been called away on some urgent matter. A note, in Yvonne's distinctive scrawl, was stuck to the door: Anna was to go in and wait. As she stepped into her old office, memories came flooding back—particularly that musty smell from the ancient carpet. But Yvonne had made some changes. Papers were stacked even higher on the desk, and a second desk was snuggled into the corner; it too was piled high with neat stacks of papers. Anna began to wander around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall. Most showed Yvonne's family during the happy days before the war. Several men in uniform gazed calmly down from their frames. They all seemed so young!

The door to Denniston's office was slightly ajar, and, as Anna walked by, she was about to close it. She stopped short when she heard a heated discussion in the next room.

“... completely out of the question. They spent several years in Vichy France.”

“But this is idiotic. Rejewski has a marvelously original mind. He figured out the internal wiring of Enigma rotors. And he developed the first code-cracking machine back in prewar Poland. Zygalski provided us with a wealth of information just before the war started.”

“The answer is no. When they left Poland, they chose France, not Britain.”

“Not true. Not true.” Denniston's voice was rising. “They went straight to the British embassy in Romania; they offered us their services. The boneheads in the embassy turned them away, asking them to come back later. The French treated them like royalty. What were they supposed to do? Let the police chase them all over Romania while the nincompoops at the Foreign Office shuffled papers?”

“Sorry. MI5 won't give them clearance.”

“Don't those idiots realize how much the Poles went out of their way to help us?” Denniston's visitor was apparently from MI5; Denniston was so angry that he apparently didn't care if he was insulting his guest. “Even after they went to France, they met with Turing to help with the design of his machine. Rejewski would be invaluable in developing new machines. They're urgently needed.”

“Sorry, but there's a blanket rule:
no
top security clearances for anyone who voluntarily stayed in Vichy France. MI5 has already assigned them to work on codebreaking.”

“What? What? They can work on codebreaking? You mean they can come here, even without clearances?” Denniston was confused.

“No. No. That's not what I said. They'll be working on lower-level ciphers, not the Enigma. They're attached to the Polish Army, and won't be anywhere near Bletchley Park.”

“Low-level ciphers? This is crazy. You're putting brain surgeons to work dissecting frogs.”

“Sorry. The answer is no. The decision's final.” Alastair's visitor showed no signs of anger; he was cool but firm.

“I can't accept that.”

“Too bad. You'll have to. And don't don't think you can run around MI5 to the PM. We'll block you. Before you do anything, think about it.... Do you really want to go to war with us?” As the visitor ended the conversation, there was a threatening edge in his voice.

Anna jumped; she was startled by Yvonne entering the room. Anna pretended that she was still doing the rounds, looking at pictures. Yvonne pretended not to notice. But she filed one more thing away in her mental “to do” file. When the occasion arose, she would repeat the warning to Anna: she was not to contact Poles, even in Britain, without checking first with security.

“We haven't had much chance to talk lately. You've had a tough time,” Yvonne said softly.

“Sorry; I guess I've been moping. But two men in one month. It's just too much. Kaz was the real blow. We hardly had any marriage at all—only six weeks. I really don't know how I felt about Ryk. When we were together, Kaz was always between us. But now.... ”

“I wouldn't give up on Ryk. Lots of pilots are picked up from the sea.”

“But after ten days? The North Sea's not exactly a swimming pool. Even if he ditched and got into a raft without getting soaked, he wouldn't be able to survive this long.” Her tears began to well up, as she thought of Ryk's slow death in the frigid waters. Maybe he had been lucky enough to be killed outright when his plane crashed.

“He may already have been picked up, and Phipps not informed. You know how sloppy things can get.”

“Yeah, but not that sloppy…. Maybe I should run around Phipps to Fighter Command, to see if I can get any information directly.”

“I wouldn't. Phipps would undoubtedly find out. You know how he is about contacts with the outside world. Particularly after your little love-note.”

Yvonne wished she hadn't said that; it wasn't very kind. After a few moments of frosty silence, an odd half-smile crossed her face. She walked toward her desk, closing Alastair's door as casually as she could manage. Puzzled, Anna looked at her friend and waited. Yvonne took a deep breath, then spoke in hushed tones.

“I'm not supposed to tell you, but Ryk was picked up the morning after he was shot down.”

“What? And Phipps knew?” Anna couldn't believe it.

“Yes. Found out the same day.”

“Oh!… And how long have
you
known?” There was an accusing edge in Anna's voice.

“Only two days. But I was ordered not to tell you.”

“Why the hell not, if I might ask?”

“They wanted to get Ryk out of Britain before they told you. They didn't want you to contact him. He left on a plane for Canada this morning. When Phipps gets back from London tomorrow, I'm sure he'll tell you first thing.”

“That bastard!”

“Do me a favor. When he tells you, be sure to act surprised.” Yvonne paused. “I don't want to end up in Siberia with you.”

“The Yukon, you mean.”

“Sorry. Shouldn't joke about such things with someone from Eastern Europe.”

They sat there without saying anything for a few minutes. Anna was taking stock.

“You know,” she finally said, “I wonder if I've done everything I can to find out about Kaz—to find out if anybody really knows if he's dead or alive.”

“I'm not sure how you'd do that. We can't exactly send a message to the Kremlin, asking them if they murdered Kaz.”

“I meant”—there was a touch of exasperation in Anna's voice—“I haven't turned over all the stones here in Britain.”

“But you were with me when we got Pickersgill to check—and recheck—the Eighth Army's list of Poles who got out with Anders.”

“But that's not the only way people got out.... Me, for example.”

“So what we need to do is check, not just with the British Army, but with someone who might keep track of all the Poles who got out—and maybe even Poles who escaped captivity but are still in Poland. Sounds like the government in exile.”

“Exactly. But Phipps will go round the bend if I call the Polish government. We'll have to do it through channels.”

“Let's do it right away. With Phipps still in London, we can go to Pickersgill. He's more likely to be cooperative.”

Pickersgill was. As soon as the two women had explained what they wanted, he picked up the phone and had his secretary put through a call to Col. Mikolaj at the Polish government offices in London.

“Hello, Col. Mikolaj, this is Commander Hew Pickersgill, with British Intelligence. I'd like to get some information. Would you like me to leave my number, so you can check and call me back?”

“Depends on what the information is. Try me.” Pickersgill was the only one to hear the reply; the two women had to guess what was going on from just one side of the conversation.

“Could you see if you have any information on a Kazimierz Jankowski? At the beginning of the war, I believe he was a Lieutenant”—he glanced over to Anna, who nodded. “In the seventh cavalry”—Anna nodded again.

“Might I ask the reason for this request?”

“Very simple. His wife works with me, and she's trying to find out what happened to him. Do you think you could track down information on him?”

“Yes, it might be possible.” Mikolaj paused for dramatic effect. “In fact, he works with us. On the second floor of this building. Shall I try to get hold of him, and call you right back?”

“That would be splendid.” Pickersgill gave him the number and hung up.

He wondered if he should tell Anna. But why spoil the surprise? He said simply, “Col. Mikolaj thinks that he might be able to find some record. If he does, he'll call back.”

Pickersgill didn't want to miss the moment; he decided to keep the two women in his office for half an hour or more, if necessary. “Perhaps I might be more helpful to Mikolaj if we had details—when you last had contact with your husband, and what you've done to try to locate him. Of course, I recall the contacts with the Eighth Army.”

There was little additional information that Anna could add; she talked about his interests, what sort of people he might contact if he escaped.

M
ikolaj sent down a message for Kaz to come up to see him. Right away. The answer came back, he can't. He's in a meeting with Sikorsky; John Winant, the U.S. Ambassador to the United Kingdom; and Averell Harriman, Roosevelt's special envoy to Moscow. Too bad, replied Mikolaj; I need him right now. And I mean,
at once
.

“This had better be important,” said Kaz, arriving out of breath. Apparently he had come up the stairs two at a time.

“It is. Someone wants to talk to you.” Mikolaj picked up the phone and asked his secretary to return Pickersgill's call.

“On the phone? You interrupted me for
that
? Who the hell is it? Winston Churchill?”

“Somebody more important,” said Mikolaj with an enigmatic smile. “Much more important.”

“Hello? Commander Pickersgill? This is Mikolaj returning your call. Major Jankowski is here. Would you please put your party on?” He handed Kaz the phone.

“This is Jankowski,” said Kaz, somewhat irritably in spite of himself.

“Kaz? Oh Kaz, darling.”

Kaz turned his back. He didn't want Mikolaj to see his tears.

F
irst thing next morning, Phipps was walking down the hall toward his office as he arrived back at work. He met Anna.

“I've got great news. Ryk was picked up. He's alive and well. He…”

“That's nice,” Anna interrupted, smiled slightly, stepped around Phipps and went on down the hall.

Phipps looked after her. I
never
will understand women.

He soon had an explanation. When he got to his office, Pickersgill came across the hall to give him the news: Anna's husband was alive. In London. He had arranged two weeks leave, and Pickersgill had given her the two weeks off, too. She would be out of the office, starting at noon.

“Two weeks? Without checking with me? That's a bit nervy,” thought Phipps, and began to scowl. Then, in spite of himself, he broke into a smile.

21
A Regiment of Troops

One good spy is worth a regiment of troops.
Sun-tzu, Chinese general and strategist, fourth century B.C.

B
efore leaving for her two-week vacation, Anna spent the last morning working on her cover story, the story she would tell Kaz. She would be seeing him regularly—whenever he could get away from the army—and Phipps insisted that she keep her work secret from him. Phipps wanted to know what she would tell him.

It had to be good. She was unnerved by Phipps' reaction to her note to Ryk, even though she was trying to forget that she had ever written it. Yvonne came to her aid once more.

Yvonne was in a similar situation. Her new husband, Harry, was a Lieutenant in the Navy, but did manage to get back home from time to time. Luckily, her elderly parents were living in the nearby village of Milton Keynes, about five miles north of Bletchley Park, approximately half way between BP and an RAF communications center. Yvonne had an obvious pretext to live in the village: she was there in case her parents needed help. And—so her story went—she was working at the RAF station.

The security officer at the station was in on the plot, or at least the part he needed to know. Harry was given his telephone number. If Harry called, the security officer would say she was busy. The officer would then call Phipps, who would have Yvonne get in touch with Harry. Other than saying that she worked at the RAF station, Yvonne was to be vague. Her work was classified, and Harry was not the sort to pry.

Yvonne suggested that Anna share her flat; lodgings were exceedingly scarce. She could also share the cover story. It would fit nicely with her earlier work for the “Air Force Meteorology Project.” Yvonne would be happy to move out—back to her parents' home—for the next two weeks. In fact, she said with a smile, she would move out whenever Kaz could arrange a leave. When Harry arrived—well, they'd have time to talk about that later.

Kaz would meet Anna at the one and only village pub for dinner at six o'clock, scarcely time for her to get her things moved into Yvonne's flat and make it look as though she had been living there for some time. She got to the pub and took a place at a table in a dark corner, facing the door. It will, she thought, be interesting to watch his expression as he glances around the pub, looking for me.