“But at least F-Section knows now.”
He blinked. “The truth is, there was nothing sinister about their not acting on the absence of security checks, just amateurish incompetence.”
Maggie remembered Gaskell’s ordering her to fetch his tea while dismissing her safety concerns. She leaned forward, frowning. “But they know now, yes? The Sicherheitsdienst has control of Hugh Thompson’s radio. If they don’t know, they’ll just send agents into a certain death trap.”
“They don’t know. And we’re not going to enlighten them. At this juncture of the war, it’s what we want—no, need—to do.”
Maggie wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Colonel Martens—Henrik—I don’t understand.”
“I think you do, Maggie.”
Maggie gnawed at her lip. “No—we need to tell Colonel Gaskell—inform him of everything that’s happened and alert him that he needs to disregard anything and everything coming from Hugh’s—Agent Thompson’s—radio. Immediately!”
“Not so fast. We have an incredible intelligence opportunity here.”
“What?”
Martens went to the desk, picking up a framed official photograph of a glowering Winston Churchill. “We’re playing a deadly game here, Maggie, and the odds are badly stacked against us. The endgame is the location and day of the Allied invasion. Already, we’re going about a slow and painstaking process to create disinformation. We need to use every tool we find, even if it’s one we stumble upon.” He put down the photograph and reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket for his pack of Player’s cigarettes. “Especially then.”
“I still don’t understand.”
Martens pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his teeth. “But I think you do.”
“No.”
He reached in another pocket for his lighter. “We don’t imprison Lebeau—or execute him. We send him back to Paris.” With a flick of his thumb, a bright flame appeared.
“No—”
Martens stuck the end of the cigarette into the flame, pulling on it until the tip glowed red. He waited a moment, then said thoughtfully, “It’s perfect. A double agent will become a triple. We’re going to turn Lebeau to our side. Then we’ll send him back to Paris, to continue just what he’s been doing.” He exhaled, returning the lighter to his pocket. “But this time we’ll know everything. He’ll be working for us.”
“But he’s not only photographing letters and documents. He’ll be turning over agents and their radios to the Sicherheitsdienst.”
“Exactly.”
Maggie was still at a loss.
“You know what I’m saying.” Martens gave Maggie a moment to absorb the idea. “Think about it—it will work. Lebeau will feed von Waltz and his cronies false information about the place and day of the invasion. In the meantime, any messages von Waltz starts sending via the captured agents will be quite revealing—his questions will become more expansive once we start to satisfy his greed for information. A patient process of listing, collating, and cross-referencing his messages will gradually reveal what our enemy already knows, as well as his preoccupations and priorities. We’ll be able to get a clearer picture of Sicherheitsdienst operations in France.”
“But that means—” Maggie protested. “Colonel Gaskell will never agree! You’re talking about”—she lowered her voice—“deliberately sacrificing agents.”
Martens didn’t blink. “We don’t tell Gaskell.”
“SOE in the dark? Gaskell as a stooge?” Maggie swallowed. “My God,” she exclaimed, realizing.
“You can see the endgame now, can’t you?”
Maggie constructed the formula aloud: “You’ll get information about what the Germans know from the messages they send back. And you’ll be able to plant false information about what we’re doing. About battle plans. About—” What’s the biggest secret of the war, Hope? Think! “About the Allied invasion.”
At the realization of the extent of the deception, she was breathless. “You’re going to let the Gestapo torture our agents and turn them, aren’t you? You and Bishop—sending agents over, like lambs to slaughter.” She thought for a moment. “They will know, though? You’ll tell the agents what will be expected of them before they go, yes? It will be their choice?”
“Think.”
She did and the realization made her ill. “No….They must be convinced the information they’re carrying is good. So, if they break under torture they won’t give away the game. That when they break under torture, they’ll reveal what you want them to—and not the truth about the invasion.” She sucked in a breath. “Good God—it’s like Kipling’s tethered goats. A blood sacrifice.”
“I have no qualms about exploiting a man and an agency that’s proven over and over again to be utterly incompetent—do you? Before this, SOE was a liability. Now we can use that ineptitude to our advantage.”
The silence between the two agents stretched. Finally, Maggie shook her head. “You’re condemning SOE’s F-Section agents to torture and death.”
Martens blew smoke out through his nostrils. “War is sacrifice,” he said, his voice harsh. “I sacrificed in Norway. We sacrificed at Dunkirk. We sacrificed at Coventry. We’re going to make sacrifices at Dieppe. It’s like sacrificing the queen in chess—”
“We’re talking about the lives of real people, not chess pieces!”
“A few lives to save millions and millions,” Martens said harshly. “We’re at war with a savage empire, people who are determined to debase and enslave and eradicate races, who slaughter and plunder with impunity. If they win, it’s the end of the world as we know it. Our survival overrides any moral consideration. They are waging total war, and so we must have total commitment to winning. As they say, ‘No country was ever saved by good men, because good men will not go to the length that may be necessary.’?”
He continued: “You see the logic—follow it to the very end. And then you’ll realize I’m right. We’ll run this as a church-mouse operation. Nothing on paper. No one will ever know.”
Maggie wasn’t ready to give up. “People will be killed!”
“People will be killed regardless. And in far greater numbers. If you can’t live with what we must do—all of it—consider the alternative. What will happen to us, to England, to the entire world, if the invasion fails?”
Maggie stared at him, speechless with horror.
“Before you decide to hate me, there’s something else you should know.” Martens took a manila folder out of his briefcase, the one Bishop had given him, and handed it over to her.
Maggie looked down at the first page:
Republic of Poland CAP
Ministry of Foreign Affairs
The Mass Extermination of Jews in Occupied Poland CAP
Addressed to the Governments of United Nations
“Read that,” Martens ordered. “Then ask yourself whether you still have issues with sacrificing a few individuals.”
Maggie began to read. As she turned the pages, certain words and phrases jumped out at her: extermination camps and cattle cars. Showers and Zyklon B gas. There was a photograph of a crematorium.
When she’d finished, her hands were shaking. “Genocide?” she said, putting it together. “The Germans want to…exterminate the Jews? It—it can’t be!”
Martens got up to retrieve the folder and return it to his briefcase. “I’m afraid so. In addition to everything else, this—an official extermination of the world’s Jewry, as well as the physically and mentally infirm, political prisoners, homosexuals, and gypsies—has begun in earnest in Eastern Europe.”
“Of course we knew things were bad, but…”
“The Allied governments will be making a statement and releasing this information soon. Then the whole world will know.”
“This is what we’re fighting.” Maggie said it softly. “For the success of the invasion and also because of…this.”
“Yes.”
“This is why you’re willing to sacrifice SOE agents.”
He sighed deeply. “Yes.”
“I feel sick.” She forced herself to take steady breaths, then looked up. “It’s going to work! That’s the worst part, isn’t it?”