Page 14 of Whispers At Dawn
‘Are you clear on your cover story?’ Val asked between sips of gin and tonic. ‘This time it’s two cover stories to coordinate, so it’s vital you memorise every detail of both your backgrounds.’
Lizzie needed to keep a clear head and opted for a fruit drink that didn’t taste at all fruity. She wouldn’t sleep in a bed until at least the following night in Toulouse, and that was only if things went according to plan. She stopped her thoughts from spiralling into the other grim possibilities. There was no point going there or she would be frozen with fear.
It was difficult to relax at the safe house, which was a cold, sparsely furnished flat in a tall Victorian building. Lizzie wandered about, feeling like she’d broken into a stranger’s home, and they might return at any second. She didn’t get much rest and was grateful when Jack pulled up outside at midnight and beeped his horn.
Lizzie exited the building, clutching her small French-made case, and Jack jumped out of the car to open the door forher. The summer’s night held a chill wind and Lizzie shivered, grateful for her raincoat.
‘I’d better not kiss you in case we’re being watched,’ Lizzie murmured.
‘It’s unlikely, because we’re stretched so thin, but you never know, I suppose. I shall claim my outstanding kiss later.’
Lizzie touched his arm. His presence made her feel better and her nerves settled.
Jack squeezed her hand before pulling away smoothly. ‘How was it in there?’ he asked after a few minutes of companionable silence as the car navigated the quiet, dark streets.
‘Strange,’ Lizzie said. ‘The waiting is always tough.’
‘True. I would much have preferred for you to come back to the flat with me, but Val organised the safe house.’
‘Me too. She meant well. Val doesn’t know I spend at least three nights a week at your place. I shall have to make sure she never gets the chance to discuss my comings and goings with my mother.’
Jack’s deep laugh rumbled through the car, the familiar sound comforting Lizzie. ‘There would be some serious gaps in your schedule.’
Jack drove the car out of London and along eerie country lanes towards their departure point.
‘Usual airfield?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Yes.’
Lizzie had flown out of England from the same top-secret airfield on every mission. She still didn’t know its official name or location, other than it was somewhere in the Bedfordshire countryside.
‘I don’t know about confusing the Germans in the event of invasion, but the lack of road signs certainly confuses the heck out of me,’ Lizzie remarked.
‘That’s the idea.’
Jack had drummed it into her during her training, the less agents knew, the better, in case they were captured and interrogated.
‘Bloody Hitler has had more than enough success bombing the hell out of us, without pointing him to our airfields used for special operations.’
Soon they turned off the road and stopped at a barrier. The soldier on guard recognised Jack, and he waved them through after a brief security check.
By now, Lizzie’s heart was drumming fast, and memories of previous flights swirled around her mind. She knew the drill, she reminded herself.
‘You alright?’ Jack murmured as they pulled up near ahut.
Lizzie nodded. ‘A bit nervous. You?’
‘It’s only natural. Won’t be long now and we’ll be on our way.’
Lizzie recalled Jack telling her to greet nerves as an old friend. They were her mind’s way of preparing her for potential danger.
The sergeant offered them a cup of tea, which had become something of a pre-flight routine for Lizzie,and she accepted the steaming enamel mug gratefully as she reflected on the day’s events.
A costume and props specialist had kitted them out that morning and Lizzie had checked her bag, clothes and pockets repeatedly, almost obsessively. English pocket litter, as they called it in spycraft, could get them killed. If they were caught by the Germans, or even searched by French Vichy police, something as seemingly innocuous as a London bus ticket would scream British special agent.
Lizzie observed Jack as he chatted amiably with the soldier,as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be hurled from a tiny plane into the French skies in the middle of the night.
Jack was so confident, Lizzie thought. She wished she could be that calm under duress and she took several deep breaths to steady herself. Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her raincoat. To distract herself and pass the time, she sipped her tea and thought about the clothes the head seamstress of the SOE French fashion department had kitted her out with.
