Page 17 of Tides of Resistance
‘And Lizzie is presumably the one to find out what that is?’
‘Exactly,’ Val said. She jumped out of the car and threw the keys to the hovering member of staff, who smiled and caught them without missing a beat.
CHAPTER 10
St. Malo, Occupied France
Lizzie clutched onto the granite ledge while she caught her breath. She shivered, searching for a spot to pull herself up out of the water. The surface was slippery with seaweed and barnacles, and she struggled to get purchase. The trainer’s voice replayed in her head, reminding her that her life depended on getting warm quickly.
Her hand shook as she checked her watch, and the luminous dial told her she had been in the water too long. Lizzie pulled herself up onto the ledge using every bit of strength so she wouldn’t slip back into the inhospitable waters.
Chill night winds blew in off the sea, and she shivered more violently. Darkness was both her friend and her enemy, so she must move fast. Panting on the ledge, she stumbled to her feet, gripped the rocky surface of the granite wall and slowly edged along until her toes sunk into a bed of gritty pebbles.
She paused to recover from the ordeal of the treacherous swim. Then, by the whispery light of the moon, Lizzie picked her way across the pebbled cove, avoiding salty rock poolsand debris in the silver night. The cove looked eerie, and she wondered how many other courageous souls had traversed this hidden haven by moonlight. St. Malo was known for its jagged, granite coastline, and her plan was to find a cave to change in, out of the line of sight of the harbour.
She fumbled to extract her torch from the small pouch still strapped to her trembling wet body, and shone it tentatively, praying the patrol wouldn’t spot the thin stream of light. Lizzie’s senses spun when she saw two prominent boulders amidst the cluster of rocks that she had headed towards from the submarine. Up close they were much larger, and relief spiralled through her when she recognised the spot.
The SOE team, headed by Val, had said her local knowledge would be invaluable. Lizzie’s knowledge of the St. Malo coastline was one reason she had been selected for this mission, and it could mean the difference between success and failure in infiltrating the occupied city to extract critical war-winning intelligence.
Her eyes lit upon a dark opening sheltered by overhanging rock. She edged slowly towards the sea cave, her chest hammering so hard it took her mind off her cold, shaking body.
The torch revealed a rusted smuggler's ring in the granite next to the entrance of a small cave. She ran her fingers over the ring; wanting to be certain her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her in the silvery light.
Just as she was congratulating herself that she had made it through the most hazardous part of the journey, she slipped on a patch of wet seaweed on the mossy rock. Her feet flew out from beneath her, and she tumbled onto the hard layers of weathered granite, forged over thousands of years of pounding tides.
Ouch.
Lizzie bit her lip to stop herself from exclaiming aloud. The bare skin on her ankle stung, and she touched it. There wasblood on her finger when she held it under the torchlight, but she pushed on and scrambled into the inky-black cave. There was no time for dithering. She must somehow find her way into the city undetected before the twinkling stars faded from the sky and the crescent moon melted away, leaving twilight to reveal her movements to the enemy.
She set the torch on a rock and groped for the thin towel, more the size of a flannel, inside her kit. Peeling off her soaking wet undergarments took some effort, and she dabbed at her skin that was coated in goosebumps. Lizzie reached for her tiny flask and took a couple of sips of brandy. The burning sensation rushed through her throat and chest and revived her. The swim trainer had insisted medicinal alcohol was a necessity in these conditions and worth adding to her kit. She would thank him one day.
If she got the chance.
Lizzie’s eyes scanned the interior of the cave by torchlight as she hastily undid the straps and removed her sodden backpack. It was a relief to be free of the dripping weight, and she set it to one side. She wrung out her sodden hair with her hands and rubbed the towel over it, then dressed swiftly in her dry clothes, already feeling warmer.
During idyllic family picnics at this little cove, the Beaumont cousins would splash and play in the warm rock pools at low tide, searching for pretty shells for their treasure hunt game. Uncle Charles told them wonderful adventure stories about corsairs and smugglers who stashed their loot in the caves. Now she addedspecial agentto the region’s rich history of sheltering those seeking refuge.
A vision of those joyful, carefree days floated into Lizzie’s mind, and her spirits rallied at the thought of seeing her dear cousins again. The fierce tidal conditions and the sound of the waves bashing against the sharp granite rocks beyond the caveformed a different picture, and she shook her head to bring herself back to the task at hand.
The cave was small, and the ground too uneven for proper exercise, so instead she swung her arms around and moved her legs vigorously to generate heat. It was working, and she gathered her strength.
Lizzie stood in the cave exit and let the wind blow-dry her damp hair. The cool night winds whipped into her face, bracing her for the challenges that lay ahead. Then she retrieved her small comb and French wooden hairpins, procured by the SOE wardrobe department. It was critical that she transform herself from a bedraggled maritime arrival into an ordinary-looking young French woman. Lizzie combed her black tresses and expertly rolled her hair into a simple chignon, securing it with pins at the nape of her neck. It was a timeless style that served her goal to blend in even if she had the misfortune to be questioned by German soldiers as she crossed the city by night.
The SOE had prepared her for every eventuality, and despite the terror bubbling in her chest, she was almost ready to begin the next stage of her mission.
An inner calm descended over her like a cloak of armour. Jack said that her ability to tap into this feeling had saved her life more than once. ‘Never doubt it, darling. Always trust your gut and act without delay when it gives you the sign.’
Lizzie sighed. Jack would be back in London soon, and she was certain he would be seething they had sent her in without liaising with him first. He was her commanding officer—her protector—her Raven. He wouldn’t take it lightly that they had left him out of the chain of command. Of that much, she was certain.
Lizzie leant against the granite wall and ran over her cover story for the hundredth time, moving her lips slightly as she repeated the words she had rehearsed with Val.
Then she gathered her wet gear, the waterproof pouches and, with some regret, the nifty flask that had contained the lifesaving brandy. A young woman would be unlikely to carry a flask, and it just wasn’t worth the risk. She poked about at the back of the cave, shining the torch to find the hidey-holes her cousins had used to keep their stuff safe whilst they swam. She slipped the contraband items that could sign her death warrant between thick layers of rock. If she needed them again, she could retrieve them, but if not, they would be hidden as the tides swept in and out relentlessly through the annals of time.
Lizzie wore appropriate canvas shoes—leather was a luxury of the past—and she touched the simple brass cross pendant around her neck like a good luck charm. Silver or gold would have long been bartered in exchange for food and supplies, or hidden from the occupiers by those who could afford to keep it.
Her cyanide tablet nestled inside.
The noise of a crackling radio cut through the hypnotic sound of the waves, and Lizzie stiffened, her heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her. She killed the light of the torch and crept towards the entrance of the cave, using the wall for support. All she could see was the endless expanse of the Channel gleaming beneath the dark, glittering sky with the low-hanging crescent moon. It was a pretty scene, but fear gripped Lizzie’s throat, and she breathed deeply to calm herself. There was no place for panic in an agent’s life if they wanted to live to see tomorrow.
