Eleanor
London, 1944
Eleanor sat at her desk in Norgeby House, poring over the old transmissions.
She was still reeling over the awful truth about the radio being compromised. There was still no word about Julian or Marie. She studied the past messages from Vesper circuit, looking for more signs of the breach and trying to assess the damage that might have been done. How could she have let this happen? Protecting the girls was everything, her life’s work. Yet she had failed them, just as surely as she had failed her sister decades earlier.
Rubbing her eyes, she stood and walked into the radio room. The operators were sitting more quietly than usual, the clacking of a lone wireless set the only sound.
“Is everything all right?” she asked Jane. The question was a foolish one; Jane had taken the compromise of Marie’s radio every bit as hard as Eleanor herself. The girl looked pale and drawn from the long hours of waiting and worrying since the false transmission that purported to be from Marie.
Jane shook her head. “Margaret didn’t broadcast as scheduled.”
“Nor has Maureen,” another operator chimed in.
“Perhaps there’s a problem with the transmissions,” she said, wanting to comfort them. But the words hung hollow in the air. Something larger was amiss.
Eleanor started down the street for the Director’s office, bypassing his secretary and not bothering to knock. “Sir?”
The Director raised his eyebrows. “Trigg? Come in. I was just about to come see you.” This seemed odd when he had not summoned her; in fact, he had not expected her at all.
“Two more radios have gone silent.”
He pursed his lips beneath his moustache, but did not seem surprised. “There have been rumors of more arrests outside Paris.” Eleanor’s stomach twisted. “Two agents taken at a safe house outside Paris. Others to the east and south.”
It was not just the destruction of the bridge that had set off the wave of arrests, she knew. Although the detonations had set off the round of reprisals that had come swiftly in its wake, it was more than that. Kriegler and the SD seemed to suddenly know all too well where to find the agents they were seeking. They must have been playing along for months, Eleanor suspected, letting the agents operate as long as the radio ruse had worked. Once they knew that they had been detected, the Germans had nothing more to lose. They had taken the gloves off, acted on the intelligence that they had amassed and began a dragnet to catch all of the agents. Though there had been no word of Marie or Julian, it seemed inevitable that they had been taken as well.
“Were the arrested agents men or women?” she asked.
“Maybe both,” the Director replied. “I don’t have the names yet.” With sinking dread, Eleanor felt certain that Margaret and Maureen would be among them.
“Sir, we have to do something.” They had sent word to all of the circuits in France, telling them to go to ground. It wasn’t enough. The agents should have been recalled; Eleanor had demanded it. But it was just days before the invasion, and they were not about to start a mass evacuation that would raise questions.
“We are going to do something.” He paused. “We’re bringing them home as you suggested.” Things must be very bad if they were actually going through with the withdrawal of agents. “Orders to extract those that remain have already been sent.” Eleanor felt as though she had been slapped. Why hadn’t those orders been sent through her? “It will take a bit longer than we hoped,” he added.
“How long?” she demanded. Another week and there might not be any agents left at all.
“I don’t know. Will Rourke, the pilot who organized Moon Squadron, has gone missing. There’s word of a plane shot down over Brittany, which might be his. But we’ll get them home as quickly as possible.”
Relief flooded Eleanor, quickly replaced by confusion. “All of the agents?”
He shook his head. “Just the girls. They’re shutting you down.” You, she noticed. Not us. “I’m afraid they’re writing off the women’s unit as a failed experiment.”
Failed experiment. Eleanor seethed at the words. The girls had done great things, accomplished their missions, done everything that was asked of them. No, the failure was not the girls, or even the agents, but headquarters.
Eleanor’s brain screamed with disbelief. “But the invasion is just days away. Surely our work there is more important than ever.”
“The circuits are being regrouped, in some cases eliminated. The work will be done by the men.”
“Have you accounted for all of them?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “The girls, I mean.”
“All but twelve.” The number was so much larger than she had anticipated. He handed her a piece of paper with the names. Josie was on it, Marie, too. Twelve of her girls were still missing.
And it was in no small part her own fault. Bringing women into F Section had been her idea in the first place. Eleanor had recruited those girls, overseen their training and personally deployed them to Occupied Europe. And she had seen that there were problems, yet failed to insist that more be done. No, she alone was responsible for those who went missing and would never return.
“There are men missing, too,” he pointed out.
“Yes, of course.” Eleanor swatted at the argument she had heard a dozen times. “But the men have commissions. And they are to be treated as POWs if captured.” It was not that she didn’t care about the men. But they had army titles, ranks—and the protections of the Geneva Convention. The government would look for them. Remember them. Not her girls.
“I have to go see for myself what went wrong on the ground.”
“You mean to find the girls? I’m afraid that is quite impossible.”
“But, sir, a dozen are still missing,” she protested. “We can’t simply give up.”
He lowered his voice. “Eleanor, you must stop asking about the girls. There will be repercussions for yourself and for others. You have much to lose right now. And if not for yourself, you have to let it go for the families of the girls. You know as well as I do that if the Germans have caught them, they are likely gone. Your questions will only bring their families more pain.”
The Director picked up his pipe. “The investigation is classified, and being handled at the highest levels.” That, Eleanor knew, was a lie. If anyone at all was looking for the girls, they would have come and spoken to her. No, the matter had been shelved at the highest levels. “There is simply no need for you to know,” he added, before she could call him on it.
“No need?” Her voice was incredulous. They were her girls. She had recruited them, sent them over. “So you’re ordering me to stop looking for them?” she asked with disbelief.
“It’s more than that. The women’s unit has ended. Your position has been eliminated.”
“I’m being transferred then? Where am I to go?”
He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “I’m afraid we’ve been ordered to downsize.” He spoke stiffly now, as if reading words from a document he had not himself written. “We are grateful for your service, but I regret to inform you that your tenure at SOE has ended.”
She stared at him blankly. “Surely this is a mistake.” She had been with SOE for months—no, years—before the women’s unit was founded. They could not be getting rid of her now.
“We have no choice. You’ve been given thirty minutes to gather your personal belongings.” She searched for words, found none. Her insides burned white-hot with anger. She stood and fled his office, starting back down the stairs to Norgeby House.
Eleanor went to her desk and started stacking files, pulling the photos of the girls who were missing and slipping them into her bag. She knew she did not have much time. A moment later, the Director appeared in the doorway. “I’ll see you out,” he said. She reached for another file, but he stilled her hand. “Leave everything as it is.” She understood then why he had followed her. “You’re to take your personal belongings only. No papers,” he added, seeming to know before she did herself that she would not stop looking for the girls. A plan began to form in her mind.
“I can manage myself. You don’t have to stay,” she offered, hoping to buy a few minutes alone here to gather what she needed.
“We have orders to see you out,” he said, awkwardness creeping into his voice. She stopped with surprise, her hand hovering midair. In just moments, her whole world had been turned upside down. She searched his face, looking for answers, or at least some sign of the mentor she thought she knew. But his eyes were blank.
She turned away blindly. “I have to organize the files.” The thought of turning over her papers in less than perfect order was unthinkable.
“It isn’t necessary,” he added. “The military will be coming and packing everything up.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Where are they taking it?”
He did not answer. She noticed then a military police officer standing at the door of her office, waiting to escort her out and make sure she left. Something inside her hardened. She was being cast out like a foreign invader from the very place she had created.
She stepped away from the desk, trembling with rage. The Director held out papers to her. “This is for you. They came through yesterday.” Her citizenship papers—the one thing she had always wanted. They seemed now a sorry consolation prize for the girls she had lost. She pushed them back at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then she was dismissed.