"That would be true under your scenario as well, Sir Basil. I'm afraid it's a risk we're going to have to take. But Jordan will never be alone with her or anyone else for a second. As of now he is under round-the-clock surveillance. Wherever he goes, we go. If we see or hear anything we don't like, we move in, arrest Catherine Blake, and do it your way."
Boothby nodded. "Do you think Jordan can pull it off? After all, he just told us he was in love with this woman. She betrayed him. I don't think he's going to be in any condition to continue carrying on a romantic relationship with her."
"Well, he simply has to," Vicary said. "He's the one who got us into this damned mess, and he's the only one who can get us out. It's not as though we could move the chairs around and slip a professional in there. They chose him. No one else will do. They'll believe what they see in Jordan's briefcase."
Churchill looked at Eisenhower. "General?"
Eisenhower crushed out his cigarette, thinking for a moment, and then said, "If there's truly no other way to do it, I support the professor's plan. General Betts and I will make certain you have the necessary support from SHAEF to make it work."
"Then it's done," Churchill said. "And God help us if it doesn't work."
"My name is Vicary, by the way, Alfred Vicary. This is Harry Dalton--he works with me. And this gentleman is Sir Basil Boothby. He's in charge."
It was early the next morning, an hour after dawn. They were walking a narrow footpath through the trees--Harry a few paces ahead, like a scout, Vicary and Jordan side by side, Boothby looming over them from behind. The rain had stopped during the night, but the sky was still thick with cloud. The nickeled winter light bleached all color from the trees and the hills. A gauze of fog covered the ground in the low spots, and the air smelled of woodsmoke from the fires burning inside the house. Jordan's gaze settled briefly on each of them as they were introduced, but he did not offer his hand. Both remained jammed in the pockets of the jacket that had been left in his room, along with a pair of woolen trousers and a heavy country sweater.
They moved along the path in silence for a time, like old schoolmates walking off a heavy breakfast. The cold felt like a nail in Vicary's knee. He walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, head down as if looking for a lost object. The trees broke and the Thames appeared before them. A pair of wooden benches stood on the bank. Harry sat on one, Vicary and Jordan on the other. Boothby remained standing.
Vicary explained to Jordan what they wanted him to do. Jordan listened without looking at anyone. He sat motionless, hands still in his pockets, legs stretched out before him, gaze fixed on some obscure point on the surface of the river. When Vicary finished, Jordan said, "Find some other way to do it. I'm not up to it. You'd be a fool to use me."
"Believe me, Commander Jordan. If there were some other way to reverse the damage that's been done, I'd do it. But there isn't. You must do this. You owe it to us. You owe it to all the men who will risk their lives trying to storm the beaches of Normandy." He paused a moment and followed Jordan's gaze onto the water. "And you owe it to yourself, Commander Jordan. You made a terrible mistake. Now you have to help repair the damage."
"Is that supposed to be a pep talk?"
"No, I don't believe in pep talks. It's the truth."
"How long will it last?"
"As long as necessary."
"You're not answering my question."
"That's right. It could be six days or six months. We just don't know. This isn't an exact science. But I will end it as soon as I can. On that you have my word."
"I didn't think the truth counted for much in your line of work, Mr. Vicary."
"Not usually. But it will in this case."
"What about my work on Operation Mulberry?"
"You'll go through the motions of being an active member of the team, but the truth is you're finished." Vicary stood up. "We should get back to the house, Commander Jordan. We have a few papers for you to sign before we leave."
"What sort of papers?"
"Oh, just something that binds you to never breathe a word of this for the rest of your life."
Jordan turned away from the river and finally looked at Vicary.
"Believe me, you don't need to worry about that."
38
RASTENBURG, GERMANY
Kurt Vogel was fussing with his collar. He was wearing his Kriegsmarine uniform for the first time in longer than he could remember. It fit before the war but Vogel, like almost everyone else, had lost weight. Now his tunic hung on him like prison pajamas.