Chapter XLI - Drive, And Keep Driving

24th of December 1938
4:20 PM
Oxford Street
London
United Kingdom

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Soaking wet it was, and it did not seem to stop any time soon either. But that was London for you, like this since the beginning of time.

He dove foot first into a deep puddle, the water splashing around his ankles and inside his ankled boot, the unpleasant feeling of cold water sticking to your skin jarring his senses as he looked into the distance. He expected a car to draw up any minute now, a long limousine sent by the office. Horace paced back and forth around the largely deserted main street of London city. Another car stopped just in front of him but a lady dressed in a long blue dress climbed out and ran inside a nearby building, visibly shaken by the downpour that sloshed through the streets. The car showed up moments later, a sleek Rolls Royce with a specialised plate and no visible markings. Horace climbed into the back seat and was greeted by a familiar face, the three-piece suit granting the man a very dignified demeanor.

"Lord Howe."

The old fox smiled to him from under his thin white mustache. "Horace, it's good to see you again."

Horace nodded. "Same with me Sire, hope all has been well in London."

"It was. I heard you did some interesting feats down in France in the past couple of days."

"Not really comfortable with those Sire, but I did what had to be done."

"Just two of them?"

Horace nodded. "Just two."

"That will be solved, not to worry. The French are in gratitude to you, I've gotten a dispatch this morning from the French embassy." Howe pulled out a paper from his jacket pocket as the car swayed rather wildly because of an unseen, water-clogged pothole. "Ah, London roads. So, this dispatch I have for you, is a token of gratitude, recommendation of a medal and it will almost guarantee you a good job in the next promotion period Horace. You've done well, very well."

Horace smiled thinly, the concern still evident. "Thank you, Sir."

"I see I do not manage to get you of your mood."

"The mission was difficult, Lord Howe." Horace paused, still unsure of the words to say to his superior. "Our French friends were very gracious, they took it the mission with utmost professionalism but some errors that they've made will cause a significant problem down the line for them and for us if we don't manage to put a lid on it. And fast."

"What problems, Horace?"

"They've missed their chance to get the leader of the intelligence group while he was there. They dabbled, discussed and tinkered with it, but when it came to the actual action, one of their senior officers, Reythier, was critically injured and they also failed to capture the rest of the men. Two of them were my action but the last one, the driver, escaped and was then shot in one of the actions by the military. Point is, any actionable intelligence they may have gathered was lost and with the failure to capture the leader we now risk some significant reprisals. This will be ugly."

"Do we know their leader?"

"Yes, Sire. We do. Personally. Closely. Call it what you want."

Howe looked with a grave expression to his intelligence officer. "Horace?"

"Remember Lord Beckett, Sir? You gave me the dossier on the brother of his mistress' husband. What the dossier failed to specify was that Richard Elbe was the chief of the intelligence groups, the leader of spies of the Reich on the Western part of Europe, the ones who directly infiltrated France and our territory as well. Richard Elbe was their leader, an important cog in the whole intelligence and military activity in the West. Capturing him would have meant a significant blow and possibly some very good actionable intel." Horace paused. "But they lost that, Sir. And also his brother was left free by the Dutch."

"I remember that. I told my counterpart they're making a mistake but they didn't want to antagonise the Germans."

"I have no clue where his brother might be, but you can bet that right now Elbe senior is making some significant plans with the military. And that might include his brother whom I've heard became a running joke in the military."

Howe laughed. "That's another one on you, Horace."

"Indeed it is. But this will get ugly."

"What are you saying, Horace?"

Horace hesitated for a moment. "War, Sir. War is coming."

"You think?"

"It's a guarantee. War is coming and it will be quite soon."

The car stopped in front of a large building, the entrance flanked by a number of armed guards who peered through the windows to look at the occupants. One of the soldiers came up to the car and was about to open the door when Howe waved him away. He tapped the front seat and the driver's shoulder.

"Drive, Albert. Keep driving, I will tell you when we can return to the office." Howe turned to Horace. "You know what you're saying Horace? You carry an important weight in our intelligence community now, your words will be taken seriously. This is not to be taken lightly."

"I understand that, Sir." Horace made a circular motion in the air. "Imagine this is France, Sir. According to the intelligence shared with me by the French officers, there are about sixty different intelligence teams, known to the Second Bureau of Intelligence, each of them with at least one or two active operatives. I personally doubted this intel, I've expressed my concern about it with them, saying that it is a gross overestimation but they countered by saying they have information that this is in fact underestimated. Point is, their actual knowledge of the intelligence teams is very doubtful, and while they can easily read military reports and transcripts because the Poles gave them a hand, they don't know exactly about the underground units."

"Are they concentrated in a place?"

"Not quite. Most of them are spread out, but some of Elbe's teams operate mainly around Strasbourg because of the German community over there. They've infiltrated the upper echelons of the public administration."

Lord Howe frowned. "What's your pick?"

"Most of the teams focused on the border, Maginot line, Ardennes, Belgian line. The usual, Sir. I won't rule out another Belgian dash like in the war."

"Again?"

"Maginot is too well defended. Ardennes are complicated, too many trees. Belgium is a flatland perfect for Reich tanks."

"I'll send your intel to the forces, maybe we can have a British Expeditionary Force over there to bolster the French in case needs be."

Horace hesitated. "Sir, the BEF is all good and dandy, but that's a military matter. What happens to the operatives behind the enemy lines?"

"Find them. It's their job, the French intelligence job."

"I object, Sir. They won't be able to find them."

Lord Howe gave him a surprised look. "Alright Horace, then tell me, how are we doing this?"

"Go back in and give them a hand. Root those out, work in the field and help them shore up their defenses. They're sitting ducks and their intel is actionable at best."

"And are you offering yourself to do that, Horace?"

Horace stood silent, rather more than hesitant than before.

"Sir, if needs be, I will do it."

Howe said nothing, his displeasure hidden in a perfect disinterested expression. He gained a very good intelligence officer yesterday, mentioned in dispatches, bringing up the prestige and operational budget for their office. He just lost him today.

"Albert, drive to the office."

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