34

By mid-September the tribunals had done their work in Limoges, and order was largely restored. The FFI decided to mark the city’s liberation with a prise d’armes, a military review.

Companies of maquisards paraded through the city, dressed for once in snappy uniforms—Jean Claude never did find out how they had been provided so quickly—and wearing FFI armbands emblazoned with the double-barred Cross of Lorraine, the Free French riposte to the swastika. They passed in review before a committee of FFI commanders and city officials, and formed up in ranks.

Jean Claude, Philippe, and Bob stood in a line before the committee, in uniform. Jean Claude wore his tall paratroop boots. Each agent was presented with a Croix de Guerre with a red-and-green ribbon, a medal for heroism in combat bestowed by de Gaulle’s government in exile. In addition, Jean Claude received from Guingouin a rare French Resistance Croix de Guerre, with a bronze star and a white-and-gold ribbon. Jean Claude was moved—it was the first and only time he was decorated in public. He received many other medals in his subsequent career, including a Silver Star from the U.S. government, but all were for classified work, bestowed in private ceremonies.

The war had moved on, toward the German frontier. Allied troops had liberated Paris in late August. Philippe received orders from Baker Street to begin closing down Operation Salesman II—it was only then that Jean Claude learned the operation’s name.

Jean Claude receiving the Croix de Guerre at a ceremony in Limoges. Philippe Liewer and Bob Maloubier are fourth and fifth from the left. Behind Jean Claude, wearing a beret and glasses, is Georges Guingouin.

Jean Claude requested permission to attempt a trip to Conliège in the Jura—far to the east, near the border with Switzerland, where fighting still raged—to check on Grandmère. Somewhat to his surprise, he was granted a travel pass and a ten-day leave. He realized that he would be traveling on many of the same roads that he and his brother Pierre had taken, in the other direction, when they had fled toward Portugal before the Nazi invasion in May 1940. He had departed Conliège as a scared French high-school student. He headed back a remarkably changed man—a trained killer, a secret agent, a U.S. citizen, a decorated combat veteran—though still just twenty years old.

Jean Claude borrowed a car and left Limoges with some advance pay to give Grandmère so that she could afford black-market prices. It was slow going, as Jean Claude was frequently held up at FFI checkpoints. Guards were suspicious of a French-speaking American, with seemingly official French government passes, driving alone toward the battlefront.

As Jean Claude progressed farther east he was warned of heavy fighting ahead. The sound of gunfire grew constant. Finally, near Chalon-sur-Saône, about forty miles short of Conliège, he was forbidden to go on. He considered proceeding by back roads, but by then the sounds of battle nearly surrounded him. Reluctantly, he packed his cash, some chocolate, and a note to Grandmère into a small parcel and trusted it to the local post office. It was a gamble, he knew. Grandmère never received it.

Arriving back in Limoges, Jean Claude found that Philippe was nearly done wrapping up Operation Salesman II. On September 22, the agents decided to head for Paris. Jean Claude, Philippe, and Bob left for the freshly liberated capital in high style. In the garage of a château, they found a gleaming Hispano-Suiza, a luxury touring car with a long hood, exquisite coachwork, and a convertible top. In the château’s cave, they came across a large supply of plum brandy. They requisitioned both, leaving a handwritten note declaring that it was a military necessity.

The drive to Paris was slow but festive. When they ran low on gas, they nursed the car along by drizzling brandy into the tank—suitably refined fuel for such a regal vehicle, perhaps, but not entirely to the big engine’s liking. The problem was solved when they came across a stopped U.S. Army truck, whose driver gladly traded them three jerry cans of gasoline for one of several German Iron Crosses they carried as souvenirs.

When the agents arrived in Paris, the city was in a delirium of celebration. They found a very expensive black-market restaurant, parked the car outside, and went in for a long, glorious lunch.

When they emerged hours later, the Hispano-Suiza was gone. Their stolen car had been stolen.

Jean Claude looked at Philippe and Bob, and shrugged.

“Fortunes of war,” he said.