Their orders were simple and could not be deviated from. They were intelligence-gathering spies only, Alistair continued to drill into them. They were not to engage in sabotage, armed or peaceful resistance, politics, or propaganda. They were to live their cover stories quiet as shadows in the glare of the spotlights that would be upon them and report their intel to the man in brown, who would be hovering over his radio receiver in his assumed role as station chief of French Affairs in the city of Bern, three hundred miles away just over the French border. They would possess no weapons. They would be issued self-defense devices developed in the research labs of the OSS and the SOE to look like everyday items generally carried by hand, in pockets, and in purses. These were umbrellas with handles that could release a stiletto at the push of a disguised button, pencil fuses designed to explode after a set time to provide a chance for escape, cigarette cases that detonated upon opening, and pipe pistols that could fire off a round of .22-caliber bullets through their stems. Cigarette lighters, matchboxes, compacts, lipsticks, buttons, belt buckles would serve to conceal cameras, maps, and compasses. They had to have their L pills handy at all times. Alistair hoped—prayed—that the Gestapo, the SS, and the Abwehr, which were growing more savvy by the day to the deceptive gadgetry used by the Allies’ saboteurs and spies, had not yet caught on to these latest inventions.
Once in Paris, only Bridgette would be able to make contact with him. As his radio operator, she was essential to the success of every mission. By now he thought of her as the head of Dragonfly, and the others as the wings. The living and working environments of the wings placed them under the constant eye of their German associates and suspected French collaborators, making it too risky for them to conceal and activate the Type B Mk 11 wireless radio designed to fit in a suitcase.
Bridgette’s accommodations, attic rooms in a fifteenth-century convent, offered the most safety from discovery, since the thick convent walls provided protection from the street-cruising Gestapo vans that could rapidly pinpoint wireless transmissions. Time on the air was the greatest danger to the radio operator in enemy territory, but Alistair’s hope was that the labyrinthine location of the Convent of the Sisters of Charity made radio detection almost impossible.
But a serious problem loomed, the source of his worry. Alistair had partially solved it by first housing Dragonfly apart but in proximity of one another. They were to be lodged in the Latin Quarter, located on the left bank of the River Seine. Paris was a city of quartiers, in ancient days called hamlets, today called arrondissements, another name for the city’s twenty government administrative districts. These districts are like villages made up of close neighborhoods. Residents seen talking together, passing on the street, taking the same streetcars, waiting on the same corner, frequenting the same cafés and markets should not rouse suspicion.
To convey their intel to Bridgette for transmission to Bern, Alistair with great reservations had assigned the other four a mutual dead-letter box, a secret hiding place to leave messages. It was a mail slot in the door of an OSS rented house connected to the courtyard wall of the convent next door. There had been no way around using a single collection point. If their dead boxes were scattered around the Latin Quarter, Bridgette would be limited to only one pickup daily sandwiched between her departure from work and the evening curfew. Inevitable problems like heavy traffic, transportation snafus, weather conditions, especially in winter, and delays at work would make it impossible for her to do her job in timely fashion.
Alistair had made clear the danger of a common drop to the team. If one member was caught and made to talk, the others could be rounded up when they dropped off their intel, and Bridgette when she collected the material, but with their usual verve, all had seen the sense of his reasoning and agreed that the convenience of a mutual location outweighed the risks involved. The team did not know that behind the convent wall was their radio operator’s lodgings. Bridgette would check the floor beneath the mail slot in the morning before leaving for La Maison de Boucher and in the evening after her return to the convent.
Only Bridgette possessed a key to the door. The property was empty except for bolts of fabrics, design sketches, drawing materials, a sewing machine, wire dress forms, a cutting table, and several chairs, all subterfuge to explain the reason for her visits. The house was simply an additional workroom for the House of Boucher, where Bridgette, a newly hired designer, sometimes did sewing for customers after working hours. The callus on her right index finger bore out her claim.
What Alistair had not figured out was a way for the head to communicate with the wings. As another safeguard to protect Bridgette’s identity and theirs, the others were to have no overt contact with her. If her cover was blown, without radio connection to Bern, the whole operation would naturally fall apart. It was critical that Labrador’s identity, address, and workplace be kept secret. But various situations were bound to jump up that would require her to contact her teammates individually.
This dilemma was unique to his professional experience, and Alistair had racked his brain trying to come up with a way out of it, but nothing had clicked, and he was running out of time. As the date neared to release them to their fates, he decided to lay the problem before the sharp minds of his young charges.
Brad—Limpet—suggested a central location to leave coded chalk marks. Cutting on wood would require too much time and attract attention, and the French were banned from carrying knives. Alistair immediately rejected the proposal as too obvious. A collection of chalk marks on a wall, doorstep, tree, or telephone pole was a dead giveaway to Nazi patrols and the collaborationist French police, and they’d lie in wait for the next operative to show himself. There was also the new danger of arrest by the Gestapo if a Parisian was found with any sort of marking medium other than pencils and fountain pens in pockets or purses, especially chalk. The discovery automatically stamped the owner as a member of the Resistance.
It was Bridgette who suggested a mural as the solution.
At this point, the group was aware that they would be living in the Latin Quarter of Paris, though Alistair had informed each of them of their accommodations privately with the stern admonition that they were to keep their addresses secret from the others. He had little expectation of his orders holding, however. The group members could bump into one another at the mail chute, or discover the locations of one another’s abodes by the simple act of catching their teammates entering and leaving their residences.
“Explain, Labrador,” he said.
“How can the Germans object to decorating a drab wall with a beautiful piece of art during wartime?” Bridgette replied. “If you can arrange it with the convent, Major, I propose that I paint a mural on the outside of their courtyard wall as a means to communicate in code.”
They had been shown a picture of the house with its attached courtyard wall and convent behind. “You mean use a wall painting as a code pad?” Alistair said. Yes! he thought jubilantly and said, “It can be arranged.”
“I have in mind a water landscape inspired by Lapwing,” Bridgette said with a smile at Chris. “Here’s how it will work. I’ll start by painting a dragonfly flitting about a lily pad. I will then fill in the objects representing our field names. Four are natural to a seaside scene. Labradors are retrievers of waterfowl. Liverworts are water-loving plants. Lapwings are plovers that live in watery habitats, and limpets are mollusks that must reside in bodies of water to survive.”
“And Lodestar?” Bucky asked.
“The North Star that looks over all,” she said. “I can leave messages to all of you in the form of some feature typical to your symbol without the enemy ever being aware that it is a code mark.”
Victoria spoke up. “In other words, your encryption would be disguised as some part of the artwork.”
Bridgette smiled at her understanding. “That’s right, Liverwort.”
Victoria looked impressed. “Sounds good to me.”
“Or put another way, our symbols would serve as our individual code pads for you to leave messages to us,” Bucky said.
“Right again, Lodestar. If you see a new detail on your star, you’ll know the message came from me and what it means. All we have to do as a group is come up with code markings suitable to your symbols and memorize their significance.”
Bucky said, “It could work since we’ll all be living in the same neighborhood and could make a point of walking by the wall every day. As residents of the area, our interest would be natural.”
“I agree with Lodestar, but haven’t the Nazis already caught on to the French Resistance’s use of graffiti as a propaganda tool and a means to send coded messages?” Brad asked.
“Good point, Limpet, but I don’t think they’ll mistake the mural for that,” Bridgette answered. “I believe they’ll look upon it as a perfectly harmless pursuit meant to lighten the atmosphere of the neighborhood. They may even welcome it as a way to prove they’re not the monsters everybody knows them to be.”
“I thought the Germans hated art,” Victoria said. “They burned about five thousand paintings in Berlin in 1939.” The Nazi plunder of priceless works of art from German museums and their wholesale destruction was another atrocity ordered by Hitler that had made it to American newspapers.
“Those paintings represented modern art, Liverwort,” Bridgette explained. “My mural won’t have a stroke of expressionism in it. The Germans might even contribute their own touches, and if I know the artistic French, so will they, since the painting will be seen as a public display. It’s not a perfect plan, but at least it gives me a way of making contact with reasonable hope that it works. And like Lodestar pointed out, all of us have reason to have a natural interest in the wall.”
“What if street urchins—vandals—get at it just for the orneriness of it?” Bucky asked.
Bridgette shrugged. “It could happen, Lodestar, but most likely not in daylight with the German patrols about and certainly not after curfew. I expect street contributions. You can bet some other artists won’t be able to resist adding their own touches, and I wouldn’t doubt but that some children’s marking in crayon de couleur will show up, but they shouldn’t interfere with my renderings regarding you, not if you know what to look for.”
Bucky nodded, satisfied.
Alistair had sat back and allowed the group to toss the plan back and forth, looking for holes and sticking points without butting in. The team would have gathered that Bridgette must be an artist of some sort working in a capacity that required her talent. Logic would also tell them that the courtyard wall would be close to her lodging to allow her ready and fast access to it. It was a brilliant plan if it worked. “A ray of light in a city gone dark. I like it,” he said.
Victoria stuck up her hand. “Well, if we’re voting, Liverwort here casts her vote for giving the mural a go. I see no reason why we shouldn’t try the plan, and I like the idea of putting one over on the Germans right under their noses.”
Bucky held up his palm as if swearing an oath. “And I, Lodestar, cast my vote to try it as well. Nice going, Labrador.”
Brad gave a rainbow wave. “Count Limpet in.”
Chris raised his thumbless right hand and smiled at Bridgette. “Ditto for Lapwing.”
A duplicate of the painting Bridgette had in mind went up on a wall, and in the next few days, the group memorized and developed a secret language made up of the features common to aquatic landscapes. Shadings, vertical and squiggly lines, circles, light and dark brushstrokes assumed meaning. Certain markings warned, notified, informed, and confirmed. Every emergency situation that could crop up were impossible to anticipate or address. The team concentrated only on the ones likely to occur. For example, a need might arise for a member to speak with Bridgette in person—what if the mail slot was compromised? That person should draw a diagonal line through his or her own symbol. It was an emergency summons to meet with Bridgette at the tea and book shop at four o’clock the day of the mark’s appearance. By the same token, a diagonal line drawn across the mural’s central dragonfly—Bridgette’s symbol—called for the entire group to meet.
Brad posed a question. How would Labrador notify the team that she’d been blown?
Bridgette pursed her lips while they looked at her expectantly. “I’ll leave a V in the dog’s ear if I am able. Then you’ll know to head for your safe houses.”
“And if you’re not able?” Victoria asked.
“I am afraid I don’t have an answer to that question,” Bridgette said.