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George VI. A
man from the Censor’s Department photographed the ragged edges of the seals, to
ensure that any tampering could be traced.
    “We are not sending you to negotiate but to confirm
either a oui or a non from Darlan,” said Godfrey. “There is to be
absolutely no bargaining on your end. Understood?”
    Fleming nodded. “Will there be a meal on the plane?”
    “This is serious business, Fleming,” said a humorless
Godfrey. “Flying during these conditions, the chances of a clean drop are
thirty-seventy not in your favor. The weather makes the task harder for any
stray German patrols over the channel but I’ll be honest with you, there’s no
easy path to France: lightning or Luftwaffe, take your pick. Still as willing
to undertake this assignment now?”
    Fleming was resolute. “When do I depart?”
    There was a shadow of a proud, parental smile from
Godfrey who paused as an accountant from the Treasury department finished
taking an inventory of the gold and nodded goodbye.
    Godfrey continued. “Tomorrow night at 18:00 hours.
‘Armada’ is a joint Anglo-French Resistance Operation. You and a wireless
operator will be parachuted to the Pyrenees. The Saint-Nazaire cell of the
Resistance will meet you at the drop-point and take you to an undisclosed
location, a neutral establishment, the specifics of which will be given to you
upon landing. For the purposes of those who might be listening, the cover is
that you are meeting Darlan at the Chateau d’Artigny in Montbazon.”
    Fleming was about to make a note when Hill stopped
him.
    “Best not to put any of this part down on paper,
Commander,” Hill said.
    Godfrey continued. “If the deal fizzles, you are to
head immediately to Bordeaux where FR will arrange evacuation.”
    “Can we trust this cell of the Resistance, sir?” asked
Fleming.
    “Trust no one. But we know these frogs. We’ve worked
with them before. Hill?”
    “The cell has proven good at obtaining and sharing
vital intelligence information with us -- German troop dispositions, the
location of gasoline storage dumps, that sort of thing. In return we’ve kept
them apprised of the number of submarines and merchant ships entering French
ports along the west coast and in the Mediterranean.”
    “For God’s sake, 17F,” said Godfrey, “don’t step on
any French toes. Work with them.”
    “ Tous pour un et un pour tous ,” said Fleming
wryly.
    Godfrey scowled. “If Darlan does the right thing and
signs over his ships, you are to remain in France to await the arrival of
Admiral Carr who will take charge of the flotilla. Once Carr is settled, you
are to proceed to Bordeaux and evacuate.”
    “What if Darlan declines?” asked Fleming.
    “Get out fast,” said Godfrey. “Forces will be massed
our end in the event the deal sours. The PM’s patience is wearing thin and he’s
eager to pull the trigger. In four days either those ships sail to Southampton
or they’ll be at the bottom of the Mediterranean.”
    Godfrey looked at Hill. “Does the RAF have anything to
add?”
    “Just one thing.” Hill got close to Fleming. “Let’s be
crystal clear, Commander. If we haven’t heard from you in four days, France’s
ships will be considered enemy territory and treated accordingly.” He stepped
even closer and made the sound of an explosion.
    Fleming stared back and didn’t break eye contact.
“Four days are all I need.”
    Godfrey thwacked his baton at a grainy photo of a
German High Command Officer. “Recognize this ugly bastard?”
    “General Feodor von Bock,” said Fleming. “Army Group B
Commander. One of the most ruthless officers in the Wehrmacht. Reportedly likes
to dispatch his enemies by hurling them from his airship. His brother Felix is
a tank commander with the Panzereren — ”
    “All right, all right, I didn’t ask for a lecture,”
growled Godfrey. “Bock’s your main competition for Darlan’s ships, so look
lively and know thine enemy. This isn’t some glorified