The Embers of Resistance

Prologue

Vera Atkins lifted the glass of gin to her lips and took a conciliatory sip. Normally she did not imbibe, especially not in the company of her agents, but Francis Cammaerts wasn't technically her agent anymore. And tonight was indeed cause for celebration: she had secured an interview with the former commandant of the Ravensbrück concentration camp for the next afternoon. She could only hope that Fritz Sühren would be a major lead in what was beginning to prove a lengthy investigation into what happened to the many F Section women who never returned from France.

"You have to be careful with these former Nazis," Francis commented, taking a drink from his glass. "They keep everything close to their chest, as I suppose they should if they want to avoid going to trial for their war crimes."

Miss Atkins shifted in the red leather bar stool in a reflex reaction to assess who was in earshot. She dropped her gaze as she reminded herself this was post-war Berlin and she didn't have to be secretive anymore. "If half of what I've been told about this place, this Ravensbrück, is true, then Sühren should be shot on sight."

"I heard about these concentration camps from the few captured circuit members that returned from them. And yes, anyone that was associated with running them should rot in hell, forever." He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, seemingly keen to change the subject. "Speaking of trials, I suppose you heard Henri Déricourt has been arrested."

Miss Atkins kept her face neutral. "I have heard that indeed."

"His lawyer asked me to speak in his defense."

"Is that so?" This time she failed at suppressing the surprise in her voice. "What would you say in court?"

Francis drained his glass before replying. "The truth: that his operations were smooth, unfussy, and always on time. That I considered his security to be beyond reproach."

She opened the leather briefcase she'd been carrying since she left London and pulled out a bulging file folder. "If that's the case, you'd better have a look through this before you agree to testify."

"What are these?" Francis began flipping through the papers in the files. He paused and then pointed at one of the printed names. "Isn't Hans Kieffer the one who ran the interrogations at Avenue Foch?"

"Yes. You will see Déricourt had multiple encounters with Kieffer."

"But that doesn't prove anything. Consider how Jacques Weil and Prosper tried to bribe SD officers to rescue the Tambour sisters. Is that not a similar situation?"

Miss Atkin's lips tightened. "You know I don't like to discuss anything having to do with the Prosper network."

"And then you have Paul Frager and Roger Bardet..." Francis signaled for the bartender before continuing. "Look, those of us who returned after the war came back with startling allegations about what had happened that shouldn't have and what hadn't happened that should have. But eventually we came to realize that it was the consequence of London being out of touch with the reality of what was happening with the Resistance in France." He nodded as the bartender set another drink in front of him. "Some people might even go so far as to point to the blunders that were made with the captured wireless machines, the so-called Radio Games that the Germans played..."

Miss Atkins put a restraining hand on Francis's arm. "Of course we made mistakes, and in war, mistakes cost lives. Do you not think the knowledge of that will be with us till we die?" She gulped back the lump that had formed in her throat—there was a time for mourning her lost agents and a time for revenging their deaths. The former could wait, the latter was a necessary evil. "But there is a difference between honest mistakes and deliberate misdeeds like the ones Déricourt committed."

Francis struggled to subdue his normally booming voice. "Are you accusing Déricourt of being a double agent?"

"Read the file thoroughly—you'll see it's more complicated than even that accusation." She rose from her chair. "And don't let anyone know I gave that to you, especially not Nick Bodington."

"But Vera, no one—not even Déricourt—could have been so treacherous as to be in league with the Germans."

She tapped the folder. "You can form your own assessment, but you will see one thing will remain clear: Déricourt always serves Déricourt, and no one else."