said anything twice. RF complained that he never said anything once. I suspected he'd come for some other reason.
'How reliable are our security checks?' he asked sharply.
This was the first country section head to ask that question. It deserved to be answered with the same directness.
'They're no more than a gesture to give the agents confidence.' I told him why in some detail.
'Can they ever be relied upon?'
I told him that if an agent was caught before he was sent any messages he could get away with giving them the wrong security check because they'd have no back traffic to compare it with. But not otherwise.
'What's being done about it?'
'We're working on a wholly new concept of agents' codes.'
He nodded. He understood the battles to get anything changed in SOE. 'Can't anything be done in the meantime?'
I told him that as long as the poem-code was in use there were only two things the country sections could do: a) they should ask their agents personal questions to which they alone would know the answers, and b) they should use prearranged phrases in their messages to which the agents must reply in a prearranged way. I warned him that these phrases must be used only once in case the agent's traffic was being read.
'We already do something of the sort. I'll make sure it's done on a regular basis.'
'Colonel Buckmaster'—he'd just been promoted—'is there anyone in particular you're worried about?'
A microdot of hesitation. 'It was a general question. I'll consult you if I am.'
I knew that part of Peter Churchill's and Bodington's mission was to check up on the security of a circuit run by Carte (Andre Girard), which was causing F section great concern. That night I went through the back traffic of all the F section agents. It contained the usual mixture of Morse mutilation, wrong checks, right checks, no checks.
If I were Buckmaster, I'd be worried about all of them and I was convinced that he was.
I wondered why he and the Free French refused to pool their anxieties.
It was time to say goodbye to the Grouse. They were on their final standby and were to parachute into Norway no matter what the weather.
I'd already phoned Wilson to discuss the clusters of poems on soluble paper which I wanted to give them. His reply was explosive, even by his standards: 'I've told you they'll be passing hardly any traffic. They're to use the poems they've learned and nothing else. Is that clear? Or do you want me to confirm it to Ozanne?'
I told him that would not be necessary.
'Very well then. Just make certain they send no indecipherables. Thank you.'
This time he wasn't waiting at Chiltern Court to greet me. Halfway down the corridor I could hear the Grouse laughing. They stopped as soon as I entered the room. An only child worries more than most about laughter stopping and I asked if I could share the joke. They showed me a poem in Norwegian and English contributed by Wilson. It was untranslatable in both languages.
I took each of them to one side to discuss their security checks and run through their poems with them. The one thing the Grouse couldn't share was their coding conventions.
The session was only a formality but towards the end they produced another example of their silent Morse. A feeling more than a look seemed to pass between Poulson, Helberg and Kjelstrup. Poulson then said they had to leave to have some special skis fitted but Haugland asked if he could stay behind to talk to me—his skis had already been fitted.
Since it was time to say goodbye to his companions and I didn't now the Norwegian for 'merde alors', I had to rely on my handshake to say it for me. From their slight looks of surprise the message was received and understood.
I wondered what Haugland wanted to talk about. This extraordinary man, as slender as the steel skis which he said had been fitted, saw the time when he'd have to brief agents in the field on their coding—Norwegian patriots who hadn't his good fortune to be brought
'How reliable are our security checks?' he asked sharply.
This was the first country section head to ask that question. It deserved to be answered with the same directness.
'They're no more than a gesture to give the agents confidence.' I told him why in some detail.
'Can they ever be relied upon?'
I told him that if an agent was caught before he was sent any messages he could get away with giving them the wrong security check because they'd have no back traffic to compare it with. But not otherwise.
'What's being done about it?'
'We're working on a wholly new concept of agents' codes.'
He nodded. He understood the battles to get anything changed in SOE. 'Can't anything be done in the meantime?'
I told him that as long as the poem-code was in use there were only two things the country sections could do: a) they should ask their agents personal questions to which they alone would know the answers, and b) they should use prearranged phrases in their messages to which the agents must reply in a prearranged way. I warned him that these phrases must be used only once in case the agent's traffic was being read.
'We already do something of the sort. I'll make sure it's done on a regular basis.'
'Colonel Buckmaster'—he'd just been promoted—'is there anyone in particular you're worried about?'
A microdot of hesitation. 'It was a general question. I'll consult you if I am.'
I knew that part of Peter Churchill's and Bodington's mission was to check up on the security of a circuit run by Carte (Andre Girard), which was causing F section great concern. That night I went through the back traffic of all the F section agents. It contained the usual mixture of Morse mutilation, wrong checks, right checks, no checks.
If I were Buckmaster, I'd be worried about all of them and I was convinced that he was.
I wondered why he and the Free French refused to pool their anxieties.
It was time to say goodbye to the Grouse. They were on their final standby and were to parachute into Norway no matter what the weather.
I'd already phoned Wilson to discuss the clusters of poems on soluble paper which I wanted to give them. His reply was explosive, even by his standards: 'I've told you they'll be passing hardly any traffic. They're to use the poems they've learned and nothing else. Is that clear? Or do you want me to confirm it to Ozanne?'
I told him that would not be necessary.
'Very well then. Just make certain they send no indecipherables. Thank you.'
This time he wasn't waiting at Chiltern Court to greet me. Halfway down the corridor I could hear the Grouse laughing. They stopped as soon as I entered the room. An only child worries more than most about laughter stopping and I asked if I could share the joke. They showed me a poem in Norwegian and English contributed by Wilson. It was untranslatable in both languages.
I took each of them to one side to discuss their security checks and run through their poems with them. The one thing the Grouse couldn't share was their coding conventions.
The session was only a formality but towards the end they produced another example of their silent Morse. A feeling more than a look seemed to pass between Poulson, Helberg and Kjelstrup. Poulson then said they had to leave to have some special skis fitted but Haugland asked if he could stay behind to talk to me—his skis had already been fitted.
Since it was time to say goodbye to his companions and I didn't now the Norwegian for 'merde alors', I had to rely on my handshake to say it for me. From their slight looks of surprise the message was received and understood.
I wondered what Haugland wanted to talk about. This extraordinary man, as slender as the steel skis which he said had been fitted, saw the time when he'd have to brief agents in the field on their coding—Norwegian patriots who hadn't his good fortune to be brought
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