Blue Madonna by James R. Benn Page B

“A lot of them are British, but plenty of Americans, too. It’s a dangerous combination, the Brits with their criminal connections and American access to vast stockpiles. That’s what makes the Morgan Gang so dangerous.”
    â€œColonel,” I said, knowing what was coming, “let’s cut to the chase, okay? You want us to head to France along with everyone else and find Sergeant Alvin Blake.” It wasn’t hard to figure out. I didn’t relish the idea of storming the beaches, but guessed that Harding would at least wait until the first few waves had landed and secured the area. No reason to get us all shot up before we found Cousin Switch.
    â€œSomething like that,” Harding said, his eyes avoiding mine.
    â€œDo you have his general location?” Kaz asked. “It must be somewhere close to the invasion beaches.” That made sense if we were going on a search-and-rescue mission, tagging along with the infantry as they spread out from the invasion bridgehead. “Unless he’s already in a POW camp.”
    â€œHe hasn’t been captured, and I have his exact location,” Harding said, opening a file and unfolding a single sheet of paper. “Along with several other downed fliers.”
    â€œWhy do I sense this is nowhere near the invasion area?” I asked. Kaz and I were BIGOTs, meaning that we knew some of the D-Day secrets, including the location of one specific beach code-named Utah in Normandy. It didn’t take a military genius to see that there’d be more than one along that stretch of coast. We’d stumbled upon that secret information during our last investigation, when General Eisenhower himself had brought us into the elite ranks of the BIGOT club.
    â€œIt’s not,” Harding admitted. “Blake and the other fliers are trapped in a château about a hundred and eighty miles southwest of Utah Beach.”
    â€œBut there have to be landing areas closer to Blake?” I pushed, dreading the answer.
    â€œNot close enough,” Harding said. “They’re about ninety miles from the nearest point on the coast.”
    â€œWith a lot of guys named Hans and Ernst in between,” I said.
    â€œAlong with their tanks and artillery,” Kaz added. “Which will be heading to Normandy from all over France.”
    â€œYes,” said Harding, unfolding a road map of northern France and laying it out between us. “But you will be in place before that happens. Here.” He pointed to the town of Dreux, west of Paris. “Blake and the others are hidden in the Château Vasseur, where we have an SOE team.”
    â€œWhy?” Kaz asked. “I thought the Resistance and the Special Operations Executive had connections to take them south, over the Pyrenees and into Spain.”
    â€œThe connections are blown,” Harding said. “The Dreux circuit, code-named Noble, was originally taking escaped POWs and downed fliers from Minister, the SOE circuit based in Paris.”
    â€œMinister was compromised a month or so ago,” Kaz said. “Or so I read in a recent intelligence summary.”
    â€œYes,” Harding said. “As was Carver, the circuit based in Orléans to the south. Noble has nowhere to send the fliers; they’re trapped in the château. Carver was betrayed, and all the operatives killed or captured.”
    â€œSOE circuits are given code names based on professions,” Kaz explained, knowing I didn’t always keep up on my official reading.
    â€œYeah,” I said, a gnawing fear growing in my gut. Diana. Harding kept talking, but I couldn’t pay attention. Diana Seaton and I were an item. As head over heels in love as anyone could be, separated by duty and the threat of death too much of the time. She was with the SOE, Churchill’s spy and sabotage outfit. Me, I hoped to come out of this war in one piece. Diana, having served in the British