All That Glitters - John Anthony Miller

All That Glitters by John Anthony Miller

Book excerpt

Paris, France - May, 1940

The Germans advanced quickly—faster than the world expected. First, they came through Holland and Belgium, luring Allied armies north from France. A second assault followed, south of the front, piercing defenses. The Germans raced for the sea, trapping the Allies between their armies, forcing a massive evacuation to England. The politicians who managed the masses, those who governed mankind, knew a different war now had to be fought. A battle birthed in secrets, deeds done in darkened alleys, risks taken that few could fathom, and most would never know existed.

Jacques Dufort parted the curtain at the front window of his Parisian apartment. A cobblestone street lay beyond, snaking out to the boulevard. Barely thirty, he had black hair and blue eyes that hid what lay behind them. He glanced at his watch, frowning. A black Renault then came down the street, stopping in front of his apartment.

A woman climbed out—not what he expected. Slender with brown eyes, blonde hair streaked with darker strands, she seemed too young, too feminine, to have mastered the skills he needed. She spoke to the driver, gestured that he wait, and crossed the pavement. A slight mist marred the city, an early rain bathing buildings in a crystal sheen. When she reached the door of the limestone townhouse, she tapped lightly with the brass knocker.

Emilie Dufort came from the parlor into the foyer. Slight, with waves of black hair difficult to tame, she had dark eyes and olive skin. Striking and unforgettable, she was better suited for films than the wife of a government official. She seemed surprised to find her husband at the window, ignoring the knock on the door.

“Shall I get that?” she asked with a curious glance.

Jacques looked away and shook his head. “No, it’s for me,” he said. “We’ll be in my study. Please don’t disturb us.”

Emilie nodded and turned to leave. She wasn’t to meet the visitor. Whoever came to call was part of the secret world her husband lived in—not accessible to her.

Jacques waited while the faint click of her heels grew dimmer. He opened the door. “May I help you?” he asked. He eyed the woman before him, a few faint freckles dotting her face.

“All that glitters is not gold,” she said, mouthing a prearranged passcode.

He leaned from the doorway to glance up and down the street. “Are you Shakespeare?”

She smiled. “Camille.”

“Come in,” he said. “I’m Jacques Dufort. We’ll use my study.”

He led her into the foyer and then to the left. Open French doors spilled into a room lined with bookcases, a walnut desk in front of a twelve-paned window that faced a narrow alley, the curtains open.

“Please,” Jacques offered, motioning to a leather chair.

Camille sat in front of the desk. Her gaze wandered the room.

He looked at her curiously, wondering what captured her attention. “You’re admiring my study?”

“It’s charming.”

He smiled faintly. “Something interests you. What is it?”

“Many things,” she said, her gaze now fixed on his. “The window, and the lock on top of the lower sash. The brass paperweight on your desk, a daunting weapon if needed. The umbrella stand in the foyer, holding two canes, one with a brass handle that could do much damage if swung at a foe. And I hear someone moving about—a wife or girlfriend. Maybe a child?” She paused, smiling politely. “It’s important for me to know this. Should our meeting not go as planned.”

Jacques’s eyes widened and, for an instant, he felt a flicker of fear. He had misjudged her. “I’m impressed,” he said softly.

Her expression remained unchanged. “No need. But don’t underestimate me.”

Jacques nodded respectfully. “I’m told you were recruited by French intelligence while a student at the Sorbonne. Stationed in Tournai before returning to Paris.”

She nodded. “Two years in Tournai. I came back six months ago.”

“Do you speak languages other than French?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, two more.”

He still had a nagging doubt. “Trained by Nicolas Chastain, a legend in French intelligence,” he said in English.

“I’ve been fortunate,” she replied in the same tongue.

“Your English is flawless.”

“Mein Deutsch auch,” Camille countered. “My German, also.”

He no longer wondered if she was too young or too fragile. “You’re being sent to Belgium.”

“My driver is waiting. I’ll catch the first train.”

“It’ll be difficult, given the German advance,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You don’t have much time.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jacques sat back in his chair. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, of course.”

He opened cabinet doors at the base of the bookshelf behind him. He withdrew a sturdy suitcase, carried it around the desk, and set it beside her. “Your radio. It weighs twelve kilograms. I’ll show you how to use it.”

She opened the lid and looked inside. “I know how to use it.”

He was surprised by her confidence. “Make sure you’re in a high location—an attic or church steeple.”

She nodded. “Where’s the crystal?”

He opened his hand, revealing a black device with short prongs on one end. “Start every message with all that glitters. That’s the code.”

She closed the radio and put the crystal in her skirt pocket. “Updates as needed?”

“As soon as possible after the mission. You’ll then receive further instructions.”

“I understand,” she said, waiting for more.

He turned to the cabinet and withdrew a cloth bag. “Have you ever been to Antwerp?” he asked as he laid it on the desk.

“I have,” she said, eyeing the satchel.

“Antwerp is the diamond capital of the world, as I’m sure you’re aware. Most think of rings or necklaces when they think of diamonds.”

“Industrial diamonds,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Yes, industrial diamonds.”

“The passcode,” she said. “All that glitters is not gold. It’s about diamonds.”

“It is,” he admitted. “The war hinges on industrial diamonds, especially those needed for advanced technologies like radar.”

“Why haven’t the diamonds been removed—taken to London or Paris?”

“Most have,” he replied. “But we have a problem.”

“A problem I am expected to solve.”

He pursed his lips. “The best industrial diamonds in the world remain in ten safety deposit boxes at a trading house in Antwerp—Sternberg and Sons.”

“Why are they still there?” she asked. “Especially if they’re the best.”

“Sternberg refuses to release them. We suspect he keeps them as insurance, to pay off the Nazis to protect his family should Antwerp be captured.”

“Why be concerned with a small amount?” she asked. “If the rest has been removed.”

“Sternberg’s diamonds are superior, the best for radar technology. We can’t let them fall into enemy hands.”

“The Germans are almost there—not far from the city’s outskirts.”

“You need to get there first,” he said, moving the satchel closer. “Two hand drills, with industrial diamond tips, to access the deposit boxes. Written instructions for entry by a back door, through a garden. Hidden on a wall behind a shrub, as the drawing shows, is an electric box. Wire number eight powers the alarm. A key to the door will be left on top of the box. A map of the building is enclosed, with instructions on how to get into the vault and different escape routes. Two items are missing.”

She took the satchel and glanced through it. “The combination to the vault.”

He nodded. “And the key to a secondary gate.”

“How many diamonds do the boxes hold?”

He removed a canvass satchel from the cabinet, larger and sturdier than the first. “The diamonds will fit in this bag.”

She moved the satchel closer. “Do I work alone?”

He handed her a paper with an address on it. “Your London contact is a man named Roger. Meet him tomorrow at ten p.m. He’ll help you get the diamonds. Then take him to the docks—he has the address. He’ll board a fishing trawler to London.”

She paused, as if considering contingencies. “What if we can’t get to the docks?”

He leaned forward. “Roger has to get to London. Only he knows where to take the diamonds.”

“And if he can’t get to London?” she asked, persisting.

Jacques frowned. “Bring the diamonds here—back to me.”

“But only if all else fails.”

He eyed her sternly. “You won’t fail. Regardless of threats. The Germans cannot, under any circumstances, gain possession of these diamonds. Do I make myself clear?”