Amsterdam, June 3, 1943
In the small, dark room, the telegraph key stopped.
The operator had placed every period and every comma correctly, there was no hint of distress. The fist was the same as it had been since 1940. The dispatch from a nationwide collection of assets, agents and informers was, as always impressive; a new batch of FW-190s had arrived at an airbase on the Dutch-German border, engineering officers had begun to scope out coastal defenses on the Scheldt, and a new type of radar was due to arrive at the end of the month to complement the current set of Wurzburg Giants. There were no specifications on the radar itself, but an agent had found that the back-up generators for the sight suggested a staggering high power output. Another cell had been rolled up and deportations were proceeding of suspects and Jews. The direct action teams needed more explosives, ammunition and Sten guns.
Everything was true except for the control of the agent; he had been captured and turned within weeks of his first message. Today was a day for the truth and that is what he sent. It was his only chance to keep his wife and his daughter alive so as soon as the message was over, he took a deep breath before being escorted back to his somewhat comfortable holding cell.