Chapter 16
A Bodyguard of Lies
In wartime, truth is so precious that she
should always be attended by
a bodyguard of lies.
- Winston Churchill
Present Day
I made an unannounced visit to the Portsmouth Dockyards supervisor. After waiting patiently for over an hour he agreed to meet with me. His response was less than helpful.
“In 2008 we worked with Highbury College here in Portsmouth to archive the records of the dockyards as a part of a historical data project sponsored by the city. The data is extensive. The physical records have been stored away for posterity, and are not available, but the electronic records are searchable. However, one must make a formal request for access.”
My request for access to the records was refused. The information itself was declassified in 1996, but the records system that held the information was behind a secure firewall, and access was restricted to authorized personnel only.
I contacted Highbury College and spoke with Professor Hugh Howden. I briefed him on my suspicions about the Sainte Justine, Colonel Remy, and the tale of the Atlantik Wall map. To resolve this, I needed access to the closed data.
“Yes, I believe we have the data sets. Those records were declassified before the project began, and when we had completed the compilation, we gave the government a data set that was then added to their system. The original data set, however, is still somewhere here in the archives.”
This was more encouraging. I returned to Courseulles via Caen by ferry and had to wait three excruciating days for the results. I had a bit of luck, finally. I recrossed the channel and returned to the college where I was ushered into a computer lab by Professor Howden. There I met one of his master’s candidates, a data specialist named Jimmy Sinclair.
“We have a massive amount of raw data available,” he began. “Perhaps if we sit and talk over exactly what you are after, and how such information might be recorded, if at all, we can look for ways to crack open this little puzzle.”
This guy knew his stuff. Inside of minute bits of raw data our lives lie splayed open. Reading the data, and determining what is relevant and what is not, however, can be almost impossible. It is a concept called “hiding in plain sight,” the notion that you can become lost in a sea of seemingly irrelevant information. If you know what data bits to seek, you might just unlock quite a compelling story.
“I am looking for a boat called the Sainte Marianne, based in Courseulles-sur-Mer, maybe. It possibly called in port sometime between, say, 1940 and 1944.”
He ran a search correlating Courseulles-sur-Mer and the vessel, with no results.
“I didn’t really expect to find a match there, but we had to start somewhere. How about the Saint Justine? That was the name of the boat allegedly lost at sea by Antoine Bouchard in June 1942.”
Again, no results.
“Try under ‘Port’ - Pont-Aven, 1942.”
There was one entry, but it was a barge decommissioned and cut up for salvage. No fishing boats, and nothing closely related to my search.
We went through various kinds of searches, types of services, types of activities, length of vessel, types of vessel, names of vessels, variants on names ... nothing. Hours passed, and we were nowhere.
The professor stopped in to see how we were progressing.
“Look at it this way. You have simply narrowed your search,” he smiled. “If what you say is true, there is a key somewhere. Think of what you have not thought about.”
The white board in the computer lab was filled with scribbles, all leading nowhere.
“Was the boat ever hauled out?”
The question was simple. We had not checked it before, assuming that if the boat was on a clandestine mission it would not have remained in port long. “What if that is a false assumption? Try it.”
A search of the haul out records for the St. Marianne yielded no results. We were brainstorming, throwing about seemingly odd combinations of facts and circumstances and getting nowhere.
I sat back and looked again at a schematic of the data model.
“What if the name ‘Marianne’ was not in a primary field, but somewhere else. There are a couple of large text fields where miscellaneous data could be stored.”
“I can create a ‘fuzzy’ search routine against those fields, but given that the fields are not indexed, the search will take a while. Likely several hours or so. We have to share server processing time.”
He wrote the query, set the processing parameters, and submitted it to the database. We agreed to return in the morning and see what, if anything, came back.
I arranged for a room nearby, and ate in a nearby pub. That night, as I lay awake trying to think of what we may have neglected, what other possibilities there may be, I began to worry I was losing my own personal sense of perspective. Perhaps I was chasing a phantom that simply left no trail, because there was really nothing to leave in the first place.
R
Professor Howden joined us in the morning as we examined the results of the text search. There were 33 records in the record set, displayed 10 per page. I looked at the indexed fields that displayed on screen.
“I need to examine the text fields of this data set.”
The search took some rather broad interpretations of the word “Marianne.” The first two pages of records were mostly irrelevant, with some foreign names thrown in as well as a few obvious typographical errors that matched close enough to be included.
On record 28 we found the word “Marianne.” It was in a set of instructions to the yard crew entered into the text field since there was no other place to put the information. The entry read,
Date: 28/6/42
Vessel: unregistered
Port: unknown
Misc. directive.
Repaint name, S. Justine to S. Marianne.
Auth ASIS6774578
“This is a very odd entry. There is a boat - but the name is not under the ‘vessel’ field; and no port of origin. Both ‘unregistered’ or ‘unknown.’ Yet there is the name ‘St. Justine’ in the directive field.”
“This is interesting - the authorization number. I don’t suppose either of you know what the ‘ASIs’ in the authorization number stands for?” the professor asked.
“No, but I suppose it is some boat yard charge code. ‘As-is’ - whatever that stands for,” his student answered.
I looked at the professor, and he smiled. We both knew at once what it meant - one over on the bright student data keeper! “A-SIS. Category A, meaning highest priority; SIS - Secret Intelligence Service, the British intelligence corps, often referred to as MI6. Strictly James Bond stuff here. Voucher 6774578.” The professor practically exploded with giddy satisfaction.
“Find that voucher, Jimmy!”
Sinclair logged into a new window and selected another one of the primary databases. After negotiating a security clearance routine, he requested Voucher 6774578. In an instant the data was displayed on the screen.
“OK - let’ s see. Yes, this confirms the payment charged to British Intelligence for the work listed in the dockyard record. This also has a reference to a General Order 6-998GH. There is nothing in our data system that this points to, I’m afraid,” Jimmy answered.
“That is why you are the student, and I am the professor,” Professor Howden joked. “Print me a copy of that screen, Jimmy,” he added, and grabbed me by the arm. “Come with me. I think we can resolve this very easily.”
We went back upstairs to the professor’s office where he ordered tea from his secretary, and settled into a large overstuffed leather office chair behind his opulent desk. He picked up the telephone, and placed a call. After the usual pleasantries, he looked up at me and asked, “Would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, Mr. Hewitt?”
I backed out of the room, my curiosity piqued, as he left his chair and closed the office door behind him. After about ten minutes he returned, and invited me in.
“So sorry for the cloak and dagger, old boy, but some things are best done privately. I am sure you can appreciate that.” He had a big schoolboy smile on his face. “I think this may help you.”
He passed an email to me which had the return email address redacted. I sat back into his visitor’s chair and read through the text of the message.
Hugh,
Data declassified, 2/15/98
GO 6-998GH
15 Jun 42
Payment authorized; 2525 ps; in francs. Transfer G. De Rosier; SW account #847599HG9909409.
Payment for S JustinePayment authorized, notes; 100 ps; francs; J. Charbonneau
6774578; payment for misc. refurbishing services, S. Marianne
6748922; payment for issuance identity papers, J. Charbonneau
“What am I looking at?” I was excited, but not quite certain what I was seeing.
“Well, I had some time to decipher it, you see, while I kept you waiting, with the help of its author. Basically, the SIS authorized the payment of 2,500 Pound Sterling - something like $10,000 U.S. during its time - quite a nice sum, too, by the way - paid to a Swiss bank account for G. De Rosier É .”
“The owner of the Saint Justine,” I interrupted, “who reported the vessel lost!”
“It seems it was lost ... to the British Intelligence Service! The second payment was cash - 100 pounds, paid in francs, to a ‘J. Charbonneau.’ The voucher we originally found for miscellaneous refurbishing services - including the name change ... .”
I could not hold back my excitement, and added, “And payment for new identity papers in the name of J. Charbonneau!”
I looked at the professor, and we both knew the answer simultaneously.
“Antoine Bouchard took the Saint Justine to Portsmouth, unloaded Colonel Remy and his family with the Atlantic Wall map. It was purchased by the SIS in exchange for the map, refurbished ... .”
The professor finished the narrative, “And Antoine under the false name of ‘J. Charbonneau’ was issued new forged identity papers. He then took the Sainte Marianne, as it is now called, to Courseulles-sur-Mer where the harbor master was probably paid off to look the other way. From there he routinely met with British Intelligence. He was working for the British - and the St. Marianne was his payment. The St. Marianne that was photographed in the harbor at Courseulles-sur-Mer in June 1942, apparently under the command of J. Charbonneau, aka Antoine Bouchard.”
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