Now he and the others were ready to go. Alistair had chosen the French and German cover names they would use in living their false identities in Paris. They would go by these working names in Paris but would remain unknown to one another, even after their missions were complete. Alistair had informed the team of their cover names separately and ordered them not to divulge them to one another. Secrecy would be their greatest protection against betrayal. He kept the process simple. He selected noms de plumes beginning with the first letter of their real names. Sam Barton would become Stephane Beaulieu. Brad Hudson was to go by Barnard Wagner, and Chris was to answer to Claus Bauer. Bridgette was Bernadette Dufor, and Victoria, Veronique Colbert.

But as a group they’d chosen and had fun selecting their field code names, or call signals, to identify themselves in radio transmissions and by which they would communicate with each other from now on. Alistair had steered them away from tags suggesting gender, occupation, or physical size—any clue that would tip off the enemy to their identity. They had consulted a dictionary and agreed to select names from under whichever letter Webster’s Dictionary fell open to. The book parted to L, so Bridgette selected Labrador, a good choice for a woman as even-tempered and dependable as she. Victoria’s finger had lighted on Liverwort, the godawful name of a flowerless green pancake of a plant, in ludicrous contrast to her beauty. Brad had favored Limpet, a marine mollusk with a muscular foot that could cling powerfully to wave-swept rocks. Alistair thought that an excellent fit for the young man he had come to know.

The other two men also chose words descriptive of Alistair’s perception of them. Sam picked Lodestar, the guiding star of a ship; and Chris, Lapwing, a bird noted for its slow, irregular flapping flight and shrill, wailing cry. Alistair had to laugh at his selection. He wondered if Chris had made the connection to his singing voice, overheard when he belted out a tune in the camp shower of Station S, or to his own slow, swinging way of moving contrary to the smooth grace of his lightning-fast running speed.