Reincarnated: Vive La France
Chapter 242: You will do what’s necessary. Not more. Not less.

Chapter 242: You will do what’s necessary. Not more. Not less.

Moreau’s private study in the Élysée.

The day’s business had ended hours ago, but Moreau was just beginning.

Lieutenant Colonel Louis Rivet entered quietly, closing the door behind him.

Moreau looked up from a stack of maps. "Rivet," he said softly, voice low.

"Sit."

Rivet nodded, pulled out a chair.

Moreau offered water, Rivet declined.

Moreau tapped a finger on a map showing Europe in its division.

"Spain. Germany. Britain. Our internal ministers. Local prefects. Dockyards. Embassies. Your network must cover every inch. You lead this silent shield."

Rivet’s jaw clenched. "Yes, sir. We’ve restarted our contacts in Madrid and Barcelona. Our operatives listen in Franco’s circles, Moscow’s emissaries, and British diplomats. We’ve intercepted several ciphered cables. But everything was aimed at external threats."

Moreau nodded slowly. "Now it’s broader. I want you to reassign at least fifty percent of your internal agents to home ministers, deputies, prefects, navies, rail unions. We need to know if France itself is plotting while we rebuild it."

Rivet paused. "Surveillance. That’s... complex. These are French citizens."

Moreau met him steadily. "Not citizens, Rivet. People in power. Enemies can stand in line. We don’t root out dissent we root out conspiracies. Track, don’t entrap. Observe, don’t provoke."

Rivet nodded, stern. "Understood."

Moreau paced to the window, peering into darkness beyond. "On Spain proceed with urgency. The civil war shifts. Franco may consolidate north, but Valencia and Catalonia rock with revolts. Show me our ’angles.’ Who advantages? Who loses? Document collateral who profits from arms, commodities, refugee flows. Make that intelligence ours."

Rivet pulled out a notebook. "That’s Phase One."

"Good." Moreau turned and tapped Germany on the map. "Berlin. We have old data troop movements east, air exercises behind coded names. Keep mapping supply routes, listening for directives."

Rivet frowned. "That requires resources. My budget is still frozen."

Moreau lifted a hand. "Grant yourself the resources. Recalculate through Reynaud. Compensate later. Just produce."

Rivet slid pen across the notebook. "Understood."

Moreau’s posture softened.

"I trust you. No silliness. No leaks. We’re not building an internal spy state. We’re building early warning for France, for our Republic."

Rivet’s eyes held respect. "Understood, sir."

Moreau paused thoughtfully. "Also Britain. Call our embassy in London. Any naval movements in Portsmouth, Norfolk. Any Parliamentary debate on continental intervention. We must anticipate British designs even if they mask them with civility."

Rivet tapped notes. "Spain, Germany, Britain, internal got it. I’ll delegate regional directors. I’ll need secure channels."

Moreau walked around the map, fingers pointing at each region precisely. "I want weekly syntheses no more than three pages per front, clear headings. And a daily intel confessional to me. You cannot pass through me nobody else reports directly. That way we maintain trust."

Rivet closed his notebook. "Yes, sir. Confessional daily, syntheses weekly."

Moreau moved to the desk, leant forward. "I want dossiers on each minister and key prefect. Full basic profiles family, finance, social ties. Are they compromised? Are they driven by ideology or ambition? Whose ambitions? Talk to Veil I want fiscally traceable flows, especially from colonial industries, fungibles in port accounts, export licenses."

Rivet inhaled. "A comprehensive intel sweep. Officer integrity, fiscal corruption, personal loyalties I’ll begin today."

Moreau tapped a final protocol. "Put together a short list of candidate internal threats say, five flagged in past month. If any reach Level Zero suspicion, we freeze their communications until secure. But only in urgency. No public scandal."

Rivet gave a firm nod. "That’s tight work. We’ll keep it in house."

Moreau’s expression hardened. "You will do what’s necessary. Not more. Not less. France is no longer suspended in crisis. But nor is it secure."

Rivet rose. "I’ll deploy teams at midnight."

Moreau reached out, placed a hand on Rivet’s shoulder.

Firm, trusting. "Make me proud, Louis."

Rivet turned, gave a final straight look. "I won’t fail you."

Later, in the back in the intelligence rooms.

Rivet moved past lines of analysts.

He checked a wall-chart.

Regional intel statuses.

Spain: Code Amber.

Germany: Code Yellow.

Internal Monitoring: Code Green.

He met Colonel Fontaine, current operations head.

Fontaine scanned a folder.

"Spain intel, Franco’s 5th Army grouping in Granada is receiving five transport convoys weekly from Morocco. Suspected material of unknown origin."

He lifted his eyebrows. "They’re receiving."

Rivet noted.

"Keep watch on their flamethrower program. Madrid reported new Gulf nitrate shipments a week ago. Coordinate with naval intelligence and Marseille ports."

Fontaine replied.

"Already checking."

Rivet pulled out his notebook with lists. "Next... Minister of Transportation recent entry in Bilbao. Documents match unsanctioned log. Check internal ministry files."

He handed him a folder.

"Also dossier on Mandel every month track police equipment orders. Are they normal? Deviations? Anything militarized?"

Fontaine absorbed every word. "Understood."

Rivet ended.

"And bring me early intel on Reynaud’s first bond negotiations with London banks. Threat of refusal could destabilize markets. I want that flagged and context. If we’re cutting bond deals while building spies, control the optics."

Fontaine looked up.

"I’ll handle it."

Rivet left the ops floor.

Outside the director was waiting.

She was code-named "Hortense," head of analysis.

She flicked back her hair. "We just got a new wire from Barcelona. Valencia declared no-fly zones. British tech advisors maybe embedded. More French volunteers crossing."

Rivet’s eyebrow knit. "Publish in report? Eyes-only front?"

Hortense nodded. "Yes. Your weekly. Will highlight Franco’s supply chain shifts and those British advisements."

Rivet made a note in his notebook. "Good."

The next day, Moreau awaited Rivet’s first syntheses in his study.

Rivet entered, carrying three leather-bound reports.

He handed them to Moreau.

Moreau opened the first.

Spain, Weekly Synthesis and read.

Franco’s 5th Army: five shipments weekly, ammunition.

British adviser presence confirmed near Valencia.

Civilian air-raids imminent.

Democracy cells in Barcelona reverse-moving supply of uniforms.

Financial donations track through Geneva via civilian.

Moreau nodded. "Too much involvement. Speak to the bank in Bern."

Next Germany, Weekly Synthesis

Troop movements 3rd Army East on coded retitling.

Polish border intelligence signals command shift.

Luftwaffe drill code "Edelweiss" moving south.

Moreau tapped.

"Hosts training. Warn our engineering reconnaissance."

Third Internal Monitoring, Weekly Synthesis.

Minister of Transportation: Bilbao visit confirmed, no direct misconduct yet.

Prefect Demolins in Marseille: received correspondences from exiled colonels.

Transport Minister: suspicious lines in port documentation.

Dock union in Le Havre: signs of growth-linked picketing.

Paramilitary pamphlet uptick in Alsace.

Moreau’s eyes were sharp.

He looked at Rivet.

"This is excellent. Expand the dock all major ports. Track windfall access. We cannot miss a maritime slip."

Rivet exhaled. "We’ll send liaison rush."

Moreau leaned back. "Report base. Hourly confessional goes to my desk. Weekly stays. But... Rivet civil liberties."

Rivet paused. "We only listen, sir."

Moreau’s gaze softened. "Stay vigilant, not brute. If you lose public confidence if we become spies first, guardians second we fail. Just be... loyal watchers."

Rivet saluted. "Always, sir."