Chapter 317: Alan Turing in Paris

Words : 1294 Updated : Oct 5th, 2025

Alan Turing was hunched over his desk at King’s College, Cambridge, a half-finished proof sprawled across three sheets of paper. The knock at the door startled him. A college porter stood in the doorway, hat in hand. "Telegram for you, sir. Delivered by an embassy courier." Turing frowned. "Embassy?" "Yes, sir. French." He took the envelope, the thick cream paper folded crisply. Inside, in elegant French script translated neatly in a note below were a few sentences. Monsieur Turing, The President of the French Republic requests your presence in Paris for a matter of national interest. Travel arrangements will be provided. Discretion is paramount. — Étienne Moreau, Head of State. Turing read it twice. "Good Lord." The porter cleared his throat. "There’s a gentleman waiting downstairs. Says he’ll accompany you to Dover, then across to Calais." Turing hesitated. "What sort of matter of national interest?" The porter shrugged. "He didn’t say, sir. But he looks... official." Turing had no official ties to France. His work in mathematical logic, computation, and some side consulting with the Government Code and Cypher School was hardly the stuff of presidential invitations. But curiosity was its own gravity. "Very well," he said, standing. "Tell him I’ll need half an hour." The man from Renaud’s office tall, dark coat, precise in speech was waiting by a black saloon car. The drive to Dover was wordless. At the port, they boarded a waiting packet steamer. By late evening, the car was rolling into Paris. The next morning, under a pale sky, Turing was escorted through the gates of the Élysée Palace. Moreau was standing by a window in his private study when Turing entered. The French leader turned, smiling faintly. "Monsieur Turing," he said in English. "Welcome to Paris." "Thank you, Monsieur le Président," Turing said, still unsure what to expect. Moreau gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Please, sit. Would you like coffee? Tea?" "Tea, if it’s no trouble." "No trouble at all." Moreau nodded to an aide, who slipped away. Turing took his seat. His eyes flicked to the maps on the wall Europe, the Atlantic, the Mediterranean. Not decoration, but tools. Beside them, a chalkboard covered in columns of numbers. "I must admit," Turing began, "your invitation surprised me." "That was the idea," Moreau replied. "Sometimes the best way to open a conversation is to be unexpected." "And what conversation is that?" "About your work," Moreau said simply. Turing shifted. "My work?" "You’re modest. You’ve been at the forefront of theoretical computation. Your paper on computable numbers is still being argued over in Cambridge common rooms." Turing looked slightly taken aback. "You’ve read it?" "I’ve read about it," Moreau said. "I understand enough to know it is important. Machines that can follow instructions, logical steps, to solve problems. Machines that can work faster than men." Turing’s brow furrowed. "It’s largely theoretical. At least for now." "For now," Moreau said, with a faint emphasis. "And you’ve done some work with ciphers, yes? Polyalphabetic substitutions. Permutations. Early work on mechanical assistance for decryption." Turing hesitated. "That’s... not generally public." "Neither is this meeting," Moreau said. The aide returned with tea. The cups were placed, the door closed again. Moreau took a slow sip. "You know Europe is changing, Mr. Turing. You’ve read the newspapers. Germany grows stronger by the month." "I read them," Turing said. "They’re... restrained, but the pattern is there." "And patterns," Moreau said, "are your speciality." Turing gave a small smile. "Of a sort." "Then you know," Moreau went on, "that modern war will not only be fought with tanks and rifles. It will be fought with signals. Messages. Orders. All of them encrypted." "I can imagine," Turing said. "Germany," Moreau continued, "has invested heavily in machine encryption. Their army, their navy, even their diplomats all sending messages through a device the British call Enigma." Turing looked shocked. "You know about Enigma." "I know enough to know it is a problem worth solving." Turing didn’t answer. Moreau leaned forward. "I am going to speak plainly. I believe you are the man who can solve it." "That’s... quite a statement," Turing said cautiously. "I don’t make such statements lightly," Moreau replied. "You have the mind for it. You see patterns others miss. You think in a way that turns complexity into something tangible." Turing looked down at his tea. "Even if I could... breaking such a cipher is no small matter. It would require... resources." "You would have them," Moreau said immediately. "Every resource France can offer. Mathematicians, engineers, funding, machines. Whatever you need." Turing studied him. "Why France?" "Because," Moreau said, "Britain will move too slowly. They still think in terms of rooms full of clerks with pencils. I think in terms of machines. You need freedom to build without hesitation." Turing tilted his head. "You’re certain war is coming." "I’m certain," Moreau said. "And when it comes, the side that reads the other’s messages will have the advantage before the first shot is fired." There was a pause. Turing asked, "And what exactly would you have me do?" "Come to France. Work here. Build what you need to break Enigma. Do it before Germany turns its full attention west." "You make it sound... urgent." "It is urgent," Moreau said. "Poland is only months away. Once Hitler consolidates Czechoslovakia, he will turn east. When he turns to Poland, we will turn to Berlin. And when we do, I want every order he gives to be read on my desk before his generals receive it." Turing leaned back, absorbing the words. "And you trust me with this?" "I trust you," Moreau said without hesitation. "I trust that you understand the stakes, and that you can do what others might take years to even attempt." "You speak as if you know I’ll succeed." Moreau smiled faintly. "I believe in planning for success, not failure." Turing gave a short laugh. "That’s dangerously optimistic." "It’s calculated," Moreau said. They drank their tea in a short silence. Turing finally said, "If I were to agree, I’d need a secure workspace. Staff I can select myself. Access to intercepted German traffic." "You’ll have it," Moreau promised. "And no interference," Turing added. "I’m offering you a problem," Moreau said. "Not a leash." Turing’s gaze drifted to the chalkboard. "You’ve already been thinking about it." "I think about many things," Moreau said. "Some of them I even tell people." Turing studied him for a moment longer. "You’re... not like other politicians." "I take that as a compliment." "It was meant as one." Moreau set his cup down. "Then I’ll ask you directly. Will you do this?" Turing hesitated. "It would mean... stepping away from my work in Cambridge." "It would mean," Moreau said, "turning theory into something that could change the course of a war." Turing said, "If I do this, it stays between us." "Until the day it doesn’t need to," Moreau agreed. Another pause, then Turing said, "I’ll need time to prepare." "You’ll have a week," Moreau said. "We can have you installed in a secure facility near Paris before April." Turing almost smiled. "You make it sound like moving house." "In a way, you will be. Except the furniture will be wires and rotors." Turing finally extended his hand. "All right. I’ll do it." Moreau took it firmly. "Good. Then let’s make sure Germany never whispers without us hearing." That evening, as Turing’s car drove him through the wet Paris streets back to his hotel, he thought about the maps on Moreau’s wall, the calm certainty in his voice. This was not a man gambling blindly. This was a man who had already placed every piece on the board. And somehow, Turing had just agreed to become one of them.

Chapter 317: Alan Turing in Paris

Comments (0)