Death Ray (23 page)

He was right. And eyebrows within the SIS, I reckoned. Renard was good. So good he was being wined and dined by the enemy as a reward. And Véronique was sharing in his success. Damn her! Recalling the one and only time we’d met, that evening in Bournemouth, she’d not struck me as likely material for a double agent. I’d spotted nothing in her manner or in what she’d said. She had to be a master at concealing the truth. In the end it was her actions that betrayed her, first running to warn Renard at the Flamingo Club, and now popping up alongside him in the company of the wretched Wehrmacht. I had little doubt that members of the Gestapo and SS would also be seated at their table.

Treading carefully, one awkward shuffling step at a
time
, we made our way through a stinking passageway leading to the rear of Monsieur Blanc’s shop. Although it was dark at the front, I could see lights at the back of the property. Loki removed his helmet, and we both took off our heavy coats and unbuttoned our tunics so as not to scare the living daylights out of Monsieur Blanc. Resting me up against a wall next to the door, Loki took the Sten from me and said, ‘Well, here goes, Finn. Let’s hope for a warm welcome.’ Grabbing the handle, he threw open the door, stepped inside and called out, ‘
Bonsoir!
’

I hobbled in after him. My stomach turned at the spectacle confronting us. There was blood everywhere. Hanging from a hook in the ceiling was a pig, its belly slit open. I reckoned it had been slaughtered just minutes before we’d arrived. A man wearing a heavily stained apron and holding a frighteningly long knife was pulling the foul red, grey and greenish-white organs and guts from the beast. The animal’s entrails slipped and slopped to the floor, forming a pile that slithered and wriggled, steam rising from it. Feeling myself retch, I placed a hand over my nose and tried not to breathe. The butcher was a big chap, with black, greasy hair, a huge moustache and massive arms. Startled, he turned and dropped his knife but quickly reached out and snatched up an even scarier meat cleaver.

‘Monsieur Blanc?’ Loki enquired.

The butcher raised the cleaver threateningly and then tentatively nodded. He looked ready and willing to make a fight of it. In poor French I announced, ‘We
need
your help. We’re Special Operations. We flew in with the others, with Jacques and Amélie Lefebvre, and Luc and Odette. Do you speak English?’

Suitably confused, Monsieur Blanc’s eyes narrowed.

‘Give him your gun, Loki,’ I said.

Hesitantly Loki held it out. Henri Blanc stiffened and shuffled backwards. Seeing that he wasn’t going to take it, Loki gently placed the gun down on a wooden table and stepped back as well.

His gaze firmly fixed on us, Henri Blanc cocked his head towards an open door behind him and called out, ‘Hélené! Come quickly!’

A young woman appeared at the door, lifted her hands to her face in dismay and let out a shriek. I guessed she was Henri’s daughter because she had the same dark hair and heavy bones. He spoke quickly to her while her eyes dashed back and forth between us. She gasped. ‘You’re English?’ she asked disbelievingly.

‘Well, we’re
from
England,’ I replied. In a kind of
Franglais
, we slowly explained what had happened to us while Hélené and Henri listened attentively. It was hard finding the right words in French, much harder than it had been in Madame Dupuis’ lessons. When we’d finished, Hélené took us upstairs and gave us some water, a wedge of crusty bread and a little soup from a large pot resting on a stove. Henri came too, and sat in the corner of the room just staring at us. He was still clutching the meat cleaver. I decided Henri was a careful man. He wasn’t taking any chances.

The soup, full of hearty chunks of meat, tasted
wonderful
. No sooner had we begun tucking in, than Hélené and Henri exchanged words. Hélené then set about throwing on her coat and scarf. In broken English she informed us, ‘I go fetch Pierre Truffaut. He will know what to do and how to contact the others. I’ll be gone an hour. I’ll get him to bring you some new clothes. You can’t stay dressed like that.’

She disappeared and we waited in silence. Henri Blanc didn’t move from his chair, and never took his eyes off us.

WHEN HÉLENÉ REAPPEARED
with Pierre on her heels, I sensed all was not well. Pierre studied us suspiciously and asked question after question about the drop that only those involved could have answered correctly. Even so, he didn’t relax. I suppose he didn’t recognize us from the rendezvous despite the fact we’d been standing on the Heinkel’s float, just feet from him. When I first set eyes on him in his rowing boat, he’d struck me as a tough young man. Now, in the lamplight, I saw a sharpness in his face too, the look of someone used to living with danger, used to relying on their wits. I could see he was extremely bright and quick thinking. Like Henri, he was being careful. We tried asking a lot of questions such as whether the others were safe, where they were hiding out, when could we get to meet up with them? All were ignored. He wasn’t going to tell us anything. He threw over a bag containing some hastily gathered old clothes. As we sorted through them and began changing, I remembered that it was Pierre’s father who Jacques had expected to meet at the drop. Henri Blanc had come instead only because Monsieur Truffaut had been arrested by the SS. ‘Any news about your father?’ I asked.

Pierre moved to the window overlooking the street
below
and cautiously peered through a narrow gap between the curtains. ‘He’s dead,’ he declared coldly, in a startlingly matter-of-fact way.

I felt awful for asking. ‘I’m sorry. How …?’

Pierre turned and looked at me. ‘The Gestapo tortured him and when they’d finished they took him into the woods to the east of Rochefort and put a bullet in his head.’

Hélené added, ‘We only found out this morning.’

‘Do you think he talked?’ Loki asked, somewhat hesitantly.

Pierre glared at him. ‘Probably. Wouldn’t you if they tore your fingernails out one by one?’

I gulped. The room fell silent. Then Hélené sighed and said, ‘Well
someone’s
been talking. Over the last month so many partisans have been rounded up. We have to be twice as careful as before.’

‘We trust no one,’ Pierre snapped. He peered across at my left leg. ‘How is your ankle? Is it broken?’

‘I don’t think so. Probably just twisted.’

‘Good. I will need to get papers made for you. They will take a few days. Without them you cannot go anywhere. You must stay here. Rest that ankle. I will talk to Jacques. He is in charge now. When it is safe for you to be moved, I’ll return.’ He turned to go. ‘Oh, and Hélené, tell your father not to worry. I’ll have someone move that motorcycle and sidecar. We’ll hide it. It may come in useful.’

For four days we hid out in the dusty attic above
Monsieur
Blanc’s shop. In the event of a raid, we were instructed to make our escape onto the roof via a tiny skylight. Once outside we’d be on our own. Neither of us fancied our chances. My swollen ankle slowly improved and after two days I found I could put my weight on it. After four, it didn’t hurt much at all.

Hélené brought us food and water three times a day but never any news. Idling away the time, we had a growing sense we were an unwanted burden on people who already had enough problems of their own. But despite the fact that our discovery by the Germans would be a death sentence for Henri Blanc and Hélené, they did not complain, at least not openly. I think they accepted the risks of harbouring us simply as being their patriotic duty. Thank God for people like the Blancs!

Pierre returned on the fifth evening, Amélie accompanying him. It was terrific to see a familiar face and we hugged and kissed in that peculiarly French way, while all trying to talk at once. Amélie was struggling for the right English words, Loki and I jabbering too quickly for her to understand properly. Eventually we overcame our excitement and Loki insisted on knowing how Freya was before we dealt with anything else.

‘She is OK,’ Amélie assured him. ‘She can’t wait to see you. Like the rest of us, she couldn’t believe you stayed behind.’

‘Well, I was hardly going to abandon her, was I?’ Loki replied.

Amélie squeezed his arm and smiled. ‘
Non
.’ I detected
an
anxiety about her that set me on edge, especially when her smile quickly faded. ‘We’ve been tipped off that the centre of town may be searched tonight. You have to be moved. At once.’

‘Unfortunately your papers aren’t ready yet,’ Pierre added apologetically. ‘Jacques said there was a delay. So, if you get stopped there’ll be nothing we can do for you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, but wouldn’t it be safer to be dressed as German soldiers again?’ said Loki. ‘We could pretend to be taking you somewhere, even under arrest if necessary.’

Pierre shrugged. ‘If you wish. I have to meet up with my brothers this evening so Amélie will take you to our new safe house. It’s across town, on the road towards the Château Rochefort. Good luck.’ He nodded to Amélie, shook our hands and slipped out of the door into the night.

As we hastily changed back into the Nazi uniforms, Hélené went to fetch a suitable bag for us to carry our other clothes and gear in. Our emergency-supplies bag taken from the Heinkel was looking rather the worse for wear and might draw attention. I instructed Hélené to burn it.

‘So Pierre has brothers,’ I observed while buttoning my tunic.

‘
Oui
, Finn,’ said Amélie. ‘Three of them. Pierre is the youngest. Their father owned a farm just a few miles outside Rochefort. Now the farm belongs to them and their mother. Monsieur Truffaut also led the largest of the local Resistance groups until his arrest. After a lot of
arguing
everyone’s agreed that Jacques can take over. Pierre wanted his eldest brother, Alain, to be in charge, but Alain said it was better that Jacques was, especially as he has authority from London.’ She looked troubled.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘I am worried,’ she confessed. ‘The SS have caught twelve partisans in the last week alone. It will make our job much harder. We need many partisans for Operation Death Ray, to create a big enough diversion. Jacques is trying to persuade the communists to join us. They are trouble but we need them. So far Jacques has had little success. Yesterday he ordered Odette to radio London and tell them that maybe the operation should be delayed until we regroup.’

‘And?’ asked Loki.

‘We’re still waiting for a reply.’

‘Any idea who’s talking?’

She shook her head. ‘Jacques told me he’s given clear instructions to everyone that they must not carry out any acts of sabotage or raids or do anything to upset the Germans until after Operation Death Ray. That may help prevent anyone else being caught. The last thing we need is for the town to be on high alert. He told me that at least everyone’s agreed to that, even the communists. So fingers crossed.’

We thanked Hélené and Henri Blanc profusely for all they’d done. Their smiles, firm embraces and handshakes told me they were both mighty glad to see the back of us. They’d breathe more easily and sleep better from now on. Amélie led us across town.

‘Have you been home to see your mother?’ I asked.

‘
Non
, Finn. Jacques went one evening but said it was too dangerous to return. He said Mother was sure the Germans were keeping an eye on her.’

‘Why? Is she involved with the Resistance too?’ asked Loki.

Amélie laughed. ‘
Maman! Non
. She is, how we say,
faible
, erm, frail, fragile. I think it is because of Father’s important work in Berlin.’ She paused and looked around. ‘
Ah, bon!
We’re almost there.’

The safe house was suitably unremarkable, situated midway along a street of identical detached villas. The front garden was overgrown with weeds and the windows were shuttered. Many houses looked similarly neglected, as if abandoned months ago. Amélie explained that ever since her country was overrun by the Nazis, and the French army had surrendered, tens of thousands of soldiers were being held as prisoners of war. Many other men and women had been shipped off to work in German factories too. And then there were the stories she’d heard of whole Jewish communities being rounded up and shipped off to labour camps in the east. It left streets half empty. We crept round to the back of the house and Amélie gave the signal – three heavy taps on the shabby wooden door, followed by two light ones and finally one thunderous one. Max, clutching a pistol, appeared and ushered us in. Grinning with delight, he slapped me heartily on the back. ‘It’s good to see you. Thank the Lord you made it safely. Believe
me
, the way things are looking, we need all the help we can get.’

He led us down a cramped set of stairs into a dimly lit basement that smelled of damp earth. Streaks of green mould decorated the walls. The place was a pigsty. An old tea chest served as a table and upturned crates as chairs. Straw and blankets were scattered round for sleeping on and there were piles of clothes and weapons strewn everywhere.

‘Freya!’ Loki ran and hugged her tightly.

‘Odette! I’m Odette,’ she replied, throwing her arms round him.

It was a joy to behold. I’d not seen them both looking so happy in ages. Finally, once they could be prised apart, I gave ‘Odette’ a hug too. Jacques, we were informed, had gone off for yet more clandestine meetings, trying to organize what was left of the fragmented group of local partisans into something resembling a fighting unit. He wouldn’t return until the following day. Loki and I settled down and told our story before listening to what had happened to the others after the drop.

‘An old baker’s van was waiting for us on the road close to the river,’ said Freya. ‘We drove south, away from Rochefort, and then doubled back by train and on foot.’

‘You were lucky, extremely lucky,’ I noted. ‘Had you hung around a few more minutes, I doubt you would have got away. Do you think Fritz knew we were coming?’