Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (33 page)

They left on schedule, taking the tram to the Brussels Nord station to catch the train for Paris. A policeman stood behind the railway conductor, looking over the crowd of travelers, as Anna and Ryan waited in the queue on the platform. When they handed their tickets and passports to the conductor, the policeman glanced over the conductor’s shoulder then looked away without comment. The conductor punched their tickets, and they boarded the train.

The car was practically full, but Anna found two seats facing each other next to a window. Ryan found a spot for their bags in the overhead rack, and they squeezed past the passengers sitting in the aisle seats and settled in.

Anna noticed Ryan studying the other passengers and, as she had done on her other missions, tried to imagine what it must be like for the young aviator.

Everyone around him was speaking French, a language he couldn’t understand. He was a combatant in enemy territory with no means to defend himself, and his survival was dependent on a person he had met just twenty-four hours ago. If he were asked any questions, he would have to respond in a convincing 220

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manner using another language that was foreign to him.

She glanced at Ryan again and was surprised to see a smile on his face. To her annoyance, he even winked at her. He appeared to be enjoying this.

The incident occurred halfway between Lille and Paris. It was the middle of the night, and a French conductor had replaced the Belgian at Lille. The stubby little man, wearing a dark blue uniform, entered the car from the front and made his way down the aisle, checking tickets and passports. Anna was relieved to see that he was working alone, and there were no German soldiers with him. Many of the passengers were asleep and had placed their tickets and passports in the little clip at the corner of their seats.

When the conductor got to their row, he examined the tickets and passports of the two persons sitting in the aisle seats who both appeared to be sleeping.

He punched the tickets and replaced the documents in the clips. Ryan was also asleep, his head leaning against the window, and Anna held both sets of documents. She handed them to the conductor who took them and nodded.

As she leaned forward, her knee brushed against Ryan’s, and he woke with a start.

“Huh . . . wha’ . . .” he mumbled, dazedly looking.

Anna gripped his knee to caution him before he said anything else. He grunted, then followed her eyes to the conductor.

The conductor punched the tickets and handed the documents back.

“Merci,”
Anna said.

“Dank U,”
Ryan said.

The aviator’s response caught Anna by surprise, but she didn’t react.

The conductor nodded and moved on.

Ryan faced the rear of the car, and he continued to watch the conductor as the man moved on through the rows.

Several minutes later, Anna heard the rush of air as the door of the car opened and the conductor left. On these missions, every encounter with offi cials was stressful for her, and she had just relaxed a little when Ryan abruptly leaned forward and whispered in English, “How’d I do, Mum? Pass the test?”

Anna was so startled, she couldn’t respond. She stared at him in disbelief.

He had that arrogant smile again, as if he had just won a game of chess. Anna frowned and fl icked her hand at him, hoping he’d get the message and shut up.

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Ryan shrugged and leaned back against the window, closing his eyes.

Anna took a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the magazine on her lap.

She waited a moment, then stole a glance at the heavyset man in the seat next to Ryan. The man was still in the same position he had been in before, turned slightly toward the window with his head resting on the back of the seat.

But his eyes were open.

Several minutes passed. Anna wanted to steal another glance at the man to see if he had fallen back to sleep but didn’t dare.

The heavyset man grunted, then coughed, and a second later he lifted his bulk out of the seat and stood up. He coughed again and headed for the rear of the car.

Anna’s heart was in her throat. Had he overheard Ryan’s comment? She tried to keep calm. Most likely the man had heard something but, coming out of a sleep, he probably didn’t recognize it as English. Even if he had, what would it matter to him? Unless he was a collaborator and wanted to cause trouble. But what were the chances of that? Don’t imagine the worst, Anna thought. Most likely the man had just gone back to use the toilet.

By the time he returned Anna was worried. He had been gone a long time.

She thumbed through the magazine as the man slumped heavily into the seat.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach under the seat and pull out a folded newspaper, which he opened and began to read.

A half hour later the door at the rear of the car opened and closed. Anna didn’t turn around, but she could feel the footsteps of the conductor coming up the aisle behind her. It’s nothing, she told herself, perfectly normal.

Thankfully, Ryan was asleep, or doing a very good job of pretending.

The conductor paused at their row. His eyes met Anna’s and he smiled, then moved on.

Anna watched him as moved up the aisle. He didn’t stop at any of the other rows, just exited the front of the car. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wondering if she was paranoid.

The sun was up when they pulled into Paris’s Gare du Nord. Ryan pulled their bags down from the rack and they made their way out of the car. When Anna stepped onto the platform she noticed the stubby little conductor standing next to their car. Was it a coincidence? The man had to be standing somewhere, she 222

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told herself as they followed the crowd into the terminal.

The plan was exactly the same as it had been on her other missions. Ryan went into the toilet while she walked to the newsstand and purchased a magazine. She headed for a bench to observe the crowd while pretending to read.

It was after seven o’clock and the station was busy. Anna didn’t notice as many German tourists as she had on her last mission, but several groups of Wehrmacht soldiers trudged through the station heading to the platforms, all carrying large duffel bags. With the talk of an invasion coming soon, it didn’t really surprise her. As expected, the Parisian civilians gave the soldiers a wide berth as they stomped through.

Anna was about to sit down when she spotted the conductor from their train again. He was on the far side of the terminal, talking with a policeman and two Feldgendarmes. She watched them for a few seconds then glanced toward the toilet just in time to see Ryan disappear inside.
Damn it all.
Maybe she and Ryan should have walked directly out of the terminal. But that wasn’t the plan.

That wasn’t what she had been instructed to do.

She noticed the policeman nod his head and say something as the conductor looked at his watch and walked away, heading back to the platforms. The policeman and the two Feldgendarmes talked among themselves for another minute, then split up and moved off.

Anna stood next to the bench, holding her magazine but not even pretending to read it. Straining to see through the throng of people moving through the terminal, she tried to follow the movements of the three uniformed men.

The Feldgendarmes had separated, each heading for one of the terminal’s two exits. The policeman walked slowly through the cavernous building. She kept losing sight of him in the crowd.

Anna’s heart beat so hard, she was sure it would burst. She spotted Ryan as he emerged from the toilet, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As she had instructed him, he paused and lit a cigarette, gazing in her direction.

Anna nervously checked out the exits. The Feldgendarmes had taken up positions next to each of the massive doorways and appeared to be watching the people leaving. She cursed under her breath. How could this have happened? Was it really all because of a few whispered words in English from a naive young man? She admonished herself for dwelling on it. This was no time for mind games. She had to make a decision, right now.

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Hoping Ryan would remember the signal, Anna dropped the magazine on the bench, reached into her bag and pulled out a blue silk scarf. Trying to act nonchalant, but certain she wasn’t succeeding, she put the scarf on her head, tied it under her chin and began moving through the crowd, toward the platforms.

Anna tried to spot the policeman so she could keep out of his way but she had lost him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ryan hesitate for a second then bend down and open his bag. He pulled out a gray felt hat, put it on his head and followed her. Donning the headgear wasn’t much of a disguise, but the Comet Line operatives had told her that, in a crowded building, it was sometimes just enough to make a difference. It didn’t do much to bolster her confi dence.

As she pushed through the crowd, Anna went over the back-up plan. Her instructions were to use the alternate set of tickets and travel on to Le Havre.

She stopped under the schedule display board and looked up at it. Ryan came alongside of her.

He leaned over as if to speak but Anna stepped on his foot, hard. She found the listing for the train to Le Havre. It was leaving in forty minutes. She glanced at Ryan and motioned for him to follow, hoping that he knew better than to ask questions.

Chapter 43

Leon Marchal was repairing a wheel on his hay wagon when he heard the sound of an automobile coming down the road. So few people drove cars these days, it always caught his attention when he heard one. He looked up as Jules van Acker’s battered Citroen pulled into the farmyard and stopped just behind the wagon.

Marchal knew it must be important for van Acker to use precious gasoline driving out here. He wiped his hands on a rag and walked over to the car.

Marchal always marveled at how the rotund man managed to fi t into such a small vehicle.

“I just received the call,” van Acker said. “The action at the rail siding is on for tomorrow night.”

Marchal nodded. “It’s about time.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. “Would you like to stay and have lunch?”

“I’ve got to get back to the shop,” van Acker replied. “Do you want to use the truck? I could get it for you again.”

“
Non,
the wagons will be less conspicuous. We’ll leave in the morning and have plenty of time.”

“You’ll contact me when it’s over?”

“Oui, oui, bien sûr.”

Van Acker turned the car around and drove off.

The next morning Marchal drove the horse-drawn wagon out of the farmyard with Gaston next to him and Jean-Claude riding in the back. Paul Delacroix drove the second wagon, with Richard sitting beside him and Henri Delacroix riding in the back with Franc.

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Buried beneath a load of hay in each wagon were canvas backpacks fi lled with weapons, packages of plastique, reels of wire and boxes of detonators.

As he headed the wagon onto the dirt road, Marchal turned and waved at Luk and Justyn who were standing on the porch. He knew how badly they wanted to go along.

It was late afternoon before they arrived at the area of Salmchateau, hid the wagons in a barn owned by a friend of van Acker’s and trekked off through the forest. It was warm and humid after the rains of the last couple of days, and the ground was soft, allowing them to proceed quickly yet quietly.

They arrived at the same creek Marchal and Delacroix had crossed when they conducted their fi rst reconnaissance of the rail siding more than two months ago. It had been frozen then, but now they had to slosh through ankle-deep water. Across the creek they found the path leading to the top of the hill and the railroad tracks.

Marchal motioned to Franc that this was the spot and, in a fl ash, Franc slid down the hill, sprinted across the tracks and disappeared into the trees on the other side. Marchal led the rest of the group along the crest of the hill until they came to the point where the rail siding split off to the north side of the tracks.

Keeping out of sight, just below the crest of the hill, the group proceeded to the location where Marchal and Delacroix had observed the guards on their reconnaissance mission. It was a half hour before dusk. They were right on time.

Marchal crawled to the crest of the hill and spotted both guards, patrolling the siding as they had been before. He looked up and down the tracks, taking a long look at the hut. He knew that Franc was over there but well concealed.

Satisfi ed that there was no one around except for the guards, Marchal slid back down the hill. Gaston had removed the packets of PE-2 plastique from the backpacks and laid them on the grass. Richard had unpacked four rifl es and loaded them with clips of ammunition. He handed one each to Paul Delacroix and Gaston and passed another to Marchal.

Marchal grabbed the weapon, looked at his watch and whispered, “Five minutes to go. Take up your positions.”

Paul and Henri crawled off to the left and Richard and Jean-Claude to the right. Marchal and Gaston, each carrying a rifl e, crept back to the crest of the hill. Marchal took one last look at his watch. In two minutes Franc would toss a hand grenade into the empty hut. He sighted in on one of the guards. If 226

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everything went according to the plan, he might not have to kill the man.

The blast came right on schedule, sending shattered pieces of wood and sheet metal in all directions. Both guards turned toward the explosion in stunned surprise. At that instant, Paul and Henri Delacroix burst from the woods on Marchal’s left, and Richard and Jean-Claude raced out from the right. Both groups charged the guard closest to them screaming in German,

“Drop your weapons!
Jetzt!
Drop your weapons!”

The guards spun around at the same time. The one on the left had dropped his submachine gun when the explosion went off, and now he bent down to retrieve it. Paul Delacroix pointed his rifl e at him and screamed, “
Halt!