Stranger at the Gates (21 page)

‘I agree,' he said. ‘I agree it's unlikely we'll get him. But I'm convinced of one thing. He was landed here on Friday night. Somebody sheltered him for Saturday and Sunday. Somebody, somewhere in this district, has been hiding him. And that car came from the direction of St. Blaize en Yvelines. Somebody hid him there.'

‘I'll find them,' Vierken assured him. ‘I propose to close off the entire area. Nobody enters or leaves the district within a radius of fifty kilometres. All telephone systems and transport comes under S.S. control; the regular military authority is suspended. There will be a complete communications blackout. And I want the seventh battalion to supply me with three hundred troops, and the necessary armoured vehicles. I shall set up my headquarters here and conduct the investigations myself.'

‘Very good,' Knocken said. He took up his pencil and tapped it against his lower teeth; he looked round the table at his staff officers. Their faces were stiff and grave. ‘Gentlemen,' he said. ‘I have to tell you something. What happened here this morning has cost us the war.' There was a murmur from them, a wordless protest. He held up his hand. ‘I'm not exaggerating. Frederich Brühl and his work are irreplaceable. Both are destroyed. All that is left to us is vengeance. These people'—he turned to Vierken, grim and scowling beside him—‘these people helped our enemies. We've treated them with softness. Our occupation has been gentle. And this is the result! Weakness, gentlemen, has brought this terrible disaster upon our Fatherland. But they are going to pay for it.' His clenched fist slammed the table. ‘You,' he said to Vierken, ‘are going to make an example of them that will go down in history! I want them punished … I want it to be a punishment to fit what they have done!'

Vierken stood up. ‘I promise you that,' he said. ‘I promise you the French will pay a price for this that will never be forgotten!'

‘Good,' Knocken said. ‘Good. I am relying on you.'

‘I shan't fail you,' Vierken said. ‘I'll think of something really special for them.' The meeting broke up; Knocken gave two orders which were to be carried out immediately. An S.S. firing squad executed the four soldiers who had been on duty on the gates and inside the Château, and Gruppenführer Brandt was handed a revolver with which he shot himself. A message detailing the disaster was sent direct to the Reichs-Chancellery in Berlin. Knocken and Vierken returned to Paris, where Vierken went to his headquarters for an hour to clear his desk. Among the messages and memos waiting for him was a brief note from the German Embassy in Berne. ‘Felon & Brassier confirm that Roger Savage has left for France. He can be located at the Château de St. Blaize en Yvelines where he is dealing with the financial affairs of the Comtesse de Bernard. His date of arrival was May 30th; he is expected to return to Berne early this week. He is a Swiss national, resident in the city for the past five years. Message ends.'

Vierken had forgotten about Régine's cousin-in-law. He was still stunned by what had happened at the Château Diane, still struggling to reconcile himself to the disaster of Brühl's murder and the destruction of the laboratory. His rage was mounting, with a sense of frustration which could only find an outlet in savage cruelty. He read the report on Roger Savage twice. For a moment suspicion had reared in him, only to subside regretfully in the face of that confirming evidence. There was nothing wrong with the Swiss staying at St. Blaize. Their source in Berne was beyond question. Felon & Brassier were international lawyers of repute. The address given as Savage's home had confirmed his absence. There was nothing there.

He made arrangements for his Parisian commitments to be looked after and went to the Crillon to collect his belongings. A week at St. Blaize from where the killer's car had come—ten days. Time enough to question and search and then, with an ingenuity which was just beginning to suggest itself, devise a punishment meet for the crime … He had an appointment with Régine that evening. He had arranged to collect her from the Sorbonne, and bring her back to the hotel. He thought of her disappointment and was sorry. He telephoned and left a message for her. He had a little time left; just enough to explain, to hold her in his arms. Just as he had decided to leave the hotel, Régine arrived. She was breathless and untidy. He opened the door of the suite and she ran into his arms.

‘My darling—I came as soon as I could get away. My tutor was furious …'

‘Kiss me,' Vierken demanded, pressing her small body hard against him. ‘Kiss me!'

Moments later she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. ‘How long will you be gone? I miss you so much—I can't bear it!'

‘Not long,' he comforted. ‘A week, a few days more perhaps. It won't be too long.'

‘It'll be eternity to me,' Régine declared. Sometimes the extent of her passion surprised him. She was so small, so slight and pale. He stroked her hair with tenderness. His wife, that placid, obedient cow, had less fire in her whole body than the frail girl possessed in one of the fingers he was kissing.

‘It won't be long,' he repeated. ‘Don't cry, sweetheart; I shall miss you too. When I come back we can be together again.'

‘Where are you going? Why can't I come with you—I could make an excuse to my aunt …'

‘No,' Vierken said. ‘This is official business. I can't tell you where I'm going. It's police work.'

‘You won't be in danger, will you?' The thin arms circled his neck, clutching with desperate strength.

‘No,' he assured her. ‘I've told you, it's a police operation. Resistance.'

‘Give them hell,' she said fiercely. ‘But come back safely, that's all I care about. You will be careful, won't you? You know if anything happened to you I should die?'

‘Would you?' Vierken asked her. ‘Do you love me so much?'

‘You know I do.' She leaned her head against him and he kissed her hair.

He thought suddenly that he would never, ever go back to his wife. If the war was lost, as Knocken said it was, then his escape was planned. Spain and then Central America. He had money hidden away against the treachery of fate. He would forget about his wife. He would take Régine with him.

‘You mean a lot to me,' he said suddenly. ‘I want you to know that.'

‘I worship you,' she said simply. ‘I couldn't live without you now.'

‘You have such passion,' he muttered, holding her against him; the muscles of his thighs were taut. ‘Such fire, for such a little girl. I could break you …'

‘Do it,' she whispered, her eyes closed. ‘Do it now—we've got time … Love me, Adolph. Love me …' He swung her up into his arms and took her to the bedroom. Afterwards at the door of the suite they said goodbye. He held her very close. And he broke the discipline of twenty years. ‘Promise me you'll stay in Paris. I don't want you to go home to St. Blaize. Stay here.'

‘Why not?' Régine asked. ‘Why mustn't I go?'

‘Because I order you not to,' he said, using the sexual language which had such power over them both. ‘I command you understand me? I love you, Régine. Promise me you'll stay here, with your aunt, till I get back?'

‘If that's what you want,' she said. ‘I'll do it. I'll do what you say.'

‘Good,' Vierken said gently. He kissed her eyes and lips. ‘Good. Remember, wait for me. We'll be together soon.' He left immediately after she did; his chief interrogator, a young S.S. Captain in his twenties, sat beside him in the car.

By the time Heinz Minden arrived at the Château Diane troops of the Waffen S.S. were in command, and since Vierken's first orders had been issued just after nine o'clock, the area had been completely sealed off from contact with the outside world.

‘I can't understand it,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘Half an hour ago I telephoned through to Louis Malle and now the line is dead.' He banged the receiver rest up and down. ‘This is a real nuisance; Malle promised to get me some supplies of roofing felt; I told him I'd pay the black market price but we've got to get the tower roof insulated; there's so much damp coming in we'll have serious damage.'

He glanced at Louise without really seeing her. He had spent a night sleeping uneasily, disturbed in the small hours by a nightmare in which he saw his father and his children choking to death. His temper was frayed and his nerves on edge. He struck the telephone and swore. He hadn't noticed how pale his wife looked, or the nervous glance she gave Savage when he appeared for breakfast; they hadn't had a chance to speak alone. Last night had been a failure. That was all Jean knew. But something about her silence irritated him. He looked round at her.

‘They must have cut the telephones off,' she said. They were alone in his study.

He frowned at her. ‘What do you mean—who's cut the telephones?'

‘The Germans,' Louise said slowly.

‘What makes you say that?' He walked towards her. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Savage got the key,' she said. ‘He got into the Château. He did what he came over to do. They must have found out by now.'

‘My God,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘My God—I thought you said he'd failed …'

‘He didn't,' she said. ‘He killed Brühl and he destroyed the gas.' For a moment there was silence; he didn't move or speak Suddenly he made a gesture.

‘Thank God,' he said in a low tone. ‘Thank God. He must get away from here.'

‘He's going,' Louise answered him. His reaction had surprised her. She had expected fear, reproach, even though he had tried to help Savage. ‘When did he tell you this?' Jean asked.

She answered without thinking. ‘When he got back; about four o'clock.'

‘He came to your room?'

‘Oh for God's sake, Jean! How else could he let us know!'

‘He could have come to me,' her husband said. ‘Did he touch you again?'

She turned on him bitterly. ‘And what the hell does it matter? What do you care about a thing like that when we're all in danger of our lives! No, he didn't make love to me, if that's what's worrying you. He went straight to his own room.'

‘I must talk to him,' the Comte said. ‘I've got to know what he plans to do. He ought to leave immediately.'

‘He's going,' Louise said. ‘He's upstairs packing now—someone's coming up the drive.' Louise was on her feet, looking out of the window. ‘On a bicycle. It's Camier!'

Jean stood beside her, watching the Mayor of St. Blaize pedal to the front door, dismount and wipe his sleeve across his sweating face. The sound of the bell pealed through the outer hall. ‘Why has he come?' Louise turned to her husband.

‘We'll soon see. He may have tried the telephone. Ah! Albert—come in.'

‘Monsieur le Comte—Madame la Comtesse.' Camier bowed to them both. He was out of breath, and he carried a cap in his left hand. When he shook hands with Louise she felt him trembling.

‘You look very hot,' Jean said. ‘Sit down; we can offer you some wine.'

‘Monsieur, the town is full of S.S. troops—they've taken over the telephone exchange at Houdan, the railway station is closed, there are road blocks everywhere! Do you know what has happened? Why are they doing this?' He was so frightened that a dribble of saliva appeared on his lips and ran down his chin.

‘I have no more idea than you,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘We have heard nothing. This is terrible, Albert. Are people staying calm?'

‘The Mairie was besieged,' Camier said. ‘I was at my shop as usual when I was sent for and this German officer was sitting at my desk in the Mairie, banging a riding whip and shouting. I just stood there, Monsieur. I didn't understand it. There's been no trouble—we've done nothing! People were trying to get in to see me, and the troops were pushing them back and hitting them.' He wiped his face again, all pretence of manners forgotten. He looked incongruous in a blue suit and a tie. The peasant of a thousand years, cunning, stupid and fearful of forces from outside, mumbled and sweated, hoping blindly that help would come from the seigneur.

‘Will you come down and see them, Monsieur! That pig in my office wouldn't tell me anything—he treated me like a dog!'

‘I'll come,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘But I doubt if they'll pay much attention to me.' He turned to Louise. ‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘Don't worry, my dearest. We've nothing to fear; our consciences are clear. I'll come down with you, Albert.'

‘It's a calamity,' the Mayor lamented. ‘When I saw those black uniforms I nearly pissed myself … Oh, Madame, I beg your pardon—I am so worried I didn't realise what I was saying …'

‘It's all right,' Louise said quickly. ‘I understand. Please don't apologise.'

Even as she spoke the door opened and Savage stood there. He looked at them in turn. ‘I've interrupted something,' he said. ‘Excuse me.' He gave a very Swiss bow.

‘No,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘No, come in, Roger. This concerns you too. This is the Mayor of St. Blaize, M. Camier. There's some emergency; the town has been occupied by the S.S., the telephones are cut off, and no one is allowed to leave the district.'

‘And there's a curfew!' Camier burst out. ‘They posted the notice up outside my office …'

‘How very awkward,' Savage said. He raised his brows at the mayor. ‘Does this apply to neutrals? I am a Swiss national.'

‘I don't know. Monsieur,' Camier quavered. ‘I don't think they'd care what you were—my God, it was like a nightmare! Will you come down, Monsieur le Comte—see what you can do.'

‘I think that's a mistake.' Savage spoke curtly, addressing himself to Jean. ‘I wouldn't seek them out. They'll come and find you soon enough. After all,' he shrugged at the unhappy Mayor, ‘they may arrest you both. You have to go of course, Monsieur, but I think the Comte should stay here with his family.'