Stranger at the Gates (30 page)

‘How much petrol?' Savage asked him.

‘A few litres.'

‘Good; then that's what we use to pick up the guns at Lavallière. Get eight men together and you drive the van. If you're stopped by patrols, you're on your way to the château with provisions.'

‘But Lavallière is nowhere near there,' Camier protested. ‘How can I explain why I'm so far off the route …'

‘You'll just have to talk your way out of it,' Savage said coldly. ‘Unless you're too frightened to risk your neck for your daughter. If that's so, you'd better stay out of it altogether!' He turned away from him.

‘No! No, no!' Camier grabbed at his arm. ‘I'm not backing down—I'll do it, I'll think of something!'

Savage looked into the pallid face, greasy with sweat, at the trembling hand still clutching his sleeve. With a jerk he pulled free. ‘I want you to know this,' he said. ‘You talk about your child. She's not the only one. All the children are locked up in that school, and by tomorrow night they'll be on their way to the extermination camp. To be gassed or shot. Now listen to me, Monsieur Camier. You're frightened, yes? All right. But if you get so frightened that you ball this up, and those children can't be rescued, I'm going to kill you. I just want you to know that.' He turned away from the Mayor. ‘Now what we do is this. We pick up the guns and go to this point on the railway line. Here; about eight kilometres out of St. Blaize. There's no signal box for another three kilometres and the place is isolated. Then we attack.'

‘If we succeed and get them back,' Jean de Bernard said, ‘where do we hide them? The S.S. will come looking for them.'

‘The S.S.,' Savage said, ‘won't know the train hasn't gone through for at least a day. If we clear up any evidence of the attack, run the engine and the truck off on a side line and leave them there, they might have pulled out of St. Blaize before word comes through that the children haven't arrived. These transports don't stop at stations, they go on for days; they only stop to refuel and change drivers. We'll have time to hide the children somewhere.'

‘There isn't anywhere,' the priest said. ‘There are no mountains, no caves. The woods are the only place, but it won't be possible to hide that many; there are children of five and six years old. What can we do?'

‘I don't know,' Savage admitted. ‘But we'll think of something. First, let's get them back. Now, Father, you'll be the liaison. Go back to the school, move round and select eight men—we haven't transport for more. Tell them to go to the Mayor's house and wait there. And don't give any details. Monsieur Camier, you go home. Check your van to see there's enough petrol. It wouldn't help if
you
ran out. What you must do is keep the men quiet when they get to you and wait till the Comte or I give you the word to move. Have you any questions?'

‘No.' Father Duval spoke quickly. He didn't want Albert Camier's curiosity aroused. Fear and misery for his child had dulled his sharp wits and kept the obvious conclusion about the Comtesse's Swiss cousin from occurring to him. Father Duval knew Camier too well to trust him. If he connected Savage with the man the S.S. wanted, he might well make a deal to save his own daughter, if he couldn't help the rest. ‘No, everything is clear,' he said. He took Camier by the arm. ‘We will do exactly as you say. God bless you, Monsieur. I will pray for you.'

‘Thank you,' Savage said. He shook the priest's hand. Jean de Bernard took them outside. When he returned Savage was sitting on the sofa, the empty wine glass held between his knees. He stood in front of him.

‘Father Duval guessed who you were,' he said. ‘I just hope ‘Camier doesn't.'

‘Giving me up won't help the children,' Savage said. ‘They know that; anyway I've got to take that chance.'

‘And will this rescue really work? Can you get arms and ammunition for us?'

‘I don't know,' Savage answered. ‘But by God I'm going to try. Starting right now.'

It was just dark when Savage came out through the door onto the rooftop. He shone the narrow pencil torch to find his way to the transmitter; a bank of cloud hid the moon and a light wind scurried through it, driving the wisps of smoky vapour away, until the moon hung revealed, the outline of the frozen peaks giving the semblance of a face to the luminous surface. For a moment he remembered his childhood excitement at discovering human features on something so distant and majestic, at being able to equate a planet millions of miles away in space with a mythical old man. Perhaps it was the human need to minimise, to scale down the universe to mankind's pigmy size. Yet men had looked as he was doing, on the ineffable beauty of the cold, dead star, and seen divinity in it. Again the wind came sweeping, rushing the clouds to veil the icy face. Savage uncovered the transmitter.

Once more before he began to use the keys, he glanced upward, watching the progress of the wind, trailing vapour draperies. For a second he paused, caught by a memory of long ago, by the line of a verse learned in his youth which had aroused his curiosity and touched him with a sense of beauty. ‘My courses are set on the storm winds, I sail on the Lightning Stream'.

He adjusted his headphones. Like the man in the poem he was struggling against an intangible force of destruction, caught up in events which couldn't be left free to rage and wreck the lives of other people. He had come to St. Blaize and fulfilled his purpose; by right he should be free, free to take the chance of escape the pass with Vierken's signature could give him. Free to leave the village and its people, its children, to perish in the storm of events for which he was responsible. But the lightning stream was carrying him with it to an unknown end. He felt a sense of fatality, which he angily dismissed. There had to be a future for the children of St. Blaize; he had lost his own child, and the wife who hadn't found her happiness with him. But the innocent were not going to be sacrificed this time.

If he didn't much care what happened to him, he cared for them. He began to transmit. Deliberately he used the code which meant the message went to OSS rather than British headquarters. He remembered that snide, cold-blooded English Colonel; the request he was going to make wouldn't have an icicle's chance on a hot shovel if it went to him. He used General Heidsecker's code name. ‘Geronimo. Geronimo from Apache. Mission completed, total success. Imperative assistance sent prevent reprisal against area. All children in village due extermination. Request drop of small arms, ammunition at Lavallière field by dawn, repeat dawn tomorrow. Reply confirming soon as possible. Apache.'

Huddled against a corner of the roof he settled down to wait. It didn't occur to him to pray; there was no God, no benevolent power somewhere in the arch of night sky above him. Nothing would come on angels' wings to save the children cringing in the school. Nothing had come to save his wife and child.

Only the courage and ingenuity of a few human beings might help them. And the policy decided in London. To send help or to refuse; to risk a plane and supplies for what he knew they would regard as a hopeless enterprise, or to ignore the message. Heidsecker was a good man. Savage used the word without analysing what it meant. It was a negative quality, meaning that the General wasn't a bastard, whereas Colonel Fairbairn was. Heidsecker was a family man, noted for leniency and humanity in his dealings with his troops. Savage smoked a cigarette; his mouth felt dry and stale. If they didn't send help—if they just didn't answer because there was a breakdown and they couldn't get through … He rubbed the cigarette out, exploding tiny red sparks on the slate. He looked at his watch again. Ten-thirty. He had been on the roof for an hour. The transmitter was silent. There was a noise behind him, and Louise said, ‘It's me. I've brought you some soup.'

She came and sat beside him; her face was clear in the bright moonlight. ‘Jean told me what you're going to do,' she said. ‘Did you get through?'

‘I did; now I'm waiting to get the answer. Sit close to me, keep me warm.'

‘It sounds impossible,' Louise said.

‘Nothing's impossible if you have the will,' he answered. ‘And the luck. And something to fight with.' He looked at his watch again.

‘You're a trained soldier,' she said. ‘The people here don't know how to fight. They'll be massacred.'

‘Desperation makes people do extraordinary things,' Savage said. He put his arm round her. ‘You'll be surprised what these peaceful villagers will do when their children are at stake. I'm not worried about them.'

‘If they don't answer you,' she whispered, ‘or they won't help—what do we do then?'

‘God knows,' he said. ‘But we'll do something. You know I've been thinking about Vierken. Why did he tell your husband how they were going to move the children? And the time—I don't like that part. And why a cattle truck and a special engine, just for a few children … They're desperately short of rolling stock. It doesn't make sense. There's something wrong with it, but I'm damned if I know what it is!'

‘There's nothing wrong with it,' she said. ‘That's how they transport people to the camps; that's where the children are going.'

‘Hundreds of people, yes,' he said. ‘But not fifty children. It's not very efficient, and that smells bad to me.'

‘I think you're imagining something's wrong,' she said. ‘I believe it will be just as he said. Do you know, I feel so guilty because our children got away? I went to Minden's room tonight; nothing's been taken. He must have just picked up the children and run. I wish I knew where they were!'

‘He's taken a risk,' Savage said. ‘I have to give him that. If anyone finds out, he could be in real trouble.'

‘He was always fond of them,' she said slowly. ‘He didn't do it just because of me. I told Jean I'd slept with him.'

‘Oh,' Savage said. ‘Why? Why did you do that?'

‘I felt I had to,' she said. ‘I think he understood. You're the one he minds about.'

‘And you,' Savage said. He turned her towards him. ‘Where do you stand—with him or with me? I want you to come back to England with me.'

‘I won't do that,' Louise said. ‘I won't leave him alone here. After the war's over, it will be different. But I'm not walking out on him now.'

‘I have a feeling,' Savage said, ‘that you still love him. And you won't admit it.'

‘If that were true, it would be easy. It might have been true if I hadn't met you. But you've changed my life. Nothing will be the same again for me, whatever happens.'

‘How would you like to live in Mexico?' Savage asked her. ‘I've had a bellyful of Europe and I don't feel like settling down in the States. How would Mexico suit you?'

‘I don't know,' Louise said. She leaned against him. ‘I'll think about it. What is your real name?'

‘McFall,' he said. ‘Brian Patrick John. I love you very much and I'm not going to lose you. I want you to know that. If you won't come back with me I'll come and get you.' He kissed her quietly. He looked at the luminous face of his watch. ‘Christ! It's after midnight—why the hell haven't they answered!'

‘It must take time,' she said. ‘You've hardly given them time …'

‘I've given them as much as we've got,' he said. ‘If they can't cut through the red tape, then those children are as good as dead!'

‘I want to come with you,' she said. ‘I want to help.'

Savage shook his head. ‘Not a chance, my darling. You're not going to be within a mile of this. It might surprise you, but I don't fancy you getting killed. You stay here and wait. This is for men only.'

‘I don't want anything to happen to you,' Louise whispered. Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed them away. ‘Or to Jean. Don't let him do anything foolish …'

‘I wouldn't have thought it was in his character,' Savage said. ‘He's not the reckless type.'

‘You shouldn't despise him,' she said slowly. ‘I made that, mistake. I blamed him because I didn't know what we were up against. I know now, I've seen it for myself. He's not got your kind of courage but he's not a coward. And he loves St. Blaize and the people. Don't let him throw his life away.'

‘All right,' Savage said. ‘I'll look out for him, if that's what you want.' At that moment there was a buzz from the headphones and the answer from London began to come through.

Frank Heidsecker was having dinner at the Savoy when he was called to the telephone. It had been a tiring day, but stimulating. The weather reports were improving and the low cloud and winds which had bedevilled the first days of June seemed to have disappeared. Heidsecker left his office at seven and went back to his hotel to bath and change. He had a date with an attractive Englishwoman whom he had met at a cocktail party the week before. Her husband was serving with the Canadian division, which was at that moment waiting on the South coast for the order to sail. Heidsecker was happily married, but throughout that relationship he had enjoyed affairs with attractive women, and he was looking forward to sleeping with the charming wife of the Canadian Major, if he could persuade her to come back with him after dinner. Instead of going to bed and enjoying himself, the General spent the rest of the evening at his headquarters in St. James's Street while his disappointed guest went home intact.

There were four men round the table in the General's office, and a stenographer in WAC uniform. It was eleven o'clock and the room was thick with cigarette smoke. Of the four men one was in civilian clothes. He had a round, pale face and heavy spectacles. He looked grave and self-conscious.

‘In my opinion,' Colonel Fairbairn spoke up, his voice on a higher register than usual as his indignation mastered him, ‘in my opinion, this is a ridiculous request and highly improper! This man has no authority to interfere!'