He hadn’t much packing to do: one suitcase, and he guessed he wouldn’t take that any farther than London. He went out for a walk in the park to think things over. It was the beginning of August, and a warm day, but he walked briskly because he was so excited. Many times before he had taken trips when it was hard to have hope; but this one seemed like a holiday. He was going to take Bienvenu out of the hands of the Nazi despoilers! He was going to see the GI’s with their heavy packs wading out of that blue water and onto the brown sand of the Juan beach, where he had played and swam and fished since the earliest days he could remember. At any rate, that was what he imagined, and it made his step light.
XIII
The P.A. phoned his father to send for the car and then took the midnight train to Washington and got his papers: a passport in his own name, authorizing him to visit Britain, France—we had some of France now!—Spain, Portugal, and North Africa; also a French carte d’identité in the name of Henri Jean Marie Girouard, a permis de séjour and a permis de circuler—all forged, of course, but so well done that they would convince any gendarme or SS-man who might inspect them. There were other papers for Lanny to have in his pocket: a receipt for payment of a grocery bill, a bill for payment on a life-insurance policy, a letter from the imaginary wife of this imaginary Girouard in an envelope with a French stamp and postmark; an entirely satisfactory job, and all Lanny had to do was to study them and remember who he was and the details of his affairs.
He was flown from the Patuxent airport in an ATC plane, a big one fixed up for the VIP’s, with seats such as you found in Pullman cars and even an, antimacassar where you rested your head. At night the berth was made up and you slept comfortably, if you were not nervous. Lanny’s orders were to report to a secret address in London, and when he did so he was taken in hand by a couple of OSS agents who then proceeded to brief him, in a quiet businesslike way which seemed to imply that they had handled a dozen cases that day and had another dozen waiting. They told him that he would be motored to a near-by field, and from there would be flown across the Channel to the American sector. Beyond, that they knew nothing and asked not a single question. They would take care of his suitcase, his passport, his American money, his watch, and other belongings; he must have nothing on him that wasn’t French. One of them took him to the “wardrobe room” and saw him fitted with a complete outfit of clothing that had come from France and that had obviously been worn for a long time.
He had just time to write a postcard to Laurel and tell her that he had arrived and would be busy for a few days but would get in touch with her later. She knew enough to feel anxious, but to have no hurt feelings. He wasn’t told where the airport was—so many new ones had sprung up it was rather hard on British agriculture. He was driven in a jeep, and put in a two-seated dispatch plane, along with some sacks of mail. He was flown westward and then south—this to reduce chances of encountering a German flyer. These came rarely now, the pilot said, but it was no good making things easy for them.
The course was across the Channel, and Lanny could look down and see the hundreds of ships of all kinds and sizes, which at a height appeared to be standing still. He could only hope that among their watchful gunners there was no one who would fail to recognize the American star and circle painted underneath his plane. Presently he passed over Cherbourg, and he observed the hulks of sunken vessels and the live vessels coming and going. There were the Army encampments, the trucks, the tanks on the roads, and many wrecks that had been dumped off the roads in a hurry. There were the smashed farmhouses, the whole panorama of war, seen in a bird’s-eye view. Suddenly they were coming down, into a couple of pastures which had been made into an emergency field. Two or three bumps, and the plane came to a halt.
The sun was just going down, and the sky was golden and pink. Lanny got out of the plane, and a young Air Force lieutenant came up to him and said, “Bienvenu?” Lanny nodded, and was escorted into a tent sheltered by a tall plane tree. There was a folding table with a map on it and a couple of camp chairs. Lanny was invited to look at the map; it was one of those wonderful air maps, and there was a spot marked with a cross in red ink. The polite young officer said, “That is the place where you are to be set down tonight. Study it carefully and make sure it’s the right place and that you will know where you want to go in the dark.”
23
Outrageous Fortune
I
The plane was tiny; it had to be, because, as the pilot said, it must be able to come down on a half dollar. It flew as low as possible in order to escape detection by enemy radar. To be sure, that made a danger of church steeples and tall trees in the darkness; but then, as Frederick the Great had said to his troops, “Do you want to live forever?” The main protection was that so many planes went out at different hours and to different goals that the enemy couldn’t keep track of them all. The pilot had an automatic in his belt, but that was for possible use on land; in the air he was helpless and had to take his chances.
How would he find his goal, out there in the black night? He didn’t say, and Lanny didn’t ask. Obviously, the course could be plotted on a map; such a point of the compass and exactly so many kilometers, and there would be the pasture. But there was wind to be reckoned with, and wind is not reliable. Could it be that the Partisans had been provided with a sending set, and sent out a beam which the young Air Force lieutenant would get on his instrument board? Anyhow, they flew for something more than an hour, and suddenly ahead. Lanny saw little pinpoints of flashing light, two rows, three on a side. “Right on the nose!” shouted the pilot above the noise of the plane. He dived, and down they came into the blackness. There were two or three bumps, and then the engine died and all was still.
Men came running from all sides. This was the crucial moment, for if the plot had been betrayed, these would be Gestapo men, and they might start shooting; Lanny would see the flash of guns, but might be dead before he heard the sounds. Or, worse yet, the inquisition and the torture chamber for the false friend, the double-dyed deceiver, the worst enemy the Nazis had.
But no, it was all right this time. The nearest man half whispered, “Bienvenu?” and Lanny answered, “Bien.” He had been carrying a package on his lap during the trip; he handed it out to the man and then climbed out himself. There were other packages stowed in the plane, and the pilot passed them out quickly. Only a few words were spoken, and these low. Half a dozen shadowy forms seized the plane and turned it about and backed it some distance—evidently it hadn’t come the full length of the field. At the far end torches began to blink; no doubt there would be a hedge there, and perhaps tall trees. The pilot started his engine, then gunned it and bounced away out of sight; the sounds told you that he was rising into the air.
In the few minutes of turning and starting a hand was laid on the P.A.’s shoulder and a voice whispered, “Lanny!” A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar, but he was too surprised to recognize it. “Who are you?” he asked, and the reply was, “Julie Palma.”
Raoul’s wife! How on earth had she got here? He couldn’t refrain from asking, and the voice said, “I was ordered. Everything is OK.” He guessed that possibly she hadn’t told the others the identity of this secret arrival, so he said no more. She took his arm and guided him, and the others just melted away into the darkness. Obviously it wouldn’t do for a group to be seen on any road or path at night. The coming of the plane must have been heard in the neighborhood, and enemies might be hurrying to the spot. Silence!
II
The last time Lanny had seen this old friend she had been working in Paris against the Nazis. Later he had heard that she had gone south to join her husband. Had she come back, or had she been sent especially for Operation Bienvenu? Lanny had told the OSS people that he would like to have the help of Raoul Palma at Juan; it was likely that Raoul had suggested his wife to help at the Château de Bruyne. Perhaps Julie herself might not know how it had happened, but had just been told to come. All day and night the BB
C was beaming programs to France, and in them would occur strange sentences which seemed to have no meaning. “Violets are blooming,” or “Cleopatra has a cold,” or “Aldebaran has been calibrated.” In secret places all over France men and women would be listening for the phrase or sentence which had a meaning for their particular group.
Lanny was walking on a dark night with a woman, and he knew that this was the safest thing he could be doing; it had been planned that way, and that was why the men had faded so quickly. A lovely warm night in August, with Aldebaran and several thousand other stars in the sky; there must be thousands of Frenchmen doing the same thing, and even some Germans, and they might all be disposed to let one another alone.
The couple walked. Lanny noted that they were on small footpaths, not roads; he soon became confused, for this wasn’t the way he had planned to come. He whispered, “Are we going to the château?” Julie answered, “I have studied the way.” He had confidence in her, having known her for more than twenty years. She was competent as well as devoted, and had kept the workers’ school going in Cannes during the years when her husband had been helping the Spanish Republican government. She was risking her life every hour that she carried on these intrigues against the Nazis.
They came to a stile with which Lanny was familiar; he had often crossed it on his walks, and it was only a hundred yards or so from a side entrance to the château grounds. The woman said, “We are safe here,” and they sat and talked in whispers. Julie told him, “I don’t know what you are here for and I don’t ask. The orders were to guide you; there will be two armed men in the shrubbery, and you can call them if necessary.”
He answered, “I don’t think it will be. I just want to have a talk with the family; it may lead to something important.” It was then about eleven o’clock, as well as he could guess. “I may have to arouse them,” he added. “There is one possibility that troubles me—there may be some new servant who does not know me and who might talk, or even telephone the police.”
“There is no new servant, Lanny. Our people here know all about the place and have prepared for your coming.”
“I was afraid the old gentleman might be in Paris and they would have to send for him.”
“He is here, at least he was this afternoon.”
“They used to have a dog.”
“They have an old one and keep it indoors at night.”
“La vieille Fidèle! She will make no trouble for me.”
“How long a talk do you want, Lanny?”
“I can’t be sure, but an hour or two ought to suffice.”
“Make it short, for there is always a certain amount of risk. What do you plan to do then?”
“I was told that your friends would be able to send word, and a plane will come for me.”
“That is true. It can come tomorrow night. But where will you spend the day?”
“I had the idea of letting them hide me in the château.”
“We advise strongly against that. The reputation of these people is bad, and there are too many of them.”
“I have a special relationship with this family, Julie—”
“I know, but I didn’t feel at liberty to tell our friends about that. They object that there are children, who can hardly be kept from talking; the whole situation is unsafe, and they want you to leave as quickly as possible and let them hide you. Even if an alarm should be given, the enemy will not be able to find you, and the plane will come to a different spot.”
“OK,” Lanny said. “I’ll come out as soon as I have got what I have been sent for. You will wait?”
“I will hide near by. Bonne chance!”
III
The P.A. walked quietly to the château, by the drive which led to the delivery entrance. The buildings were old, of red brick; they were not large enough to deserve any name but villa, but the neighborhood had seen fit to honor the family. Beyond the drive was a high brick wall with a solid wooden gate; it led into the garden, where Lanny knew every tree and shrub; this place had been one of his homes for the half-dozen years that he had been Marie de Bruyne’s lover and a family friend, in the accepted French fashion known as la vie à trois. On the other side of the wall the apricot trees had been trained to grow like vines, and the fruit would be ripe now, each one carefully tied in a tiny paper bag—that is, if the old gardener was still alive. The peaches would be ripe, and the grapes would be ripening. The lawn would be smooth and green, and no doubt the grandchildren played croquet there, as Lanny had played with Denis junior and Charlot.
The gate was fastened, and it would have been difficult to climb over, on account of broken glass on top. He retraced his steps and came to the front of the house, where there was another lawn, shaded by ancient beeches. All the windows were dark, and he would have to rouse the family; so he lifted the brass knocker and gave three raps, which resounded like gunshots in the silence of the night. He waited; presently a window was opened in the second story, which is called the first all over Europe. A woman’s voice asked, “Qui est là?” Lanny recognized it as the voice of Annette de Bruyne and answered softly, “A friend with a message from Denis fils.” The voice said, “Attendez.”
He “attended,” and presently a light was turned on and the little window in the front door was opened. Lanny whispered his name, and the bolt was shot back, and there stood young Denis’s wife, wearing a peignoir; the light made a halo about her blond hair. Lanny knew her well—she had once telephoned him in distress when the police were about to arrest her husband for his activities with the Cagoulards. She had aged and had lines of care in her face, and, of course, a look of great surprise. “Lanny!” she exclaimed, and he said quickly, “I have an urgent message for le beaupère. Is he at home?”
The answer was that he was in bed, and Lanny said, “Let me go to his room.” One would not have suggested that in a conventional French family unless it was urgent indeed; even so, the woman hesitated. “I have only a short time,” Lanny said, “and it is important. Please don’t say anything to anyone else until I have talked with le beaupère.”
She invited him in, closed the door and fastened it, then led the way. “We have put him on the rez-de-chaussée now,” she explained, and Lanny could guess that the aged man’s health was failing and he could no longer climb stairs. They had no ascenseur in this old mansion, and couldn’t get one in wartime even if they had been willing to introduce anything so modern, so à l’américaine. She tapped on the door of what had been the billiard room, and when a feeble voice called, “Entrez,” she stepped decorously back and let Lanny enter alone. She closed the door, and being the well-bred daughter of an old Catholic family, went promptly away.
IV
Lanny did not know exactly how old this French financier was, but he knew that he was in his eighties. Lanny had never before seen him in the state in which he was now, with his false teeth in a glass of water by the bedside, his sparse white hair in disarray, and a startled look upon his wrinkled face. It was taking an unfair advantage of him, but Lanny had planned it that way, meaning to jolt him into action and put the job through without a wasted moment. The P.A. had no desire to risk his life for the sake of a man whose ideas were repugnant to him and whose evil ways had wrecked the happiness of one of the sweetest and most loving women Lanny had ever known. A young American endeavoring to repair that damage had been scrupulously polite to the head of this household, but he surely didn’t owe him anything, not even truth.
“Pardon, mon ami,” he began quickly. “I have come at great risk and dare not stay long. My father arranged for me to be brought here—a difficult undertaking, as you can imagine. It is because of his deep concern for your safety.”
“Mais, Lanny!” stammered the other. “Who will wish to trouble a broken old man like me?”
“The American Army is approaching Le Mans; it cannot be many days before it is through the Orléans gap; the plan is to surround the whole Seine district, and all the Germans in it will be priso
ners. The Partisans will rise, and those whom they consider collaborateurs will be in the gravest danger.”
“But, Lanny, I have been out of politics for so long!”
“Memories are longer, Denis. You gave money to the Cagoule, and that fact is well known in this neighborhood. You have given support to the Nazis—”
“Jamais! Jamais!”
“Perhaps you didn’t realize what you were doing; but the Partisans know, and my father is informed through secret Army sources that they have you on a list.”
“Nom de Dieu! What does your father wish me to do?”
“He begs you to come over to the American side before it is too late. You must realize now that the Allies are going to win. I have had to reconcile myself to that fact and take steps to protect my own safety, just as I am urging you to do.”
“But, Lanny, I am without any power. I am old and my health is failing. The Germans are still here, and if I tried to do anything they would shoot me.”
“Robbie has a definite step in mind and has sent me to tell you about it. I was in Algiers a few months ago and had a talk with Denis fils; he is in a hospital, with a severe wound caused by a shell fragment in the thigh. His life was saved only by transfusions; he is recovering now and will not be lame. But he is dreadfully unhappy because of Charlot. He begged me with tears in his eyes to find some way to persuade Charlot to get out of his present position and save his life. I promised to do what I could, you know, mon ami, how Marie prayed to me on her deathbed to take care of them and help them. I gave my word, and I am trying to keep it.”
One Clear Call I Page 65
