Legacy of Hate

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘And you’re alive? She must have been having an off day.’ ‘We found the brother’s body,’ Roess went on. ‘But not hers.’

  ‘You killed Pierre?’ Joanna cried. ‘Oh, shit!’

  ‘But the woman got away. Again!’ he suddenly shouted. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I have no idea. Don’t worry about it. Next time she’ll probably throw straighten’

  ‘Bitch!’ he screamed. ‘I am going to take the skin from your ass.’ He stamped to the door and threw it open. ‘Take this bitch — ’ He gulped. ‘Herr General.’

  ‘Good morning, Roess.’ Himmler entered the office, drawing off his gloves as he did so. ‘I am told … Good heavens. Fraulein Jonsson?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joanna said, suddenly breathless all over again. It was over a year since she had last met him.

  ‘But why are you handcuffed?’

  ‘She is under arrest, Herr General,’ Roess said. ‘For treason.’ ‘Oh, come now, Roess. You have made a mistake. Release her.’

  ‘But, Herr General … ’

  ‘I have given you an order, Roess.’

  Roess swallowed, took the keys from his pocket, and released the handcuffs. Joanna rubbed her hands together.

  ‘I am so pleased to have you back, Fraulein Jonsson,’ Himmler said. ‘Joanna! You do not mind if I call you Joanna?’ ‘I should like that, Herr General.’ Joanna’s head was spinning.

  ‘Excellent. Excellent. Your clothes appear to be disordered. These people have not … ah … interfered with you, I hope.’ Joanna smiled at Roess. ‘Not seriously, Herr General. If I could be taken to the Albert, where I have a suite … ’

  ‘I will take you there myself. I wish to discuss your future employment. There is a vacancy in my office, and I have long been an admirer of your … ah … work.’

  Thank you, Herr General.’

  ‘Herr General,’ Roess ventured, his face purple.

  ‘Yes, Roess, I will speak with you later.’

  Himmler escorted Joanna from the room.

  ‘Hello, Anatole.’

  Anatole peered at his visitor, and leapt to his feet. ‘Mademoiselle Liane! My God! I did not … well … ’ ‘Expect to see me again?’

  ‘Oh, mademoiselle!’

  ‘Has no one else come in?’

  ‘Two or three. Tales of disaster … ’

  ‘Yes, it was a disaster. But some of us have survived. I must call London.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You must do that. I will just tune the set. If you will wait here … ’

  ‘I will come with you, Anatole. Good evening, Clotilde.’ ‘Mademoiselle Liane!’ Clotilde looked almost as terrified as her husband. ‘To have you back — is Monsieur Pierre with you?’ ‘He is not with me at this time.’

  ‘But he is well?’

  ‘I am sure that where he is now he is as well as at any time in his life.’

  Anatole was gasping for breath. ‘Mademoiselle … ’

  Liane pushed past him into the bakery and thence the inner room. ‘Monterre,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you, after so long.’

  Monterre had been sitting at the table, drinking coffee. At the sight of Liane he scrambled to his feet, overturning the cup and reached inside his jacket, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Liane’s Luger.

  ‘Draw it,’ she said, ‘and lay it on the table. And. Monterre, I am sure you know me well enough not to try to outshoot me. It would be a shame to make a mess on Clotilde's carpet.’ Monterre waggled his eyebrows as he looked past her, but Liane had already moved away from the door. 'Come in, Anatole,’ she said. ‘Close the door.'

  Anatole obeyed, standing against it. ‘Now, Monterre,’ Liane said. ‘The gun. Slowly. On the table.’ Monterre drew the pistol and laid it on the table. ‘Now stand back.’ Monterre obeyed, again looking at Anatole. But Anatole, faced with a choice between Monterre and Liane, had already made his decision. ‘Thank you,’ Liane said. She picked up the gun and dropped it into her pocket. ‘Now, I think you and I should have a private chat. Is that your vegetable van outside?’

  ‘Yes. Mademoiselle … ’

  ‘Keep it until we are alone. Anatole, I will be back in a little while. After you, Monterre.’

  Monterre gave Anatole a last despairing glance, then walked through the bakery and the shop on to the pavement. Liane followed, her own gun in her other pocket. She got into the van beside him. ‘Now, drive. Go west.’

  ‘West? But that is towards the border.’

  ‘I thought that was where you would like to go.’ Monterre engaged gear and drove out of the village. ‘This is the route you normally use, is it not?’ Liane asked. ‘Is this where you drove Henri Burstein? Oh, I almost forgot, and Rachel Cartwright?’

  ‘1 can explain, mademoiselle. The Germans made me do it.’

  ‘How unfortunate for you. And Anatole?’

  ‘Anatole has not betrayed you, mademoiselle. He is too afraid of you. And perhaps … ’

  ‘He is in love with me? How sweet.’

  ‘As I would be in love with you, mademoiselle, if there was any chance … ’

  ‘If you felt there was any chance of my returning your love? But that is a charming sentiment.’ Liane looked out of the window. ‘I think this is a sufficiently lonely spot. Stop the car.’

  Monterre obeyed. ‘Mademoiselle … ’

  ‘Would this be about the place you attempted to rape Mademoiselle Cartwright?'

  ‘Mademoiselle … ’

  ‘I think it probably is.’ Liane drew the other pistol, changing hands to hold it in her right. ‘Open your mouth.’

  ‘Mademoiselle …

  ‘Open it.’ Liane’s voice, normally so quiet, suddenly sounded like the crack of a whip. Monterre opened his mouth. ‘Thank you.’ Liane thrust the pistol barrel between his teeth and pulled the trigger before he understood what she intended. She jerked backwards as his head exploded, then, as his body sagged against the door, she placed the pistol in his right hand, wrapping his fingers round the butt with his forefinger round the trigger. Then she got out of the car and began to walk back the way the way they had come.

  ‘Liane!’ James said into the mike. ‘My God, it is good to hear from you. Are you all right?’

  ‘I am perfectly well,’ Liane said. ‘But Pierre is dead.’

  ‘Oh, my God! How?’

  ‘We ran into a German patrol.’

  ‘Damn! I am so very sorry. Look, you must come out. I’ll arrange a pickup.’

  ‘There is too much to be done here.’

  ‘Liane … ’

  ‘Jean is here with me. Jean Moulin. You know he has been in France for some months?’

  ‘Yes. But … ’

  ‘His task, set him by de Gaulle, is to bring all the guerrilla groups together, under one head. Him. This is to make sure that we are a united fighting force for when you come back. You will be coming back, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, of course we will. But I cannot say how soon.’ ‘And Joanna is all right?’

  ‘Ah … As far as we know, she’s in Sweden.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be waiting for you. With Jean. And an army. I love you, James. Over and out.'

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