The Little Parachute

by J. Robert Janes

  A faint smile should be given. ‘Because it may provide us with an escape I hadn’t thought of.’

  ‘But … but surely it will have been destroyed in the bombing or taken by someone.’

  ‘Perhaps, but if needed, is it not worth locating?’

  There would be coastal patrol boats, Messerchmitts and other aircraft to contend with, submarines that would surface … ‘How is it, please, that you have such connections? Deauville is in the zone interdite.’

  ‘As is Abbeville, yet we come and go, don’t we?’

  Anthony couldn’t have told his réseau about the yacht and must have had his reasons, but, ‘I … I could never sail her alone.’

  ‘Nor would you be expected to.’

  The rhythmic sound of the wheels came. The cigarette butt had been tucked away long ago.

  ‘Tell me about Martin’s mother.’

  ‘Evelyn … ? She was the daughter of an Anglican bishop. It was a good marriage, everyone said, and Anthony … I know he must have believed it, because he doesn’t do anything without a lot of thought, and he loved her—he really did, but … Ah, how should I put it so as not to cheapen myself?’

  ‘She was repressed. Unable to give herself totally.’

  This one must know the ropes, but had she been sleeping with Anthony? wondered Angélique, alarmed at the thought. ‘Martin loved his mother very much, but if you ask me, Mademoiselle Moncontre, I think he saw himself as her protector, and when his parents had a terrible row just before Anthony left to get me, Martin had to stop it from happening. And now … now again he has come to hate me, but this time I don’t know why. I really don’t. I love him as my own. You see, he’s all I’ve got. I know it’s selfish of me, especially when I’ve stolen him from his mother.’

  ‘Does he “talk” of her a lot?’

  ‘Not at all. Not since the Blitzkrieg and that road south from Paris. Me, I don’t think she ever loved him in return. I think she must have looked on him, remembering only what she had had to go through to get him. He was to have gone to a boarding school that autumn. At least the war, it has saved him from such a fate, and perhaps living with me has broadened his experience a little.’

  ‘Will he ever use his voice again?’

  There was no time to answer. Martin was at the door and the alarm in his tear-filled eyes told them it was all over.

  ‘Keep calm,’ said Marie-Hélène. ‘We’re at the control for the zone interdite. Let me leave ahead of you both and remember, please, that we aren’t to know one another. We’re total strangers.’

  The line moved slowly, the sun beat down to bake the siding onto which the train had been shunted. Soldiers were everywhere, the dogs held back by thick leather leashes. There were Gestapo, too, some even wearing the black uniforms, though such had gone out of fashion in 1940 to be replaced by the grey of the SS to which, of course, they were associated.

  The one who sat at the table between the barricades wore the black one with the red armband and black swastika on a white circle. The Gestapo Munk was about fifty. Officious, he took his time to question everyone, while Kraus stood back and aloof, enjoying the spectacle.

  A panier à salade, one of those infamous grilled, cubicle-chambered, black iron salad baskets the flics of Paris, Lyon and other large cities and towns used to cart people off to the cells, sat idle on the road, which here ran alongside the railway tracks. Kraus’s car was parked in front of it. Two armed SS stood guard, waiting for him. There were camouflaged lorries as well.

  Across the river, the broad, flat floor of the valley held verdant marshes, large open stretches of shallow water, islands, some of which were treed, and then the Somme canal against the far bank.

  Nearly three kilometres long, a chaussée* to the other side offered no hope of escape, for its bridge had been dynamited in the centre and at three other places, as had all but one of the many crossings. The May-June Blitzkrieg of 1940 had been bitter and, during the French retreat and then the rout, Rommel and his Seventh Tank Division had crossed just upstream from here on the only remaining railway bridge.

  The little village of Long, perhaps of four hundred souls in all, clung to the hillside over there, and at the foot of it, on the other side of the entrance to the chaussée and beside the water, there were the red brick, with white stone walls, and the slate mansard roofs of an eighteenth-century château.

  It all looked so peaceful. Ducks and swans cruised the nearby ponds, blackbirds sang and the harshness of their repetitious calling was set against the muted, intermittent shuffling of the line.

  Angélique took a step. Martin was just in front of her, Isabelle Moncontre seven places in front of him.

  At a nod from Kraus, two corporals led their dogs along the line, one on either side, and when they reached her, Angélique felt them pause. The dogs sniffed at the suitcases, at the smears of rancid butter that hadn’t been completely cleaned away, and at the taint of the meat Kraus and the others at the avenue Foch had taken.

  The moist snout of a German shepherd touched her bare left leg and went up it until she cried out in silence, Mustn’t move. Can’t tell it to go away. Can’t ask him to pull it back.

  ‘Heini, komm mal her,’ said the guard, yanking the animal away.

  ‘Merci,’ she managed, but the other dog was at the suitcases.

  ‘Öffnen, bitte.’

  ‘But … but there’s nothing. Just a few clothes that need to be washed. A dress that’s been ripped.’

  ‘Schnell, ja?’

  Hurry. She crouched. The dogs began to get her scent again. Saliva wet her cheeks, her ears, her hair as she undid the straps and opened both suitcases.

  Everyone watched. The line had completely stopped. ‘There’s … there’s nothing,’ she managed, fighting back the panic. A torn slip fell, a brassiere … He grunted and the dogs were pulled away to worry someone else.

  Martin didn’t even help her to close the suitcases. He just stood looking at her with that same dumb-ox gaze.

  ‘When we get home, I’m going to have this out with you!’ she hissed. ‘Beware the woman shunned, Martin. Watch out for her talons!’

  Then look, you stupid thing, he said silently, those lips of his forming the words. See who’s in the line. Use the opportunity to find the ones they’re after.

  ‘Ah no,’ she gasped, and turning as she crouched, ran her gaze back along the line. Had the Germans deliberately made the third-class passengers get off first so as to cause panic among the others?

  There was a priest who carried a prayer book. Tall and thin, he had brown hair. Two sisters were in front of him and it was obvious all three were together, she telling herself one must look as if going about one’s daily business. One must blend in with the others.

  The priest was in his forties, and the steel-rimmed specs he wore did little for him besides helping the vision. His ears stuck out, the chin was pointed, the skin fair and looking as if it didn’t take well to the sun.

  As she looked at him, he blankly returned her gaze for what seemed the longest time, but it couldn’t have been any more than a couple of seconds.

  One of the sisters, a novice, was the girl who had rescued them with the vélo-taxi. Angélique was certain of it.

  Quickly she turned away only to meet Martin’s gaze. Are you so blind? he mouthed, tormenting her until she begged, ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  Isabelle Moncontre had reached the barricade and from there the question asked came so clearly, ‘Where is your baggage?’

  ‘My bicycle’s on the train.’

  There were two tickets. The Gestapo Munk looked up at her and said, ‘I asked of your baggage, a suitcase perhaps?’

  ‘I’m going to my sister’s in Abbeville. Our mother is very ill. I … I have everything I need there.’

  But she also has a suitcase, thought Martin. It’s brow
n and old and roped to the rear carrier of that bike.

  Her papers were examined and held up to the sun. ‘The stamp of the Commissariat de Police de Paris and that of the Kommandant von Gross-Paris are smudged. Please step aside.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with those!’

  ‘STEP ASIDE!’

  The shriek he’d given caused the dogs to leap and bark. Marie-Hélène couldn’t understand why there should have been any problem. Hans, she cried out inwardly. Hans, what the hell is this? And only then realized that she now had an excellent opportunity to view the others in the line and to look back at each of them, they at her.

  That priest, she said to herself. Those sisters … That younger one, doesn’t she look a lot like that résistante Yvette Rougement, that priest like Raymond Châlus?

  A sickness came. The other nun seemed quite genuine. Well up in her seventies, she wore glasses. Sweat moistened the pale brow and made the blue eyes blink as she gazed back at her not with sympathy but with a hardness that was cruel.

  ‘Bitte, Fräulein. Euere Papiere.’

  ‘Pardon?’ She leapt.

  A Scharführer nudged her hand several times, she finally understanding and saying, ‘Merci.’

  Alone and feeling Châlus’s gaze and that of the two sisters, Marie-Hélène walked between the barricades to stand and wait until everyone else who would be allowed to continue had passed through.

  Kraus wasn’t grinning. He was still watching the line, but would he pluck that priest and those nuns?

  The one seemed so at ease. He spoke quietly to the elder sister. Perhaps he said, It won’t be long now; perhaps he said, That one is our angel of death.

  Abbeville had been the site of fierce resistance during the Blitzkrieg, and for days afterwards, one lone man had killed a German soldier a day and they had never caught him. But would Châlus, if this really was him in the guise of a priest, not plan to link up with this other one?

  Marie-Hélène searched the line for the two who were to watch her back. Both were wearing faded bleus de travail, boots and berets. One was to have carried a carpenter’s tools, the other, the frayed canvas satchel of a bricklayer. Their papers would state that they were en route to jobs with the Todt Organization, which was building the sites at Bois Carré and other places near Abbeville.

  Both would be in their late thirties. Experienced men and tougher than they looked.

  They weren’t there, and with a sinking feeling, she realized she was to be completely on her own, that Kraus had prevented them from coming.

  The two sisters were being let through the barricades with hardly a glance, the priest as well.

  They met in Abbeville, in a goods’ shed along the tracks where, unlike other passengers with bikes, she had been forced to collect hers. Kraus was waiting among bales of produce that were destined for the Reich. ‘Idiot!’ she said, so near to tears she was flushed with anger. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing by singling me out for others to notice? You should have detained that priest and those nuns.’

  Worried, she started for the bike, only to feel him grip her by the arm. ‘A moment,’ he said.

  He had given her that thin-lipped smile of his. ‘Well, what is it?’

  Kraus felt he could smell the fear, but had that priest really been Châlus? ‘Had I detained them, the mayor and the others would have been alerted. This way, they’ll suspect nothing.’

  Was he really such an idiot? ‘And for how long? An hour? Two hours? How could you do this to me?’

  She would always doubt him. ‘The same way I saved your life last night.’

  ‘Maudit salaud, then why, please, did those gestapistes français of yours not take that one from the roof into custody?’

  Dirksen would have told her it had been a mistake, but apparently the colonel hadn’t been convincing enough. ‘The fools disobeyed my orders. They got carried away.’

  ‘Ah no, monsieur. Those boys you killed weren’t résistants. They were among that gang of yours. Hans might believe you, but not me.’

  And you have just signed your death warrant, thought Kraus, but he would leave it for now. ‘That priest and those sisters are booked through to Noyelles-sur-Mer. Apparently the elder of the sisters must make a pilgrimage to the Chinois Military Cemetery. Her brother’s grave. We’ll check it out, of course.’

  ‘And the younger one?’

  ‘Is with her as a companion.’

  ‘Then what of the priest, damn you?’

  ‘Companion to both.’

  Tossing her hands in despair, she said, ‘Hey, I’m not hearing this? From Noyelles-sur-Mer and that cemetery, which is just to its east, what’s to prevent them from vanishing up the road and into the Forêt de Crécy?’

  ‘They’ll be watched every step of the way.’

  Did he really believe that possible? ‘Bonne chance, Major. Bonne chance. That one, that Châlus, he does the unexpected. From that forest it will be quite easy for him to find his way to Bois Carré without your knowing. It’s near the tiny village of Yvrench, is it not? He’ll fit right in, wearing those things and with that prayer book, but when needed, he’ll lose that garb faster than you can breathe.’

  She really was determined to prove him an idiot. ‘But that’ll take time and keep him from contacting the mayor here until after you’ve done so.’

  She would dismiss such idiocy with a toss of her head! ‘Again, me, I’m not hearing this. Is it, Major, that you’ve learned nothing of their methods? That priest will have already tipped off the mayor who’ll be waiting for me.’

  ‘Perhaps, but that’s a chance we have to take.’

  Was it possible that he already knew the mayor had been alerted? ‘Look, it’s all off. Tell Hans his little pigeon has been compromised.’ She tossed a hand. ‘Hey, monsieur, you ride the bike. Me, I give you the benefit of the British wireless set in that suitcase. Perhaps you can radio Berlin for help. Perhaps, if the terrorists catch up with you, its transceiver will be the one thing above all others that convinces them you’re genuine.’

  Unpliable, she would never agree to work with him, felt Kraus. Always she would run to Dirksen. ‘I want Châlus, and you’re going to give him to me.’

  So that was it. Kraus would be the one responsible for clearing up that little bit of unfinished business. Raymond Châlus. Gestapo Berlin and Himmler would be grateful. ‘I didn’t get a close enough look at that priest to say for certain it really was Châlus.’

  ‘But you were the only one to see him up close in Lyon, and your description of Thiessen, this “Father Boulanger”, matches exactly what you said back then. That is why I had you stand aside at the control. You were to have confirmed it.’

  ‘And me, I’m telling you I have my doubts and can’t yet be positive.’

  She was holding back so as to let Dirksen know of it first, but he would have to go carefully. ‘Tell me what passed between you and the Bellecour woman.’

  It would do no good to hide that from him. ‘They’ll go along with what has been asked of them. The boy believes firmly that his father is in France and heads up the réseau de soie bleue, the woman, she … she now believes it also, even to thinking that her former lover might well have been sleeping with me.’

  ‘Perhaps she has gauged your character correctly.’

  The pig! ‘Where is Hans? Why isn’t he here?’

  She wasn’t going to like it, but it did feel good having to tell her. ‘Berlin. The pressures of work. Report after report, always it’s that way, so he felt he had to stay at the helm.’

  The avenue Foch, but was her usefulness now all but over? wondered Marie-Hélène. Had Hans felt he had better sever himself from all contact with her, or was it perhaps that he was trying to warn her that her safety depended on keeping things to herself until he could deal with Kraus? ‘Look, I’ll need another gun. I lost t
he other one.’

  Which had been found in the street below. ‘That was very thoughtless of you, since it could well be used to kill one of us or our friends.’

  In Paris. ‘The loss couldn’t be helped. I was on that bloody roof!’

  And doubtless had slipped. ‘I’ve nothing that can be spared at the moment, but will see what can be done.’

  Was it that he wanted her dead? ‘And Châlus, Major? If he gets me, you won’t get him, but if I get him, you can claim the credit.’

  Which would, of course, be safest for her since the Banditen would be only too interested in the truth, but her begging hadn’t been convincing. ‘Perhaps you would pass along such a credit, perhaps not. How could I be sure?’

  ‘Because I’m telling you now. Hey, me, I’m the one who has to risk her life, aren’t I ? To go in there without a gun, is to go in there naked.’

  As she watched, Kraus fingered his brow and passed a smoothing hand over that closely trimmed dark brown hair that was parted exactly like the Führer’s. Always he would give himself away with such little signs of nervousness when he felt he had won something.

  ‘You’ll say nothing more of the one who was thrown from the roof. You’ll report everything to me, before giving anything to the Standartenführer. All arrests are to be made by me, not him. I want a clean sweep. All the filth is to be removed both from here and from Paris. The réseau de soie bleue is to vanish from the face of the earth at the execution posts. This I have promised the Reichsführer and Reichsminister Himmler. Don’t be among them.’

  He’d see to it too, if he felt it useful. The wireless set would be evidence enough for her to be swept up in the net and Berlin none the wiser, even though Gestapo Paris’s Listeners had provided it and would expect it back. ‘What’s to happen to Hans if we’re not successful?’

  How good of her to have asked, but he’d leave it unanswered, felt Kraus. ‘I’ll see that you get a gun after you’ve convinced the mayor you’re on his side. For now that is all we have to say. Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein Marie-Hélène de Fleury, or would you prefer Fräulein Isabelle Moncontre? But remember, please, that I have a copy of your dossier the Banditen would appreciate. Don’t make me use it.’