by Glenn Meade
7:50 P.M.
Gabrielle Pirou wrung her hands in despair, feeling more perplexed by the minute.
She glanced anxiously at the telephone on her desk. The man and woman upstairs had to be the couple the army was looking for, she had convinced herself of that. She had hoped they would simply leave quietly, and save her the trouble of calling the military police, but so far that hadn’t happened. When she’d crept upstairs to check, the door was locked from the inside. A raid would have been embarrassing for her clients, and disastrous for business. But the last customer had departed out of the back door more than an hour ago, and she’d given the girls the rest of the evening off.
She couldn’t wait any longer for the pair to leave, and the last thing she wanted was to risk a confrontation. Trembling, she reached for the receiver and dialed the number of Military Police HQ.
A man’s voice answered. “Provost’s office. Sergeant Major Squires speaking.”
“I—I have some information that might interest you,” Gabrielle offered.
“Who’s speaking?”
Gabrielle gave her name and address, told the sergeant major about the couple, and gave their descriptions. There was a long silence, and then she heard the excitement in the man’s voice. “Your address again?”
Gabrielle told him, and said anxiously, “How long before your men arrive?”
“They’ll be there within ten minutes, lady. But don’t do anything foolish. If it’s the pair we’re looking for, they’re armed and highly dangerous. Just stay on the line,” the sergeant major said reassuringly. “I’ll be right here until they arrive.”
The poodle yapped at her feet and Gabrielle’s heart skipped with fright. “Donny—please.”
“Is everything all right, miss?” the voice asked.
“Yes—fine.”
Ten minutes. It would be an eternity. And she certainly didn’t like the armed and highly dangerous bit. The best thing she could do would be to exit quietly through the back door and leave everything to the proper authorities. She was about to speak into the receiver, to tell the sergeant major her plans, when she heard a soft click and looked round as the parlor door opened.
The couple stood there. The man had a gun in his hand. “You’ve been a naughty girl, madame. Now, please put down the telephone and do exactly as I say.”
8:00 P.M.
As Weaver sped towards the seafront, the radio crackled on the backseat. He swung round and saw the radio operator slip on his earphones and speak into the mike. A moment later the man looked up. “Message for you, sir. There’s been a phone call to the provost’s office. Some lady claims the couple we’re looking for are on her premises.”
Weaver’s heart skipped as he told the driver to pull in. “What’s the address?”
The operator told him, glanced at Myers, and tried to suppress a smile. “It’s a high-class knocking shop on the Corniche, sir, popular with some of the senior brass. The provost’s dispatched two dozen men. They should be there within minutes. But it’s only a couple of streets away—we might get there sooner.”
Weaver said, “Pass on the word—no one’s to do anything rash until I arrive. I want the couple alive.” As the radio operator spoke into the mike, Weaver shouted at the driver, “Let’s move it, soldier. Put your foot down.”
8:05 P.M.
The poodle yapped at Halder’s feet and he said to Rachel, “Put the dog outside for now, and find a towel and some bedsheets. Then turn off all the lights on the ground floor.”
Rachel picked up the protesting animal and carried him out into the hall. Halder looked back at Madam Pirou. The woman seemed paralyzed with fear, but was obviously relieved she hadn’t been shot.
“What did you tell the military police?”
She told him, and Halder said, “Who else is in the building?”
“No one. Everyone’s gone. I—I thought there might be trouble.”
“Very thoughtful of you. Do you have a car, by any chance?”
The woman didn’t answer. Halder leveled the gun and said gently, “Madame, it’s really against my nature to threaten a lady, but believe me, I mean business.”
“I—I have a Citroën.”
“Where?”
“In the garage at the back.”
“Does the garage open onto the street at the rear?”
“Y—yes.”
“Where are the keys for both?”
“In the bottom drawer of my desk.”
Halder searched and found them. “I presume there’s fuel in the tank?”
Gabrielle nodded, still trembling. Her military connections ensured that she always had a plentiful supply. They heard loud knocking. It sounded as if it was coming from the front door down the hall.
“Who’s that?” barked Halder.
The Frenchwoman looked terribly frightened. “Probably a customer.”
“Or your phone call got a quicker response than you expected.” Halder yanked the telephone wire from the wall socket as Rachel came back with a towel and sheets. “There’s someone at the front door.”
“I heard.” He put down his gun, twisted the bedsheets and used them to tie the madame to one of the chairs, then secured the towel around her mouth. “Unlike some of your customers, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, madame. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable for too long.”
Gabrielle Pirou squealed behind the gag. The knocking down the hall became louder. Halder picked up the revolver and nodded to Rachel. “Let’s go.”
8:05 P.M.
Weaver pounded on the front door for the third time.
He looked up at the four-story building. No lights were on; the place was in complete darkness. He had his pistol out and his driver, a corporal, stood beside him, a Sten gun in his hands, Myers and the radio operator waiting on the pavement, weapons at the ready. People strolling on the promenade across the Corniche looked over, and a few curious passersby began to stop and stare. Weaver said to the corporal, “Tell them to move on.”
The corporal did as he was told, and Weaver went back down the front steps and said to Myers, “You’re sure this is the address?”
“Yes, sir. It’s well known by reputation. Run by a Frenchwoman named Madam Pirou. You want me to try and see if there’s a back way in? I think there’s a side street farther along that leads to the rear.”
Weaver looked back at the building. If anyone was inside, they would have heard him knocking by now, but no lights had come on, and it made him deeply suspicious.
“No, I’ll do it myself. You stay here and cover the front. If anyone comes out, caution them before you start any shooting. When the rest of the men arrive, tell them the same. I want the couple alive, if possible.”
Weaver saw the entrance to a darkened alleyway farther down the street. “Is that the way to the rear?”
“I think so, sir.” Myers nodded.
Weaver cocked his pistol and raced towards the alley.
48
* * *
Halder stepped out into the rear courtyard, Rachel behind him. He saw the outhouse he had noticed earlier from the upstairs window and realized it was the garage. There was an entrance door off to one side, and he found it unlocked.
The place was in pitch darkness and smelled of oil. He fumbled along the walls and flicked on a light switch. A black prewar Citroën, its chrome and bodywork brightly polished, stood gleaming under the light, and there was a pair of wooden exit doors that led outside, a small Judas gate set in one of them.
“See if they’re open.” Halder yanked the driver’s door of the Citroën and jumped inside.
Rachel rattled the garage doors. “They’re locked.”
He tossed her the keys and she found the right one and turned the lock. “Don’t open them out yet—I’ll do it when I’m ready,” Halder told her. “Now give me back the keys.”
She threw them across. He inserted one of the keys in the ignition, pressed the starter switch, and the engine spluttered and di
ed. “Say a prayer.” He tried again, twice, and it started the third time. “The gods are with us after all. Climb in.”
Rachel slid into the passenger seat, then Halder went over to the Judas gate, opened it a crack, and looked out. A cobbled back street lay outside, lit by the wash of lights from a couple of buildings and the café opposite. A few Arabs and off-duty soldiers passed by in the street. He was just about to open out the garage doors when he heard a commotion farther along the alley. A man was moving at a jogging pace along the wall, coming towards the garage, carrying a pistol. Passersby were stepping out of the man’s way, and he recognized Harry Weaver at once.
Halder moved smartly back inside and shut the Judas gate.
“It seems I spoke too soon.”
“What’s the matter?” Rachel asked.
“We’ve got company—Harry, to be precise, and he’s coming this way. The madame’s phone call must have brought him running.”
“You . . . you’re not serious?”
“Believe me, it’s him. Get in the passenger seat and kill the engine. Stay in the car and don’t make a sound.”
Rachel did as she was told, leaning across the dashboard and turning off the ignition. The garage became deathly silent. Halder killed the light, then fumbled his way back to the Citroën. A little later they heard the creak of a gate being opened somewhere outside, then silence. After a while, Rachel seemed unable to bear the tension, and she whispered, “Where’s he gone?”
“At a guess, in the back way to look for us.”
“Shouldn’t we get out of here before it’s too late?”
Halder made to move out of the car. “There’s been a slight change of plan. Stay here and don’t make a sound.”
“But that’s crazy. Harry will—”
“Just do as I say.” Halder cocked the revolver, stepped out of the seat, and disappeared into the darkness.
• • •
Weaver had counted off the rear entrances as he moved along the back wall, pistol in hand, hardly paying attention to the shocked passersby in the street who stared at him. He came to an arched iron gate that opened into a small flagstoned courtyard, a couple of fig trees beyond. He saw a pair of double wooden doors farther along the wall but he ignored them and tried the gate.
It creaked open and he stepped into the courtyard. Across the flagstones was a door into the rear of the main building. He moved towards it, tried the handle. The door opened, and he found himself in an unlit hallway. On one side was a darkened kitchen, with more rooms farther along.
He was aware of an unbearable tension coiled inside him as he felt his way along the hall, pistol at the ready. He heard a noise and halted. It sounded like a dog yapping and came from a room up the hall. He moved towards the door, halted outside.
The yapping erupted again. He readied himself, put a hand on the doorknob, turned it slowly, and burst into the room, ready to fire.
A poodle nipped at his feet. He almost shot the animal before he saw the woman tied to a chair and gagged with a towel. He laid down his pistol, loosened the gag, and the woman sucked in air, white from trauma.
“Merci! Thank heaven you came!”
Weaver untied her and she scooped up the poodle and embraced it. “The Bosch swine—they put petit Donny and me through hell!”
The woman emitted a string of French expletives before Weaver interrupted. “Madam Pirou?”
“Oui.”
“Where’s the couple?”
• • •
Weaver stepped out into the courtyard. He saw the garage across the patio and moved towards it carefully. He hesitated before he turned the door handle. The interior was in darkness, but he could see the dim outline of a car. Halder and Rachel hadn’t taken it after all. He moved inside. The garage appeared empty, and there was a strong smell of oil and must, but as he fumbled for a light switch he felt the cold tip of a gun barrel on the back of his neck.
“Not a word, Harry,” a voice whispered. “Don’t try to move—I’d really hate to have to kill you. Now, put the safety catch on, then drop your pistol on the ground.”
Weaver did as he was told and the pistol clattered to the floor. A second later a bulb blazed on and the garage was flooded with light. Weaver stared ahead. Sitting in the Citroën’s passenger seat was Rachel. She looked round and her eyes met his. Before Weaver could speak, Halder stepped out from behind, a revolver in his hand, and picked up the Colt pistol.
“We meet again, old friend, and hardly in pleasant circumstances.”
“What the devil’s going on?”
“If you don’t mind, we’ll save the reunion speeches for later. For now, move to the front of the car.”
Weaver obeyed. Halder said, “Are any of your men outside?”
When Weaver hesitated, Halder said, “Don’t lie to me, Harry, or people are liable to get killed. Us included.”
“They’re at the front. I came round the back way.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Get in the driver’s seat.”
“You’ll never get away,” Weaver told him. “The area’s surrounded.”
“Maybe, but I happen to have an ace up my sleeve.”
“And what’s that?”
Halder smiled. “I’ll tell you later, Harry. Now get in the car and do exactly as you’re told. Drive out on to the street, hang a left, and head east out of the city. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”
“You’re crazy, Jack. You won’t get a hundred yards. The entire city’s crawling with troops and police, looking for you.”
“A fact I’m well aware of. Get in the car.”
Weaver slid in beside Rachel. He looked across at her face, felt overcome with emotion. “Rachel—”
“Hello, Harry.”
Before Weaver could speak further, Halder climbed into the backseat and prodded the revolver in his ribs. “See if the street’s clear,” he ordered Rachel. “If you spot uniforms or anything suspicious, let me know.”
Rachel did as Halder instructed. She walked to the doors and peered out through the Judas gate, then came back. “It all looks quiet, apart from a few pedestrians. I didn’t see any soldiers.”
“Then let’s be grateful for small mercies—it sounds like maybe we’re a little ahead of Harry’s posse. Open out the doors, then get back in here.”
She pushed out the double doors, then she came back and sat in the passenger seat. Halder said, “Start the car, Harry.”
“Jack, be sensible—we can’t get far.”
Halder pushed the gun harder into his ribs. “I’d appreciate it if you’d do as you’re told. I don’t want to do something I’ll be sorry for. And don’t turn on the headlights until I tell you to.”
Weaver started the ignition and the engine throbbed into life first time.
“Drive on out,” Halder ordered. “If anyone tries to stop us or gets in our way, put your foot down hard. And remember, don’t even attempt to stop the car unless I tell you.”
Weaver revved the engine. He waited until a couple of Arab pedestrians in the alley had moved out of the way, then shifted into gear and released the clutch. The Citroën jerked forward, and he swung left out of the garage.
49
* * *
8:05 P.M.
Hassan pulled up on the seafront and killed the engine. He knew he couldn’t keep following Weaver for much longer without being spotted. He had seen the American knock on the door of the house on the Corniche, then disappear down an alleyway while his men waited outside. He was still looking for the Germans in the red-light district, that much was obvious.
Hassan sat there in frustration. If they were inside the building, he hadn’t a hope of alerting them first, not with armed troops on the street. But it looked as if Weaver was going to cover the back way, alone. He slipped the knife into his pocket and got out of the car.
He crossed the road and turned down one of the alleyways that brought him to the rear of the seafront buildin
gs, but saw no sign of the American. As he walked along, trying to count off the houses, a pair of garage doors swung open further down the alley. A black Citroën drove out, its headlights extinguished. Weaver sat in the driver’s seat, a woman in front beside him, another man wearing civilian clothes in the back. The car swung left and drove away, picking up speed. For a moment, Hassan stood there in complete bewilderment, then he raced back to the Packard.
As he came out on to the seafront again he saw an army truck screech to a halt on the promenade, followed by several Jeeps. He slowed to a walking pace, anxious not to draw attention to himself. Soldiers were appearing from everywhere now, and a section of the Corniche was being sealed off. Outside the house where Weaver had knocked, troops took up positions.
It took Hassan less than two anxious minutes to walk back to the Packard, but he knew by then he was far too late. He had lost whatever chance he had of following Weaver. He couldn’t risk driving off at speed, and he hadn’t a hope of finding the Citroën in the maze of back streets. He cursed as he slid into the car.
The road ahead was completely blocked with soldiers. A handful were being led towards the back streets by an officer. The fools didn’t know what had happened. Two of the Germans had obviously escaped and taken Weaver with them as hostage. Hassan sat there, trying to reason things out.
The Germans might try to make for Rashid. It was probably their only hope of escape. He grinned wickedly and started the engine, an interesting thought coming to him. If he took one of the minor roads that cut onto the coast, he might even get there before them. And if he was right, and Rashid was where the Germans were headed, then he had a chance of settling his score with the American.
8:15 P.M.
Weaver drove through the twisting back streets, until Halder said, “Turn on the headlights.”
