In at the Kill

by Alexander Fullerton

‘We might do something about it later on. But – give us a few minutes, please. Excuse us…’

  He shut the door behind them. Rosie looking around at the clutter of furniture – too much of it for the room’s size. Big old pieces too, some of them. Whatever he’d been so anxious to talk about in private, she’d guessed, must relate to whatever he’d sounded excited about on the telephone to Colette yesterday.

  Boches pulling out – or planning to?

  Seven minutes gone, Marilyn’s watch told her. It felt like more than that. Eight minutes. Nine…

  The door opened: Monsieur Henri standing aside, for Colette to enter. Pushing it shut then behind him: he looked surprised – or alarmed – gazing past her at Rosie. Colette was beside her then, a knee on the edge of the sofa, and grasping Rosie’s hands: she looked excited about something… ‘Justine – I’ve got to tell him who you are and what you’re here for!’

  Elated, even… Rosie frowned, shook her head. ‘He knows who—’

  ‘Listen – Jacques and I were telling you about Monsieur Henri’s son – remember all that?’

  ‘Of course, but – so what?’

  ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘For God’s sake.’ Colette’s hands tightened on hers. ‘André! André Marchéval!’

  ‘My son.’ Perching himself on to a chair facing them. Peculiar-looking chair – probably antique, but ugly, she wouldn’t have given it house-room: giving it a moment’s attention now though, rather than show astonishment or shock – her mind frozen for a moment in instant flashback to Michel’s Think, girl! When it all hits the fan, isn’t his father’s place where he’s likely to show up?

  Instant logic.

  And, she realized, no need now to bomb the manor.

  Monsieur Henri repeating, ‘My son, Mam’selle. Though why it should be necessary for you to be apprised of this I have no idea. Doubtless Colette will explain. The fact is, however, that André – who I should tell you was arrested by the Gestapo several months ago—’

  ‘I knew that. Colette and her husband were telling me about you and your family. But your daughter too, they said.’

  He’d passed a hand over his face. ‘Colette insisted I should tell you this. I do so with reluctance… The position is that on Sunday evening, when I was in the factory, I received a message – a scrap of paper – from the hand of a young man who works for me. It was signed by André, saying he’d come here to see me – well, this last night. I was to leave the door unfastened for him – all night, he couldn’t say what time. I recognized his writing and signature but I could still hardly believe – not having had a word or any news of him – or of Claire either – in months… However – I asked the boy where, how, and he whispered – this was in my own office, he’d come in on some pretext, worksheets or some – well, never mind – he whispered, “He’s in the forest with the others”.’

  ‘The forest…’ It made sense, probably, from André’s point of view. ‘Did he come?’

  ‘Yes. Having had this message was of course why I delayed meeting you, Colette. To know first it was genuine – not a hoax or a trap of some kind.’ Back to Rosie: ‘Colette and I – and my family – the only one I could talk to…’ To Colette again: ‘If you hadn’t telephoned I’d have been contacting you, today.’

  ‘What did your son have to say?’

  ‘He escaped from the Gestapo a week ago and he’s with a Maquis group commanded by a man named – Guichard?’ A querying glance at Colette: she nodded. Sitting back now; she’d let go of Rosie’s hands. Telling Monsieur Henri, ‘Emile Guichard. His Maquis name is Tamerlan. Jacques meets him sometimes.’

  ‘Well. The rest of it is that they’re planning a sabotage operation against my factory.’ An expansive gesture, his arms spreading… ‘To Colette this is good news. Comprehensible, I dare say – but – perhaps you’d tell me yourself how you come into it?’

  Colette said, ‘I understood you to say not that they’re planning it, but that André is trying to persuade them to.’

  A shrug: movement of his rather small hands… Rosie asked him, ‘What’s your reaction to the proposal, M’sieur?’

  ‘Before we go further, Colette, I insist I should be told what this young lady has to do with any of it!’

  ‘Well – Justine—’

  ‘Wait.’ Rosie asked him, ‘Can I take it you’ll keep this to yourself?’

  ‘Mam’selle, I’m not in the habit of—’

  ‘You aren’t on close terms with your Boche colleagues?’

  ‘Are you insulting me?’

  ‘You work for them – have done for a long time—’

  ‘Not by my own choice. They’ve been holding my son – and my daughter. My poor darling Claire.’ His face crumpling… ‘Who may be – dead, Colette!’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘They’d promised André she’d be unharmed as long as he – and I apparently – well, gave them no trouble?’

  ‘So he’s been – co-operating with them, are you saying?’

  ‘Pretending to. “Playing them along”, he said.’

  ‘Really.’ Staring at him. ’I’ve been in Gestapo custody, monsieur. It’s no game, there’s no playing – except of course on their terms.’

  ‘Justine.’ Colette, in a shocked whisper. ‘You’re not suggesting—’

  ‘You’ve told us, Monsieur, Claire was a hostage for your son’s “playing along”. What happens to her now he’s run out on them?’

  ‘They told him – just recently – she’s been sent east. Meaning some camp.’

  ‘Oh, patron…’

  A hand over his face again. ‘You know, I’d almost given up hope for both of them. But this was why he broke out. He’d asked one of them what would happen now to himself and Claire – when they withdraw from Paris – in effect would he and Claire be released – but why not let them go now – so forth. That was the answer – may or may not be true, the man was angry he said, shouting at him—’

  ‘He broke out of where, M’sieur?’

  ‘A prison in the Place des Etats-Unis. What I was saying – Claire may still be alive, you know? But look here – I’m giving you answers to your questions—’

  Colette said flatly, ‘She’s an agent of SOE.’

  Staring at her: brown eyes even wider, dampish. A small face: small-boned, and triangular – small, sharp chin, and that width across the eyes. Like some kind of animal: she had it in her mind’s eye but couldn’t have put a name to it.

  Shaping words: ‘Then you’d have known my son?’

  ‘One doesn’t know by any means all one’s fellow agents. Those one’s worked with, obviously – or trained with…’

  ‘He was in a key position. Air Movements Officer?’

  ’Was he? But he’d have had a code-name – even if I’d had contact with him, I wouldn’t have known his real one. Anyway – having escaped he should have contacted SOE in order to be brought back to London for de-briefing. How long was he in Gestapo hands?’

  ‘About – three months.’

  ‘London would insist on pulling him out – and he’d be well aware of it!’

  ‘Perhaps he had no contacts?’

  ‘As Air Movements Officer? He’d have had dozens!’

  ‘But – in a state of mounting confusion, as apparently it is now, in Paris – talk of imminent German withdrawal – and André concerned about my own situation here particularly—’

  ‘Justine is here about your factory too, patron.’

  Gazing at her: slow blink. Rosie thinking, a lemur, maybe…

  ‘What exactly – about my—’

  ‘My brief is to investigate a report that you’re making casings for the V2 rockets – ballistic missiles.’

  ‘A report, you say?’

  ‘It was my reason for wanting to meet you. Colette didn’t know this, but she’d mentioned your problems with Madame Briard—’

  ‘Never mind that. The report you mentioned – what
if you discovered it was correct?’

  ‘I’m sure it is. Your son’s proposal and your own reaction bear it out too. I’ve told London that I believe it, and if they’re convinced – by certain evidence I’ve given them – the likely upshot will be bombing.’

  ‘Bombing – here – would be – frightful!’

  Colette broke in: ‘You see why she had to be brought into this – and why I welcome André’s plan!’

  He’d barely glanced at her. Back to Rosie: repeating, ‘Frightful!’

  ‘But entirely warranted. The V2s are frightful weapons, Monsieur. Aimed at changing the present course of the war, through mass destruction and mass slaughter of civilians – they’d hope, forcing at least a stalemate. Which amongst other horrors would perpetuate a system in which such disgusting institutions as Belsen, Buchenwald and Ravensbrück would continue to exist. The possibility that in our efforts to ensure they don’t, your village might be knocked about – and your factory of course obliterated… Did you know from the start what they were requiring you to make?’

  ‘No – but then one began to suspect, and—’

  ‘Your son knew these were rocket-casings, did he?’

  ‘He knows now.’

  ‘So. If the Maquisards go ahead with it, will you cooperate with them?’

  ‘Yes. I told him so. And now more than ever!’

  ‘Why?’

  ’Why? Because – what you’ve just told me—’

  ‘Oh – the bombing… Co-operate how, though?’

  ‘They’d want a set of keys, he said – to get in silently, plant explosives I suppose—’

  ‘What about the night shift?’

  ‘No more. As from today, no night shift. They want production to continue – up to the last minute, Wachtel keeps saying. He’s the Boche engineer.’

  ‘But you’re running out of space. May not be enough flatbeds to shift them anyway. When do you expect what you have already to be collected?’

  ‘I don’t know. I doubt Wachtel does either.’

  ‘How many casings ready now?’

  ‘Sixteen. By the weekend, with no night shift, eighteen.’

  ‘Meaning five trucks. Do they have that many?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s the kind of thing I’m not told.’

  ‘What about where they go in Germany?’

  ‘Again, I don’t know, but I’d guess Essen.’

  ‘Only guess, or more than that?’

  ‘More a conclusion than a guess.’

  Colette put in, ‘Doesn’t it make sense, Justine? Sabotage rather than bombing?’

  ‘It would – if the Maquis go for it, and it’s viable, and if London agrees—’

  ‘The Maquis, you’re suggesting –’ Monsieur Henri’s tone was derisive – ‘need authority from London?’

  ‘Your son as an agent of SOE does. And as I said, I’ve provided our people with all the information they need to lay on an attack. The Maquis can do what they like, that is the intention, as of this moment. I’m not trying to antagonize you, Monsieur, I’d prefer sabotage to bombing – but that’s how it is.’ She nodded to Colette: ‘I’d better meet Monsieur Henri’s son. And perhaps more importantly, Guichard. Think Jacques could arrange it?’

  Chapter 14

  Three forty p.m.: on their way into the northern fringes of the Fôret d’Othe. Jacques hadn’t been able to get away from the auberge any earlier. Rosie had drafted a message to Baker Street and coded it up, but she’d brought the one-time pad and key with her as well, so as to be able to amend or add to it after meeting Emile Guichard – with or without André Marchéval.

  With, she hoped. Get the confrontation over.

  They were heading for Chigy again, but would be turning south there, to a village called Vareilles. ‘From there on towards les Vallées, but we’ll turn off before that.’ A hand up to his newly smooth-shaven jaw: ‘No certainty he’ll be there, remember.’

  ‘No. You said.’

  He’d be able to arrange a rendezvous, he’d told her, but not necessarily for today. He’d been referring then only to Guichard; wasn’t talking about André much. He’d been like that earlier too – listening to Colette, expressing quiet agreement – shrugging a bit, not all that enthusiastic, agreeing that a sabotage operation would be preferable to bombing, but expressing doubt as to whether the Maquis were likely to be persuaded. ‘Weren’t going to touch it before – remember?’

  ‘Then, it was different. We weren’t sure what the tubes were, for one thing – and we do now. So do they – André’s with them – and he knows as well as his father does… Jacques, he said so – Monsieur Henri did!’

  ‘The fear of reprisals was another factor.’

  ‘It’s conceivable the Boches won’t have time for teaching us salutary lessons now. Bigger issues on their hands. Look how few patrols they’re sending out now – you’ve mentioned it yourself half a dozen times. In any case – when the alternative’s to be bombed—’

  ‘On that you could be right.’

  ‘What’s more, when it’s the patron’s own son who’s urging it?’

  Rosie wondering now how she’d handle the patron’s son. For instance – she’d feigned memory-loss in the Morlaix hospital and again in Rue des Saussaies; might stick to that line – be vague in her recollections of those encounters – generally let him think she was giving him the benefit of the doubt?

  What doubt, for Christ’s sake.

  He’d want this sabotage action, for his own sake and his father’s. There’d be talk for ever after of the Marchévals sabotaging their own business in the greater interests of France; and who’d have masterminded the operation but André Marchéval, hero of the Resistance. Guillaume’s projection of future events, that had been, and it was probably as accurate as Michel’s had now proved to be. But another Guillaume quote in her memory: ‘Has it occurred to you that it would suit Marchéval down to the ground to see you dead?’

  Well. Might suit him, but he wasn’t going to try anything in front of witnesses.

  Marilyn, who’d also issued some such warning, would still be having fits. Certainly when she read this signal.

  In Chigy now: hearing through her wound-down window the clatter of a train. Her fingers traced the outline of the 9-mm Llama in her jacket pocket. She’d swapped the Beretta for it, in the breuvage carton; she was more at home with this one. Glancing at Jacques – who’d turned south out of Chigy, into a lane with tall hedges almost meeting overhead – asking him, ‘What sort of man is Guichard?’

  Jinking, to avoid an old woman on a bicycle… Glancing at her then. ‘He was a lawyer, in Paris. Up and coming, well thought of, Joe Lambert told me. He’s still a young man – maybe thirty-five, thirty-seven. But he was arrested down south in what was then the unoccupied zone – by Vichy police, or it might have been Milice – when he was smuggling a Jewish family down to Menton – Mentone, as they like to call it – from where they’d have found their way into Italy. They’d have been under Italian jurisdiction in Menton, in any case. Mussolini is not a persecutor of Jews – did you know?’

  ‘Didn’t we hear they’ve had to re-think on that?’

  ‘Well – now, maybe. But Guichard was caught on his way back. Someone had informed, they were waiting for him at the line of demarcation where he’d slipped over on his way south. Then he escaped, but in Paris they grabbed his wife. She was very young – part-Italian, her mother I think was Italian.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The usual thing.’ A jerk of the head. ‘Lambert told me he’d heard they were French Gestapo who took her.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘Say that again… But Guichard’s a hard man, believe me.’

  ‘Why his nom-de-guerre’s “Tamerlan”, no doubt.’

  ‘But he’s a nice guy and a good leader. André would have known of him through Lambert, I suppose. All the parachutages in which I took part were for that crowd.’

  ‘Big crowd?’

  ‘In
aggregate, it must be. He has them split into groups of about fifteen men each, dispersed all over. Got a cigarette to spare?’

  Usual routine. She passed his to him, and he grunted thanks. Then: ‘You had the pleasure of meeting Madame Briard this morning, Colette mentioned.’

  ‘She gave her a flea in her ear, too!’

  ‘Colette did?’

  ‘When we came out after seeing Monsieur Henri, she was inspecting our bikes as if she thought they shouldn’t be there. Looks like a toad, doesn’t she? She glared at me, and asked Colette, “Who’s this and what do the pair of you want here?” Colette told her it was our business and Monsieur Henri’s – and what were her plans now that her Boche masters would shortly be on the run. “What’ll you do, return to the bosom of the community, where we all love you so dearly, you bitch?”’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘There was quite a bit more, then Monsieur Henri came out, on his way to the factory. That ended it. I was quite sorry, Colette had her pretty well on the ropes. But at the front of the house the Boches were hoisting their revolting flag – I saw the head one – Linscheidt – and one who Colette told me afterwards was the engineer – moon-faced, with glasses?’

  ‘That’s him. But Colette was taking a risk, talking about the Boches running. The Briard woman’ll report it, for sure. She’s a little – overwrought, just now. Colette, I mean.’

  ‘Anxiety about the bombing. My doing. But if Guichard takes up this sabotage idea—’ She’d checked: exhaling Gaulois smoke… ‘One thing, Jacques. I’d sooner no one knew I’m sending any message to London today. They might assume I was passing on news that might stop the air attack – which is not the case.’

  ‘Unless Guichard—’

  ‘If he makes a positive decision I’ll pass that on, sure.’

  The draft for the signal as she had it encoded read:

  André Marchéval formerly code-named Hector is now with Maquis in Forêt d’Othe claiming to have escaped from Gestapo in Paris and proposing sabotage of the factory by Maquis. He has visited his father who is willing to co-operate, but Maquis leader Tamerlan has yet to commit himself. Hector’s object is probably to establish himself as active résistant, father no doubt similarly motivated. Father has confirmed to me that the tubes are casings for V2s. Am arranging to meet Hector and Tamerlan shortly, possibly before transmission of this message. Am aware of possible threat from Hector and will take precautions. Targeting of manor being no longer necessary, ‘S’ phone guidance if required would be from vicinity of factory. Further two items: factory is back on day shifts only, in view of pile-up of uncollected casings, and Marchéval senior believes destination of casings probably Essen.