What if following Michel led nowhere? At some point, Dieter would have to cut his losses and interrogate the man. But how much time did he have? Tonight was the night of the full moon, but the English Channel was stormy again. The Allies might postpone the invasion-or they might decide to take their chances with the weather. In a few hours it might be too late.
Michel had come to the station this morning in a van borrowed from Philippe Moulier, the meat supplier, and Dieter looked around for it, but could not see it. He guessed the van had been left here for Flick Clairet to pick up. By now she might be anywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. He cursed himself for not setting someone to watch the van.
He diverted himself by considering how to interrogate Michel. The man's weak point was probably Gilberte. Right now she was in a cell at the chƒteau, wondering what was going to happen to her. She would stay there until Dieter was quite sure he had finished with her; then she would be executed or sent to a camp in Germany. How could she be used to make Michel talk-and fast?
The thought of the camps in Germany gave Dieter an idea. Leaning forward, he said to his driver, "When the Gestapo send prisoners to Germany, they go by train, don't they?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is it true that you put them in the kind of railway cars normally used for transporting livestock?"
"Cattle trucks, yes, sir, it's good enough for those scum, communists and Jews and the like."
"Where do they board?"
"Right here in Reims. The train from Paris stops here."
"And how often do those trains run?"
"There's one most days. It leaves Paris late in the afternoon and stops here around eight in the evening, if it's on time."
Before he could progress his idea further, Dieter saw Michel emerge from the station. Ten yards behind him in the crowd was Hans Hesse. They approached Dieter on the other side of the street.
Dieter's driver started the engine.
Dieter turned in his seat to watch Michel and Hans.
They passed Dieter. Then, to Dieter's surprise, Michel turned into the alley alongside the Caf‚ de la Gare.
Hans quickened his pace and turned the same corner less than a minute later.
Dieter frowned. Was Michel trying to shake off his tail?
Hans reemerged from the alley and looked up and down the street with a worried frown. There were not many people on the pavements, just a few travelers walking to and from the station and the last of the city center workers heading for home. Hans mouthed a curse and turned back into the alley.
Dieter groaned aloud. Hans had lost Michel.
This was the worst foul-up Dieter had been involved in since the battle of Alam Haifa, when wrong intelligence had led Rommel to defeat. That had been the turning point of the North African war. Dieter prayed this was not to be the turning point in Europe.
As he stared despondently at the mouth of the alley, Michel emerged from the front entrance of the caf‚.
Dieter's spirits leaped. Michel had shaken off Hans but did not realize he had a second shadow. All was not yet lost.
Michel crossed the road, breaking into a run, and headed back the way he had come-toward Dieter in the car.
Dieter thought fast. If he tried to follow Michel, maintaining the surveillance, then he, too, would have to run, and that would make it obvious that he was tailing the man. It was no good: the surveillance was over. It was time to seize Michel.
Michel pounded along the pavement, shoving other pedestrians aside. He ran awkwardly, because of his bullet wound, but he moved fast and rapidly approached Dieter's car.
Dieter made a decision.
He opened the car door.
As Michel drew level, Dieter got out, narrowing the available pavement by holding the door wide. Michel swerved to dodge around the obstacle. Dieter stuck out his leg. Michel tripped over his outstretched foot and went flying. A big man, he fell heavily on the paved sidewalk.
Dieter drew his pistol and thumbed the safety catch. Michel lay prone for a second, stunned. Then, groggily, he tried to get to his knees.
Dieter touched the barrel of the gun to Michel's temple. "Don't get up," he said in French.
The driver got a pair of handcuffs from the trunk, secured Michel's wrists, and bundled him into the back of the car.
Hans reappeared, looking dismayed. "What happened?"
"He went in through the back door of the Caf‚ de la Gare and came out of the front," Dieter explained.
Hans was relieved. "What now?"
"Come with me to the station." Dieter turned to the driver. "Do you have a gun?"
"Yes, sir."
"Keep a close watch on this man. If he tries to escape, shoot him in the legs."
"Yes, sir."
Dieter and Hans walked briskly into the station. Dieter buttonholed a uniformed railway man and said, "I want to see the stationmaster right away."
The man looked surly, but he said, "I'll take you to his office."
The stationmaster was dressed in a black jacket and waistcoat with striped trousers, an elegant old-fashioned uniform, worn thin at the elbows and knees. He kept his bowler hat on even in his office. He was frightened by this visit from a high-powered German. "What can I do for you?" he said with a nervous smile.
"Are you expecting a train from Paris with prisoners tonight?"
"Yes, at eight o'clock, as usual."
"When it comes, hold it here until you hear from me. I have a special prisoner I want to board."
"Very good. If I could have written authorization..
"Of course. I will arrange it. Do you do anything with the prisoners while the train is here?"
"Sometimes we hose out the cars. Cattle trucks are used, you see, so there are no lavatory facilities, and frankly it becomes extremely unpleasant, without wishing to criticize-"
"Do not clean the trucks tonight, you understand?"
"Of course."
"Do you do anything else?"
The man hesitated. "Not really."
He was guilty about something, Dieter could tell. "Come on, man, out with it, I'm not going to punish you."
"Sometimes the railway men take pity on the prisoners, and give them water. It's not allowed, strictly speaking, but-"
"No water will be given tonight."
"Understood."
Dieter turned to Hans. "I want you to take Michel Clairet to the police station and lock him in a cell, then return here to the station and make sure my orders are carried out."
"Of course, Major."
Dieter picked up the phone on the stationmaster's desk. "Get me the chƒteau of Sainte-C‚cile." When he got through he asked for Weber. "There's a woman in the cells called Gilberte."
"I know," said Weber. "Pretty girl."
Dieter wondered why Weber sounded so pleased with himself "Would you please send her in a car to the railway station in Reims. Lieutenant Hesse is here, he will take charge of her."
"Very well," said Weber. "Hold the line a moment, will you?" He moved the phone away from his mouth and spoke to someone in the room, giving orders for Gilberte to be moved. Dieter waited impatiently. Weber came back on the line. "I've arranged that."
"Thank you-"
"Don't hang up. I have some news for you."
This would be why he was sounding pleased. "Go on," Dieter said.
"I have captured an Allied agent myself"
"What?" Dieter said. This was a lucky break. "When?"
"A few minutes ago."
"Where, for God's sake?"
"Right here in Sainte-C‚cile."
"How did that happen?"
"She attacked a Militian, and three of my bright young people happened to witness it. They had the presence of mind to capture the culprit, who was armed with a Colt automatic."
"Did you say 'she'? The agent is a woman?"
"Yes."
That settled it. The Jackdaws were in Sainte-C‚cile. The chƒteau was their target.
Dieter sa
id, "Weber, listen to me. I think she is part of a team of saboteurs intending to attack the chƒteau."
"They tried that before," Weber said. "We gave them a hiding."
Dieter controlled his impatience with an effort. "Indeed you did, so they may be more sly this time. May I suggest a security alert? Double the guards, search the chƒteau, and question all non-German personnel in the building."
"I have given orders to that effect."
Dieter was not sure he believed that Weber had already thought of a security alert, but it did not matter, so long as he did so now.
Dieter briefly considered rescinding his instructions about Gilberte and Michel but decided not to. He might well need to interrogate Michel before the night was over.
"I will return to Sainte-C‚cile immediately," he told Weber.
"As you wish," Weber said casually, implying he could manage perfectly well without Dieter's assistance.
"I need to interrogate the new prisoner."
"I have already begun. Sergeant Becker is softening her up."
"For God's sake! I want her sane and able to speak."
"Of course."
"Please, Weber, this is too important for mistakes. I beg you to keep Becker under control until I get there."
"Very well, Franck. I will make sure he doesn't overdo it."
"Thank you. I'll be there as fast as I can." Dieter hung up.
CHAPTER 51
FLICK PAUSED AT the entrance to the great hall of the chƒteau. Her pulse was racing and there was a cold sensation of fear in her chest. She was in the lions' den. If she were captured, nothing could save her.
She surveyed the room rapidly. Telephone switchboards had been installed in precise parade-ground rows, incongruously modern against the faded grandeur of the pink-and-green walls and the pudgy cherubs painted on the ceiling. Bundled cables twisted across the checkerboard marble floor like uncoiled ropes on the deck of a ship.
There was a hubbub of chatter from forty operators. Those nearest glanced at the new arrivals. Flick saw one girl speak to her neighbor and point to them. The operators were all from Reims and the surrounding district, many from Sainte-C‚cile itself~ so they would know the regular cleaners and would realize the Jackdaws were strangers. But Flick was gambling that they would say nothing to the Germans.
She oriented herself quickly, bringing to mind the plan Antoinette had drawn. The bombed west wing, to her left, was disused. She turned right and led Greta and Jelly through a pair of tall paneled doors into the east wing.
One room led to another, all palatial reception rooms full of switchboards and equipment racks that buzzed and clicked as numbers were dialed. Flick did not know whether the cleaners normally greeted the operators or passed them in silence: the French were great people for saying good morning, but this place was run by the German military. She contented herself with smiling vaguely and avoiding eye contact.
In the third room, a supervisor in German uniform sat at a desk. Flick ignored her, but the woman called out, "Where is Antoinette?"
Flick answered without pausing in her stride. "She's coming." She heard the tremor of fear in her own voice and hoped the supervisor had not noticed.
The woman glanced up at the clock, which said five past seven. "You're late."
"Very sorry, Madame, we'll get started right away." Flick hurried into the next room. For a moment she listened, heart in her mouth, for an angry shout calling her back, but none came, and she breathed easier and walked on, with Greta and Jelly close behind.
At the end of the east wing was a stairwell, leading up to the offices or down to the basement. The Jackdaws were headed for the basement, eventually, but first they had preparations to make.
They turned left and moved into the service wing. Following Antoinette's directions, they found a small room where cleaning materials were stored: mops, buckets, brooms, and garbage bins, plus the brown cotton overall coats the cleaners had to wear on duty Flick closed the door.
"So far, so good," said Jelly.
Greta said, "I'm so scared!" She was pale and trembling. "I don't think I can go on."
Flick gave her a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine," she said. "Let's get on with it. Put your ordnance into these cleaning buckets."
Jelly began to transfer her explosives into a bucket, and after a moment's hesitation Greta followed suit. Flick assembled her submachine gun without its rifle butt, reducing the length by a foot, to make it easier to conceal. She fitted the noise suppressor and flicked the switch for single-shot firing. When using the silencer, the chamber had to be reloaded manually before each shot.
She pushed the weapon under her leather belt. Then she put on an overall coat. It covered the gun. She left the buttons undone for quick access. The other two also put on overalls, concealing the guns and ammunition stuffed into their pockets.
They were almost ready for the basement. However, it was a high-security area, with a guard at the door, and French personnel were not allowed down there-the Germans cleaned it themselves. Before entering, the Jackdaws were going to create a little confusion.
They were about to leave the room when the door opened and a German officer looked in. "Passes!" he barked.
Flick tensed. She had been expecting some kind of security alert. The Gestapo must have guessed that Ruby was an Allied agent-no one else would be carrying an automatic pistol and a lethal knife-and it made sense for them to take extra precautions at the chƒteau. However, she had hoped that the Gestapo would move too slowly to interfere with her mission. That wish had not been granted. Probably they were double-checking all French personnel in the building.
"Quickly!" the man said impatiently. He was a Gestapo lieutenant, Flick saw from the badge on his uniform shirt. She took out her pass. He looked at it carefully, comparing the picture with her face, and handed it back. He did the same with Jelly and Greta. "I must search you," he said. He looked into Jelly's bucket.
Behind his back, Flick drew the Sten gun from under her overall.
The officer frowned in puzzlement and took from Jelly's bucket the shockproof canister.
Flick disengaged the cocking lever of her gun from the safety slot.
The officer unscrewed the lid of the canister. Amazement dawned on his face as he saw the detonators.
Flick shot him in the back.
The gun was not really silent-the noise suppressor was not perfectly effective-and the shot made a soft bang like a book being dropped on the floor.
The Gestapo lieutenant jerked and fell.
Flick ejected the cartridge and pulled back the bolt, then shot him again in the head to make sure of him.
She reloaded the chamber and put the gun back under her overall.
Jelly dragged the body to the wall and shoved it behind the door, where it would not be seen by anyone glancing casually into the room.
"Let's get out of here," said Flick.
Jelly went out. Greta stood frozen and pale, staring at the dead officer.
Flick said, "Greta. We have a job to do. Let's go."
At last Greta nodded, picked up her mop and bucket, and walked through the door, moving like a robot.
They went from the cleaning store into the canteen. It was empty but for two girls in uniform drinking coffee and smoking. Speaking French in a low voice, Flick said, "You know what you have to do."
Jelly began to sweep the floor.
Greta hesitated.
Flick said, "Don't let me down."
Greta nodded. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and said, "I'm ready."
Flick entered the kitchen, and Greta followed. The fuse boxes for the building were in a cupboard off the kitchen, beside the large electric oven, according to Antoinette. There was a young
German man at the kitchen stove. Flick gave him a sexy smile and said, "What have you got to offer a hungry girl?"
He grinned at her.
Behind his back, Greta took out a stout pair of pliers with rubberized ha
ndles, then opened the cupboard door.
THE SKY WAS partly cloudy, and the sun disappeared as Dieter Franck drove into the picturesque square of Sainte-C‚cile. The clouds were the same shade of dark gray as the slate roof of the church.
Ken Follett - Jackdaws Page 40
