Night Sky

by Clare Francis

They nodded at each other. Vasson sat down and said, ‘You’ve done as I suggested?’

  ‘Yes, we have several tails on them. They’ll be followed as far as possible.’

  ‘And the tails, they’re not your usual gorillas, I trust?’

  Kloffer looked annoyed. His men’s appearance was an old bone of contention. He said testily, ‘They will do their job well, don’t worry.’

  Vasson said, ‘Good.’

  ‘And your man, will he do his job? It’s a lot to ask of one man – and not one of my men at that.’

  ‘He’s been properly briefed. As long as he can make contact all right, then nothing will go wrong.’

  ‘Yes. As long as he can …’

  ‘He will.’

  ‘So!’ Kloffer put his fingertips together. ‘That takes care of that then …’

  ‘Yes.’ Vasson’s only regret was that he wouldn’t be in on all the arrests. He would have liked that.

  Kloffer examined Vasson with his cold, hard eyes. ‘Now, the Brussels end. Are you sure you have it under control?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ll give you the lot within three days.’

  ‘But the leader – have you identified him?’

  ‘Yes. Finally.’

  ‘And—?’

  ‘Tomorrow. You’ll have him by tomorrow.’

  Kloffer nodded and stood up. ‘After – when you’ve finished there – you’d better come back to Paris.’

  ‘That was what I intended.’

  Kloffer said deliberately, ‘But not for too long. And you must stay away from your old haunts. You’re no use to me if you’re dead.’ He smiled faintly. ‘And you would be dead – very quickly.’

  Vasson sighed, ‘You’re just saying that, Kloffer. Just to keep me in order. I’m beginning not to believe you any more.’

  ‘Ah … but there’s only one way to find out if I’m lying. And that might be fatal for you, might it not? Besides …,’ Kloffer went on carefully, ‘if you were dead you wouldn’t be able to spend any of that money you’re so carefully accumulating. That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?’

  Vasson suppressed his irritation. Kloffer thought he did it just for the money. He was a stupid man.

  He decided that he couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. Anyway perhaps Kloffer was right – better to be out of Paris and alive than shot in the back.

  ‘Okay. So I don’t stay in Paris. So where do I go?’

  Kloffer said, ‘Ah! Where? Who knows? We’ll see.’ He smiled, enjoying what he imagined to be his little moment of power. Vasson thought: Screw you.

  Kloffer stood up and put on his hat. ‘But I promise you the job will be equally interesting and rewarding.’

  First the stick, then the carrot. Kloffer was so predictable.

  Kloffer paused at the door. ‘Goodbye, and we look forward to some excellent results in Brussels.’

  ‘And I look forward to some excellent results in the money department, Kloffer.’

  ‘Don’t be greedy. You earn enough.’

  ‘But am I paid what I’m worth? That’s the question.’

  ‘You could be worth nothing. Remember that, Marseillais!’

  Kloffer opened the door and chuckled to himself. ‘Goodbye. That’s what I always call you, you know – The Marseillais!’ He watched Vasson’s face, then, smiling still, went out.

  The door closed and Vasson clenched his fists. He took a long, deep breath to calm himself.

  The bastard must have taken his thumb print and had it sent round to every police station in the country. It was the only way he could have found out.

  It all came back to that filthy foreign woman … If it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have been on file …

  It was her fault, the bitch.

  Vasson shivered and stood up.

  He hated Kloffer for knowing.

  One day he’d get Kloffer. One day.

  He looked at his watch. There was a train for Brussels in ten minutes.

  As he walked angrily across the station he thought about the Brussels job. He saw the faces of the smug intellectuals running the operation, and imagined their expressions when they realised they’d been betrayed. It was the only thing that consoled him.

  The train was late arriving. Vasson decided to go straight to the Café Mirabeau for dinner. The journey had made him hungry. Also Anne-Marie might be there and she would tell him the news. Or rather the lack of news. Even if there had been some early arrests south of Paris, no-one in Brussels could possibly have heard anything yet.

  Anne-Marie. He’d be glad to be rid of her. She’d become a bore. When he’d first met her, she’d been rather sweet and it had been quite enjoyable to win her over. It had taken time, of course, because she had been very cautious. She’d only just been released by Mueller and she was suspicious of everything. But he’d been patient. He’d led her on, slowly but surely. In the end she had come to trust him completely, just as he knew she would. When she’d introduced him to her friends they’d given him simple jobs at first: running messages and errands and that kind of thing. Then at last had come the courier’s job: the real test. After that he was home and dry.

  Anne-Marie. The trouble had started when she’d tricked him, that terrible evening. He’d quite liked her until then. He’d even imagined what it would be like to touch her, naked, and to hold her down, tight …

  Then she spoilt it all. She tricked him by saying she loved him and that she just wanted to put her arms round him. It was all her fault. She’d flaunted herself, showing her knees, having those large breasts, smelling of sex … He’d found himself feeling her body and then she was naked and instead of staying still she kept moving – putting her arms round him, trying to kiss him on the lips. It had revolted him. In the end he’d put his arm across her neck and stopped her moving until he’d finished.

  After that she disgusted him. He could hardly bear to look at her, particularly when she stared at him with those large reproachful eyes. Why couldn’t she have left him alone? Why did she have to do dirty things?

  But he still had to make the effort to see her, otherwise all his work would be for nothing. It almost killed him. Whenever she moved he could see those large breasts …

  But it was just for one more day. That was all. He must remember that. He gritted his teeth and went into the café.

  The bitch was there, sitting in a corner. He could tell she’d been waiting for him. She looked worried: she was probably going to be difficult.

  As soon as he sat down she said, ‘Everything all right?’

  Vasson nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Not sure?’

  ‘I don’t know. I always think I see shadows … You know.’ It was important to sow a slight seed of doubt, just in case news of the Paris arrests reached Brussels before he’d finished the job.

  She nodded. ‘Probably nothing to worry about. But you—?’ She looked at him with concern and touched his hand. It was all he could do not to snatch it away. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Sure. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘It was just … you’ve been so … withdrawn … well, cold,’ she finished painfully.

  ‘Oh? Well, it doesn’t mean anything.’

  She brightened a little and he realised crossly that she had misinterpreted his words.

  She said, ‘Oh, I’m so pleased. I thought – Well, quite honestly I didn’t know what to think. After … you know. I’ve been very confused.’

  ‘I’ve just been feeling the strain, that’s all.’

  ‘But – you seemed so angry! It’s been torturing me. What did I do wrong? Why were you so cross? And – why, oh why, Paul, did you hurt me?’

  He sighed impatiently. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ She spoke angrily, reproachfully.

  ‘Well, it was just the strain, as I say. Let’s just forget it, eh? You’re really getting things out of proportion.’

  She gave him an agonised look. ‘Oh dear, I really don’t know what to think …’


  Vasson thought: Christ, she’s going to go on and on unless I shut her up. He breathed deeply and said, ‘Look, dear, I’m truly sorry for what happened. I was upset, you see. I had a girl once – I’ve never told you this before – but …’ He made a face as if the memory gave him terrible pain. ‘… she died you see. And whenever … Well, whenever … I remember her I want to die too!’ He looked away as if it was too much to bear. He couldn’t help thinking what a good performance he was giving.

  She said, ‘Oh! Oh, I see. I had no idea …’

  She was buying it. Good. Time to ease off the subject. ‘Look, I’d rather not talk about it. D’you understand?’ She still looked unhappy, but nodded gently.

  He said quickly, ‘How are things here, then? Quiet?’

  She nodded.

  He looked pleased – he was pleased. Then he put on a frown. ‘Look, there are a couple of things I’m a bit worried about – to do with security and, well, other things. I’d like to discuss them with Guy. Can you arrange a meeting, here or somewhere near?’

  ‘But – does it have to be Guy himself?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ Of course it had to be Guy: he was the most important one of all. ‘And Patrice, too. Any chance of arranging something for tomorrow morning at about eleven?’

  ‘I don’t know … It’s a bit unusual. They don’t like too many of us to meet at once. And, well, they’ll want to know why.’

  What a stupid woman, looking for problems. He was so irritated with her he could shake her by the throat. He said calmly, ‘Look, I’m really worried and I do think it’s important to talk the thing over with them. Really! Can’t you just take my word for it? It’s important. I have to have that meeting.’

  She blinked. ‘All right. I’ll try.’

  ‘Good.’ He got up to leave. She frowned anxiously and said, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Mmm? Oh, home, I expect.’

  ‘Don’t you want to eat?’

  The answer was yes but he didn’t want to eat with her. It would spoil his appetite. He answered, ‘No, I’m going straight to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. You will arrange that meeting, won’t you? It’s important.’

  She nodded, her face drawn and pale.

  He realised she still wasn’t convinced. Better make sure. He put his hands on the table. ‘Look, after tomorrow, perhaps we’ll go out for the day. Into the country. Would you like that? It would be nice to – well, relax a little. I have been feeling the strain, I can see that … Shall we do that? After the meeting?’

  Her face was a mixture of relief and uncertainty. ‘Yes. That would be nice.’

  He forced himself to smile at her and then turned hurriedly away. Anything to keep the bitch happy. Anything to keep her quiet until after tomorrow. God! The things he had to do. But it would be worth it, he was sure of that.

  It was a spectacular morning, the light as bright and clear as glass. Though it was still winter it was just warm enough to sit at a pavement table without feeling the cold. Vasson turned his face to the sun and thought that he’d never felt as good as he did today.

  He ordered a second pastis and looked at his watch. Five minutes to go. His pulse quickened and he felt a delicious sense of anticipation.

  It was almost the best part, the anticipation.

  Anne-Marie was the first. She walked along the pavement towards him, her head down, her expression serious. She always looked serious. Well, today she really had something to worry about! The thought amused him and he had to lower his head to hide a smile.

  She saw him and, giving a slight wave, weaved her way through the tables towards him.

  As she sat down he asked, ‘Everything fixed?’

  She nodded.

  He smiled brilliantly. ‘Excellent! Now what would you like to drink? Pernod? Coffee? Yes? Then coffee it shall be!’

  She was watching him, trying to gauge his mood. He smiled at her, elated. She said, ‘You’re very happy today.’

  ‘Yes! Well, something’s happened!’

  ‘What?’

  He held up his hand. ‘All in good time! All in good time!’

  She smiled thinly, but her eyes were serious, questioning. She was a bit wary, he decided. Nothing to worry about though, he could deal with her all right.

  Stupid bitch. He smiled at her again. ‘It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked around nervously.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  She said quickly, ‘Oh nothing. I’m just a bit jumpy today, I don’t know why.’

  Vasson eyed her sharply and wondered if she’d guessed something after all. She couldn’t see Mueller and his men, of course: they were well hidden in a florist’s shop across the street. And Vasson himself had given nothing away. He decided, finally, that she was just the nervous type.

  Patrice, the number two in the organisation, was next. He was a doctor, one of the types who worked with the poor and the needy. His halo was so bright it was almost dazzling. Vasson watched him approach with satisfaction. Two down and one to go.

  The doctor drew up a chair. Vasson said smoothly, ‘My dear fellow, a glass of something? A Pernod?’

  The doctor smiled kindly and said, ‘No, thank you so much. Just a coffee.’

  ‘Oh, but I did so want us to have a drink together!’

  The doctor and Anne-Marie exchanged glances. Vasson realised he was pushing it. He said quickly, ‘It’s just that we hardly ever see each other and it’s good to drink with one’s friends.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Another time, really.’

  At last the leader, Guy, came. Vasson spotted him while he was still some distance away on the other side of the street. The man walked casually but with infinite caution, missing nothing. A wily man – a worthy opponent.

  The leader arrived at the table and, taking a last look round, sat down.

  Vasson beamed at him. ‘Now I hope I have a customer for a drink! How about it? A pastis? A cognac?’

  Guy eyed him and said quietly, ‘No, let’s have a drink after we have discussed our business. What, exactly, have you to tell us?’

  A cool one, Vasson thought, a cool one. ‘Ah!’ He raised a finger and smiled. ‘Good news, very good news.’

  ‘But I thought there was something worrying you?’

  ‘Yes, there is that too.’ Vasson tried to look suitably serious. ‘But to be precise it’s something that should be worrying you.’

  A nice little joke, that.

  Out of the corner of his eye Vasson saw Mueller and his men coming out of the florist’s shop. Only a minute left, then.

  A look of concern had come into Guy’s eyes and he said, ‘What exactly is the problem? Spit it out!’

  ‘The problem is that the Boches are on to you!’

  The three of them froze, their eyes fastened on Vasson, waiting for him to go on. Vasson raised his eyebrows and shrugged mysteriously.

  They exchanged glances, then stared back at Vasson, a mixture of uncertainty and cold horror growing on their faces.

  Vasson looked past them to where Mueller and the men in black leather raincoats were making their way through the outer ring of tables. Then, just before the Germans arrived, Vasson smiled.

  The two men realised almost simultaneously. They jumped to their feet and looked desperately around them. Anne-Marie was still staring stupidly across the table.

  The men saw the black leather raincoats and froze like animals gauging the wind. Vasson wondered if they would try to run for it. He hoped not: it would draw attention.

  The men turned and looked at each other, fear and terrible understanding written all over their faces. Vasson realised with satisfaction they were not going to run for it. Slowly, they sat down again and first one then the other stared at Vasson. The girl was still looking dully across the table, her mouth open.

  Vasson said to the two men, ‘Right. Now if you just tell me where to find the courier Francine, then we can be going.’


  There was silence.

  ‘If you don’t tell me your wives and children will be arrested within the hour.’

  ‘You bastard?’ It was the girl. The dull look had gone and her eyes were blazing. ‘You bastard! You filthy swine! You—!’ Suddenly she screamed and, picking up an ashtray, raised it above her head. Before she could throw it one of Mueller’s men swung at her. There was a crack! as his leather-gloved hand hit her cheekbone. The ashtray fell to the ground.

  Shaking with anger, Vasson leant forward in his chair. ‘That’ll teach you, you bitch. Next time we’ll make your face into pulp!’

  Vasson leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. ‘Where do I find the courier Francine?’

  The men were looking away now, their expressions grim. Only the girl was staring at him again.

  They weren’t going to talk. It didn’t matter; he could send a false message to the courier and lure her out that way. Vasson said stiffly, ‘Very well. If you wish to sacrifice your families …’

  The girl had been quiet but now she let out a cry of agony and for a moment Vasson thought she’d reach across the table and try to scratch him. But she sank back in her seat, her face a picture of hate and self-loathing, and shouted, ‘Oh God! Oh God!’

  Vasson indicated to Mueller and one of his men yanked the girl out of her seat and took her away. She screamed as she was dragged across the pavement. Vasson wished she wouldn’t make so much noise; people were staring.

  Vasson said to Mueller, ‘And the others!’

  As the doctor was pulled to his feet he turned towards Vasson and said quietly, ‘I feel very sorry for you. May God forgive you.’

  Vasson forced a smile and said, ‘Sod you too!’

  He finished his drink and nodded to one of Mueller’s men, who made a show of arresting Vasson. Vasson pretended to struggle a little, then walked quietly across the street to the waiting car.

  *

  In Room 900 of the War Office, Smithe-Webb of the French Section of M19 was waiting for news.

  There had been no news from Meteor for three days. Meteor, the largest of the evasion lines, had two wireless operators. Neither of them had made contact.

  The major had to remind himself that this in itself meant nothing; wireless operators often had trouble getting through.