Shadows over Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  “Anyway, these people kept chasing me. Or at least they kept chasing the apparition that was supposed to be me. I was running. It wasn’t like those childhood nightmares where you are terrified because you can’t go any faster than a crawl. The skies were dark. I assume it was night. And we ran through city streets, narrow and close. The buildings were grimy stone and brick, like the sooty ones back in Glasgow. I was so tired. I wanted desperately to stop, but I knew I couldn’t. So I just kept going. The darkness and bleakness was oppressive. I thought I would die if it kept going like that without a change.

  “Suddenly my running legs broke out into the clean air. Now it was me that was running, but I felt light and free. The oppression of the dark city was gone. The air was clean and refreshing, the sun warm and bright. I was running on soft, pure, white sand, with a sparkling ocean immediately to my right. It was just like the grand beach of home—”

  Without even realizing he had done so, Logan had used the unlikely word to describe Port Strathy, a place he hadn’t felt at home in for some time. But he went right on.

  “I knew I was saved at last. But for some reason I couldn’t stop running. The sand stretched out forever in front of me. Soon a woman came running onto the beach from the side and she too began to chase me. All the men from the city had left the dream with the coming of the sunlight and the beach. She began to call my name. She called and called.

  “Suddenly the voice broke through into my consciousness—it was Allison, my wife. I was so glad to hear her voice! But still I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. When she at last caught up to me, she took my arm and finally I stopped. But when I spun around to face her, I disappeared.

  “Again I was watching the dream from the outside, rather than playing the part in it. I could see my body fade away, and my clothes fell like limp empty rags at her feet. I started to leave the dream world and drift back into consciousness. But before I did I saw Allison’s face, this time close up. Huge tears were falling from her eyes as she sank down on her knees and wept over the clothes lying in the sand.

  “Then I woke up.”

  Logan chuckled nervously. “Pretty loony, isn’t it?” he said, suddenly feeling foolish again over the whole thing.

  “Dreams are the only way a sane man can express his insanity,” observed Jean Pierre. “Considering the kind of life you have been living these past months, I’m surprised it was as subdued as it was. I can, however, understand your consternation over it. But I don’t think I would want to venture an interpretation.”

  Logan said nothing. He was afraid the interpretation was all too obvious. He finished his crepes. They did indeed live up to his expectations, and he was glad to concentrate on them for a while. But at length he spoke again.

  “I came to France to forget myself.”

  “And now you are perhaps afraid you have been too successful?” The priest’s intelligent, noble eyes held Logan’s for a long moment. Deep within them Logan could discern a kind understanding, an empathy that Logan would not have expected from the society priest.

  Finally Logan turned away and sighed deeply.

  “Maybe so,” he said without much conviction. “I like what I’m doing. For the first time in my life I feel I’m involved in something truly meaningful . . . worthwhile. But I was more content and sure of myself when I was cheating people at cards or swindling them out of their money. If what I am doing is a good thing, why is it so filled with confusion?”

  “Perhaps because there is a greater good to be considered, Michel,” said Jean Pierre after some thought.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You said before that I have the ideal excuse for staying out of the Resistance,” Jean Pierre went on. “But the priesthood, in my opinion, should never be an excuse to be uninvolved, but rather an open door into greater involvements in the hurts of people and the world. Believe me, my clerical superiors have often urged me to take a more neutral stand. They argue that God is no respecter of persons, that His love and judgment are meted out equally to the just and the unjust. I should not take sides, therefore, but let justice come from the hand of God. They are right, of course; God is no respecter of persons. The Bible does say, ‘Resist not evil, but turn the other cheek.’ Yet justification for my position can be found in the Scriptures also; James says, ‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’ I realize each of these passages can be interpreted in many ways. But perhaps that is occasionally the reason for our confusion, as you have expressed, because God leaves it to us to hear His voice in each of our hearts. I know without a doubt that God has called me to this work we are doing. Though I am criticized for forsaking my holy calling, I know that any other path for me would be less than God intended. I do not judge my brothers who choose to serve the Lord or their brothers on more neutral grounds. And I do not judge you either, Michel. I only say all this because you alluded to your—what shall I call it?—your attempt to live a more godly life.”

  Logan nodded. “I suppose that’s as good a description of it as anything.”

  “It is something you still desire?”

  “Yes,” replied Logan without deep emotion. “I always wanted to be closer to Him. But I never seemed able to fit in. I once had a pair of alligator shoes; I loved those shoes and they cost me a bundle. They hurt my feet from the first day I got them, but I wore them every day for a month until I couldn’t stand it any longer and finally had to throw them out. I guess living as a Christian was a little like that for me.”

  “Faith is tossed aside at a much greater price than a pair of shoes.”

  Logan stared moodily down at his plate. He had never before considered that he had abandoned his faith until just this moment. Had he discarded it like the shoes? The whole thing had come upon him so gradually that he had not really considered it gone at all. But now he could see that perhaps he had walked away from it.

  “But what does that have to do with the greater good you spoke of?” he asked, almost unintentionally trying to shift the conversation away from the personal.

  “It is just this,” replied Jean Pierre, “as a man with a heart toward God—never mind where your mind and emotions might be right now—have you considered that you may have wandered onto a different path without realizing it? Yes, what you are doing is good, and for me it is my calling, my greater good. Perhaps for you, there is another greater good. Something you have yet overlooked, which no doubt begins with your retrieving what you tossed aside—that is, if you truly do still desire it in your life.”

  “But then the question is, what do I do? What is my greater good to which I am called?”

  “I cannot answer that for you, Michel. But I am certain it is waiting for you.”

  “Perhaps the priesthood?” said Logan dryly.

  Jean Pierre chuckled. “That would be an irony! You the priest, me the secret agent!”

  “But this all comes so naturally to me, playing the games, the cons, the masquerade. How can it be wrong?”

  “There are many questions I have no answers to. I cannot say it is wrong. You must sort through your own confusion. It must be a signal of something, though I cannot say of what. Remember one thing, however. Certain things are natural because they come from God. Others are natural because they originate in our natural man. And these must be overcome. Do you mind if I quote you another scripture?”

  “By all means,” answered Logan.

  “‘Do not be conformed to this world,’ Paul said, ’but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.’”

  Logan whistled softly as the words struck a responsive chord in his mind, if not in his heart.

  “We are meant to change,” went on Jean Pierre. “We are meant to grow into an understanding of what God’s will for us is by this transformation process. Perhaps you tried to wear the shoes, so to speak, without allowing the transformation to renew your heart and mind. Thus, the spiritual life you wanted
never quite fit.”

  “I’ve never thought of it like that before,” said Logan. “I’m not sure I understand it completely.”

  “Food for thought,” said Jean Pierre. “God will give understanding in its proper season.”

  “And in the meantime?” sighed Logan.

  “It was our Lord who wisely said that each day has troubles enough of its own to worry about.”

  Logan nodded. He had plenty to think of for now, and would be glad to switch mental gears for a while.

  “Perhaps the first thing you could do,” said Jean Pierre, “is to get von Graff to have you replace my shadow!” He laughed at the suggestion and Logan joined him.

  “I’m glad you mentioned von Graff’s name! I’d almost forgotten the most important thing of all. That’s why I had to see you. You’ve got to get a message to London for me.”

  “About your latest change in circumstances?”

  “Yes. Von Graff implied they’d been contacted and my story verified. But they have no idea what tale I spun out when I was captured.”

  “It would seem from your release everything has satisfactorily fallen into place.”

  “Maybe. They might have guessed about my having been caught and said just enough to satisfy the Germans but leaving the details vague. But there is another option.”

  “Which is?” said the priest.

  “That they haven’t found out a thing about me yet, and von Graff decided to let me go, like a piece of bait on a hook, to see what would come of it.”

  “Hmm,” said Jean Pierre, “it wouldn’t be the first time he’s used a ploy like that. They are fond of these little mental cat-and-mouse games, those Germans.”

  “In any case, I’ve got to make sure they know back home what happened and what I said. Whatever my present status, von Graff won’t let it go indefinitely without absolute confirmation.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Does Lise have the wireless operational again?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “In her apartment?”

  “No, it’s been moved.”

  “Have her get word to Mother Hen. Tell him I was taken, that to save my hide I resurrected Trinity.”

  “Trinity? Oh yes, your cover in England. Please, go on.”

  “Tell Mother Hen that I was forced to become Trinity again, and to let the word out that Trinity’s cover was broken by the English last Wednesday and that they assume he escaped to France by boat on his way to Germany. Be sure they cut off all further broadcasts from the Trinity angle. If whoever they had replace me as Trinity in England tries to contact the Germans again, I’m finished. Do you have all that?”

  Jean Pierre repeated everything to Logan exactly as he had heard it.

  Both men were silent for several moments, deep in their own thoughts. The times were indeed perilous.

  “You know,” Logan said at length, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “that idea you had a while ago isn’t a bad one—my being your shadow.”

  “Don’t jest with the Gestapo, mon ami!” said Jean Pierre.

  “It could be done,” said Logan, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Just think of the possibilities!”

  “Think of the dangers,” rejoined Jean Pierre seriously.

  “I will,” said Logan, returning to a solemn tone. “In that you can trust me . . . I will undertake nothing with von Graff lightly.”

  40

  New Role

  “How have you found Paris, Herr MacVey?” General von Graff asked when Logan saw him later that same afternoon.

  His voice contained no more guile than that of a concerned host as he sat back in his own desk chair and looked across the room at Logan.

  “Perhaps you ought to ask your watchdogs that question,” replied Logan, a pointed edge in his tone.

  “You must forgive my little foibles.”

  “I thought you had confirmed my loyalty.”

  “But, Herr MacVey, the moment I set you free, what is the first thing you do but stretch my confidence to its limits?”

  Logan wrinkled his brow, perplexed. Then slowly, as if awareness were just then dawning, he nodded in understanding.

  “You mean my visit to the priest?” he said.

  “What am I to think?”

  “That I was bored and thought such a fascinating cleric would offer an intriguing diversion, so I decided to take him up on his invitation at his brother’s party.”

  “A plausible explanation.”

  “Believe me, General, if I had anything to hide, I wouldn’t have allowed my tail to have so easy a time of it.”

  “Why did you not confer with me first?”

  “I thought I was a free man.”

  “Oh you Britishers—you have no concept of what it means to live in a police state.”

  Von Graff sighed. “No one is free these days,” he continued after a moment. His cultured tone contained the merest hint of regret, but he resumed in a different vein. “So . . . I trust you had a pleasant diversion?”

  “He’s as remarkable as everyone thinks,” answered Logan honestly enough.

  “Did your conversation touch on political issues?”

  “He didn’t confide in me about his Resistance activities, if that’s what you mean,” answered Logan. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did in time.”

  “Oh . . . ?”

  “I thought you would want me to make the most of the contact, so I subtley let it be known that my true sympathies were not with the Nazis.”

  Von Graff leaned forward, his eyes obviously demanding an explanation.

  “As a new face in town,” Logan explained, “I felt I might be successful where others have failed. I let slip that I thought Pétain was possibly not acting in the best interests of the French people.”

  “And?”

  “You know yourself, General, that these things take time. But de Beauvoir did extend me another invitation.”

  “And you think you can hand us the priest?”

  “General, you set your sights too low.” Logan shook his head as if patronizing a child. “If the priest is anything, he is only a small cog. Don’t let your personal vendetta against him blind you to the overall picture. De Beauvoir is but a link. Yet lubricated properly, he could be instrumental in aiding us to pull in the entire chain.”

  “And you would like to do the lubricating.”

  “I could pull it off, and you know it.”

  “The idea does contain some merit.”

  “But no more of this watchdog business,” said Logan firmly.

  “Why should it bother you so, Herr MacVey?”

  “Like you said, I’ve been spoiled. I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom and it makes me nervous to have a hound on my tail. But more than that, de Beauvoir is no moron. He’d sense a setup in a minute. He is already well aware of his own Gestapo shadow. Moreover, I might be able to penetrate the Resistance, but they can smell Gestapo a mile off. The minute they did, my life would be history.”

  “So you want, as the French say, carte blanche?”

  “That’s the only way I’ll agree to it,” said Logan, gambling that deep inside, the general would find it within himself to respect someone who played the game hard, like the Germans themselves did. He carried his bluff out with all the poise and just the proper dose of cockiness, just as Skittles had taught him. “You don’t want a few couriers or radio operators, General,” he went on, getting into the stride, “you want to pull down the structure at the top. The leadership is the heartthrob of these kinds of movements—you take away the leaders, and the rest will wither away on the vine.”

  Von Graff nodded his assent. The fellow knew what he was talking about, that much was certain.

  “I could use my British citizenship to win their trust—and from there I know I could get to the leaders.”

  Von Graff rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, considering all the aspects to Logan’s daring proposal. The recent
escapes had lately lowered his esteem in the eyes of his mentor and superior, Himmler, and he knew he needed to bring in some results—and soon. Here was an opportunity to cement his value to his Nazi masters. He hardly knew this MacVey, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. The communication from Gunther had been too vague to set him completely at ease. And MacVey himself seemed a bit too independent. But von Graff’s instincts told him to take a chance with him.

  Logan waited just long enough to allow von Graff to mull the whole thing over in his mind, then voiced the words that would solidify him in the general’s mind as no patriot, and just the sort of man the Nazis were fond of.

  “But, General,” he said, “I don’t intend to go a step further unless certain guarantees are made which will, shall we say, make this whole venture worth my while.”

  “You think you are in a position to dictate to a general of the Reich what he is about?” shouted von Graff, slamming his hand down on his desk. “If we find your proposal useful, you shall carry it out. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, General,” replied Logan, concealing a smile. He had probed closer to the general’s frustration point than he realized.

  “Certainly you shall be paid,” von Graff went on, calming. “But let there be no mistake—I shall be the one issuing the orders.”

  The general paused, but before he could say anything further, a knock came at his door.

  He glanced up, distracted and perturbed by the untimely interruption.

  “Come in!” he called out.

  Arnaud Soustelle stepped into the office with an apologetic yet confident look on his face. “Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur General, but your secretary is gone and I thought you would not mind if I came in unannounced.”