Into the Fire

by Into the Fire (retail) (epub)

  ‘Of course. Here…’

  ‘No news of a pickup yet?’

  ‘No.’ She leant forward, to the flare of his match. ‘I haven’t been listening out. I’m going out of town again tomorrow, though, I’ll be using the radio and they may have news for us. In which case –’ exhaling a stream of smoke – ‘if it was urgent I’d come back right away, but otherwise I’ll be back in two or three days.’

  ‘Long trip, is it?’

  ‘Well – I’d like some advice on that, please. Introductions, too – northeast of here – Neufchatel-en-Bray, and the Amiens direction. The most useful Resistance contacts we have in those areas, the really key men – you’d know them all and how I could find them, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘With what in mind? Some secret brief you weren’t letting on about last time?’

  She shook her head. ‘The usual, what drops are wanted, and where.’

  ‘But I can tell you that – enough to be going on with, anyway. As I mentioned—’

  ‘You wouldn’t tell me, I seem to remember.’

  ‘Oh.’ A shrug. ‘You put my back up a little, that’s all. But you’re getting me out, and I don’t want those people let down. Their sake, our sake, sake of killing fucking Boches… I beg your pardon—’

  ‘It’s all right. Listen – I’ll gladly take over those requests for drops. And I’ll see they get them – wherever. But I still want to talk to key men up that way, where I said. Even in Amiens itself – or beyond it. Ideally, leaders or a leader who’d see the word was passed on – as far as Calais, even. That’s not impossible, is it? Réseau to réseau, word of mouth?’

  ‘Not impossible.’ He smiled: that special one, the slow spread of it… ‘But not quite “the usual” either – huh?’

  ‘Not quite… Well – it is – with an extra dimension added, that’s all.’

  ‘Same as last time.’

  ‘No. Not the same. But if you could give me names and map-references—’

  ‘Better than that, Angel. Much better. Listen – I could take you – introduce you. Be with you when you get an answer about my pickup, too, incidentally… You see, it’s time I visited up that way – my work, legitimate, I have to. Anyone asks, you’re a girl I brought along for the ride. What do you say?’

  12

  In mid-week – Wednesday, when Rosie was leaving Rouen in the Neufchatel-Amiens direction – Ben was still hanging around the Landeda garage and Durand’s nearby bungalow. The transfer of the second cache of weaponry – to a builder’s yard at the village of Locmélar – had been cancelled early on Sunday morning, Vidor dropping in at breakfast-time to tell them that a road-block had been set up overnight about a hundred metres from the yard’s entrance. So the move was off, until further notice, and the cart that would have brought the stuff here for transfer to the lorry would not be coming. He’d also told them that the Germans who’d raided the Demorêts’ turkey-farm the night before had arrested the son and his father and shot their dog when it had attacked one of them.

  ‘It was still there. I had to force my way in, old Mathilde was still hysterical and she thought I was one of them coming back to get her. I took the dog out, buried it, more or less hauled the neighbours over to take care of things for her.’ He told Durand, ‘The Taupins.’

  ‘That pair…’

  ‘They’re not the sort to risk their necks, that’s all. They told me they’d heard nothing, seen nothing – then admitted the Boches had been to their place first, and they were asking about weapons dumps – had they ever been asked to allow their farm to be used for it. The Boches know them, obviously, know they wouldn’t have the guts to risk it, so the question was only had they been asked to. For all I know, they may have said “try next door”. The Demorêts had been knocked about, all right – not the old woman, far as I could tell, but there was blood splashed around that wasn’t the dog’s.’

  ‘Wouldn’t trust either of the Taupins a centimetre.’ Durand’s little eyes, as sharp as gimlets, aimed upwards at Vidor… ‘Maybe we shouldn’t move your final load at all. If the sods are poking around they’ll watch the roads too, won’t they?’

  Vidor had nodded. ‘Maybe.’ He asked Ben, ‘Yours went all right yesterday, did it?’

  ‘We weren’t stopped anywhere.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The tomb wasn’t empty, though. Disintegrated coffins, skeletons lying there grinning at us.’

  ‘What’d you do – grin back?’ He’d mimed it – raising a non-existent hat: ‘Messieurs – mesdames…’ Back to the subject, agreeing with Durand: ‘This last lot we could leave. It’s one of the best hidden.’ To Ben again, explaining, ‘It’s as much the people whose land it’s on as the material itself that concerns us. Even after it’s moved – signs it was there…’

  ‘I suppose… But listen – d’you think the pinpoint’s done for?’

  ‘Not necessarily. It may be. There have been no moves down there – not on the beaches, or visits to Tariec or Guenioc… Land there for five minutes, they’d find the boat, of course… We have to hang on, wait and see, eh?’

  ‘Are the fly-boys happy to – those four? Under cover somewhere near here, are they?’

  ‘Yes – and no.’ Vidor put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We have them close by, yes, but they’re not willing to wait, when it’s so uncertain. They – well, I wasn’t going to mention it, but I’m taking them south – today, now.’

  ‘South… Meaning—’

  ‘Bordeaux. Leaving them with an escape réseau there, they’ll be taken from there to Hendaye and over the Pyrenees. I think they’re wrong, perhaps, but they say why wait here – two weeks for the moonless period, then maybe no gunboat anyway. We’d have then to move them – and you – to the Grac’h Zu pinpoint – at short notice, if we’ve waited too long before it’s decided… You wouldn’t want to lose this pinpoint if it can be kept, would you?’

  ‘No. But you’re shifting those four despite – as you’ve said – patrols, roadblocks, all that?’

  ‘I can do it. Southwards, it’s possible. And to be honest, where they are this minute is not so safe.’ A shrug. ‘Where is? But a few days, I’ll be back. Maybe move you three then to Grac’h Zu, but – look, I admit, that might not be easy – anywhere along this coast. No point pretending it will be easy, Ben.’

  ‘What about your St Renan business?’

  ‘That’s the good news. All wrecked, people heard it miles away. Only thing less good is one of our boys has had to hole up there. Place is alive with Boches and milice – well, would be. Life complicates itself sometimes, eh?’

  This was the last Ben had seen of him. His final words, saying goodbye, had been to repeat that when he got back he’d see about moving Messrs Bright and Farr from the Brodards’ place to somewhere further from the coast. ‘And you. But you see, if they’re searching farms like the Demorêts’ – who knows?’

  ‘You do, I hope.’

  ‘I hope, too. But – the way the cat jumps, isn’t it?’

  ‘You don’t want me to join them at the Brodards’, meanwhile?’

  ‘If you insist – I suppose… But an extra mouth for Solange Brodard to feed – whereas it’s no hardship for the Durands…’

  * * *

  Having more time than he needed for speculation – four days and then a fifth, nights in the bungalow and days at the garage helping out, when there was any odd job he was capable of helping with – he’d thought through all the possible alternatives if there was not to be a pickup here. Well, there’d be radio exchanges with Baker Street and St James’, and presumably – as Vidor had suggested – they’d have to try to get to Grac’h Zu instead. Difficult or not, you wouldn’t want to spend another month here. From his own point of view the most important thing was to make sure Bright and Farr got out all right: he’d dropped the poor buggers in it.

  * * *

  Early that Wednesday, trundling out of town northeastward in his gazo, Romeo flicked a cigarette-stub out of the
window… ‘So he wasn’t pleased.’

  Referring to César, to whom she’d had to explain last evening at the Café Belle Femme that he’d declined the invitation to join them.

  ‘Putting it mildly, he wasn’t. He was damned angry.’

  Gazing out at forest off to the left of the road, with a wide area of felled trees between here and there: she had her radio in the sample-case and a message to send off to Baker Street, when they’d put a few kilometres behind them. The gazo was no speedster.

  She shook her head. ‘I gave him your reasons, but they didn’t help much. To be honest, I rather sympathize with him. Sorry, but—’

  ‘You’re entitled to your view.’

  ‘Two things, mainly. It’s fairly obvious the Boches do not have you under surveillance. As you said yourself, if they had you’d have been aware of it by now. You’re no idiot—’

  ‘Flattery now!’

  ‘—just bloody obstinate. But the other thing – the fact you’re leaving us, or that we hope you are, doesn’t affect the issue at all. You’ve been here a long time, and he’s new to the place, you could be a big help to him. He’d still like to meet you. Won’t you change your mind?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  She could sense that he hadn’t meant that, but still persevered. ‘It could make a big difference – to us here, what you’ll be leaving behind, I mean. All the contacts you’ve made, for instance – we’ll be recruiting sub-agents, obviously, couriers – starting from scratch – you could save us weeks and possibly some blunders. And as for contacts out in the countryside—’

  ‘Over a table in a crowded café – in how long, all this – half an hour?’

  ‘Yesterday’s meeting would have been simply to break the ice, which is now of course thicker. It’ll take a lot more breaking than it might have. But please—’

  ‘Does he know I’m escorting you on this outing?’

  ‘No. But he does know you were giving me introductions. All of which I’ll pass on to him, of course, when we get back.’

  ‘Thinks you’re on your bicycle, does he?’ He saw her nod. ‘So why – you think he wouldn’t like it that I’m making it easier for you?’

  ‘He might not. I think in his shoes I’d want to satisfy myself about you – not take someone else’s word. After all, he’s responsible—’

  ‘But since I’m happy to pass on to you everything I know – isn’t that as good as passing it on to him?’

  ‘Why me and not him?’

  A chuckle… ‘You’re prettier. At least, I imagine—’

  ‘This is quite a serious matter, Romeo. For all of us.’

  ‘Perhaps I should explain myself more clearly. Try to understand this – please… If he’d been the first to arrive and he’d contacted me as you did, I’d have been dealing with him, not with you. One needs a contact, right? Isn’t that why you got on to me? But only one contact, Angel – that’s my personal philosophy, I believe it saved my life this last time and I’m sticking to it. That’s the fundamental – in my position, or for that matter in yours; it’s the same thing. I really do commend it to you. But it’s obviously a different kettle of fish for an Organizer. He’s got to know us all, he’s – the ringmaster, isn’t he? Well – all right, when you called through to the bistro I did have an alternative – I could have stayed clear of you – of both of you – could have gone on the air to Baker Street and told them I want out, please sir. But they aren’t trusting my transmissions, they told me to keep off the air, remember? And maybe they’re right, maybe my code was being read… Smoke?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘That’s why I needed you. Or César – either one. Because especially in the context of setting up drops or pickups they’d have ignored any requests that came from me, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Might have, I suppose.’ Holding a match for him to lean to with his cigarette, before she lit her own. Knowing damn well they’d have ignored him. In the eyes of Baker Street, he was a traitor until he convinced them that he was loyal.

  They weren’t going to be reassured by hearing that he’d refused contact with César, either, but it was included in César’s message which she was carrying in her shoe already coded. She didn’t have to mention this to him, it was simply her job to send it, César’s orders. Romeo would have to explain that to them, as well.

  They could be right, she realized, about him, She could be wrong. If she was, she was now in about as exposed a position as an agent could be. On ice, so to speak, to be picked up when they judged the time was right, when in their view she’d served her purpose – such as, for instance, leading them to César last evening. If they’d been watching her they’d have him on ice too, now. They might also – if one continued with this unpleasant flight of fancy – have tailed her from the Belle Femme to Chez Jacqui in Rue de Fontenelle, and thus know that she’d spent a couple of hours there last night. Then it wouldn’t take the S.D. or the Abwehr or Gestapo long to connect hairdresser Jacqueline Clermont with Colonel of Engineers Hans Walther.

  So you’d have let S.I.S. down as well as S.O.E. By following one’s own so-called instincts, ignoring the experienced Maurice Buckmaster’s authoritative advice. Rosie’s head swam: shutting her eyes, exhaling smoke…

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Anxiety, in the creased, greyish face – which he’d shaved carefully, this morning. She smiled: with a quick intrusive vision of Ben, that beard he’d promised to shave off… ‘Quite all right, thanks.’ She added, ‘Thoughts from far away.’ On impulse she pulled the window down and tossed out the half-smoked cigarette: movement of any kind serving as a release from inner tension, there’d been no reason to discard the thing… Looking back at him, at his really rather impressive profile, thinking I still do believe he’s straight.

  Imagining Marilyn asking her sardonically, Is that how you tell – by their profiles?

  But she had to believe it. It was the only answer to such flares of panic – which she’d known in the small hours of the night often enough, but hitherto had avoided in broad daylight… Looking back at him quickly as he suggested, ‘At Quincampoix – if we turn up to the left there – there’s a smallish wooded area that might suit you for your solo.’

  ‘I was going to ask you – all right if I use this car’s battery?’

  ‘Of course. I always did.’

  ‘I’ll leave mine in your box of tricks then – OK?’

  Saving battery-life to start with, and weight in the sample-case as an extra dividend; his ‘box of tricks’ was a crate packed with spare parts for on-the-spot repairs to farm machinery.

  He muttered – to himself as much as to her – ‘Must admit, I’ll be damn glad to have my own future decided.’

  His pickup, he meant. The hope was that they’d have it for her, at the end of her own transmission: place, date and time for a moonlight assignation with a black-painted Lysander from Tempsford in Bedfordshire.

  César had asked her yesterday evening, ‘Did you come in by Lysander, Angel?’

  He’d cooled down, by then, got over his annoyance at Romeo’s non-appearance, and she’d given him the money, which had seemed to raise his spirits. They’d been upstairs, in his room under the eaves. It was quite large, furnished as a sitting room as well as bedroom, and attractive – in a slightly gloomy way, with its ancient timbers and uneven floor. The brass bedstead – it was wider than an ordinary single bed – had items of clothing scattered over it, some of which he’d thrown there in the course of clearing two chairs so they could sit down: he’d pulled his own up to the oak table and laboriously counted the million francs.

  ‘One million.’ Sitting back. ‘You’ll need some of this, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes, please. I’ll be away at least three days, I’d guess.’

  ‘That long?’

  ‘Longer, if I stop in Amiens to sell perfume. Which I should do, really. But it’s a large area anyway, a lot of ground to cover. Depends of course how many indi
viduals I have to see.’

  ‘You must have some idea of that, from whatever Romeo’s told you – if he’s supplied the introductions?’

  ‘Yes. But one contact can lead to another. I’ll be looking for what you might call key men – who’d deal with lesser fry, save us a lot of legwork – pedal-work, rather. And time – and come to that, exposure.’

  She wasn’t certain he’d understood her, on that point. It was pretty well what one might call the Doctrine According to Romeo: not to have your name and number in more address-books, so to speak, than was strictly necessary. César had been barely listening, though – still thinking about money, how much to give her.

  ‘Here you are, anyway. Keep you going for a day or two, I hope!’ He’d handed her a 50,000-franc note.

  ‘Take a bit of changing.’ Looking at it uncertainly… ‘Well – I suppose I could say my cousin Pierre gave it to me as a float…’ She’d nodded. ‘Yes. And my hairdresser friend would change it for me, I dare say.’

  ‘Otherwise, if you delayed your departure by a few hours, in the morning I could—’

  ‘No – thank you, I’ll manage.’

  ‘I’ll change a few notes elsewhere, anyway.’ He wrapped the rest of it up again. ‘We won’t starve, that’s for sure.’ He’d become almost jolly, certainly more relaxed. He might have been worried about money, she guessed. Amongst other things. It was hardly surprising that Romeo’s refusal of cooperation had annoyed him, when he had a whole network to recruit and organize and no contacts at all.

  ‘That was a lot of cash to have been carrying around with you.’

  ‘Yes. Terrifying.’ She’d smiled at him. ‘I’m glad to be shot of it.’

  That question, then: ‘Did you come in by Lysander, by the way?’

  The thing was, one simply didn’t ask such questions. Didn’t ever want to: no agent wanted information he or she didn’t need, about a fellow-agent. For similar reasons you didn’t use real names – even if you’d trained together, knew each other well.