. . . mission pont noir duly carried out—whole bridge completely destroyed—twenty men actually on job— lieutenant bellecourt broke leg prior to operation—being cared for by friends at eguzon—emile rouff transmitting —professor debouche and yvonne deschamps in Clermont ferrand...
Werthe, Brenner and Thomas looked over Raddatz's shoulder as he decoded.
That confounded fool down there, thought Thomas, losing color. What's he giving names for?
Before Thomas could do anything more, Raddatz kicked him. Glancing down at the corporal's face, he saw that it expressed disgust and amazement Just at that moment Schlumberger passed him another sheet to decode. Raddatz cleared his throat with a kind of groan of despair.
"What's happened?" Brenner demanded, thrusting his weasel-sharp features forward.
"I—I—nothing—" the Berliner stammered.
Brenner snatched the paper from him. "Give me that!" he shouted. He waved the sheet in the air, his spectacles flashing. "Just listen to this, Colonel!"
Thomas felt as though an icy hand was gripping his heart, as he listened to Brenner reading out what Raddatz had just decoded.
We request that general de gaulle may be informed of the operation and made aware of the identity of our most important and daring members—appreciation and bestowal of medals would greatly assist morale . . .
Good God, thought Thomas, I simply can't believe it!
. . . chief services in the operation were rendered after retirement of lieutenant bellecourt by mayor cas-sier resident in crozant—seconded by emile rouff of gargi-lesse—and . . .
Corporal Schlumberger looked up agitatedly from his memorandum block.
"Go on taking the message, man!" Brenner shouted at him. Then the captain swung around to Thomas. "Didn't you once say, Herr Sonderfiihrer, that those fellows could never be caught because their real names and addresses weren't known? Hey?" He laughed harshly, "Well, now we shall soon know who you are!"
The room seemed to start going around Thomas. Those wretched creatures down there, he thought. Conceited idiots! I always thought only Germans could behave like that But Frenchmen are no better. All Fve done has been in vain.
Colonel Werthe suddenly looked very grim. He said very quietly: "Leave the room, Herr Lieven."
"Colonel, I beg of you to—" Thomas began. But the look in Werthe's gray eyes showed that nothing he could say could ever now have any effect on the man.
In vain! Everything had been in vain on account of a few silly imbeciles who wanted to strut about after the war with a few pieces of lead on their chests.
Five minutes later Corporals Schlumberger and Raddatz, dismissed in their turn, came down to the lounge, where Thomas was waiting for them.
Schlumberger looked very woebegone.
"That stupid ass goes on and on and on. He's given away twenty-seven names up to now."
"And from those twenty-seven it'll be easy enough to find all the rest," Raddatz added.
"What about a meal together, boys 0 " Thomas suggested. They went to Henri's, as they often had during the last few months. It was a small restaurant which Thomas had discovered in the rue Clement Marot. The manager came to their table in person and greeted them warmly. Whenever he saw Thomas his eyes grew moist.
Henri's sister-in-law was a German Jewess who had taken refuge in a rural district with forged papers supplied by Thomas. There were many good opportunities of getting hold
of forged documents in the Hdtel Lutetia. Thomas took advantage of such occasions from time to time. Colonel Werthe knew all about it. But he held his tongue.
"Something light, Henri," Thomas said. It was already late in the evening and he felt he needed calming down. They concocted the menu together.
"I say, Herr Lieven," Schlumberger requested. 'Translate for us. Tell him we'd like a few pancakes."
MENU
Lamb Kidneys on Croutons Sole a la Grenoble CApricot (Pancakes
PARIS, 5 august 1943
Thomas had an inspiration, with the fish, that saved sixty-five lives.
Lamb Kidneys on Croutons
Remove fat and skin from small lamb kidneys and cut into halves lengthways. Cut thin slices from a French loaf, butter them lightly on both sides and place on each half a kidney with the cut side down. Mix strong mustard, sour cream, a little butter, one yolk, salt and cayenne pepper to a thick cream and spread it over the kidneys. Place on a baking sheet and put into a medium oven for ten minutes. Test with a sharp fork. When no more red juices appear, the kidneys are cooked. Serve hot
Sole a la Grenoble
Ask the fishmonger to skin and fillet the soles. Cover for at least half an hour with lemon juice, pepper and salt, to keep the fillets firm and white. Dry well and fry quickly on both sides in hot brown butter. Place on a warm serving dish. Next heat small lemon cubes and a few capers quickly in the butter left in the pan. This sauce is then poured over the fillets. They are served with boiled potatoes sprinkled with parsley.
Apricot Pancakes
Cook fine, thin, medium-sized pancakes. Spread apricot jam on one side, roll up and fry quickly in the hot butter. Serve immediately and sprinkle to taste with grated almonds. Pancakes are best when the prepared butter is made at least an hour before cooking and left till wanted.
Thomas translated. Henri disappeared. A leaden silence settled upon the three friends. Not until the lamb kidneys appeared did the Viennese mutter: "Brenner's called up Berlin. Early tomorrow morning at latest a 'special detachment' will get to work. Not much doubt about what will happen to those people then."
Thomas was thinking of Professor Debouche, the beautiful Yvonne, Lieutenant Bellecourt and so many, many others. They were still living and breathing. But soon they would be arrested. Soon they would be dead.
"Boy," said Raddatz, "I've had four years of active service now and haven't yet killed a single soul. It makes me puke to think that all of a sudden we're going to be responsible for . . ."
"We're not responsible," Thomas said. He was thinking, No, you two aren't. But what about me? Inextricably involved already in lies and treachery, deception and plotting ... how can I deny reponsibility?
"Herr Lieven," said Schlumberger, "we can't possibly go to the help of partisans who kill our comrades."
"No," said Thomas, "that you can't do." What can one do, he thought What ought one to do? How can one remain a decent human being?
"Karli's right," the Berliner said. "I'm no Nazi either, you know. But honestly now, if the partisans happen to pick me up in the woods, would they believe me if I swore I wasn't a Nazi?"
"Not they," said the other corporal. "They'd shoot. For them a German's a German and that's that."
Thomas toyed meditatively with his sole. Suddenly he jumped up. "There's still one chance," he exclaimed. "Just one!"
"What's that?"
"It's a chance to do something and still stay decent," Thomas said. He went to the telephone booth in the restaurant, called up the Hotel Lutetia and asked for Colonel
Werthe. The tetter's voice, when he answered, sounded preoccupied.
Thomas could also hear many other voices. Apparently the colonel was in conference. Thomas sweated as he thought, Must stay decent, to decent men in my own country and decent men in this. Don't be a traitor or a crank or a sentimentalist. Just save lives ... save lives ...
He said hoarsely: "Colonel, this is Lieven. I have a proposal of the greatest importance to make to you. It won't be possible for you to act on it alone. I beg you to listen to me and then immediately inform Admiral Canaris." "What's all this nonsense about?" "Colonel, when do they start in down there?" "First thing tomorrow morning. Why?" "I want you to let me take charge of the operation." "Lieven! I'm in no sort of mood whatever for joking. I've had enough of all this—"
'Tor heaven's sake listen to me, Colonel. Do please hear what I have to propose ..."
[4]
At a quarter to five in the morning of August 6, 1943, a genuine British Lysander wa
s heading for Clermont-Ferrand. The glowing orb of the sun was just rising through seething clouds of mist.
The pilot, separated from his passenger by a partition, spoke on the intercommunication line. "Landing in twenty minutes, Herr Sonderfuhrer."
"Thanks," said Thomas Lieven. He clicked down the receiver at his elbow. Then he sat motionless in his tiny cabin, staring out at the absolute purity of the sky and the whitish-gray veils of mist that still hid the squalid earth, its wars and intrigues, its baseness and stupidity.
Thomas Lieven looked ill. He was hollow-cheeked, with dark circles under his eyes. He had just passed the worst night of his life. The worst day of his life lay ahead of him.
Ten minutes later the aircraft began to lose height, dropping down through the early morning haze. Clermont-Ferrand, a cathedral and university town, became visible, lying asleep, without a sign of life in the streets.
By a quarter-past five Thomas was drinking hot coffee in the office of the Tyrolese Captain Oellinger. The sturdy little
commander of the Alpine troops garrisoning the city studied Thomas's secret service pass with close attention.
"I've had a long message from Colonel Werthe by teleprinter," he said. "And only an hour ago he telephoned to me. My people are at your disposal, Herr Sonderfiihrer."
"For the moment I only want a car to take me into town."
"You can have an escort of ten men."
"No, thank you. What I have to do I must do alone."
"Oh? But—"
"Here's a sealed envelope. If you haven't heard anything of me by eight o'clock, open it. You will find full instructions there from Colonel Werthe as to how you are then to proceed. Good-bye for the present."
"Till our next meeting, then—" -
"I hope there will be one," said Thomas, touching wood.
A Citroen, confiscated by the Germans, but still carrying its French number plates, bumped over the deserted Place Blaise Pascal. Thomas sat next to the sleepy, silent driver. He had slipped a trenchcoat over his gray flannel suit and wore a white hat
Thomas was bound, at this early morning hour, for the residence of Professor Debouche, spiritual leader of the resistance in central France. The professor had accommodation assigned to him in one of the buildings of the widespread University City. Thomas alighted at its main entrance in the Avenue Carnot "Drive around the corner and wait for me," he told his companion.
He went up to the closed gate. God help me now, he was thinking. God help us all now.
He was obliged to ring again and again before at last the elderly janitor, wearing slippers, with an overcoat covering his nightshirt, opened the door, swearing volubly. "God Almighty, have you gone crazy? What on earth do you want at this hour?"
"I want to speak to Professor Debouch6."
"Now look here, young man—" The janitor ceased speaking. A five-thousand-franc note had changed hands. "All right then, I suppose it's urgent Whom shall I announce?"
"Have you a telephone in your quarters?"
"Yes, monsieur."
'Then 111 talk to him myself."
Thomas sweated freely in the janitor's cramped basement flat as he listened to the telephone bell ringing in Professor Debouche's quarters.
The janitor's wife had got out of bed and was standing close to her husband, whispering to him, while both stared with frightened expressions at Thomas. At last the latter heard a voice he knew. "Debouche speaking. What's the matter?"
Thomas croaked out: "Everett."
He heard the professor gasp. "Everett? Where—where are you?"
"At the university. In the janitor's quarters."
'Tell him to bring you to me at once. I—I shall be expecting you ..."
Thomas hung up. The janitor said: "This way, monsieur." As he went out Thomas saw him nod to his wife. What he did not see was that the wrinkled, gray-haired old woman went over to the telephone as soon as they had gone and picked up the receiver.
[5]
"What in heaven's name induced you to be so crazy as to come here, Captain Everett?" The famous physicist who looked so much like Albert Einstein confronted Thomas against the background of a towering bookshelf in the professor's library.
"Professor, the Crozant group has blown up the bridge at Gargilesse."
"Yes, in accordance with their instructions."
"Have you seen any of them since?"
"No. I have been here with my assistant for a week now. I had lectures to give."
"But I suppose you know that after Bellecourt's accident Cassier and Rouff took charge of the operation?"
"Good, gallant fellows, both of them."
"They were wretched, stupid idiots," Thomas retorted bitterly. "Vain, irresponsible fools!"
"Captain, if you please—"
"Do you know what those god-damned imbeciles did last night? They sat down at the transmitter and reeled off the names and addresses of the members of their group! They named themselves, they named you, they named Yvonne Deschamps and Bellecourt and over thirty others . . ."
"But, for God's sake, why?" The old man's face was white.
'To make themselves important. So as to make certain that General de Gaulle himself should know who had been the most gallant heroes and who had earned the highest decora-
tions ... A thickheaded lot you have up there in the hills, Professor!"
The old scholar stared at Thomas for a long time. At last he said: "It was wrong, of course, to give those names away. But was it a crime? Did it endanger London in any way? I don't see how it could ... So that can't be the reason why you have come here at the risk of your life . . ." Professor Debouche came very close up to Thomas. The scientist's eyes widened in a searching gaze as he whispered hoarsely: "Why did you risk your life, Captain Everett?"
Thomas drew a deep breath. Suppose he kills me, he thought. Suppose I don't survive this day. Then at least I should have died in the attempt to remain a decent human being in this squalid age. He suddenly felt perfectly calm, as when he had resolved to evade further Gestapo interrogation by suicide.
He said quietly: "Because I am not Captain Everett. My name is Thomas Lieven."
The old man closed his eyes.
"Because I don't work for London, but for German Intelligence."
The old man opened his eyes. He gazed at Thomas with an expression of infinite melancholy.
"And because for months the Crozant group has not been in communication with London but with the Germans."
A long silence ensued. The two men stared at each other.
At last Debouche whispered: "That would be too terrible. I can't believe it. I refuse to believe it."
At that moment the door flew open. Debouches assistant, Yvonne Dechamps, stood on the threshold. She was out of breath. She wore no make-up and had scarcely anything on under her blue raincoat. Her abundant fair hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Her sea-green eyes were wide with shock. Her beautiful mouth quivered. "So it was true Captain Everett ... it was really you ..."
She reached Thomas in three strides. Debouche started violently. She glared at Thomas, stuttering: "The janitor's wife called me up ... she knew I lived here ... Captain Everett, what has happened? What has happened?"
Thomas, compressing his lips, remained silent. Suddenly she seized his hand and held it tight in both of hers. It was not until then that she realized Debouche's presence. He was seated in a broken, senile attitude, despair in his face.
"What has happened, Professor?" cried the girl shrilly, in a sudden access of panic.
"My child, that man whose hand you are holding is a German agent"
Yvonne Dechamps moved very slowly away from Thomas. She reeled as though drunk, then dropped into a chair. Debouch6 told her in a low tone what he had just heard from Thomas.
She listened without taking her eyes off Thomas. Their green depths grew darker and darker, till they were filled with hate and scorn. Her lips scarcely moved when at last she spoke. "I consider you the basest and v
ilest of mankind, Herr Lieven. I consider you the most odious of scoundrels, a truly hateful creature."
"I don't care in the least what you consider me," said Thomas. "It is not my fault that not only we Germans but also you French produce such vain, selfish idiots as RoufI and Cassier. For months everything was all right..."
"You call that all right, you brute?"
"Yes," said Thomas. He felt himself growing steadily calmer. "I do call it all right. For months no one was shot in that area. No Germans and no French. It could have continued that way. I could have protected you all right up to the end of this accursed war ..."
Yvonne suddenly uttered a scream as piercing and hysterical as a child's. She leaped clumsily to her feet and spat into Thomas's face. The professor dragged her forcibly back.
Thomas wiped his cheek with a pocket handkerchief, surveying Yvonne in silence. She's right, he was thinking. From her standpoint she's right enough. We are all right from our respective points of view, even I. For I only want to behave decently to everybody
Yvonne started to rush to the door. Thomas pulled her back. She crashed heavily against the wall and snarled at him, showing her teeth.
"You stay here." Thomas barred the way to the door. "When the names came through last night German Intelligence at once informed Berlin. It was decided to send in the Alpine troops in charge of the city. I then again spoke to the head of Paris Intelligence."
"Why?" asked Professor Debouche
Thomas shook his head. "That's my affair."
The professor gave him a strange look. "I didn't mean to offend you."
That man, thought Thomas, that admirable man, is beginning to understand. He is beginning to understand me ... if I have any luck, if we all have any luck ...
"I represented to Colonel Werthe that the proposed operation by the Alpine troops would undoubtedly involve loss of life on both sides. While our own side would attack with determination, yours would offer a desperate resistance. Blood would flow and human beings would die. Both Germans and French. The Gestapo would torture the prisoners and they would betray their comrades."
"Never!" cried Yvonne.
Thomas swung around. "You keep your mouth shut!"
The old man said: "Some tortures are terrible." The glance he shot at Thomas suddenly seemed as wise and sad as that of some Old Testament prophet. "I think you know that, Herr Lieven. I think I understand a lot now. I feel that there is nothing to retract. Do you remember? I once said that I considered you a decent sort "
The Monte Cristo Cover-Up Page 34
