The message was to tell Baker Street that having discussed it with the commandos’ CO Jake’s expectation for the Hardball pick-up was 0400 CET Saturday 5th December, subject to Canet-Plage remaining wire-free, which they should assume unless they were notified to the contrary, and that Lucy would be listening-out every night this week from 2300 to 2359. She’d commented after tapping out the coded groups and getting an acknowledgement from Sevenoaks, ‘Cutting the listen-out period to one hour’s a good wheeze, Jake.’
‘I thought so too. Better be on our way though, when you’re ready.’
‘Of course…’
So peaceful up here you could forget you were handling equipment that was about as safe as dynamite, if you were caught with it. Anyway she wasn’t delaying anything – had already wound the aerial-wire back on to its reel, slid in now with the case open on her lap, pulled the door shut and began fitting the bits and pieces into their slots. Reminding herself that she had her daytime crystals in the set now – best take them out right away. Since one was going to cache this set somewhere along the way home and didn’t have spare crystals for use in the others: to have left these in situ would have been a really thoroughgoing cock-up. Jake had the Buick rolling, by this time.
‘Wouldn’t want to get caught up here – with only one way in or out. Otherwise not a bad spot, eh? For a summer picnic, say? Suzie – subject of listening-out time etcetera – yes, puts ’em on their toes, rather, and should get you earlier to bed. Which, as there’s bound to be some transmitting to do as well – further news of wire on Canet-Plage, not to mention possible developments at the Noé end—’
‘And if you’re going to be out of reach—’
‘Only twenty-four hours or so. Some time tomorrow until I’d guess Wednesday evening.’ Thinking about it… ‘Suzie, we’ll work something out. Might give Marc a cut-out telephone number, for direct contact when there’s anything that can’t wait?’
‘Would you want me going on the air to Baker Street without prior reference to you?’
‘If it’s straightforward – info they’d need double-quick for passing to the felucca, for instance – yes, surely. And if you did have to, Suzie, might make it from somewhere west or north-west of town. Vicinity of Cussecs, say – there are patches of forestry out that way. And two birds with one stone, leave the set somewhere around there when you’ve done it?’
‘Cussecs. I’ll look it up. But yes, fine – one on our way back today, and that one. No more toing and froing with sets on board – except just that once. Any thoughts on where we might dump today’s? Not too far out of town, for choice?’ Rubbing his blunt jaw, thinking about it. ‘Not easy to think of anywhere really handy. As we know – terrain being as it is. Unless – well, woodland to the north of Castelnaudary that might do – bit far out, mind…’
‘Sixty kilometres?
‘Christ. Yes, I suppose…’
‘I could manage it. Out one day, back the next. Not for ever, but in this somewhat crucial period, and time a bit short—’
‘As a temporary thing then, let’s check it out. And I’ll deliver the other set to you at Berthe’s in the morning. You’ll be listening-out tonight, I’ll drop by earlyish for any results from that, and bring you the set then. So when you take to your bike later on today—’
‘How far’s the Cussecs place?’
‘Twelve, fifteen kilometres?’
‘That’s much more like it!’
‘Just a matter of finding some – what, shed, hole in the ground – needs to be waterproof, I suppose—’
‘I’ll find somewhere, don’t worry.’ Nodding to herself. ‘Cussecs. OK. When I need to transmit, that’s where I’ll go.’
‘Fine.’ A glance at her, and a smile. Then he’d checked the road was clear and was turning into it. She asked him, ‘You’ll be with Déclan and his gang or gangs, will you?’
‘I’ll be seeing him, certainly. Train tomorrow a.m. to Pamirs is the first stage – and return some time Wednesday. Mahossier, Jorisse business, of course.’
* * *
I’d made a few notes on the laptop, back in my room in the Mermoz, of various things she’d recalled or semi-recalled during that session in the Beaux Arts. Jake’s having told her for instance that Déclan and the commandos would have been spending that day holed-up in some Maquis hideout near Foix, and that the attack on the camp at Noé was to take place on the Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Actually Jake had amended this from ‘attack on’ to ‘infiltration of’, and this was a lot more than she’d have expected him to have let her know about that end of it. She’d have made her guesses, of course – Noé being something like 60 kilometres from Foix, for instance, the commandos would probably have made another move in the interim. And doubtless he as ringmaster so to speak would be conferring with Marteneau, Loubert and maybe the Noé insider as well as with Déclan. She was vague about it anyway – hadn’t needed to know, therefore hadn’t wanted to, and had no more to say about it now – left it to me to work out for myself I dare say. So over the black coffee with which we were finishing what had been a most enjoyable lunch, I suggested, ‘How about siestas now? A taxi to l’Ambassade – couple of hours’ rest, resume at teatime?’
She nodded happily. ‘Then we could go right through to supper – take a stroll perhaps – and there’s a tea-and-buns place we might stop at. Might be as well to keep clear of the Brasserie des Aviateurs at this stage. Our guest of honour being due here in the morning, as you know – allegedly in the morning but it’s rumoured might clock in tonight. I’ve a suspicion some of his former associates may be hanging around in that hope – and one tends to get trapped, you know?’
‘So, OK. Siesta now, then a walkabout and your tea place – then see how we feel. Might prop up a bar somewhere – the Grand Hôtel de l’Opéra, for instance?’
‘And dine at our home from home?’
‘Saturday, the Colombier’s shut. Les Jardins de l’Opéra, on the other hand – supposedly the best in town – go for bust, shall we?’ I’d signalled for the bill. Asking her, ‘Concluding that last bit though, your trip back with Jake, did you find a hiding-place for the transceiver in woods near Castelnaudary?’
‘Must have.’ She nodded. ‘And never saw that set again, come to think of it. So much effort getting the damn thing, and just that one message was all it ever sent. Same with the other one – took it out in the Cussecs direction the next evening – Tuesday, would have been – put it through its paces and then cached it. I remember that one well enough. It’s odd – a lot of the time recollection’s nil or at best hazy, then suddenly it goes vivid. At this stage maybe because it was what you might call the beginning of the end – all of it about to hit the fan, so one’s thought back to it more often?’
* * *
She was in the house on Place Marengo by late afternoon that Monday, and the fish she’d brought from l’Hôtel du Tennis was not, she guessed, quite as recently out of the sea as Madame Quétin had asserted, so after she’d cleaned herself up a bit she found potatoes in the larder and made a pie of it. Homecoming surprise for Berthe a couple of hours later: she was delighted with it, went so far as to produce a bottle of white wine that had been a present from some pupil’s parents.
‘Jean should be here to have supper with us!’
‘Yes, he should. But he had to clock in at Mahossier, Jorisse – and he was very tired.’
‘I envy you your little trip with him. He’s such a nice man. Don’t you think?’
‘Certainly do. He’s very fond of you too.’
‘Does he talk about me, then?’
‘Well – you know, from time to time…’
‘Saying what for instance?’
‘How attractive you are, and amusing – and extraordinarily kind to us—’
‘Is he likely to be calling in in the next day or two?’
‘In the morning.’ Rosie pointed upwards. ‘I’ll be doing my stuff tonight and he’ll drop by for any messages.
’
‘Early, or—’
‘Yes. He has a train to catch. Jorisse business again – a day and a night, I think, I don’t know where.’
‘I might wait to say hello. By the way, I suppose you heard the news from Stalingrad?’
‘Haven’t heard any—’
‘They’re all talking about it. Well – whispering, more like. Russians have got the Nazis well and truly on the ropes. General von Paulus’s Sixth Army virtually destroyed – surrounded, something like eighty thousand of them killed or taken prisoner—’
‘Magnificent!’
‘Yes, it is. I personally have no time for communists, but those Russians must be really something.’
Berthe would have been in bed and probably asleep before Rosie had her set tuned in, a few minutes before eleven. Set plugged into the overhead light socket, torch in mouth in the attic’s darkness – blanket covering the window, of course – headphones on, pad and pencil handy. Thinking she might use the set’s battery next time, rather than the mains, not only for the convenience of it but because it was a way they caught you – if one had been transmitting, which of course tonight one was not, but still had to respond to any call.
Sevenoaks began its chatter at a minute past eleven, and within seconds she’d given them the go-ahead – Receiving you strength 4 – which in fact improved when the message began stuttering in, Rosie jotting the groups down – not all that many of them, before the AR for Message ends, when she switched instantly from ‘Receive’ to ‘Send’ and gave them a K.
Done. Switched off… Visualising Funkabwehr listening now to nothing but atmospherics. They’d have the Sevenoaks message on tape in Paris, and might or might not have picked up Rosie’s own two blurts on their direction-finders here too. Please God, would not have had the time, luck or skill to get a bearing on her, let alone a fix. Couldn’t guarantee they hadn’t – once again, simply a risk one had to take, couldn’t spend every night in ditches… On her feet now, removing the plug from the overhead light fixture. The trick they’d been known to play with the mains supply when they had a pianist at work in an urban area was to cut off the power to one section after another while listening-in: when the transmission was cut off in full flow they knew which part of the town to target, with their vans and/or men on foot in the streets, all that.
Bed now. Decypher this lot in the morning. Prayers now, and bed.
* * *
She’d thought Jake might have been there by about seven, and had been ready for him at that time, but in fact he didn’t show up until after nine. She’d been getting a bit worried, and Berthe had long departed to catch her bus.
He’d brought the other transceiver with him, as he’d said he would. Taking it from him in the front hall, she asked, ‘Missed your train?’
He kissed her cheek. ‘The early one, yes. Must not miss the next. Gives me about an hour. Everything all right?’
She’d nodded. ‘Would you like coffee or—’
‘No, thanks. Thing is, I’ve had Marc on the blower. He’d been trying to get through to me since some time yesterday, made his connection a couple of hours ago, and – you know, it can take a little while, the call back, and—’
‘Your cut-out system.’
A nod. ‘Did Baker Street have anything for us?’
‘Had this.’
Her decrypt of it. They’d acknowledged the message she’d sent giving the pick-up as 0400 Saturday subject to the beach being still wire-free, and were warning that it might become necessary to cancel in the event of the felucca skipper crying off, for whatever reasons he might have.
Jake read it twice. ‘Might, might not. Doesn’t help much, does it.’
‘What’s Marc got to say?’
‘That the Canet-Plage and Barcarès beach-launch fishermen have been told those beaches won’t be available to them after Sunday, they’re advised to make arrangements to shift to Port Vendres or Collioure. They’re desperate about it – well, you can imagine!’
‘At least OK until Sunday.’
‘On the face of it. Bit of a close thing though, isn’t it. Anyway we’d better let Baker Street and the mad Pole know. I’ve told Marc to keep his ear to the ground – and as we were saying yesterday, Suzie, since I’m going to be out of town—’
‘He may want to contact me.’
‘Easier in fact the other way about. I told him I’d give you his cut-out number. It’s a bar in Perpignan. Here – this number. Call from a public phone, ask for Raoul, say you’re Lucy and give them a pay-phone number to call you back at – at say two, three or four p.m., whatever suits you. Make your calls to him at midday today and tomorrow, using different call-boxes each day. Got it?’
‘The onus being on him then to call back at whatever time I say.’
‘Which I can tell you he doesn’t much like. But as I said, at such short notice it’s the easiest way to do it.’
‘And tonight I’ll go out to this Cussecs place or the woods around it, and tell Baker Street present indications are beach-wiring starts Sunday.’
‘Unless you get any variation on that from Marc at noon.’
‘Any reason to think there may be?’
‘Well, who knows – but so far it’s only what he’d heard. He was urgently seeking confirmation, but guessed we’d want to get it to Baker Street sooner rather than later anyway.’ A shrug. ‘As of course we must. But Suzie, listen – Marc doesn’t know we’re scheduling the pick-up for Saturday, for all he knows it mightn’t be until some time next week. Which would make his news fairly vital, you see.’
‘The need to know…’
‘He still doesn’t need to. Doesn’t matter now, but Sunday night he was setting off with those BCRA characters who’ve damn-all to do with us but might on the other hand be thick with him, and I’d sooner did not know our business. Incidentally, he put them on their train, all right.’
‘I’ll keep off the subject of pick-up dates. Canet-Plage not looking too promising though, huh?’
‘Because of this stuff of Marc’s?’ A shrug. ‘I don’t think it should worry us. 0400 Saturday’s comfortably this side of Sunday, after all. Baker Street and the felucca’s problems are another thing entirely, sure… But by and large, getting off a beach is a lot quicker and easier than climbing mountains – if the felucca’s going to be here – and – hang on – another point is that after a couple of years in prison camps our Gustave may not be in exactly prime condition.’
‘That is a thought…’
‘On the other hand – new thought – the felucca skipper might decide to pull out of it later in the time-scale than we’d find easy to cope with. Or the beach-wiring might start say on Friday – if their posts and stuff arrived, for instance, or troops were suddenly available – so we’d have to rethink at dangerously short notice. Well, what did seem the obvious answer was to send him and the commandant with the rest of them, but now I’m not so sure. See – the main party’s going straight from Noé into the mountains – initially in the hired lorry that’s bringing them up to Noé – while Déclan brings Gustave and Marteneau down to a Maquis bolt-hole near Lavelanet. They get there around dawn on Thursday, lie low until dark on Friday – that’s all set up and actually looks rather good. Earlier on Friday, for instance, Déclan’s supposedly working on some borehole pump in the Lavelanet area – actual fact he can be catching up on sleep in his truck but it’d still explain his presence in the area if he should need to. And by that time the other lot’ll be into the mountains, Maquis covering their withdrawal or at least hampering pursuit – if there is any, if the alarm’s been raised, which with luck and good management it may not have been. One way and another, in fact, it’s not bad: and on balance, if we can’t have our beach pick-up I’d sooner send those two over the mountains on what one might call Marc’s route – from Banyuls and through the Zone Interdite.’
‘Have Marc set that up?’
‘Maybe. Although he’d have to get there in the first place,
he’s not essential to it, and thanks to him we know of a café-bar in Banyuls he told me he’d used for most of his evaders – including the pair Gabrielle Vérisoin helped with. I think that was when he told me about it. The bar’s proprietor’s a Basque by name of – well, the bar’s called the Etoile – I’m pretty sure—’
‘Shall I ask him?’
Blinking at her. Fingering a pack of Gitanes: looking at them then and changing his mind, pushing them back in his pocket. ‘Yes. Please. Then if we do have to switch—’
‘I’ll ask him when he calls me back this afternoon.’
‘And then – listen, call me at Pamirs, so I can brief Alain and Marteneau. Marteneau does have to agree to any change, of course, he is the military commander. And if – no, no… Talking faster than I’m thinking… But listen – telephone directory – Berthe must have one here, I’m sure. L’Hôtel France in Pamirs. Ask for me – my own name, Samblat, you’re Madame Samblat – give me the bar owner’s name, and confirmation it is the Etoile. This Basque’s a fixer – middle-man for the local passeurs – smugglers, smuggle people as well as other things.’
‘Fascinating. But crikey – talk about “need to know”!’
‘Well, you do need to!’
‘Do now, sure. Don’t I, just…’
Hands on her shoulders suddenly, and smiling down at her. ‘I may have said this before, Suzie, but you really are quite a girl.’
‘Oh. Well… But – what time will you be at that hotel for me to ring you?’
Staying Alive Page 28
